by Gary Barnes
Older students were assigned the task of assisting the teacher in teaching and tutoring the younger students. In this manner not only did the teacher become more effective with her time but lessons became more deeply ingrained in the students; not to mention that their comprehension was broadened as they themselves taught what they knew to younger students. For over three hundred years this was the way that almost all elementary schools in America were run. The system was very effective and in may ways produced better students. It certainly consumed considerably fewer resources than the systems currently employed by the nation’s school districts.
Unfortunately, however, when the Park Service created the Ozark National Scenic Riverways park system in the late 1960s and early 1970s the river-bottom sharecroppers and land owners were forced from their homes, taking their children with them. So few children remained that the Owl’s Bend School District was closed. The students were incorporated into a larger, more progressive school district.
Since then the Shannon County Department of Roads converted the school’s building into a parts and repair center for front-end loaders, scrapers, backhoes and other heavy equipment.
Major Reid was infuriated when he saw that his men had selected the old school building as the site for their field office. He stepped from the Hummer and immediately summoned the captain in charge of the setup operation.
“What do you think you’re doing setting up here?” Reid screamed at the captain. “It’s at least a mile-and-a-half to our battle station! I can’t effectively manage Operation Trot-Line from this far away. Dismantle this command center and reassemble it at the gravel bar where the road dead-ends.” He turned on his heels and headed back to his vehicle. “Incompetence!” he muttered. “Why am I constantly surrounded by such incompetence!”
Arriving at his vehicle Major Reid climbed in and ordered his driver to proceed to the end of the road.
Five minutes later the driver pulled to a stop at the Current River gravel bar across from where the Blue Spring tributary joined the river. Dismounting the vehicle Major Reid paced restlessly while fomenting at the perceived incompetence of his subordinates.
Within an hour Reid’s men had completed the erection of the field office tent and had moved most of the logistical equipment into it. Beyond the office tent the quartermaster truck was being unloaded. It had been stocked with munitions, an inflatable raft, and other equipment necessary for the success of the mission.
Reid’s detachment consisted of only four squads, barely forty men in total. He intentionally limited the number of personnel to as few infantrymen as possible. He intended to keep a low profile, especially preventing any media coverage. Most importantly, he did not want to validate the stories being circulated among the local citizenry regarding the source of the creature’s origin.
Clayton! Reid thought. His meddling in the cleanup operations was the cause for these stories about aliens. Who does Clayton think he is, anyway?
Reid reflected upon their cleanup detail. It had been perfect. He searched his mind for any clue as to how Clayton had discovered the truth. Certainly he and his men had done an excellent job. They covered up all indications of the crash. There was not a trace of the alien space craft left behind. The sink hole disguise was ingenious and they had seamlessly blended it into the surrounding area. The cover story he had released to the local press had worked fine until this professor . . . Clayton . . . started poking around. Now Reid looked inept and foolish to his superiors. This could not be tolerated. He had worked hard to gain the confidence of his superiors. His self-perceived reputation of being the man to do things right the first time was being threatened. He wasn’t about to allow anyone to destroy all he had worked so hard to achieve, especially some zoology bookworm. He would see to it that Clayton’s reputation and career suffered beyond repair for his meddling.
The new orders Reid had received were quite simple. He was to immediately eradicate the creatures by whatever means necessary and then spread sufficient disinformation to insure that the truth was never discovered. Any opposition to their mission was to be eliminated with no questions asked. The upper level Brass believed that if the general public ever discovered the truth – that an extraterrestrial space craft had crashed or that intelligent life forms from other planets were visiting earth . . . well . . . who could tell what the public’s reaction might be. But it wouldn’t be good, of that they were in agreement.
Major Reid intended to do his job well. When I am finished, he told himself, the stories swapped at the barbershop would all agree on one thing – the creatures were just a slew of alligators that escaped when a truck transporting them from a Mississippi bayou to a research center in Denver blew a tire on the Owl’s Bend Bridge and careened into the Current River. Aliens? Space ships? Nonsense! And as for Clayton, everyone would think him to be a crackpot. Yes, the locals would believe his story and Clayton would be discredited. Reid would do his job well.
*
Thirty minutes later Major Reid assembled the men in his detachment under the canopy of the field office tent. The side walls had been rolled up so that it looked more like a pavilion than a tent. Near the front was an easel upon which rested a large topographical map of the immediate area. Flanking it were similar but smaller maps of adjacent areas.
The enlisted men had heard bits and pieces regarding their mission but no one completely understood their objective except for Major Reid. There had been some talk of alligators but the men assumed that this must be some code word for their mission. The military used code words for everything. Once the meeting got underway, however, the men learned that alligator was not one of them. Major Reid informed his men that there were hundreds of real alligators loose in the local riverways.
“Men, it’s our job to search out and destroy all traces of the existence of these alligators. They are extremely dangerous and I caution you to not take any chances.” He pointed to an area map and traced the valleys of the Current River and the Jack’s Fork River with a pointer. “We believe that they nest in caves and grottos along these two rivers, here, so we’ll initiate our eradication efforts in this area,” he said as his pointer circled the Owl’s Bend / Blue Spring area. “From here we’ll move upriver until we kill them all. It should be like shooting fish in a barrel, once we attract them to our trap.”
“Sergeant Jensen,” he continued, “I want you to take six men up to the Owl’s Bend Bridge. Stop the traffic around the bend in both directions so that drivers cannot see the bridge. Then I want you to break out a section of the guardrail large enough for a duce and a half to get through and create skid marks to simulate a truck crashing into it and going over the edge into the river.”
Some of the enlisted men glanced at each other sideways. These were very strange orders. Though no one spoke, they silently wondered if perhaps Major Reid hadn’t gone over the edge himself. Especially in light of the order he had given earlier to round up two dozen hogs from local farmers and slaughter them down by the river’s edge. He wasn’t preparing a barbeque. Of that, the men were certain.
*
At the crest of a hill, about a quarter of a mile away, Sheriff Akers had set up his own command post – it was not much, just a cooking fly for shade, a few folding chairs, a 5-gallon plastic water-cooling jug, and several pairs of binoculars. Though he didn’t think Reid’s plan was the best way to handle the situation, it was beyond his control. Clayton, Larry, Tina, Welton and the Mayor joined the Sheriff and his deputies as observers to witness the military in action.
Clayton was quite fidgety. Rationally he understood that the creatures must be destroyed, but emotionally he could not accept the destruction of an entire species, especially when that species came from another planet. If only there was something he could do, some way that he could preserve even one of the aliens. But Major Reid’s orders were firm. They could watch from a distance, but all specimens of the creatures and their eggs were to be destroyed.
*
Reid’s men baited the riverbank with several dozen cows and horses tethered along the shoreline of the Current River’s gravel bar. The local farmers from whom the livestock had been commandeered had protested quite vocally. Reid’s men assured them that they would receive just compensation, even handing out a receipt for each head of livestock they took. The Ozark farmers knew better than to trust the empty promises they received. They wisely knew that the only compensation they would ever receive was the piece of paper just placed into their hands.
The hogs that had been previously butchered were secured to large grappling hooks anchored to a massive, inch-and-a-half in diameter nylon, trot-line rope which ran down the river’s main channel. Reid chuckled at the thought of using a trot-line to chum for amphibians the size of alligators. He was confident that his trap would attract the aliens within a few hours, and then the fun would begin.
*
By late afternoon Major Reid’s men were becoming restless. They had been waiting and watching for hours in the muggy, shadeless, hot sun. They had taken up a defensive position just in front of the trees at the edge of the forest. Fifty yards of gravel bar separated them from the water. Just exactly what they were supposed to be watching for, they did not know.
Reid had told them that they would be shooting alligators, but the men knew that alligators did not live in the Ozarks. Perhaps it was possible that one or two small pets had escaped, but certainly not the hundreds of full grown alligators that Reid was claiming. Even if the alligators did exist, it certainly would not be the military’s job to eradicate them. That would be a matter for civilian authorities. Things just didn’t add up. The men instinctively knew that there was much more to the story than they were being told.
Still, they were professionals. They were used to going on missions where information was only disseminated on a need-to-know basis; and it was deemed long ago in some forgotten recess of military evolution, that infantrymen didn’t need-to-know, anything - ever!. They just needed to follow orders – and that is what the men would do.
The infantrymen were deployed on a gravel bar on one of the most picturesque rivers in the Ozarks. The camouflaged olive drab tents, vehicles and uniforms really were quite drab compared to the azure / aqua depths of the river’s deep channel which hugged the far shoreline where the limestone bluff came down to the water’s edge. The deep green of the forest-covered bluff intermingled with the white and grey of the contrasting limestone outcroppings seemed to crown the river with grandeur.
The fluidity of the river and the glint of the sun upon the crystal clear water made it seem as if the river flowed with liquid emeralds, diamonds, sapphires, and other precious stones. The smooth yellow, brown and white river rocks that formed the mudless bed of the river only enhanced the illusion and seemed to dance in the surreal world of sparkling water. The contrast of the river’s beauty with the drabness of their military surroundings was not lost on the men.
Major Reid, ever vigilant, surveyed the river, both upstream and downstream with his binoculars checking for any indication that the aliens were attracted by their bait. Satisfied that everything was still normal, he clicked the lens covers back onto his binoculars and returned them to their carrying case.
*
CLICK – the sound of the lens caps snapping onto the binoculars bounced off the bluff wall on the far side of the river and echoed across the silence of the shore. Though a quarter of a mile away, the sound thundered in Clayton’s ears more loudly than if he had been standing right next to Reid.
There are certain sounds and certain smells that lock experiences into our memories where they remain sealed, long forgotten, until that same sound or that same smell releases them to our consciousness as vividly as the day they were experienced. That click was one of those sounds.
That click suddenly transported Clayton back to a Saturday night nearly two months earlier when he and Larry were catching frogs in a backwater slough on the Current River – CLICK, that mechanical sound, yes now he recognized it. REID!
Suddenly it all made sense to Clayton. That’s how Major Reid knew of his research. Reid had been observing him, trailing him, investigating him. Of course! He was the man at the saw mill; he was the fisherman floating behind them. He’s been involved in this cover-up from the beginning. Clayton immediately felt used, angry and betrayed. How could he have been so blind!
No sooner had this realization burst upon his mind, than did the accompanying understanding of the full consequences of that realization. Following the logic to its natural conclusions, as only Clayton’s analytical mind could do, he was forced to accept the inevitable. “What difference would it have made if he had known?” Obviously, whatever was going on with the military was happening on a much larger scale than they were being told. The cover-up would be complete. No one outside of a select group of high ranking military officers would ever know of the crash of the alien space craft, or the presence of extraterrestrial life forms. If he tried to publish his findings, he would be made the laughing stock of academia. Furthermore, his attempts to save the creatures would all be futile. Eminence would become another mysterious Area 51. This, Clayton was sure, had already been guaranteed by decision makers much more powerful than Reid - people who were insulated by many layers of anonymity and deniability.
*
The afternoon was beginning to wane. Soon the sun would begin its downward slide to the mountain ridge behind them. Major Reid stood firm and erect at his post even though streams of sweat ran down his cheeks and neck. His once crisply starched uniform was now saturated with rings and splotches of sweat and dry, salty patches. His men were beginning to tire. In an instant, however, the scene before them began to change.
A sentry noticed that the water upstream had darkened, the main channel of the river had become black. Perhaps, he thought, a cloud had obscured the sun, casting a shadow over the water. He glanced skyward but saw no clouds. Returning his gaze to the river it was obvious that something had physically changed the color of the water and it continued to get darker and darker as it moved downstream. It appeared as if a giant ink bottle had been poured into the river, and its inky murkiness was rapidly spreading downstream, but only in the depths of the river’s main channel on the far side, by the bluff.
*
At the Sheriff’s hilltop observation post Tina noticed the change, too. “Hey, something’s up!” she called to the others.
Quickly they all grabbed for their binoculars and began to focus on the river.
*
Major Reid was quick to sense that this was the moment for which he had been planning. The aliens were about to walk into his trap. “Lock and load,” he commanded. “Set your selectors for three round bursts. Stand by for my command.”
The infantrymen were immediately roused from their listlessness. Their senses immediately heightened to the peak of alertness. Obediently they chambered their rounds, took their weapons off safety and trained their sights upon the water. But what was their target? the men wondered. They saw no threat.
The infantrymen watched as the river seemed to boil and churn with some inky essence, but nothing broke the water’s surface.
Even trained professional soldiers become uneasy in unfamiliar circumstances, and this was indeed unfamiliar.
Then the ink cloud suddenly changed directions. Instead of following the main channel downstream it turned at a right angle and rushed at the shoreline right in front of the infantrymen. The water seethed and boiled as the cloud got closer and closer.
Then it burst upon the shore and thousands of young aliens leaped from the river, charging across the fifty yards of gravel bar separating them from the unprotected soldiers, ignoring the livestock bait tethered along the shoreline.
The aliens were small, ranging in size from that of a chicken up to a German Shepard. They charged, some on all fours, others running and jumping upright on their hind legs. All were growling, hissing, snarling and snapping their razor-sharp te
eth. Obviously, these were not alligators the infantrymen realized, but they did not have time to contemplate the identity of the strange creatures madly rushing toward them.
“Fire!” yelled Reid.
The men opened fire on the advancing hoard of amphibious aliens, though their three round bursts had little impact.
“Switch to fully automatic!” yelled Reid.
Bullets sprayed the shoreline and dead aliens littered the gravel bar. The carnage had little impact upon the advancing swarm. The lead aliens were now halfway to the line of infantrymen.
Two Humvees roared onto the gravel bar, each with a mounted .50 caliber machine gun and a gunner who sprayed bullets at the swelling legions. The aliens however, gave them little notice, nor did their death toll seem to make a dent in their numbers.
The charging aliens reached the two Humvees and swarmed over them, attacking the soldiers onboard. Hundreds of small aliens climbed over the bodies of the machine gunners and drivers of the Humvees, biting, clawing and tearing the flesh from their bodies. The soldiers didn’t have a chance. They were quickly overpowered. Then, like hungry pirana in a feeding frenzy, the aliens totally devoured the carcasses of the fallen soldiers in a matter of seconds.
At that moment the onslaught reached the ranks of the infantry soldiers. The thousands of aliens, though small in stature, were vicious in their attack. Their razor-sharp teeth tore into the soldiers’ flesh like a hot knife through warm butter.
The scene of the hopelessly defenseless soldiers was reminiscent of pre-Revolutionary War battles in which opposing armies stood before each other and took turns firing, taking no cover and using no protection. Reid’s detachment stood before the swarming aliens, exposed, unprotected, not anticipating such an organized assault.
Reid had been right about one thing though; the battle was definitely like shooting fish in a barrel, but it wasn’t the aliens that were the fish.