The Watchers
P J Lawton

 


The old man sat silently staring straight ahead. The only light in the darkened room was the glow from the computer screen. He made his decision, then reached forward to type in a cable news network e-mail address. Tabbing down he wrote, “The time has come; I can’t stay silent any longer. As you will see, the big lie has been going on too long, America -- no the world -- needs to know the truth, the true story of the Watchers. Here is the story.”

***

The desert was cold at night. I had forgotten just how cold it could be. That’s why I happened to be awake though. If I hadn’t been trying to build up my fire a little to chase the morning chill away I would never have seen it from the beginning. Over the next 50-plus years people would continue to make believe it didn’t happen, to discredit witnesses and fabricate all kinds of stories. I don’t care what they say; I was there! I saw what I saw and nothing will ever change that. Anyway, that wasn’t the first time I saw them -- the Watchers. The first time had been just about two years before.

I was flying fighters for the Army Air Corp out of Tinian Island, a small island in the Marianna Chain. My main mission was flying support for the bombers, the big B-29s. The war was almost over. Flying support for the bomb missions had become pretty much a milk run. The enemy didn’t have very many interceptor fighters left and we just about had complete air superiority. It ended up being my last mission, the mission when I made first contact.

***

It was the first week of August 1945. It was around 2:25 a.m. when I took off to support Special Bombing Mission 13 by a single B-29 carrying a special cargo named Little Boy. I would remember this day for two very distinct reasons. One most every student of history knows, the other, only a few would ever know about. I was officially ordered to keep the second incident secret and did so for over 50 years. I am tired of hiding the truth.

It was just about 9:15 a.m. local time when the Enola Gay made its bomb run. We had been told that just as the bomb was dropped we were to turn and get away from there fast. We would have about 45 seconds to get as far away as possible. Over my radio I heard ‘bombs away’ and quickly made a steep banking turn to the right.

I was at about 20,000 feet flying through a cloud bank when something to the left caught my attention. I quickly pulled up and swung around to have a look. It was an aircraft. However, it was like no craft I had ever seen. It was gray black with no engines or markings. Its shape was very distinctive. At first I couldn’t describe it but after a few seconds I realized that it looked like a large Stingray. It glided through the air just like the Stingray glides through water. The ship seemed to ignore my presence as it observed the activity below. I couldn’t figure what the Watchers, my term for them, were up to but I knew the craft wasn’t one of ours. Logically, if not one of us, then it had to be an enemy. I shoved my stick forward to make my attack run.

The strange aircraft seemed to just hang there in the air, like it wasn’t moving at all. I lined up my sights and pulled the trigger. The heavy .50 caliber bullets streamed through the air -- into nothing. The ship was no longer there. It had simply darted out of the line of fire! I couldn’t believe what I had just seen. I made a turn and came back for a second run, same result. There was a sudden bright flash from what I took to be the rear of the craft and in an instant it was gone. Its speed was unbelievable. I had flown the new Lockheed P-80 Shooting Star jets with their incredible speed but they would have poked along like an old biplane compared to what I had just seen. Had it been real? Self-doubt started right away as soon as I resumed my return flight. Maybe I had just imagined it but I didn’t think so. Well, my gun camera film would tell the tale.

The next few months were a living nightmare. During debrief, when I attempted to tell my story, I was suddenly silenced and moved to a separate briefing room. I finished my story was then marched to the hospital isolation ward. Three days later I was informed that I was suffering from either advanced combat fatigue or serious psychological trauma due to witnessing the first atomic blast.

I asked my inquisitors about the gun camera film. They looked at me with blank stares and told me there was no gun camera film. My guns had not been fired. They then evacuated me to a stateside hospital for a much needed rest. I was sent to an isolation ward for almost 6 months.

One day I received a visitor. When he entered my room he had the air of Washington D.C. stamped all over him. He first asked me to retell what had happened on that August day. When I finished, he simply got up and walked out. I had a feeling that my story wasn’t the first one he had heard about the Watchers.

A couple of hours later another man carrying a thick file folder came to see me. He said if I signed an official secrets form I would be released. The gist of the form was that everything that had happened on Special Bombing Mission 13 was Top Secret. If I revealed anything about it, to include my so-called encounter, then I would spend the rest of my life in a military prison. I signed the paper and in a few weeks was quietly discharged from the military.

I bought some surplus military gear and a surplus jeep and went out to the desert to do a little prospecting and to quietly reflect on what I had just been through. That was why I happened to be there the night I saw them again.

***

July 4, 1947. Happy Independence Day I thought as I added a little more dried sagebrush to my fire. I crawled back into my sleeping bag but couldn’t immediately fall back asleep. It was a beautiful full moon night with millions of sparking stars. Unexpectedly a large flying object came over the hills and silently swooped down into my valley. It was moving slowly like it was having some trouble staying airborne. As it neared I realized that I knew that shape. After all, I had seen it before. It was a large flying Stingray. A long trail of smoke was coming from somewhere in the back. A few seconds later another sound followed as two low flying airplanes in battle formation swept in from the same direction. I could see the silhouettes but didn’t really need visual contact to identify them.

The sounds were the screaming whine of jet engines on full throttle. Lockheed P-80s on full burner were chasing the Stingray. All of a sudden they were firing. Two rockets flashed out from the lead jet and then the .50 caliber machine guns opened up from the second. The Stingray was hit, hard. Suddenly it spun around like a top and fired its own weapons. What looked like lightening bolts erupted from the Stingray’s nose. In less that a heartbeat, both jets disintegrated right before my eyes. One second they were there. Then they were gone. I couldn’t believe it.

I glanced back to the other craft and noted that it was in serious trouble. For just a minute I thought it was going to be able to pull away. Then it made a hard left bank and buried its nose into the ground. The crash was about a quarter of a mile from me. A large explosion followed. I sprang up, pulled on my boots and sprinted toward the blazing light. I had to get a look at what had haunted me for all these months.

The stingray had gone down on the other side of a low hill. When I topped the rise I simply stopped dead in my tracks. I could see that the ship had broken up, either from the crash or the explosion. That however wasn’t what stopped me. In the light of the flaming ship I could see figures. I saw one, then another, then another. They didn’t look like any humans I had ever seen. I watched as they attempted to help others from the stricken bird. They never had the chance.

From behind came the scream of another attacking jet. Glancing back I saw the plane approaching and watched two silver canisters drop from the wings. I knew that sight all too well. I immediately dived behind some boulders just below the ridgeline as the bombs landed. They were big ones, at least 500 lbs each. The double explosions picked me up, blasted all the air from my lungs and sent me flying down the slope. Stunned, I lay there in the swirling dust and falling debris.

After some time I was able to slowly get to my feet. Nothing seemed to be broken but I felt pretty banged up. Intent on making my way back to the crash site I almost didn’t see the vehicle lights speeding my way. A sudden flash of a headlight a few miles away caught my attention. I realized that I couldn’t be seen here. By dropping two 500 lb bombs on the wreck, the military was trying to obliterate all traces of the alien ship. I had already had more than my share of military cover-ups. I did a stumbling run back to my campsite and threw all my equipment into the jeep. I checked the area to make sure that I had left nothing identifying behind and made a hasty departure in the opposite direction of the oncoming lights.

Without headlights I slowly drove across the quiet desert for a couple of hours. Just as daylight arrived I found myself pulling up to an old dirt track. I got out and walked to the faded road sign tacked to an old post stuck in the sand. The sign had an arrow pointing to the left and said, “Roswell 14 Miles”. I went back to my jeep, pulled out onto the track, turned right, and quickly drove away. That was over 50 years ago. I am ashamed that I have taken so long to . . .

***

A sudden pain slammed the old man in the chest. Oh no, he thought. Not now. I can’t fail now. Slowly reaching forward a trembling hand, his sole focus was on the send-mail key. Behind him a second 50,000 volt M-18 Taser shot through the darkness. Another searing pain engulfed him. His shaky hand fell forward to the edge of the keyboard, jerked once and then was still.

End



 

 

Copyright © 2004 P J Lawton
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"