> Texas Hill Country

When on a mission, the party became lost and the horses and mules became unridable. The Servicemen were parched. The camels led the party to water, and upon arrival, needed nothing of the sort themselves. When Hadji Ali succeeded in his first mission, Jefferson Davis requested a thousand more camels to be purchased for cross-country military expeditions. But by now, with the outbreak of the Civil War, interest, and the success of the Camel Corps, was waning. The dromedary foot is intended for the soft sands of the Empty Quarter, and would bruise easily in the rocky west.

I drove to San Antonio, San Antone to the folks in Austin, and San Tone to the folks in San Antonio. I wasn't sure what to do in San Antonio, so I pulled in to the local Quicky-Mart, to fill up on gas. This quicky-mart was much larger than the ones in Fredricksburg and Kerrville. Its stock was indistinguishable from anywhere in the United States. I was in California, I was in Ohio, I was in Boston. I was in San Antonio, and I wouldn't even know it. The pleasure of modern travel is the spectacle of the loss of place. I'd rather walk through a swamp.

I took to the road to Houston - flatlands of farms, narrow stands of trees hugging rivers. Imperial-sized Quicky-Marts. Antique Shops. Adult video stores.

I pulled off the road and walked along a flooded river, which had enveloped the surrounding woods with stale water, flies, and the stink of bog. I decided to walk the mile or so south where the river widened and the small flood-plain provided ample mud for the rare dwarf palmetto - a tropical origin peculiarity in Texas, and a reminder among the farmlands that the Gulf of Mexico is not so far away.

The next day, I met a pair of Teamsters lounging at a cafeteria.

I asked them what they thought of Austin.
"Good place to get drunk."
And San Antonio?
"'San Antone? Too many Macabas"
"What's that?"
"You know, wetbacks."

"So what's up with the nazi symbol?" I asked, referring to his tattoo.
"It's throwing away discrimination," showing me that the symbol was being thrown through a basketball hoop. I asked him about the other tattoo, a gruesome skull-like creature with large ears, like its host.

"That's chupacabra," he said, referring to the Mexican myth about a varmint-sized demon that sucks the blood of goats. "This represents my heritage." In the taxi to a barbecue restaurant in Austin, I passed a neighborhood of large homes. "I prefer space," said the taxi driver.

"Why?"
"Lot of good hunting and fishing out there." "What do people hunt for?"
"Oh, lots of pheasant in this area."
"You get any yet this year?"
"It ain't season yet, but I just shoot targets anyway. Cans, bottles, ground squirrels, chipmunks, you know."
"Varmints?"
"Yeah, varmints."

My last night in Austin, having learned to appreciate this Texan propensity to chat, I sat over a display of brisket, ribs, queso, chicken-fried steak and pork with strangers. Some of these people were from New York City, some from Seattle, and more still from San Jose and Plano. They all seemed a bit bewildered by all this food, all this animal. Texan's love animal. Where else would you employ a Corps of Camels, hunt varmints, and treasure bats?

Had the U.S. Army ever employed a Bat Corps? In the library, I was surprised to find that in 1942, the U.S. Navy rented the use of four bat-caves in Texas Hill Country. They were to construct a squadron of trained bats, to which were attached small devices capable of emitting large flames. The idea was that the Navy would drop-ship thousands of burning bats on foreign soils from airplanes flying at a thousand feet. The burning bats would (naturally) fly all over the place, and seek cover. Namely, in rooftops and the like, causing massive fires and destruction.

The literature describes that in 1943, the Bat Corps project was terminated.

"That's chupacabra," he said, referring to the Mexican myth about a varmint-sized demon that sucks the blood of goats. "This represents my heritage." In the taxi to a barbecue restaurant in Austin, I passed a neighborhood of large homes. "I prefer space," said the taxi driver.

"Why?"
"Lot of good hunting and fishing out there." "What do people hunt for?"
"Oh, lots of pheasant in this area."
"You get any yet this year?"
"It ain't season yet, but I just shoot targets anyway. Cans, bottles, ground squirrels, chipmunks, you know."
"Varmints?"
"Yeah, varmints."

My last night in Austin, having learned to appreciate this Texan propensity to chat, I sat over a display of brisket, ribs, queso, chicken-fried steak and pork with strangers. Some of these people were from New York City, some from Seattle, and more still from San Jose and Plano. They all seemed a bit bewildered by all this food, all this animal. Texan's love animal. Where else would you employ a Corps of Camels, hunt varmints, and treasure bats?

Had the U.S. Army ever employed a Bat Corps? In the library, I was surprised to find that in 1942, the U.S. Navy rented the use of four bat-caves in Texas Hill Country. They were to construct a squadron of trained bats, to which were attached small devices capable of emitting large flames. The idea was that the Navy would drop-ship thousands of burning bats on foreign soils from airplanes flying at a thousand feet. The burning bats would (naturally) fly all over the place, and seek cover. Namely, in rooftops and the like, causing massive fires and destruction.

The literature describes that in 1943, the Bat Corps project was terminated.

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