Cattlemen fear they’re in the Army’s bull’s-eye : White Sands missile test site is being expanded. Some nearby ranchers now insist that rockets make for bad neighbors.

For over three decades, cattle ranchers near this high desert hamlet have evacuated their homes whenever rocket testing was under way at White Sands Missile Range.

Few groused about the daylong dislocations because the Army paid up to tens of thousands of dollars annually for the disruption and anxiety of abandoning homes and livestock while experimental weapons slammed down onto the missile range a few miles away.

All that changed last fall, when the military began expanding its target and launch sites into the ranchland for a new breed of missiles similar to those the United States used to zap Scuds and attack Iraqi troops in the 1991 Persian Gulf War.

Now a federal lawsuit has been filed to stop the testing that some locals fear endangers their lives and property. And the issue is turning neighbor against neighbor in a remote and arid place where mutual aid is a necessity.

The Army is trying to allay the fears with a public relations campaign, one-on-one talks with wary residents and even demonstration launches, such as one conducted last summer.

While dozens of ranchers watched from bleachers erected at a White Sands launch site, rocket scientists struggled in the blistering sun with a missile that did not fire until the third try.

Earlier that day, an Army general had bragged that his missiles were so reliable and accurate that he could “stand on a target, spread his legs and have it pass right between them,” according to one rancher.

Ratcheting up the anxiety, the first bona fide test of an experimental missile aimed at a targeted ranch site developed problems in flight last October. The missile had to be destroyed by remote control 25 miles short of its target, missing an evacuated ranch house by one mile.

The errant missile only seemed to confirm the suspicions of four ranchers who had filed a lawsuit four days earlier to stop the testing.

Juan Sanchez, a 68-year-old rancher who was born in a tiny home built by his forebears, was among the plaintiffs until he learned it would take $60,000 to bring the case to trial.

Dismissing promises by Army officials that there is a million-to-one chance of being hit by an errant missile, or that they would replace his house in the event of a worst-case scenario, Sanchez asked: “What good is a new house if I’m dead?

“My land is three-fourths of a mile north of the northern boundary of the expanded testing area,” said Sanchez, who owns 5,000 acres. “So when their missiles are landing 25 miles off target, I’m a little nervous.”

He is not alone. Neighboring rancher Ernest Thompson, who also dropped out of the lawsuit, complained that the Army “tries to make it sound like they’re dropping lollipops out here.”

John Sais, 49, whose grandfather homesteaded here, offered another reason for wanting to keep the Army’s bombs and rockets off his ranch: “This is cattle country. To me, seeing a missile launch site on a cattle ranch ruins it.”

But some other ranchers have no problems with the military buildings, rails and radar towers sprouting up--provided they are adequately compensated. At least one rancher gets nearly $250,000 over the next five years for leasing about 500 acres for launch control buildings, according to a White Sands spokesman.

Rancher Monty Oney gets about half that for hosting a launch pad on his property for a Scud-like rocket. Oney is unabashedly proud of his involvement.

“This is a project that will save soldiers’ lives,” Oney said. “I couldn’t look their mothers in the eyes if I didn’t do this.”

Many of the 58 ranch families near the testing grounds, however, are less enthusiastic and angrily recall how the Army confiscated or purchased about 75,000 acres over the past 40 years to create White Sands. A few are worried that the Army may try to absorb their own land to accommodate the new tests.

“There is no intention right now of taking the ranchers’ land,” insisted White Sands spokesman Jim Eckels.

Still, with national security at stake, many folks fret that the Army could change its mind.