In My Stalking Feet

As corporal of the guard, it was my responsibility to keep my troops on the ball.  I knew I was up to the challenge but there were a couple things working against me.

One of them was Pitcher.

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When I took over as corporal of the guard, the sergeant of the guard gave me a rundown on the men I was taking charge of.  He had already caught a couple men hiding on post, which is often an indication that they sleep on duty.  They depend on good ears and/or booby-trapped alarms to wake them so, if the corporal, sergeant, or officer of the guard tries to catch them sleeping, they’ll be found with eyes wide open.  The young Marine would say he was just hiding for a minute to see if he could catch someone trying to sneak on his post.

Pitcher was not one of those.

Nope, the sergeant of the guard had told me that Pitcher was a good Marine and a heck of a guard.  He was hyper-vigilant and would notice the slightest sound, real or imagined.  Also, he admitted that he was afraid of the dark.  You won’t find many jarheads who will cop to that.  Heck, you won’t find many Marines who will acknowledge any kind of fear at all.

If Pitcher so much as thought he saw or heard the slightest hint that someone or something might be on his post he would then investigate or, at the very least, yell, “Halt!  Who goes there?!”

Yep, that’s exactly what he was supposed to do.

So how was that working against me?

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Well, the first night after I took over as corporal of the guard, I called the men together before we went out to start the night. First, I reminded them of the rules for walking guard, such as, “Keep the magazine of your M-16 loaded and in the magazine well, but don’t load a round unless there is a threat.” 

Then I told them I would be around to check on them at unscheduled times for the rest of my month on guard duty.  If they were doing their jobs, I’d give them a break and we’d swap the latest joke but, if I caught anybody sleeping on post, simply put…they’d fry.

Somebody pointed out that they could hear my jeep coming long before I even set foot on post.

I smiled, “I’ll only drive up if I want to find you quick.  If I want to sneak up on you, you won’t know I’m there until I tell you.”

And that’s when Pitcher said it.  It wasn’t exactly a joke; it was more of a comment.

He shook his head, “You’ll never sneak up on me.  Nobody can. Can’t be done.  Can not be done.”

Everybody laughed.  Somebody said, “Sounds like a challenge, Corporal.”

I smiled.  I understood what Pitcher meant and I knew he didn’t intend it as a challenge, just a point of fact.”  His fear of the dark brought his hyper-vigilance to a fever pitch but, to some of the others, his comment defused my threat of a write-up, at least somewhat.

I needed to reestablish my authority.

I smiled, “Challenge accepted.”

More laughter.  Somebody said, “Git ‘im, Corporal!”

Pitcher shook his head, “Can’t be done, Corporal Matthews.  You can’t do it.  Nobody can.  I’m just too nervous.”

I smiled and waved for silence.  “I’ll do it, but you be re-e-e-eally alert, because I’m going to do it tonight.”

The laughter stopped, but only for a moment, then the smart remarks, jokes, and maybe even a few bets, started.

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I loaded the men into the back of the guard truck and dropped them off at their locations.

Pitcher climbed out at his post and made a point of asking me, “See you later tonight, Corporal?”

“Sure thing, Pitch,” I answered.  “But not until I’m ready for you to.”

We both laughed as my driver put the vehicle in gear and we drove away.

Later that night, I swore the other men at the guard shack to secrecy.  I couldn’t have them alert Pitcher that I was on my way.

Hey, even I have to have a chance.

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Besides Pitcher’s natural nervousness and fear of the dark, there was something else that kept him hyped-up.  You see, somehow, he had drawn the Ghost Post.

The Ghost Post had gotten its name a few weeks before I started guard duty.  Sgt. Gable, sergeant-of-the-guard, had shown me the entry in the guard log. 

A young man standing lookout there had radioed back to the guard shack, begging for someone to come get him ASAP.  The guard was screaming, crying, and pleading for someone to help him…NOW!

When the sergeant, corporal, and officer-of-the-guard got to the post, they couldn’t see the young Marine.  They finally found the guard, hiding in a tiny, dark place, clutching his knees tightly to his chest, crying and calling for his mama.

His superiors finally got him calm enough to talk.  He said he had seen someone walking across his post and had challenged, “Halt!  Who goes there?!”  The person had stopped walking but hadn’t turned to face the guard.  The Marine said he had advanced toward the intruder until he was just a few feet away.

Then the man had turned slo-o-o-owly around.

The guard cried, “He didn’t have a FACE!  He did not have a FACE!”

I suspect the incident was not so much due to other-worldly causes but more to the young Marine’s use of chemical enhancement of his ability to stay awake.

Regardless what I think, Lcpl Pitcher believed.  You might say he took the tale at “face value.”

Sorry.  Anyway, that’s another reason his nerves were stretched as tight as a fat man’s belt.

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I left the truck and driver in a parking lot a good distance from Pitcher’s post and walked toward it quietly and without using my flashlight.  I’d learned long ago that a flashlight might allow me to see better, but it also allows me to be seen better.  As I got closer I moved slowly from cover to cover until I caught sight of my prey.  I hid to study him.

The young Marine was doing his job, and doing it well.  He was moving slowly around his post.  When he approached anything that might allow someone to hide, he slowed down even more.  Pitcher would study the cover carefully, looking left, right, and forward.

He was looking for me. 

When he got to the edge of the biggest, widest opening, he stopped before entering the football field-sized area.  He studied the terrain, trying to visually pierce the darkness on the other side, using his flashlight to see into any place where I could possibly be hiding.  Then he stepped out onto the sand and gravel surface of the lot and walked slowly across it, still alert and looking carefully for me.

He was good.

Pitcher knew that the only way I could sneak up on him was to hide and wait until he walked by, then jump out and scare him, just when he was closest to me.

Yes, I could, but that wasn’t good enough for me.

I knew the other men would ask us about the night and my boast.  I understood that, if they found out I had hidden and jumped out, they’d know they could hide from me too.  I mean, how could I catch them if they didn’t walk by?

No, I had to make a point, one they couldn’t deny.

When Pitcher got to the far side of his post, I left my cover and made my way to the edge of his area.  Then I moved into the cover he’d hidden in as he studied the clearing.  There I found a spot near his hiding place and took cover.

I settled in to wait.

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In about a half-hour, I heard the crunch of Pitcher’s combat boots.  I kept my breathing shallow and quiet.  He’d be getting close to me soon and I didn’t want the slightest sound to give away my position.

I heard, step, step, silence as Pitch studied everything ahead of him before he moved again.  After a few more steps, he stopped right beside me.  He was close enough that I could have reached out and touched him, or screamed like a banshee to give him a mild heart attack…but I didn’t.

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I could hear his ragged breathing, smell his sweat, as he studied the open area ahead of him.  I could practically hear him wondering where I could be hiding and waiting.

He was right; I was hiding and waiting, but I wasn’t out there.  I was right beside him.

After a couple minutes, Pitcher stepped into the clearing and stopped to look and study some more.  He looked left, right, and ahead.

I let him do that a few more times, then I stepped out of my hiding place.  When he stepped forward, I stepped forward.  I matched him step for step.  When he stopped, I stopped.  When he stepped, I stepped.

But each of my steps were a little longer than his.

You see, I knew that people’s minds don’t take note of the sound made by their own footsteps.  I knew that, as long as my steps weren’t louder or different than his, he probably wouldn’t notice them.  He always looked left, right, and ahead, but not behind.  He had studied that before he got to it so he knew nothing was behind him.

But he was wrong.  I was behind him, but not very far, and I was getting closer.

Pitch must have gotten eager to get across the open area because he stopped pausing.  After all, nobody could hide from sight in the middle of an area the size of a football field.

By the time he had reached the center of the open area, I was right behind him.  I can only imagine the thoughts that rocketed through his head when he was a-a-a-all alone out in the middle of a wide-open clearing…and I grabbed him.

When I seized his shoulder Pitcher spun, bringing his rifle around to defend himself.  I grabbed the barrel and said, “Whoa, whoa, Pitch.  It’s me.”

I won’t tell you what the young lance corporal said right then because I try to keep this blog family friendly.  That and I’m not sure if he was cussing me or telling me what was going on in his pants at that moment, because he took a long break after that.

Yeah, that.

What I am sure of is that nobody challenged me to sneak up on them again.

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