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January 10, 2005

Monster In The Closet

The monsters that live in closets and under people's beds are obviously born in our imaginations. The more we worry about the monster, the bigger it gets. The same happens with our problems. The more we fear them, the worse they become.

When I was in the army, we had to stand guard at the ammunition depot a couple of times a week. For some reason, I always had the 2am to 8pm shift. (We all had to do two years mandatory military training when I got out of high school.)

The ammunition depot was surrounded by an inner barbed- wire fence, a walkway and then an outer barbed-wire fence.

The depot was in the bush some miles from the base and unless the moon was full, it was a pretty dark and quiet walk.

The perimeter beyond the outer fence was made up of dense scrub, large bushes and trees. On each of the four corners were spotlights that were supposed to light up the walkways but they didn't do a very good job.

One night, my guard partner, Bruce and I were walking the beat.

It was a particularly dark night, and we were on high alert because of an unusual amount of terrorist activity in the northern part of South West Africa called the Caprivi Strip.

At eighteen years of age, we were all aware of the enemy and how they were going to kill our wives and girlfriends. (The South African Military propaganda machine had brainwashed us well.) We were eager for action and ready to blast anybody who put his or her face near our depot.

As we rounded the corner closest to the guardhouse, something caught Bruce's eye. He grabbed me and pointed. My heart nearly stopped. Up in a tree about twenty yards from the gate sat a man.

We both fell to the ground and assumed an attack position pointing our rifles at the man.

"Halt," I said stupidly. How could the man halt? He was already halted. He was sitting in a tree for goodness sake.

"Come down, or we'll shoot," I barked.

There was no reply. The man did not move; he just sat there. Bruce and I became very nervous. It was more than that--we were petrified. Even though I had just completed basic training at 4th Field Regiment, I was not ready to shoot anyone.

I kept my rifle trained on the man while Bruce radioed for help. I remember it so clearly.

"Four zero, four zero, this is two zero, my signal strength, over."

"Yours good, mine over," came the reply.

"We have an intruder off the perimeter who will not respond,"

"Why didn't you say so, fool?" cried the voice.

"I did," said Bruce.

"Hang on, I'm coming," came the reply.

Two seconds later, Alan White appeared crawling up behind us.

"Where?" he urged.

"There," I pointed.

"God, you're right," said White. "What the heck are we going to do?"

"Should we shoot him?" asked Bruce.

"Are you crazy?" said Alan White.

"Why?" I asked. "He might have grenades."

Alan White got back on the radio and called the battery Sergeant Major. Pretty soon he arrived. He started yelling at the man in the tree, but got no response.

"Should we shoot him?" asked Bruce.

"Are you crazy?" said the Sergeant Major.

"Why?" I asked. "He might have grenades."

The sergeant major got back on the radio and called the camp commander.

In no time we had all sorts of people lying on the ground deciding what to do.

The man was too far in the bush for us to see what he was carrying. With the use of flashlights it was determined that he had a bazooka, two rifles and at least six grenades.

We did nothing but wait. It was decided that if the man moved one inch, we would blast him to smithereens.

It was close to dawn and the commander called for a searchlight.

As we waited, I spotted at least two other men with rifles far off in the trees, but I said nothing for fear of starting a third world war.

Almost twenty men rushed up behind us with a huge mobile spotlight. The generator kicked in and the giant light suddenly illuminated the entire area. The enemy was immediately visible.

My heart almost stopped. The man sitting in the tree laden with grenades and a bazooka was not a man. Or a woman. Or even human. It was only an army uniform that one of the soldiers had hung in the tree to dry after he washed it.

Posted by trevor at January 10, 2005 12:20 PM