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THERE'S A FUNNY-LOOKING LITTLE GRUNT WHO SITS PERCHED way up high on a long black stretch of rock-solid granite every night... She wears OD (even though she is a chocoholic and would much prefer to wear that nifty new garb of the Desert Shield/Storm/Fox troops... Chocolate Chips). But, since C.O. told her that it was either OD or back to basic...she decided against basic...it's a real bummer...and she did NOT want to blow this assignment... "C.O. has reasons for everything..." She told herself...as she peered out into the night from underneath the brim of her two-sizes-too-large-soft cover. She looked at her feet next, and being of sound mind, since her boots were all scuffed up (never did take to spit-polishing anything..."Unhygeinic!" she maintained... although she did polish her toenails religiously), she just tucked her skinny legs under where she hoped C.O would never think to look... Then... She waited... And waited... And waited... The LP was known by all to be a real eerie place at night...especially when posted upon it alone...but she had faced a few other scarier shows before...all by herself. She lost her best buddy long ago...the FNG she got as a replacement, finally earned his second stripe and was all saddled up, headed out for parts unknown...classified...covert ops... need to know basis only. But that's the way C.O. runs the show, and the grunt permanently assigned to that LP rock, knew that eventually she would learn the rhyme and reason...just because C.O. said that there is a time and a season for everything... Not to mention... A purpose... Perched way up high on that rock, the breeze blew particularly chilly this night; so the grunt took out her Zippo and lit up a little pile of yellow legal-pad paper...since she now writes all her journal entries on a lap-top. The small flickering light of the paper-fire was enough to warm her hands somewhat, so she could type the night away. Funny thing about listening...sure gives one a lot to think and write about! The things she heard night after night after night, were things which few people ever have the privilege of hearing. She had ears like antennae and never missed a single heartbeat that reverberated off that great big rock... "This great big rock...with chiseled hieroglyphs reflecting outboard the faces of over 58 thousand...fallen in one of the dirtiest wars known to God and man...one really bad show..." She said to no one in particular... God agreed... "Darn!" She mused... "More than a really bad show...it was a heck of a waste of too many a cherished face..." And she was right... One of those faces even belonged to a Souldier who had once slipped a flawless diamond, set in a slim golden circle, on her left hand...after she had crunched down on it...buried in a cheeseburger...and broke a front tooth!!! She still wore it...even after 30 years...and a porcelain cap. The only time it had ever been taken off was when she was re-engaged in a 7-year war, which ended (after long drawn-out Peace Treaty negotiations) culminating in her taking over basic training of her FNG... The grunt did not wear any combat medals...had no bars, ribbons or other insignia...except for a single six-rayed star around her neck, issued under special orders, in place of dog-tags...by C.O. That star held a miniature copy of: The Regs... The Big Ten... She figured those "Orders" were all she really wanted to measure up to in the long haul anyhow. But along with that now-officially-declared-antique-mounted diamond, she allowed herself one other luxury. On her left wrist she wore a charm bracelet...a really unusual charm bracelet... of which; C.O. once again approved. It sure perplexed the heck out of the rest of the Company...NOT Government Issue, they said... But she knew it was... Most charm bracelets make a lot of clanky, rattlely noise, but this one was as quiet as the LP. It was well known to all Branches of Service that this was probably the most quiet LP in the known World...just your typical REMF assignment...and how come the grunt rated such a piece of cake? "Why even post a troop on an LP that never sees any action?" Good question thought the grunt... "But this is an LP which is by no stretch of the imagination... Quiet!" And she knew of what she spoke... The other troops razzed her about "Night-Light Duty" constantly. But she never answered back...she just kept on, same-same, night after night...watch after watch. Sometimes, she wished she could just shut out all the steady sounds that only she heard. However, she never turned down the volume...because she knew it was holy music... waiting for words... What words could possibly describe all the subtle, soft, tender nuances which resonated off that piece of rock? Rocks are hard, cold, sharp and cutting; too often bury things in landslides...then turn into tombstones... "But this rock... Dear God, this rock! This LP...is the hardest assignment I have ever been given!!!" She mouthed her thoughts silently, as her fingers flew across the miniature keyboard that just fit her small hands. Tonight she shook her head a lot...to clear away some of the smoke that still hung around the rock from early afternoon...just one more reminder of stepped-up levels of activity somewhere over on that big green Lawn... Last night was one of those nights...when her relief was a no-show. The LP was never to be left unmanned (even though she was not a man... heck, nobody is perfect...don't mean nothin')... Last night the LP was real heavy duty...and the music went on and on like a Juke-box full of quarters. The tunes changed like a kaleidoscope... Yesterday's songs, today's songs...songs most likely never even written yet... Just before her double-watch was over, there it was...at First Light... that one melody which made her want to go hide out somewhere deep in the heart of the Texas Edwards and Real counties...to look for that illusive will-o'-the-wisp light, allegedly carried by Nuestra Senora de La Candeleria del Canyon...and then just follow the Senora back to wherever it was she carried her light. She wanted to go someplace where she would never have to hear that melody again. Did not matter one bit that the grunt was Jewish...so was Nuestra Senora! But that melody...cancel all would-be flights of fancy....no escape from that one...especially not from the words to: That Song!!! Taps!!! Not Reveille... Just served to confirm major activity out there on that Lawn... "Damn, I hate `Taps'!!!" She had good reason to... "That's a big affirmative!" Replied C.O... "But only hated in the context in which you carry it around...otherwise... It's Number One..." So HE explained... The grunt conceded that as usual, her C.O. had cut to the chase...and called it the way HE saw it...or heard it as the case may be. But those haunting strains always managed to find their way to a direct hit... Her gut... When she told everyone back at HQ about the rock-music, all she got were wall-eyed stares over stale coffee... "You gotta be kidding troop...ain't no way that rock could ever rock and roll...let alone play music...you be chasin' ghosts again?" There it is... Nobody believed her... Tonight, as she sat again at post, sorta hunkered down, waiting...sure enough, there it was. That music... She took the safety off her lap-top and started to hack away... Thousands of letters combining into billions of words danced before her eyes...just like all those stars on that velvet canopy overhead... She grappled with the onslaught of words like Jacob's one-on-one struggle with an Angel. But the words did not stop...and that music kept floating around on the wind. When she felt her ears begin to twitch, she knew darned good and well it was now a situation which required her to be on full alert... The LP was being overrun with echoes of words from every engraved panel and facet!!! The grunt did not carry a weapon...but she held a butterfly net in her hands...namely, her lap-top. One word stood out above all the rest...just one word. She caught it: "Hear!" It was like the incessant cry of an infant at 0200 feeding time. Being female, the grunt could not deter the estrogen inundation that cry evoked. (Wasted effort trying to ignore it anyhow). It needed her... That simple... That poignant... That pleading: "Hear!" All she could do at the LP was pound out two words: "Copy, Hear..." At that moment, the keys on the lap-top went magic. Her fingers started to glow...no way they were cold any longer. The diamond threw sparks like tracer flares...the LP lit up like mid-day...and that bracelet began to tinkle softly...like temple bells in Thailand... "What the heck!!!" She thought... "Why is this night different from every other night?" Good Jewish question...but only applicable at Passover... which it currently was not... "I've heard sounds before from this rock...but nothing in the World like this! I must be going dinky dou for sure..." However, she knew she really wasn't. Obsessive/Compulsive? Maybe... But crazy? Never... Other words soon followed like a barrage of rounds from a cadre of automatic rifles!!! "I will never get all this stuff written-right!!!" She whined inwardly... "I got beaucoup incoming...and each round tells a story! I gotta get it right...I gotta make sure I do not leave anything out...I gotta..." Then clouds...then darkness...then silence...dead silence... "You just took a round in the heart, troop..." She heard a familiar voice... "Through-and-through GSW right in the apex!" For the first time in her life...she was scared... "Am I gonna die? Is it mortal?" "Just about as mortal as any mortal can be troop...but hang in...bird's about to land. We got you... WE GOT YOU!!!" This was not the voice of C.O. This was not the voice of anyone she Souldiered with...until the memory of a voice from over 30 years back, bounced like a ricocheting frag off the solid face of the rock... "Who are you???" She asked...more than somewhat scared spitless... Fifty-eight thousand voices took up the refrain of all their words she had just finished transcribing...to what sounded like that dreaded melody of: "Gone the Sun..." "Hear us cry...Hear us sigh...Lift up eyes...Watch us fly...To the skies... We be here...On this rock...NEVER died!!!" She felt fifty-eight thousand pairs of strong hands lifting her up. But one rock-solid Souldier stood just to the side...then reached over to touch that diamond...took hold of both her hands...and grinned one real familiar lop-sided grin... "Darn troop...you're wearing a charm bracelet full of Purple Hearts!!! D' ya even remember who earned `em???" "Yeah...she winced...they presented 'em all to me as next-of-kin when... Way back when..." "Way back when you stood on that Lawn just over there??? Cringing when those seven ceremonial guns belched smoke three times??? I watched you wrap up your heart in a box of Kleenex for cryin' out loud!!! How come you did that??? And how come you volunteered for this LP???" "Because...every incoming I get...every word I transcribe on my lap-top paints a portrait of a face I never stopped loving..." At this point, the grunt was starting to get rather puddle-eyed...not exactly conduct becoming a grunt...but wait a minute...where the heck is that written??? The Souldier dropped down on one knee, took her face in his hands and said: "I know. But you got one thing wrong...all that incoming you took...and faithfully copied...then translated into words that made our song finally heard...well, you did that on God's Lap-Top...Hear? The One and Only Supreme C.O. Time to load you on the dust-off...There it is troop... Write on!!!" "Hear and copy...Souldier...catch you later???" "Nah...you caught me over 30 years ago...and you never let go... never 'Jodied' me...never broke any promises. Did I ever tell you how great you look in baggy OD??? Matches your freckles when you get all sunburned...Remember??? But right now, you gotta promise me one more thing..." "Whuzzat???" The syrette blast was starting to take effect... "Those damn boots are a disgrace!!! When you get back to this LP... I wannabee able to see my face in `em!!! Right next to yours..." "Ooops!!! Rodge..." The funny-looking little grunt recovered. The incoming just keeps on incoming, same-same...but not really. Every word that now gets pounded onto God's Lap-Top...tells a story...a very personal story...and each incoming round is announced to the little grunt still posted on the rock...prefaced by that one word: "Hear!" She does hear that voice...she does know those stories almost before she reads them...or listens to them recounted. And all those stories get written-right. Some of her buddies still look at her like she is the stupidest grunt that ever drew LP duty. Really...who the heck could love a freakin' rock that much??? But her buddies (most under the age of 35...what do they know about that rock anyhow???), never really went out to perch on it for very long... Just as that thought crossed her mind, a whole darned definitely LIVE Regiment showed up!!! All marching in Platoon formation...headed straight for the rock... Most of `em were undoubtedly well past 40-something...some even older...Just like her...gray hair, no hair, hippie long-hair...pony-tails??? and numerous dreadlocks... "Holy smokin' incense! C.O. always told me to hold until relieved...and here comes what must be the entire entourage of all those Only-By-The-Grace-Of-God-Survivors. They be looking at this rock like it was some sort of SHRINE, for cryin' out loud!!! Most of them do...cry out loud... and some even come at night...because they tell me that they too: `Hear!' what I always hear..." But she wonders: "How come they call this rock a Wall??? A wall keeps things confined...locked away...or keeps things out. A wall separates and divides things...like people, for instance...oh well, whatever...C.O. will clue me in soon enough...but HE is not going to be amused if I let this LP get overrun!!!" The diamond winks at her, the bracelet again begins to tinkle in the wind...she looks down at her now spit-polished boots...and there it is... Those two promised faces. The Wall says very clearly and distinctly: "Roger that!" All those Thank-God-Still-Alive-Ones just keep on a'comin...with more stories...more letters...more offerings...more tributes...more love than the grunt ever dreamt any brother could offer any fallen brother. And right there...in plain view of God and everybody... There...it is... Somewhere off in the distance...but close enough hear...comes the soft click of recognizable footsteps. She turns, eyes right...lap-top at "Present arms!" and looks straight-up into those: "Never-pass-over-one-single-detail" Eyes of C.O... "Yep", HE says..."There it is...MY LP...MY WALL...MY TROOPS... and YOUR ASSIGNMENT!!!" So she sits down on God's Lap-top, puts her head on HIS shoulder; then after 30 years...pulls the mildewed Kleenex out of her utility shirt...blows her nose...and finally views her heart again. Two words are now engraved upon its apex...On point no less: "Semper Fi"... Her rock-solid Souldier just stands there...still grinning as usual...right next to C.O. He places his hand over that 30+ year-old diamond and says: "There it is. Right where I put it..." And...There it is... |
©3/1999
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