Command Post Capture 04/03/2005 (This is one of a series of articles I wrote dealing with memories of an African childhood. To read the first of these, click here)The others started up the hill in small groups. He waited until they had all left and then set out on his own, already choosing the deepest cover as his route. In short, crouching runs, he progressed from bush to long grass or rocks and then to bush again, making sure that he was not seen, even at this early stage. Up ahead he could hear the shouts and screams and shots as the others began to run into the defenses.Fools, he thought, and continued to make his way carefully up the hill. By the time he reached the height from where he had heard the noise of battle, things had calmed down and it was only the occasional shot that he heard as some last attacker went down.He was crawling now through cover, the heat of the afternoon sun beating down on him, sweat running down his face and grass seeds working their way through his clothes until they could scratch at his skin. His face itched and the dust clogged in his throat but still he kept going, slowly, steadily, stealthily.All was quiet by the time he had worked his way through the outer ring of defenses. It had been slow going in this area, inching his way past outposts where he heard voices, moving through thick brush without making a sound. He crawled a little faster now but still very carefully, aware that there must be a second line of defense higher up.The slope was steep here and the scrub and trees thinner. It was only the rocks taking the place of the bushes that gave him sufficient cover to keep moving. The day grew hotter and the air became still and humid, sweat dripped from his face and mixed with the dirt he crawled through. He ignored it all and kept moving, creeping ever higher and onward.The rifle hindered him, a weight that slowed him further as he tried to keep it close, to prevent that glint of sun against metal that might give him away. He was careful too that it did not hit the rocks that he passed, knowing that the telltale sound would be the warning the enemy needed. Onwards and upwards he crawled.As he neared the summit, he realized that he must have breached any second line of defense without even being aware of it. He had heard nothing for over an hour now, not even distant voices. But surely, up ahead, they would have a last ring of defense, at least a few to guard the command post. He stopped in deep cover to listen and watch for movement ahead.All was still and quiet, the hot afternoon baking the hilltop, the air shimmering from the rocks, nothing moving. He crept forward, keeping low, his rifle at the ready.The short distance to the summit took him another half hour to climb, always keeping to cover and moving soundlessly through the light brush and scrub. He was tired now, hot and thirsty, but he had heard and seen no sign of guards. It looked as though the enemy thought they had beaten off the attack and now relaxed and slept in the shade.At the summit he crept up behind some rocks to observe the command post. Carefully, inch by inch, he moved until he could see the beaten area of earth and the flag. In the center of the clearing an officer stood, looking away and down the opposite side of the hill. He stood up, left cover and walked up behind the officer, rifle at the ready."The post has fallen, sir," he announced.The officer whipped around in surprise."Where the hell have you been?""Umm, attacking the post, sir," the boy replied, stating the obvious."Are you aware that the rest went two hours ago? And I'm left here waiting for you?""Er, no sir. They said to capture the post at the top of the hill and that's what I've done, sir.""Don't be bloody silly," returned the officer. "All the blues were killed and captured hours ago. The reds won."The boy shook his head. "No, sir, not me. They didn't get me. And now I've captured the command post, just like they told me to do."The officer dismissed his claim with a snort. "The game finished hours ago. You lost.""Well, sir, no-one said anything about a time limit. I avoided the defenses and got here. Isn't that what we were supposed to do?"The officer threw up his hands in exasperation. "Forget it, man. It's all over and I'm not going to stand here arguing with you. Get on down to the car and I'll take you back to the school." He yanked the flag from the ground, then turned and started to march off down the hill.The boy followed, a disgruntled look on his face. I did what they asked, he thought. Not my fault if the others were so stupid as to get caught in the first half hour. I still say I won. I did what they asked and now I'm yelled at for it.Just no pleasing some people.(to read the next of the African Memories articles, click here)
Clive
Way Man, this reminds me so much of an exercise I took part in out in the Mojave desert of California. The Six-day war had just come to a close over in the Middle East, and the powers at the time thought we needed to prepare more, in case we got called in, so they organized a mock three-day event, just for our pleasure. "Us" consisted of Marines from all over the base, regardless of your billet, or job specialty. Cooks, mailmen, optics technicians or office machine repairmen - it didn't matter; you were a warm body, and you each had a weapon issued. I was one of the luckier ones, and got picked (sheer luck, mind you) as part of a ten-man guerilla band that was to do whatever guerilla were supposed to do. That gave us freedom the others lacked. Our group had no rules to speak of, whereas the main force did, so that was right up my rebellious alley, naturally. But after all was said and done, we had yet to capture anything or anyone of importance up until three o'clock in the morning of the last dreary day. Our team leader, being pretty gung-ho, was despondent but determined. He and two others, myself included, silently infiltrated the main camp, much as you described here but for the hour, and as a chilling wind whipped the canvas covering on a parked 6 by that we had in our sights, we crept closer and closer to the truck until our man in charge stood up. With his blank-filled rifle pointing at the glass, and at the man inside who sat snoozing while snuggled in his field jacket, he rapped sharply on the glass and yelled, "We gotcha, Lieutenant!" The man barely moved. But what he did next took all the joy out of our game, too, for the young officer and a gentleman rolled his window down part-way, leaned his bleary eyes up to the crack, and over the howl of the wind I heard a soft, "Go screw yerself." And he rolled it back up and went back to sleep. Date Added: 04/03/2005
Gone Away LOL Way, ain't it just the truth? Always seemed like it happened to me like that. :D Date Added: 04/03/2005
Rusty Awesome story Gone, and an interesting comment way :-) Date Added: 04/03/2005
Gone Away Thank you, Rusty. All true, too. :) Date Added: 04/03/2005
Way Well, partly true. The lieutenant used two words instead of three, but this being mixed company and all... Date Added: 04/03/2005
Gone Away No prizes for guessing what word, huh, Way? ;) Date Added: 04/03/2005
Rusty A mixed audience that can handle a few obscenities! I've already cracked that code, thangguverymooch. I am pondering the endings of spanish words right now. Why does the color black (negro) have a masculine ending while white (blanca) has a feminine one? Casablanca? White House my man. Date Added: 04/03/2005
Ned Rusty, the masculine or feminine ending of the adjective depends upon the noun. Casa is feminine and you could also have a casa negra (a black house) or uno sombrero blanco ( a white hat). Why hats are masculine and houses are feminine, is a whole other kettle of fish (pescado). A great story in many ways. We experience the intensity of his progression to the post, we feel the heat and the discomfort and we smile a bit in surprise at the ending but end up saying along with him "hey, that's not fair". Date Added: 04/03/2005
Gone Away I learned Fench not Spanish, Rusty, but I have a feeling that adjectives follow the gender of the noun. Casa blanca would indicate that the house is feminine in gender (same in French - la maison) and so the adjective blanca becomes feminine too. That's how it works in French and they are both Latin-based languages so it seems reasonable that they should follow similar rules. Date Added: 04/03/2005
Gone Away Umm, yeah, what Ned said... :> Date Added: 04/03/2005
Gone Away And thanks, Ned. On both counts. ;) Date Added: 04/03/2005
Mad I did that in paintball once -- the long stalk around the flank to attack with supreme suprise at the enemies most vunerable point -- I got lucky though, there was one bad guy left at the end of my hunt and I shot him, In the throat accidentally, and got told off for it. But I got the last baddy for my team... Date Added: 05/03/2005
Gone Away Great feeling, huh, Mad? ;) They don't make allowance for sneakin' in these games... Date Added: 05/03/2005
Ned Il n'est pas de quoi, c'est un plaisir de lire votre histoire. Je pense que J'ai oublie beaucoup de francais :(. Date Added: 05/03/2005
Gone Away Ah, merci, madame. Vous etes tres gentille. :D Date Added: 05/03/2005
Josh Run for the hills! The french have retreated in our direction! Date Added: 05/03/2005
Gone Away Well, you know Gone Away Inc. - ever ready to be controversial. :D Date Added: 05/03/2005
Rusty Cracking me up... Might paintball experience was a tad bit different. A few buddies and myself snuck through the woods on the outskirts to get to "Osama" (the game was to kill bin Laden). We got to their back and lit his ass up. We ended up being disqualified because we were TECHNICALLY two inches outside of the red tape marking out of bounds... I also shot a guy in his 'private' area once. I felt really bad, but thats a whole other case of squirrels. Date Added: 05/03/2005
Gone Away We never had paintballing in my day. Now that would have made things much more interesting. Date Added: 05/03/2005
Way I gave up trying to fathom Spanish years ago after coming across a nightclub that had just opened in my hometown called La Toro. And no, it was definately not a gay hangout; just some weird sense of humor in a town full of ropers and dopers, I suppose. Date Added: 05/03/2005
Gone Away Spanish has always looked to me like a sorta guttural form of Italian... Date Added: 05/03/2005
Josh Spanish is easily as noble as Italian -- only thing I have a problem with is the muckiness and speed at which native speakers converse. Lots of dropped syllables and such. Arabic is easy enough to sort out, even when you talk to a Sudanese feller, but I could never be a spy in Barthelona. Date Added: 06/03/2005
Gone Away I'll have to take your word for it on both counts, Josh. I learned French and Afrikaans, with a little bit of Latin and some German picked up by accident... Date Added: 06/03/2005
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