Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S2 Ep83: Episode 83: Classified Military Horror Stories

Episode Date: June 2, 2022

Tonight’s opening story is ‘I Ejected Out of a Plane in the Desert... Something was Hunting Me’ is an original work by Eliott Dresher, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/Eliott_Dresher/ Our second tale of terror is ‘When I was stationed at FT Benning, GA I went down a haunted road that I never should have gone down’, an original story By Gung Ho G.I. Joe, also kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: https://www.reddit.com/user/Gung_Ho_GI_Joe/ Today’s final two phenomenal military stories are ‘Ghosts of Ft. Riley’ and ‘Army Scout Hunted by Bigfoot, and Vice Versa’, original works by Taxi Dancer, once more kindly shared with me via my sub-reddit for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  https://www.reddit.com/user/Taxi_Dancer/

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Welcome to Dr. Creepen's Dungeon. Well, it was Einstein who said that the world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing. And thus we have the military. But not everything that you see in the military can be explained, or is something that you wish to see, as we'll see in tonight's four stories.

Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language, which as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. So, this is my story of what happened to me and my friend Anne. Her name has been changed to protect her identity, and mine will be redacted to protect mine. In 2017, I was an airborne school graduate.

I had, however, broken my leg the first week. I didn't know that I had. I just thought it was bruised. Well, that's the story from another time, though. After graduation, I was set up to go down the road to the 75th RTB to start RASP, Ranger Assessment and Selection Program, formerly RIP. I could hardly walk the day after graduation, so I went to the TMC, that's the troop medical center, where they gave me a five-month profile to heal

and left me stuck as a holdover in a Co-1502 PIR. During this depressing time, I learned my unique shaming skills, and I also met a girl. Before any other paratroops who were listening to this, start to think, No, it was not airborne, Jessica. Although I did almost fall in that trap, but my friend stopped me and reminded me that she was not a myth, and she was trying to get to me. I'm sorry to the folks reading this who don't know what I'm talking about,

but, well, just be glad. The girl I met was named Anne. She and I hit it off phenomenally. I spent almost every weekend in her apartment located in Auburn, Alabama. Most of the black cats didn't care about the holdover guys, and let us get away with most of the stuff they found out about, although we were pretty good at hiding our shady business. Anyway, I've always loved ghost stories, well, movies,

and pretty much anything else that deals with the paranormal. I've visited many haunted places and have stories of them, if anyone wants to hear them. Now, whenever I visit a haunted place, I like to go in without a bias and just see what happens. If there is an odd event, I'll do everything I can to explain it rationally. Only after exhausting every idea

while I start to think, well, it's paranormal. I told Anne a few of my stories and made her watch many movies that she'd never seen. Anne had grown up Pentecostal, so she wasn't allowed to watch non-Christian shows, movies and couldn't listen to anything but country or Christian. I'm proud to say I introduced her to classic rock and soul. She knew I loved to visit rumored, haunted locations,

so she told me about her own experience on Smedley Road. The story of Smedley Road sounded like a very typical small-town ghost story. Rumors of witches living in the woods, and personally I don't believe in witchcraft. There is also a story of a family who died in the late 1800s from TB or some other rampant disease. The whole family had perished and were set to be buried in a small cemetery down the lonely, seldom used road.

Each member was laid to rest in this cemetery, except one. A man and his wife of their son had been buried together, but some mistake left their younger daughter to be buried elsewhere. The story goes that, if you can find this cemetery on a long, narrow overgrown on Mart Road, and you park your vehicle and turn it off. The family of the lost child will search it for her. I will not let you go before they've finished their search. Then, and only then, will you be able to start your car and leave.

Of course, that intrigued me. I've never experienced such a phenomenon. Now, this was the story Anne told me. I texted her to have her tell me it again so I could be inaccurate. and she gave me permission to tell this story, but I'll also change the name she used. Well, when we were in high school, me and my cousin Janet wanted to go down this haunted road. So we called up Jack, Trin, and Steve as if they wanted to take us because Jack knew the way. They agreed and Janet brought her boyfriend Fred.

We met and left from Jack's house in Jack's old single cab for truck. Jack, Trin and Steve were in the fourth. front seats to the truck and me, Janet and Fred were in the bed. When we started down the actual road, and kept seeing red lights following us through the woods on my side, I turned my head to get Janet's attention, but when she looked, they weren't there. All of a sudden, Fred yelled, What the hell?

We both looked to the other side where he was, and there they were matching our speed deep in the woods. After they disappeared behind a group of trees, we never saw them again. We pulled up to the cemetery and all got out. We walked around a bit, but got a really bad and creepy feeling, so we started to leave. Once loaded up in the truck,

well, the damn thing wouldn't start. Jack kept trying and trying the engine, but it wouldn't start. We were all freaking out. After what felt like an hour, but it was probably only five minutes, the truck roared back to life, and we pulled out of there so fast I thought we were going to lose the tires. How could I resist going there after that story?

After much persuasion, she agreed to show me the way. The next day we left about 1 p.m. I wanted to get a good idea of the route and see it in the day. The road was indeed hard to find, and the cemetery was tiny and full of old beer cans from, I'm guessing, the 70s, you know, the beefy pull tab cans. There were two sections, one lower than the other towards the back wood line. As soon as I walked down and stepped foot on the lower plane, I felt a dreadful feeling.

All these graves had been desecrated. Brass nameplates ripped off the tombstones, and the others pushed over and broken. There were graves that looked like they'd been dug out. Before someone says that the casket probably collapsed and that caused it, that's not what these were. I know what a collapsed casket grave looks like, just a dip in the ground. These were several feet deep, like the casket had been removed and the hole was filled in. They were full of weeds and overgrown grass. I snapped some pictures and left. Anne was waiting in the car. She wouldn't step foot into this cemetery. I figured that this place

was like many others, and rumors were just rumors, and nothing paranormal would happen in that Jack. and Steve had messed with the whole group years ago. Well, I was very wrong. He came back about 3 a.m., leaving her apartment at 2. The road was pitch black. Even the LED lights I'd recently installed in her car on Bright, only cut about 10 feet into the darkness. The road, full of sharp and sudden turns, made me go slow.

Nothing looked the same in the dark as it did in the day. It would have driven past if Anne hadn't. and grabbed my arm to tell me to stop. She'd gotten a bad gut feeling that it was near. And sure enough, after using my phone's flashlight to look, it was right beside us to our right. I'd already looked at this spot when it was in front of us and hadn't seen anything,

but now I could see the tombstones. The air felt noticeably cooler coming through our window than it had been on the drive over, especially for a hot, humid Alabama night. The slight breeze carried the smell of dirt and nature. I lit a cigarette and started to walk when Anne called me back and asked for one. Now, Anne has never smoked, but she took it with shaking hands, leaning out her window. I lit it because she was shaking so bad she couldn't do it herself.

I didn't get why, and I felt fine. No bad feelings, and I didn't feel creeped out all. scared. I walked around a bit at the upper part, still no indication of anything even slightly paranormal. I walked towards the back and walked down the slope. Almost immediately I felt an overwhelming feeling of dread like I was being watched intently, like someone was shooting daggers into my back. To be honest, it felt like the time I was being stalled by a mountain lion with a co-counselor in the hill country of Texas when I was a camp counselor. Or the look my mother gave me when I was a kid and used her expensive crystal wine glass for juice

and then shattered it. It was an uncomfortable silence, no animals or insects making noise. It was deafening, and I was trying my best to remain calm while every instinct was yelling at me to run. Then some snapping twigs and crunching leaves broke the silence. I was thinking it was a deer, but I couldn't see it in the woods. It sounded like it was only a few feet in front of me. Shining my light around, I spotted a weird shadow. It almost looked like someone peeking out from behind a large tree trunk.

Half a head, connected to half a torso, with a shoulder and an arm. I figured it was just my light casting it from some leaves or a bush or something. It was at this point, Anne yelled for me. saying we needed to leave now. I could hear the terror and urgency in her voice. I took one last look at this shadow, I saw it dart behind the tree. I wasn't moving the light at all when that happened.

I got the head out of dodge and took off, sprinting, scrambling and tripping. All the briar and dubry catching my pant legs as I ran blindly back up towards Anne at the car. I almost broke my ankle when I fell into one. of those dug-out graves. I picked myself up and got up the hill. This time the bad feeling did not leave me as it had done earlier in the day. I jammed the keys in the ignition and tried to start it. It was just clicking, like the battery had died. I'd forgotten about the whole car won't start, part of the story, and was thinking that Anne had killed it by leaving the interior lights on. I was about to open the door to check the battery connection, when Anne was

and grabbed the key and started to turn it. I only remember the story when I saw the tears of terror streaming down her moonlit face. I squeezed her hand tightly and tried to reassure her. I tried one last time. The car started right up like nothing had happened. I put it in drive and turn left as sharp as I could. I had to do a three-point turn because of how narrow the road was. When I put it in reverse and backed up to the edge of the cemetery,

I could see the red hue of the taillights. Pidge black torso and head were inches from the car. I couldn't see any features on it. I went from naught to 60 in seconds, driving dangerously fast with poor visibility. Every so often I could see him in the woods on the edge of the road, between trees or on the random patches of tall grass when I slowed for a sharp turn.

I saw him illuminated again, in our taillights a few feet behind us, the middle of the row, and didn't see him. She had her face buried in my arm, sobbing. She then jerked up and asked me a question, which, well, I just wish she hadn't. Do you hear that? I told her no, because I truly didn't hear anything but the rocks crunching under the tires and my own heart beating in my ears. She physically pulled me over into her lap, causing me to hit the brakes, at least we

crash. My head, almost out her window, I heard it. The sound of a woman wailing and screaming deep into the thick woods. My eyes lit up with fear. Night asked her, what the fuck is that? I quickly got back seated, and I could now hear it from my side of the woods as well as hers. Again, I pushed the pedal as far to the floor as it would go, still periodically seeing the shadow man and constantly hearing the noises even miles down the road. As soon as the car touched the dirt road that adjoined Smedley and led to heartball, everything stopped. The sound, the shadow man, the horrible feeling and the terror.

We drove back to her apartment in silence, that was only broken by muffled sobs coming from my tear-soaked arm. Later, we talked about what had happened, and she told me, that when I was down by the back of the cemetery, she couldn't see me or my light, and she could hear tapping on the rear window glass. The tapping moved to the back driver's side door, and then to my door, like someone was tapping on the car as they were walking around it. That's why she was yelling at me to come back. It didn't stop until I got up to the slope and almost to the car. That night, she shook me awake, because she had a nightmare about a

large, menacing Shadow Man, walking up behind me in the woods. I then told her about the stalking Shadow Man that I'd met that night. I hadn't told her about him because I didn't want her to freak out even more. Well, I guess he told her former, never go to Smetley Road again. I know that shadow man has not forgotten me. He lets me know in the occasional terrifying dreams I have about him stalking air. Nor will I ever forget that he let us leave that road once. I don't think you'll show me that kindness

a second time. I've only told a few people this story, and only went a few bottles into the night. You don't have to believe me. I don't care. Just please don't try to find Smedley Road. Hey Ontario, come on down to bed MGM casino

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if you want to understand this story, you should know that for the entirety of my 27 years of life on this earth. My love life has been a wreck. The only part of that which requires detail was my relationship with a girl named Faye. We went to school together and she was three years younger. I pretty much knew that she saw me as an older brother figure, but I come to see her as more than a friend. In perhaps one of the bolder moments of my life, I told her that I truly liked her, and it wasn't. I won't come to a surprise to many of you that we've not spoken since that miserable afternoon. Every detail of that event is burnt into my memory.

That's going to be important when I describe the incident in which I was forced to reject from an Air Force plane in the South Texas Desert. There was something out there, and it was telepathic, I believe. I used my memories of that awful day against me as it tried to hunt me. The Air Force flights a lot of training aircraft in southern Texas, for the simple and macabre reason that student pilots have very few important things into which they can crash. Well, to give you an idea of how close we are to the U.S.-Mexican border, the country of Mexico is closer to the west and to the south of the training base out there. I had my pilot wing several years ago, and I got the unlucky lottery ticket to continue as an instructor in the same base. I need to reiterate that there is nothing close by

so no one wants to stay here after they finish training when I was sitting in the back seat of one of the Air Force's T6 training planes while my student strapped into the front seat this was a more advanced training mission so we were flying from our main base to El Paso but we never made it my student leveled us off at 22,000 feet and after a few standard in-flight checklists

we were good to cruise for the 40 minutes to our destination. I asked my student several general knowledge questions, but he was performing pretty well, so I decided to relent on what was supposed to be a simple practice run for his navigation check-ride. Think of a driveling examination, but much longer. Things fell apart when we were cleared to descend from 22,000 feet to 8,000 feet to start our approach into El Paso.

The subsequent investigation of the crash revealed the student's throttle guard lever had worn down. There's a safety on the plane's throttle that keeps you from killing the engine in the middle of the flight, but this safety had degraded over years of time. It's also possible my student accidentally leaned on the lever as well, and he contributed to the catastrophe that was about to unfold. But my student did not survive the crash, so that all remain a mystery. I heard the engine wind down, and my flight... Oh, fuck you now, come on!

I heard the engine wind down, and my fight or flight kicked in right away. I took control of the aircraft and started to go through the process of restarting the engine mid-air. I instructed my student to get the paper checklist out to make sure we didn't miss any steps. I was mad as hell, and my student was probably freaking out. He'd fool well that I had every intention to fail him for this flight. But the fact remained that a plane without an engine could only glide so far, and we were over a barren enough patch of Texas that it would take some time for first responders to find us. My attempts to restart the engine in air fails, and this is where my gut began to ache.

The engine started with cracking sparks to ignite the fuel, but it wasn't working. My training kicked in, and I knew I would conduct a forced landing on a nearby airstrip, Despite what you may see in movies, landing on unpaved surfaces inject is a terrible idea. The injection seats there for a reason. Fortunately, the navigation GPS was not tied to the engine, and I executed the function to tell me what the nearest airfield was and how long it ran. Inexplicably, the GPS died out. I blinked in disbelief and asked my student if he turned off the GPS even though I knew

that both our GPS modules were separate. Even if he had turned off his own, it would learn nothing to mind. My experience told me that a more serious malfunction had occurred. We were still at 21,000 feet, so I had at least 15 minutes to glide somewhere, but as stressed out as I was, somehow I knew that something strange was happening.

The T-6 is a build with a ludicrous amount of redundancy, and I'd reviewed all the different combination of emergencies that normally occurred. For example, if the battery gave out, I knew which gauges would not operate. Same goes for if the generator failed. I'd never seen the GPS fail by itself. Even so, I still had a few ideas of where we could land. Mission planning forces you to have an idea of where you go if your engine fails. I got on the radio next. El Paso approach, Texan 2-4, emergency, engine failure in flight, flight level two zero zero, two souls on board,

intentions are as follows, whilst landing at ICAO Identifier, Kilo Whiskey Alpha Tango, we are nine zero miles away from target destination at inbound radio. All of a sudden, I couldn't hear my own radio voice. I mummpered out the last few words and the outside wind drowned it out. For half a second, I was stunned with surprise. I called to my student throughout interphone radios in the plane and heard nothing. I dropped my oxygen mask and shouted at him the old-fashioned way. He yelled back and confirmed that our radios had failed.

I turned on the emergency battery and tried the backup UHF radio. Nothing, not even static. and this was starting to look like the worst-case scenario but my first thought was that this was weird rather than terrified most of pilot training is learning how to deal with in-flight emergencies but this combination of setbacks was utterly foreign to me seemed like something some higher power I was messing with us

as I paused for no more than five seconds in complete awe of how strangely bad things were going I got a firelight warning. First off, engine fires in the T6 are extremely rare. They're built for that express purpose and sacrificed some efficiency for redundant safety. Second, the fact that the engine was already off was distressing. What an earth could be burning if the engine was off already?

I yelled at my student to pull the engine cut-off handle in the front cockpit. The jet only has one of those, and it manually stops you. fuel from entering the engine. My student complied with my instruction and pulled the cut-off lever, and it guaranteed that no more combustible material flowed to the engine to feed the fire. The fire warning lights did not go out. Smoke was already starting to bleed through the dashboard and burn my eyes. There was no more time for checklists or radio call. Uncontrolled injection, I screamed, coughing through my command. I secured my oxygen. I secured my oxygen. I secured my oxygen.

and mask on, and then I yelled the three words that every pile and dreads. Bail out! Bail out! Bail! As per training, I pulled my ejection handle in the third bailout. In a fraction of a second, the canopy fracture system detonated a small electric charge that shattered the glass bubble above me. An instant later, a rocket ignited at the bottom of my chair and kicked my ass out of that plane straight up at 90-knocked. It took seven seconds rocket ride to reach its speed.

I'm sure most of you have seen that one ride at the amusement part where you sit in a chair and drop a hundred feet or so. You see, the parachute for this type of ejection seat does not go off right away. It's got a pressure detector. You can probably see where I'm going with this. As soon as I stopped going up, I started falling straight down. Strap to the ejection seats. waiting to reach the altitude at which my shoot would open.

The reason for that is because at high altitudes, the temperature can lead to frostbite or other reflections. This was part of the reason why I wanted to descend earlier, but the fire left no choice for that. I eyed the pressure detector strapped to the seat. It took every bit of restraint I had not to pour the emergency shoot-release switch. The pressure detector can malfunction in mountainous areas, and you always have the choice of action.

activating it early. I blankly looked in front of me and saw the plane continuing on at 120 or 130 knots ahead of me. I looked around to see my students shoot, but I saw nothing. I checked the pressure sensor again. He said I was about 15,000 feet high, and I knew the shoot was designed to open at 8,000 feet. Really described the sheer terror you feel falling through the sky, hoping that your equipment will do what it's been designed to do. But I eyed my altitude detector as it passed 12,000 feet, 11,000, 10,000,

9,000 feet. The whole time the emergency oxygen bottle crammed 100% O2 down my throat at about 10 PSI. I doubt most people have had to breathe pressurized air before in their lives, but I can tell you it's like trying to breathe or

someone else is already doing CPR on you. The shoot opened a hundred feet or so below 8,000 feet. My ejection seat disconnected and continued plummeting toward the ground beneath me. I instinctively dropped my oxygen mask and took a few panicked breaths of cold but sweet unpressurized air. I couldn't see the jet in front of me anymore. I desperately looked around for my student's parachutes, but again saw nothing. Below me an emergency kit of supplies dangle from my parachute by a strong cable. I somehow knew that my student had not ejected, I felt a deep despair. Well, it was possible to push a switch to make it so my ejection lever activated both of our ejection seats. All it would have taken was a flip of a switch on my part,

but I hadn't done that. Everything had happened so fast. I had a 90-second wait as I parachuted down. I spent that whole time looking at my survival kit in complete despair. I landed well enough and collected both my emergency kit and my parachute. The shoot itself is designed to act as a blanket to keep you warm in cold climates and protect you from the sun in deserts. I don't know what you expect the first thing a downed Air Force pilot to do once they get on the ground, but remember, this happened in the present day. First things first, I check my phone.

I wasn't surprised to see I had no service in the southwest desert of Texas, so I turned on the airplane mode to save power, and we'll check again later. I ripped out the emergency locator transmitter. It's a beacon that transmits an emergency tone to any nearby aircraft and sets up an impossible to ignore sound. I've flown and heard it when a plane accidentally turns on theirs. It's a painful sound to listen to. Then I called out the emergency radio from the emergency radio from the emergency. emergency kit and immediately tried to get on the standard SOS frequency. While I did that, I turned on the portable GPS toy that gave me some rough coordinates to my

location. Emergency, downpilot. My name is Calvin Meredith, United States Air Force. I was abbreviating most of the standard radio calls. Tail number 0752 November. If anyone can hear me, please respond. GPS coordinates are as follows. Awaiting any reply, I observed my surroundings.

I knew for a fact that I was stolen the American side of our border with Mexico simply because it was not possible to parachute that far. However, there was nothing around me except a few patches of expected desert greenery. I exhumed the sunblock and the lip balm from the emergency pack and applied them both to keep the sun from damaging my body. Most of me was covered by my green flight suit By the back of my ears and my bald head Made premium targets for the sun

I removed my anti-G-Force pants My harness and set up camp Even as I was building my makeshift camp I knew none of this made sense Why hadn't I been saved already I was a very insignificant distance From both El Paso and my home base And my flight plan was both very common

And published back at base As the hours dragged on and the sun began to set, the growing anticipation in my heart started to evolve into subtle panic. It had started in the plane, and how the prospect of spending the night in the desert seemed horrifying. I had the more than one person to completely botched what should have been a very simple recovery of downed personnel, or something was very truly wrong with my position.

I covered myself with a thermal blanket and my parachute, prepared for the long nights ahead. I found it impossible to sleep, so I kept making half-hour transmissions on every frequency in the radio. 0752 November. Somehow I managed to get bored after the sun went down and the stars came out. I was more than a little pissed off that I needed to wait this long. If anyone can hear me, please respond.

If anyone can hear me, please stop sucking each other off and get me out of this goddamn desert. But now, please and thank you. Nothing. It was an open secret which channels my radio had saved on it. But none of them had anyone trying to reach me. Well, that was until I heard her voice. That girl I mentioned in the beginning. Faith, it wasn't her.

But it was her voice. I can hear you. The radio crackled and I didn't recognize who it was at first. I held the plastic box close to my face. Oh, thank God. Finally. I was relieved, but in the back of my mind, the words I heard did not match any script I practiced this conversation with before when I went through the rescue training. My name's Calvin Meredith, United States.

I know who you are, Calvin. The monotone female voice made my blood freeze. I was stunned. I know everything about you. A few seconds passed before I responded. Who is this? I asked nervously. Who am I speaking to?

The uncomfortably familiar voice on the radio ignored my question. Does it make you sad? Well, my better judgment told me answering that question was stupid, but I did so anyway. What are you talking about? The rational part of my mind Was still not quite ready to accept that this was happening The voice was so familiar It put me on edge

Surely it couldn't be who I thought it was Who I knew deep down they belonged to Who the hell is? Faith You're going to die all alone out here Does that make you sad Being alone has always made you sad I'll come be with you

I winced, stared at the radio and promptly changed the channel. That won't work, the female voice flatly told me on the new channel. It was like it was waiting for me to do that. I cleared my throat and spoke to the thing on the radio in as severe a tone as I could muster. Is this some sort of sick joke? Classic Calvin. The radio made it sound like the one on the other end was chuckling. I love bad jokes.

jokes. Whereas everything else freaked me out, that stunned me. Before it had just been speaking in Faith's voice, but that was something Faith had actually said to me. All at once it scared me and filled me with cold hate and anger. I didn't understand who or what or why, but this thing was playing with me. I clicked the transmit button on the radio and spoke quietly. Fuck off. I turned the radio off and stared at the night sky. My mind continually replayed that conversation, and I was in too much awe to make anything of it right away.

Sometimes our senses observe things that they can't take in right away. I can't say how long I stared at the stars before I felt that I was in danger. My weapons included a survival knife, two flare guns, but no firearms. I'd opted not to include that so I could bring more water, which I was regretting at this point. I was tempted to start a fire, but something told me I was in enemy territory, despite being in my home country's backyard, and I was not eager to give away my position. As it turns out, that didn't matter. I heard Faith's voice again, and it was not through the radio.

Shame about that friend of yours in the play. I swore and whirled around, holding the knife in one hand and my flare gun in the other. A flashlight with a strap was around my shoulder, and I turned it on, realizing, giving why my position meant nothing at this point. Stay away, I barked, unsure of which direction the voice had come from. Whoever you are, do not come closer. He had a wife back home in Nebraska. He didn't think twice when he heard her voice. There was an amusement in the ethereal voice around me.

At some moments it sounded like it was to my side and others when it came from behind me. But not you, Calvin. You're all alone. Always have been and you always will be. Shut up! I yelled, still trying to determine the source of the voice. The only reason I'm hiding from you is because faith hid from you after you told her. It sounded like it was truly enjoying saying this as a matter of fact as it was. She hates your guts. I said, shut up!

Deeply repressed feelings of resentment sprang up from somewhere deep inside me. I was frantic and I didn't care if this thing was human or not. I wanted to rip its head off. Suddenly, I remembered the radio. It mentioned my student. Before that moment, I'd not actually thought about how this thing had been able to talk. on the radio. It occurred to me that this thing had found my student after he ejected. I was sure I hadn't seen his shoot, but maybe he'd stayed with the plane longer before ejecting himself.

Maybe this thing had taken the radio from the emergency kid of my student after he'd landed on the ground. Maybe it still had the radio with it and made my way to the radio by my parachute, still scanning around me in case this thing tried to jump me. I knelt down beside it, and momentarily dropped my knife to turn it back on. I clicked the transmit button twice, and my heart sank, as I heard two static clicks come from the receiving end. My student's radio, and whatever was holding it, was right behind me. And it sounded close.

I turned and fired my flare gun directly behind me and screamed when I heard it come into contact with a membrane-covered beast. twice as tall as a normal person. The fiery projectile came into contact with it, and it led out a piercing shriek that drowned out my own yelling. I could have reloaded, but this thing was an arm's length away from me at most, so I charged at it,

with my survival knife stabbing at its wailing head. In the dark I glimpsed sunken red eyes and razor-sharp teeth, and a tongue that moved like a deranged snake. It smacked at me with its clawed hands, but the flare had embedded itself somewhere in the vicinity of the beast's shoulder. Sparks bounded off my flame-retardant flight suit, but the light was so bright I had to look out of the corner of my eye as I planted my knife into the thing's head again and again

before it finally stopped attacking me. Blood was leaking from my torso where this thing had managed to swipe at me, and I felt cold laying upon the sand. I collapsed and passed out without being able to get a good look at it. I woke up in the hospital. Turns out that I was unaccounted for for at least 16 hours, and my emergency beacon had only begun to transmit after I'd killed the creature. I'd been discovered, and the creature's body had been taken off somewhere else.

I can say safely, I and all of you will never see it again. There were men in black suits waiting for me to wake up with questions. I asked them what the creature was, but other than telling me they could not discuss it with me, they appeared like they knew about as much as I did, probably less. They did tell me the official story for my student was that he died in the crash, but they only got away with that because his body was so mangled that he looked like he'd been through a plane crash.

No one ever gave me an explanation for why my plane had malfunctioned so unusually when it did. Now, I think the creature was something to do with it, or maybe it just got lucky that two pilots had ejected over a blank bit of desert that it used to hunt. I still have nightmares of the glimpses I got of the beast, but the most terrifying thing about it was that it spoke in Faith's voice. I've had a bit of time to reflect on why that got under my skin the way it did. Sure, it was unnatural, but the anger it provoked in me was all too real. I wonder how many others it lured into doom by reading their minds.

minds mimicking their loved ones voices. I think I'm going to see a counsellor to try and work through some of these issues that I've got under the surface. Oh, one last thing. I went to my student's funeral and his wife gave a eulogy. As sad as his death was, all I could imagine was how horrible it was that the last thing he'd heard was his wife's sweet voice, coming from that monster. The ghosts of Fort Riley.

I completely forgotten about these events until 20 years later I hooked up with my buddy Rob when we found ourselves in the same unit deploying to Afghanistan. Fort Riley in Kansas is home of the famous U.S. Army First Infantry Division is one of the Army's oldest and most haunted posts. I was a member of the Big Red One, the nickname for the First Infantry Division, I served as a member of the division's Air Defense Battalion. We had a live fire exercise coming up. So the day before, we had a two and a half ton truck called a deuce and a half, loaded with thousands of 20mm ammunition rounds for our M163 Vulcan tracks, which we would fire a remote-controlled drones the next day.

The truck with the ammunition was parted in what was called an ammunition staging area, or ASA, located somewhere deep in the forest. The ammunition needed to be guarded at all times prior to the unit picking it up and transporting it to the fire. firing point, and me and my battle buddies Jerry and Rob were detailed to be the nightguards. We were all just privates at the time, and we dutifully piled in the back of an HMMWV, along with our sleeping gear, flashlights, books, and anything else we thought we needed to pass the time, along with jugs of water, a case of MREs, and a cooler of ice drinks. We were also armed with two hardwood batons, about three feet long, just in case. The driver of the HMWV was the sergeant of the guard named Sergeant Herring.

He was a short man who was overweight, had a shape, and had the reputation of being lazy and not a particularly effective squad leader. Sergeant Herring drove us down the hardball road out behind the battalion motor pool, which turned off onto the tank trails, which led to firing ranges and maneuver training areas where battalions of First Infantry Division tanks and armored fighting vehicles, regularly conducted war game exercises. We bounced around in the back for a few miles over meandering fields and low wooded hills

before Sergeant Herring turned off the main tank trail to follow a smaller dirt track which led deeper into the forest. It was four in the afternoon and the three of us stuck in the back of the bouncing cargo compartment of the HMWV said nothing while we tried to get comfortable and catch a nap. Sergeant Herring turned around. backtrack took different trails and then back again obviously lost finally however he found the trail that he needed to take which led us down into a shallow valley he was flooring the hm m w v down the winding trail which was only wide enough to allow one vehicle which jostled us around even more in the back recklessly sergeant herring followed the dirt trail up a slight incline which led to another hardball road The incline led to a low plateau

With a square compound built on it The compound was simply a concrete parking lot About a quarter mile square Surrounded by two chain-linked fences Topped with razor wire Parked in the center of the parking lot underneath the lights Was a deuce and a half-truck With the ammunition

Two one-story shacks were built outside the fence Next to the gate Which led into the fenced-in parking lot And Sergeant Herring parked the HMW next to the smaller of the two shacks. Get your gear and get the hell out, yelled Sergeant Herring from the driver's compartment. This is going to be home until we're relieved tomorrow.

Me, Rob and Jerry jumped out of the back of the HMWV and gathered our gear. The door to the small shack opened, another squad leader, a lean, good-natured Staff Sergeant with a handlebarmer staff named Staff Sergeant Sleet, came out saying, You're late, Sergeant Herring. It's almost 1800 hours. My guys are going to miss dinner, chow at the mess hall. Did you get lost again?

No, I did not get lost, said Sergeant Herring, offended. But we just smiled and nodded at Staff Sergeant Sleet behind Herring's back. Three other soldiers emerged from the larger shack, which turned out to be the Guard Shack. They were friends of ours from Staff Sergeant Sleet squad who'd had the day shift guard duty. We exchanged greetings as they piled into the HMMWV to go back to the main post at Fort Riley. Their duty day completed. Staff Sergeant Sleet climbed into the driver's seat and said, Hey, Sergeant Herring,

First platoon will be coming to relieve you at 0800 tomorrow. They'll be bringing out hot chow for breakfast. Staff Sergeant Slate then yelled back at his team. Hey guys, we weren't going to make the chow time tonight, so pizzas are me. Sergeant Herring outlast again. The soldiers in the back of the HMMWV laughed as staff Sergeant Sleep pulled away from the compound. As they turned on to the dirt trail,

my buddy Paul, who was sitting in the back of the HMWV, suddenly yelled to me, Rob and Jerry. Hey, watch out for ghosts. They say this SAA is haughty. We stood there watching the vehicle disappear, and I turned to Sergeant Herring and said, What did he mean by this ASA is haunted? Ah, nothing, it's nothing, replied Sergeant Herring, sounding angry and flustered.

Sergeant Herring pointed at the largest shack and said, Throw your gear in there. That's where you three will be spent in the night. You'll each be doing roving patrols around the perimeter of the fence in one-hour shifts. You, Sergeant Herring pointed at me. I saw how you laugh when sleet said I got lost. You pull first, go. guard rotation. Get out of it. Do we have radios? I asked. You know, in case of ghosts.

Knock it off, said Herring. We don't need calm because there's no such thing as ghosts. In other words, Sergeant Herring had forgotten to bring the radios, meaning we had no communication between the ASA and our headquarters if something unexpected should occur way out the hair in the middle of nowhere. Herring gathered his gear, including a small portable television, a cooler, and a mini-grill and stomped off towards a smaller guard shack that was meant for the sergeant of the guard, and had electricity and air conditioning. Jerry and Rob took out gear and walked towards the guard shack, while I secured one of the wooden batons and began my patrol around the perimeter fence. Each side of the fence was a quarter-mile

long, and a small path circled the outside of the fence locked. The guard shacks were located on the eastern inside of the fence. The north and south sides were clear of foliage and the plateau dipped steadily about 10 to 20 feet down towards the forest. On the west side, however, the forest grew right up to the fence line. I began walking around the perimeter, enjoying the sounds of nature, the cool breeze and the crimson skies, the sun slowly set in the west. When I turned the corner to walk the western side of the fence, however, the tree seemed to swallow all light, and it felt colder, although there was no breeze. Also, there didn't seem to be any animal noises, such as birds chirping. I completed that quarter-mile stretch, and when I emerged on the north side of the fence,

the bird's chirping noise returned. I completed the circuit about four times before my hour was up, and I returned to the guard shack where Jerry was getting ready for his shift. I didn't say anything about how weird I'd felt walking the quarter-mile section of the western perimeter and just rolled out my sleeping bag on the bare concrete floor. Heated up an MRE meal of tuna with noodles and washed it down with an iced soda from the cooler while talking with Rob about when he was going to get up with that exotic dancer from Tiger Island in Junction City. An hour later, Jerry had completed his shift and Rob left to take his turn.

It was getting darker, and there was no electricity in our guard check, so Jerry and I just sat around eating snacks, or Jerry bugged me about when I was going to get up with that exotic dancer at Tiger Island in Junction City. At 9pm, Robert completed his shift, and I got up to begin my second guard rotation. Rob handed me the baton and a flashlight. Here, he said, you'll need this. Hey, thanks, I said.

Then I noticed that Rob seemed a bit nervous. You all right, man? I asked. Yeah, answered Rob. It's just that the flashlight seems to go dim on the western perimeter, where the woods go all the way up to the fence. Probably just because of the trees. Yeah, probably, I said. Maybe it's ghosts.

I stepped outside of the shack and breathed in the woods. warm night air, grateful for the breeze. The moon was out and full, which bathed everything in a soft light. The lights inside the ASA were lit and shone brightly down on the ammunition truck. Lights were also on in Sergeant Herring shack, although he'd pulled down the blinds. God, even at this distance I could hear the sounds of a porn movie being played on his television. I shuddered and hoped he'd also locked the door. The prumental light. lights were on and shining brightly on the north, south and east sides of the fence, but for some reason the lights on the west side had failed to come on. When I turned the corner of the western

perimeter, everything seemed to go pitch black. I could clearly see all sides of it, but the western side of the perimeter was totally dark, even with the moon fully shining. I turned on the flashlight that Roy had given me. Sure enough, it was weak, as if low on battery. The fence was on my right and the forest was to my left as I walked that portion of the perimeter. The flashlight barely illuminated the path and trees five feet in front of me, and the whole time I felt as if I were being watched by something. I cursed at Paul for putting the thought in my head that this place was haunted and secretly hoped that he caught an STT from that exotic dancer from Tiger Island.

The quarter-mile walk from the dark western perimeter seemed to take hours, but eventually I made it to the corner where the forest was no longer at the fence line, and the perimeter lights worked. The sun shone brightly in the sky, and for some reason my flashlight shone a powerful beam of light again. Curious, I turned around and walked back the way I'd come, and my flashlight dimmed like before. Stupid flashlight.

I completed my four circuits around the perimeter fence, northeast, south, and then west. but always dreading that west side. As I said earlier, it felt as if someone or something was watching me from somewhere inside the inky black void at the forest. At 10pm my shift was up and Jerry met me at the shack, ready to take his turn as the roving guard. The sound of that porn movie was still coming from Sergeant Herring's shack,

and Jerry rolled his eyes and shook his head. "'Ham, three hours straight,' he said, and we both laughed. I handed Jerry the baton and told him about the flashlight issue, but didn't mention how creeped out I'd felt walking the western perimeter. Jerry thanked me, warned me that the MRE chili mac that Rob ate for dinner was causing him to pass gas in his sleep, then put on headphones before beginning his guard ship. I walked into the now-pitched black guard shack, I felt my way to my sleeping bag

Although I thought I was too Wired up to sleep I quickly did so I woke up at 11pm when Jerry's shift was over Listening to Rob Tell Jerry that the MRE tuna with noodles That I'd had for dinner was making me pass gas in my sleep It was dark inside the shack

Save for the moonlight streaming in from the windows An open door Jerry responded but sounded rather worried scared even jerry mentioned hearing something on the western side of the fence but he couldn't make it out he said it sounded like horses and the thunder of hoogs but it sounded faint feeling somewhat vindicated i said to rob as he left for his patrol don't let the ghost get you midnight came quickly and i was pulling on my boots to begin my shift of course i would get the midnight shift i met robert the front of the night shift i met robert the front of the first i met robert the first front of the shack and perhaps it was a trick of the light for the moon, but at that moment Rob was the whitest black guy I'd ever seen. He didn't look at me, but he kept staring out at the western perimeter. Man, there is definitely something out there, Rob said. Every time I wore that part of the fence, the flashlight got dim and I kept hearing something. Something, I said.

Well, I haven't heard anything. you will said Rob sounds like I don't know like horses and and yelling but really faint just like Jerry said go get some sleep man I said as I nervously took the baton

and the flashlight from Rob I'll take care of Casper for you have to warn you though that he might want to keep the window open that MRI spaghetti and meatballs that Jerry had for dinner is making him pass gas in his sleep So now it was my turn, and it was midnight.

Admittedly, with some trepidation, I walked the south perimeter fence and turned to walk the western side. Once again, as soon as I turned the corner, my flashlight dimmed as I walked that dark quarter-mile corridor. I felt as if I was not even there, as if I was somewhere outside myself and I was watching me walking underwater. Yes, it felt as if I were underwater. as it had grown cold in the air thick and hard to breathe.

A mist had also risen up, further obscuring what little I could see ahead of me. The lights indicating the north perimeter seemed miles away. Then, about halfway down the western perimeter fence, I heard something off to my left, coming deep from within the forest. It sounded like horses galloping back and forth. It was faint, but it was definitely there. There was also something else.

It was a feeling somewhat akin to panic, but it wasn't something I was feeling. It was like I knew there was panic, but it wasn't coming from me. I completed my first circuit around the fence and almost eagerly walked at a quick pace to get to the western side. Once again, the warm night air was replaced by an almost graveyard-like cold and mist. About the same spot, I could hear it again. the sounds drifting in from somewhere in the dark forest of horses running. But this time it seemed closer than before. The sounds more distinct.

Also, I could hear some of the horses whinnying as if they were in pain. I tried to shake it off, still arguing with myself that this was just my imagination. The thought of horses in pain suddenly made me feel sad. I'm sorry, I got you into this boy. We've been through a lot together. I'm sorry, boy. They ain't taken any prisoners. I ran to the lights, marking the North Perenter. What was that? What was it I'd just felt? It was sadness, but it wasn't mine.

What was going on? I looked at my watch under the lights. My shift was almost over, but how? I mean, it usually took me four circuits around the perimeter, but I'd barely gone too. I completed my circuit and walked past Sergeant Herring Shack. Five hours of Washington, Paul? Really Sergeant Herring? And headed towards our guard shack. Jerry was already waiting for me to get back so he could start his shift.

Anything new and exciting? Jerry asked. You'll see, I answered. What does that mean? Jerry asked, taking the baton and the flashlight from me. Did you hear something out on the western side? where the forest comes up to the fence. I don't know, I answered. Maybe, but just be careful. I was sitting up on my sleeping bag,

leaning my back against the concrete wall and trying to figure out what I just experienced. Sadness, regret, but they weren't my feelings or my memories. I heard horses whinning in pain, but I also swear that I heard human voices as well. About 20 minutes later, I heard a pounding on Sergeant Herring's shack.

Rob and I got up and opened the door to see Jerry pounding on the door to Sergeant Herring shack and yelling, What's out there, Sergeant? You know what's out there. What is it? Sergeant Herring never opened the door. Instead, he yelled from inside his shack. You just shut your mouth, private, and do what you're told to do. Stop asking me stupid questions and get back out there, or I will write you up. Rob and I joined Jerry outside of Sergeant Herring Shack, and I said, Sergeant, it's me, Private Fox. What's out there, look? What are we dealing with? Sergeant Herring cursed from behind the door.

Oh, it's Private Fox. Private question, McQuestion, Barry. I said to stop asking questions. I swear if you don't shut your mouth and carry out your orders, I will write up all of you for insubordination. Now go away. Leave me alone. Sergeant Herring sounded terrified. Out of all the ASAs on this base, they had to put me in charge of this one.

Sergeant Herring complained. You'll all be fine. When it gets lighter, I'll show you. Show us what, Sergeant? I asked. I said, you'll be fine, screamed Sergeant Herring, as he finally shut off his porn movies and everything went dark inside his shack. now go away leave me alone rob and i offered to go with jerry to finish his shift but jerry declined that's fine jerry said i got this

at this point i could tell that jerry was more disgusted with sergeant herring than he was afraid of whatever was on the western perimeter at two a m jerry's shift was over and rob got up to take his place jerry didn't say anything where he got back to our shack I simply shook his head as Rob went out the door. I'm not sleepy, I said. You want me to come with you? I'm good, answered Rob as he took the baton and the flashlight from Jerry and disappeared out of the door. Jerry rolled into his sleeping bag, lost in thought. Although we were all experiencing the same phenomenon,

I want to talk about it. We were soldiers with a job to do, and we would do what was required of us. There'd be plenty of people. time to sort out what happened later. I couldn't sleep so I went outside to get some fresh air. Loud snoring was coming from Sergeant Herring shack. I looked at the fence line and saw a figure standing under the lights at the south perimeter at the corner. It was Rob. He was standing stark still, staring west into the thick forest. I walked up behind it. I'm at you six, Rob. I said,

so as to not startle him, but he still jumped at the sound of my voice. Why are you doing here? he said. You still got another 30 minutes before you have to be on shift. I can't sleep, I answered. I can't move, said Rob. I can't bring myself to turn this corner and walk down that path. Come on, I said, leading the way. I'll go with you.

As soon as we turned that corner, the flashlight went dimming, again, and the mist seemed to be chest high now. The temperature seemed to be dropping the further we went down the fence line, until, again, near the middle of that part of the fence, my fingers began to feel numb from the cold, as if I'd been submerged in ice. Stop, stop, stop, whispered Rob. He shone the flashlight into the prevailing darkness, but it barely illuminated the trees, which seemed to reach out at us.

do you hear it i nodded this time the sound was unmistakable somewhere out in the distance of that solid black forest a battle was taking place the thunder of horses hooves the yelling of men the battle cries of native americans the screams of the dying

it was all there just beyond the reach of the pathetic illumination from our flashlight had an overwhelming sadness come over me somewhere brave men and horses were fighting and dying somewhere out there then it was gone rob's flashlight shone in full brilliance illuminating the surrounding woods the mist was gone as if it had never been there and the cold air was replaced by a cool early morning breeze i also realized that it had become easier to breathe again and that the heaviness seemed to have been lifted Rob and I looked at each other.

The sadness also seeming to have vanished. We simply shrug. I did my 3am guard shift around the perimeter, but nothing unusual happened, nor did anything unusual happen on either of Jerry or Rob subsequent shifts. As promised at 0,800 in the morning, first platoon arrived with hot breakfast chowl and time to take possession of the deuce and a half-truck

and all of the 20-millimeter ammunition. The sun was rising in the climate. cloudless blue sky, and it promised to be a great day of shooting our Vulcan cannons. Sergeant Herring finally opened the door to his shack, appearing to be nicely rested, and helped himself to the lion's portion of the breakfast chow while complaining to the first platoon leader about how he doesn't get this new generation of lazy young soldiers.

In fact, Sergeant Herring helped himself to so much breakfast chow that Jerry Rob and I had to content ourselves with hot coffee and dry cereal, eager to get out of it. the ASA, Sergeant Herring yelled at us to get our gear and get in the back of the HMWV. Jerry Rob and I just stared at him. Sergeant, I said. Last night you said you'd show us what was out there when it became like. Show you?

Show you what? Stuttered Sergeant Herring. I didn't say I was going to show you anything. Sergeant, said Jerry. you told us you'd show us what was out there in those woods. Sergeant Herring cursed again. Private, I am ordering you two.

Hey, isn't there a grave around here? Interrupted Lieutenant Cook, the first big platoon leader with the Ranger Tam. You know, Fort Riley used to be a horse cavalry post. Maybe a good learning moment to take these young soldiers to see the history of this place. Don't you agree, Sergeant Herring? Yes, sir, gulped Sergeant Herring. Do you know where those graves are located, Sergeant Herring? Asked Lieutenant Cook.

Yes, squeaked Sergeant Herring. Well, take us there, Sergeant, smiled Lieutenant Cook. I'd like to see it. Visibly pale Sergeant Herring led us, Lieutenant Cook, and about 15 other soldiers from First Platoon out to the back of the ASE, where the woods reached the western part of the perimeter. About midway was a small trail which led down off the plateau and into the woods.

So small and narrow that one would easily overlook it unless they knew exactly where to find it. In the darkness, Jerry Robbenai completely missed seeing it. The trail wound between thick trees and clinging vines as it descended deeper into the valley for about 150 metres before emerging into a clearing about 25 foot square.

There, in the middle of the leaf-strewn clearing, the true grave markers, each topped with the brass image of a horse. The names on the plaques had faded, so I couldn't read what was inscribed on them. The morning sun shone down through the trees upon this quiet and solemn place. Sir, said Sergeant Herring, buried here at two horses from General Castor's cavalry troop. They were killed at the Battle of Little Big Horn and brought back to Fort Riley to be laid to rest. and there he has it Sergeant Herring had given us the answer to our mystery

None of us ever talked about what happened during our guard duty that night As a soldier you learn to accept things as they are Whether they be normal or paranormal So long as nothing gets in the way of accomplishing the mission It's just something that happens which soldiers have to adjust to Performing our duty Army scout hunted by Bigfoot

and vice versa. Looking back at almost 30 years of service as a soldier in the US Army, I can comfortably say that it was an honour and a privilege to serve such a great and remarkable country. During my time I managed to acquire several combat military occupational specialties, or MOS to include Vulcan gunner, Stinger gunner, artillery gunner and combat infantrymen. My favourite MOS, however, definitely has to be,

cavalry scout. As the name implies, an army cavalry scout is the eyes and ears of the maneuvering combat battalion. We usually operate alone and far ahead of the main combat force, oftentimes behind enemy lines.

Using stealth and silence, we locate enemy positions, determine where they've laid their minds, locate their barriers and ambush positions, and find ways to outflank their defensive positions. To be a scout, you have to be able to act independently and confidently, because more often than not, army scouts will usually be outnumbered and

surrounded. Conducting reconnaissance behind enemy lines is not a job for everybody, but if you're daring and crazy enough, it's a job that a select few would really enjoy. But one skill that an army scout needs, above all else, is the ability to read a map. Determine your coordinates on the ground and have the ability to navigate stealthily to your objective. A scout is virtually, useless if you cannot read a map and ends up getting lost. As such, a large part of a scout's treading consists of land navigation in all terrains, weather conditions and environments which include forests, dense woodland, deserts and swamps. While I was training to be a scout, our class was dropped out in the middle of a dense forest

somewhere in Pennsylvania at 11 o'clock at night. It was a cool November evening and the only illumination came from the full moon which shone brightly in the sky. There were 16 of us who'd advance to this phase of training, including one guy who was a former US Navy SEAL. We were each given a map, a compass, a red lens flashlight, water, night vision goggles, NVGs, and four hours to find at least four out of five points located on the map. Each point we had to find was located somewhere inside the black forest that surrounded us. Our point consisted of nothing more than a wooden pole sticking out of the ground with an ammunition can at the base. Inside the ammunition

can was a description of an enemy position. For example, the description might read, enemy machine gun position facing north. The scout would then have to write down something like at Vizinity Grid AA-1234-6-7-890. There is an enemy machine-gun position facing north. besides the darkness there were several other factors working against us for one some of the points were located relatively close together separated by about twenty metres or so and this meant that the scout had to track precisely to the correct point or else risk navigating to the wrong point also all sixteen of us were given different points to navigate to so there would be absolutely no helping each other this was strictly an individual training event and it was timed. Anyone who failed to successfully find their four out of five points in the designated time would have to come back tomorrow evening and try again.

And finally, we were told that there were several enemy soldiers out there somewhere in the forest who would be hunting us. If one of them caught us, we would be brought back to the start point and have to do it all over again. The land navigation was a densely forested area, roughly ten square miles and was criss-crossed with streams which we would have to navigate in the dark. A dirt road surrounded the entire area, and if a scout came to a dirt road, he knew he'd reached a boundary. Also, if a scout became completely lost in the dark, he was to make his way to a dirt road and wait for pickup,

and the joking and insults which were sure to follow. An instructor gave me a list of five points, and I went to the front of the HMM-WV and used the hood as a makeshift table. Using my red lens flashlight, I plotted all five points on my map. This was perhaps the most important part of the process because if a scout plotted his points incorrectly on the map, he would never find his points, especially in a pitch black forest. After double and triple checking that I had exactly corrected my plotted points, they studied the map to see what terrain I could expect. Two of my points were located on small ones. hilltops. Two were located in a valley which would require me to cross two streams and one was

located near the boundary next to the dirt road. That last point was farthest out but also the easiest to find. All my five points were located in an area roughly three miles square. My plan was to find that last point first, then work my way back to the start point. The only variable that I could not control were the enemy soldiers who'd be hunting us. After assuring that my NVGs operated correctly, I secured it on my forehead. Satisfied that I had all my gear secured to make as little noise as possible, I stepped off of the dirt road and plunged down to the black forest. Immediately, unseen branches like skeletal fingers reached out from the darkness to scratch my face and hands.

I was only 20 metres inside the woodline, but already the sounds and activities behind. me had all but disappeared. I slowly knelt, closing my eyes and letting my ears see into the darkness. To my left, about ten metres away, one of my fellow scouts was also moving through the forest to find his points. Further ahead of me, I could hear movements somewhere in the forest, a skittering noise running through the undergrowth, perhaps a raccoon or some other rodent. The fallen leaves on the ground crunching underfoot would give away our movement,

We'd have to be extra careful and stealthy to avoid attracting attention. I got up and continued walking towards my first point, counting my steps so that I could judge how far I'd travelled and keeping my eyes on my compass to ensure that I was heading in the correct direction. I was suffering from tunnel vision, as I could only see what was directly in front of me. I had almost no peripheral vision because of my NVGs. The terrain was steadily sloping downwards as I descended into the,

valley. Occasionally I would stop and kneel to scan my surroundings to see if I was being followed. So far, however, it was all quiet. It appeared that I was alone on this stretch of forest. At the bottom of the valley, the ground became muddy, and at one point I sank to the top of my boots in cold mud. A stream about eight feet wide crossed in front of me. I debated on whether to cross the stream or find a way around it. Farther upstream by a few hundred hundred, meters, I heard a loud splash, followed by a soldier yelling, oh, son, I'll live up. Well, I chuckled to myself and silently climbed down into the stream. Looking left and right to ensure I wasn't spotted, I climbed over a few fallen tree branches and waded into the water. It was ice cold and came up to

my knees, but at least the running water was washing the mud off my boots. Upon reaching the other side, I climbed up the muddy shore on the opposite back. Stopping briefly to make sure that I was undetected, I hauled myself up on an embankment and wet, cold and muddy continued up the slope of the valley. Fortunately, since it was November, mosquitoes or any other buzzing insects were a minor annoyance. However, as I walked up that slope, I slowly began to realize that I hadn't heard any buzzing insect noises at all. If you've done this job long, enough, you begin to develop what I call a warning radar, a sense that there's something just not right with your surroundings. You learn to trust your warning radar, and I could swear that I was

being watched. This annoyed me more than anything because I was the one who did the stalking. I did not like being stalked. At the top of the slope, I got on the ground and scanned the area again. Yep, where he was. About 50 metres to my right front, crouching behind a stand of trees was an enemy soldier. He was looking away from me,

probably trying to stalk the other soldier who'd yelled when he fell into the stream. Night sound carries further, so I very slowly crawl back down the slope and walked another 50 metres away from the enemy soldier and climb the slope again. Scalling the area around me, I found that the path ahead was clear.

I pulled out a poncho from a small pack on my back and covered myself with it. Pulling out my map and my flashlight, I determined how far off course I'd gone and adjusted my heading and pace count. Satisfied that I was still heading in the right direction, I put the poncho away, slowly stood up to proceed ahead. Suddenly, far off to my left, I heard the enemy soldier yell. You've been catched, Scout. return to the start point and restart your mission.

I chuckled again when I heard the voice of the scout who'd fallen into the stream yell. Oh, son of up! I continued walking through the forest and the trees eventually thinned out. I stopped again and took a knee behind a fallen tree, listening. My internal warning radar was giving me the all clear. I closed my eyes and let my ears see for me again. ahead of me I could hear the low rumbling of an HMMWV Just as I calculated the dirt road marking the perimeter was about 200 metres ahead of me

I waited until the sound of the HMMWV had passed by Then I made my way to the road stopping just inside the woodline I looked right sure enough only 20 feet away just off the road was my first point cautiously approached the wooden pole and grabbed the ammunition can and took it back into the tree line. I crept open the ammunition can and the noise of the metal can opening seemed to scream in the dark. I cursed but apparently nobody heard the noise. Covering myself again with the poncho, I took out my flashlight and copied down what was written on the enemy description in the can. At vicinity grid, PB 3354459 is an enemy patrol near the road

I put the ammunition can back at the point and walked back into the forest An hour and a half had passed and I found my first point I had another two and a half hours to find at least three more points But those would go quicker My next two points were south of me Almost in a straight line on the slopes of a hill Although it would have been easier to walk along the crest of the hill to get to my next point, I didn't want to risk being silhouetted by the moon,

so I stayed below the crest of the hill where the trees were thicker, but the movement was slower. I paralleled to the top of the hill for about 300 metres until I came to the spot where my second point should be. Low crawling to the top of the hill, I scanned around with the NVGs. I was off by about 50 feet, but there, There was my second point sticking straight up in the middle of a clearing. I was about to get up and approach the point when my warning radar went off inside my head. I was not alone. I knelt back down and scanned the forest area surrounding the clearing again.

Faint scent of feces like cow dung wafted across the clearing. There! Seventy-five meters at my one o'clock, a figure looking like you're looking like you're going to be. was wearing a sniper's gilly suit was peering out of the forest it wasn't one of my fellow scouts because we didn't have the gilly suit camouflage so it must have been one of the enemy soldiers boy did he stink he hated to think what he'd fallen into unfortunately he wasn't looking in my direction i observed him for a few ten seconds then he stood up and turned to leave wow that guy was huge I waited a few more seconds until I couldn't smell him anymore,

then I entered the clearing to retrieve the ammunition can. The vicinity grid PB 3-0-09-6687 is an enemy anti-tank emplacement at the top of the hill. I came off the top of the hill, grateful to be back inside the thick tree line, but the leaves crunching under my boots sounded like the roar of jets in that dark and lonely forest. every crunching seemed to shout Hey there's a scout right here Crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch I stopped suddenly and slowly got down on my belly

The footsteps were behind me Approaching my position I Stinky enemy soldier in the gilly suit was stalking me He must have been beyond 75 metres from me Because I didn't smell him If I'd had the time time I would have evaded around him, but another 30 minutes had passed and I needed to get to

my third point. I needed to get to where the trees weren't so thick, so I made my way back up the slope, was able to fast walk and jog across the crest of the hill for about a quarter mile. The bad part was that because I'd chosen to go back up the slope, the full moon had illuminated me that whole time. Also, my pace count was off, although I knew that I was still headed generally in the right direction to my third point. I ran down the slope and back into the wood line again, stopping to see if stinky enemy soldier in the gilly suit would follow me. I was satisfied that I lost him, I began searching the area for my third point. Because I'd made a detour at the slope and had lost my pace count, I was not as accurate in positioning myself

close to the third point. I just knew it was around here somewhere, here in a 50-meter radius. The bad thing about NVGs is that, while it gives the wearer an amazing ability to see in the dark, it also severely limits the wearer's depth perception. I found the point literally by accident when I inadvertently kicked over the ammunition camp. The loud clang echoed in the night, I shook my head, cursing my bad, good luck. Pulling out my flashlight again, I copied down the enemy description that was inside of the ammunition camp. The vicinity grid PB 288-3-4-7-5 is an enemy command post. I returned the ammunition camp back to the point. I was turning to go to my fourth bite when I could make out the faint smell of cow dung again.

Ah, man, enemy stinky soldier in the gilly suit. Sure was fast for a big guy as well as being persistent. It was almost 2 in the morning now, which meant that I had a little over an hour to find my fourth point. If I had any time left, I'd look for the fifth point, which was only a quarter mile from the start point. I turned due south and headed back down into the valley. The whole time my warning radar was going off in my head. Sometimes I thought I could smell the cow dung. I secretly wished that stinky guy stalking me would fall into the stream. The trees were much thicker towards the base of the valley where the stream ran, so it was

much darker with very little moonlight shining through, but it was still pleasantly cool, although I was hot and sweaty by this time. I calculated that I was at the bend in the stream, about 500 meters away from where I'd first crossed it. This fourth point was weird because it looked to be directly in the stream on my map, meaning it could be either on the bank or in the stream. I wasn't looking forward to searching both sides of the stream, but I didn't have much choice. I knew that my fourth point was here somewhere close by. I silently searched my side of the muddy stream, first for about 50 metres. The rippling of the waters masked any noise I made,

but it also masked the noise of any approaching bad guys as well. Finding nothing on my side of the stream, and once again climbed down an embankment and waded across the icy cold water to the other side and began my search again. I searched for another 50 metres and still saw nothing except mud and fallen trees. I was beginning to doubt that I'd plotted this point correctly, when I looked at the stream again and noticed something I hadn't seen before.

In the middle of the stream was a narrow dry spot of land like a miniature four-foot square island. In the middle of this little island was my fourth point. I waited back into the water, and after I covered myself with my poncho, I quickly opened the ammunition can. A vicinity grid PA, 0095-824, is an enemy submarine base. Really, I thought. A submarine base?

Whatever. I closed the ammunition can and set it back down and the smell of cow dung seemed to hit me like the heat you feel when you open a hot stove. I cursed. even though I'd found the necessary points that I needed I still had to get back to the start point without being caught

or else I'd have to do this all over again how did stinky guy keep finding me very slowly I knelt down on the island and crawled backwards into the freezing water that smell was all around me and there was a noise like branches breaking on the bank followed by splashing sounds only 50 metres to my left The moon shone down at the place where there was a bend in the stream and outlined it was a big, big, stinky enemy soldier guy.

Most of my body was submerged in the water, with my upper body hugging that little strip of island in the middle of the stream. I looked up at the guy who was 50 metres away from me, and I got. Dad, at first thought, was a gilly suit. was actually fur. It was a good seven and a half to eight feet tall. Had a gorilla-like face and was covered with dark, thick fur. The creature stood in the middle of the stream, looking around and seeming to sniff at the air,

I thought, I'm being storked by a Sasquatch foot, or whatever the heck they're called. But since I know where you are and you don't know where I am. I guess I'm stalking you now. I began wondering if I'd actually packed more beefsticks in my pack since I saw a commercial once on television where the Squatchfoot things seemed to like beefsticks.

All of a sudden, in the distance came the blaring of multiple horns, which seemed to echo all around the valley. I cursed again. It was a warning signal that all scouts had 30 minutes to finish finding their points and returned at the start line. And by this point I was more annoyed than I was frightened. I was wet, cold, irritated and muddy. Fortunately, I'd wrap my waterproof notebook with all my plot points inside of my waterproof poncho

and kept it on the small island and out of the water. But still I only had 30 minutes to make it back to the start line. But tall, dark and stinky was standing in the middle of the stream, looking around him like a lost grandpa at the mall. Oh, that big hairy McDingleberry was going to cost me getting my recon scout qualification. It seemed like I lay there for hours, but in reality it was probably only a few seconds. After the horn started blaring, big stinky seemed to land at a huff and ran back up the embankment from which he'd emerged. I waited for the smell to dissipate before hauling myself out of the stream and double-timed it back to the start-points.

Although as the last scout to return to the start point, I was feeling pretty good when our trucks brought us back to the barracks. Two scouts had got lost and had to be picked up by the side of the road, and two other scouts fell to find four of their five points. These guys would have to try again tomorrow night. Well, only one guy, the foreman Navy SEAL, found all five of his points. And, well, although I only found just a man. enough points to pass the course.

And it also stalk of Bigfoot. How many other cavalry scouts can say that? And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favour of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review

as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.