Many, many, many moons ago, as a lean and mean
U.S. Army soldier in West Germany, I was a running machine. Never super
muscular in the arms, chest, and shoulders, my strength was in my legs. I have always thanked God for my ability to
run and jog miles at a time. It's an indispensable asset for the American foot
soldier to be able to continue and complete the mission. Regardless of my
airborne training, it is said that we are all “Legs” (foot soldiers, or
Infantrymen) once we hit the ground.
Follow me, Infantry!
There were plenty of well-built and
muscular soldiers who could rip my head off if it came down to it, yet the
leg strength often surpassed any skills they had over me. You have to get to
the battle in order to fight it. Our 3/36th Infantry unit in Hessen,
(then West) Germany, marched and maneuvered and ran more, in my humble opinion,
than any other unit on our post.
I didn't hate it, which is
monumentally important.
On my best days as a distance running
U.S. Army soldier, I place 2nd in a 10 km (6.2 miles) road race out of 200, in
our 3rd Armored Division run. There were 18,500 eligible soldiers that could
have run that road and cross country race. A combat cross country race, in full
gear and carrying weapon, had me place 7th of 200, out of 50,000 soldiers
eligible. In 1987, I ran a 2:57 marathon in Frankfurt. 26.2 miles. Wunderbar!
God blessed me with a few good races.
I was good but never, ever great. I
never won the big race, as I was very kind and left that to others, Ha ha.
It is a West German autumn, CK.
The yellow mustard fields, in their perfectly placed scattering, are a sight to
be seen. Magnificent against the greens and browns of a tract of pine forest,
against the green of cornfields, and of farm houses, barns, out buildings, and
tractors. The feel of the natural expanse was that I wasn't looking at an
American rural vista. This had a foreign country feel to the entire event. And
I was in the republic of West Germany, whose nationhood lasted from 1949-1990.
My late run start, about an hour
before sunset, would hinder my distance options. Off post and kilometers/ miles
away might cause a trouble down the road. I would run with a tee shirt, or
sweat shirt, as needed, running shorts and underwear, socks and running
shoes/sneakers. I’d carry my military ID
in an ankle pouch, and sometimes a water bottle. That was it. Me and my “gear” ready for the West German roads
and countryside. Cold weather clothes were used as needed. I have always run
mileage in any weather, any season, sometimes to my detriment, yet I live to
tell these tales. My running adventures are not yet the end of me. I have yet
to perish.
Well into this routine run, I realized
that I had gone a bit farther than anticipated. That road turn off didn't
produce the farm road I thought I'd hook up with. I can see the hill that my
military post, Ayers Kaserne, is on. (Kaserne
means barracks in German) It's across
the valley from the small hill I am on.
It's getting dark. I have to
pick up the pace. I am staring at a long gradual downgrade descending 400 yards
to a final forest tract, probably 500 yards square. The sun has now set. That
was fast. Can I go around? No. I will not go around the forest. I can surely blast through this darkening
forest, said no one ever.
My senses immediately heightened. My
exit from the increasingly dim and crepuscular farmland and entry into the
gloomy and Stygian forest did not feel good at all. I recalled The Wizard of Oz movie, when Dorothy and
the others approached the scary, haunted forest. The sign read, “I'd turn back if I were you!”
I do believe in spooks. I do believe in spooks.
It was quiet. And dark. I could
feel the packed-down farm road under my Brooks (TM) running shoes.
I had near zero visibility to my left and right. The tall pine trees, with
sparse branching on the lower and middle tree trunks, had a canopy at least 50
feet above that sealed the forest floor from the sunlight and moonlight. Rain
did dampen the forest floor once the green pine canopy had its fill.
I was running slowly and steadily,
waving my hands and arms in front of my face and body. I stopped and looked
behind me. I am only about 100 yards in. I turned to continue a slow,
near-blind jog; picture a blind man running, arms up to protect his head and
upper body. That was me.
I could barely see the opening at the
far end of the woods.
Tenebrous is now the forest. I
can feel a leafy crunch, almost a soft pine needle bed under my feet. No! I am
off the path. I quickly think of the American
Werewolf of London movie. Will some nocturnal and vicious night animal slay
and consume me? Tired of deer and boar hog meat, this Werewolf may rip me
apart, just for fun.
I have found the farm path. Thank you, God.
Now about 250 yards in, about halfway, I can see absolutely nothing. Not my
hand in front of my face. Terrified, I look up and see the slightest gap in the
pine tree canopy. There is a slight difference between the pine canopy and the
hardly visible sky above. Oh, please, stay that way.
The gap directly over the farm path,
where the canopy does not mesh with that of the trees across this narrow farm
road, guides me. Pressing on, I can see that the end of the forest is
getting closer. 150 yards to go. Come on, Rich, we are almost there.....
What? What's that? I hear movement to
my pitch black right. I can hear movements on the branch and twig and pine needle
covered forest floor. I am silent. I am highly alert, yet I see nothing. I must
continue, I must exit the forest. 125 yards to go. The canopy seam does not
close as I use only it to make my escape.
I hear a twig snap, and breathing. Fuck. I hope it's local
American troops on stealthy maneuvers with night vision capabilitites, but I
think not.
I don't hope it’s Soviet Spetznatz or East German Communist
commandos bearing down on me to slit my throat. I hope not.
I hear stealthful movement, not sure
what it is, and entirely terrified by it.
It's either deer, boar hogs, or that ancient
German forest monster raising its massive paw to incapacitate me with one
blow. And I wouldn't even know it. I can hear and sense, yet I cannot
see. I am in their forest. Their home. They see only, when not bedded
down during the day, the occasional human farmer on his tractor, towing produce
to his barnyard area. Maybe the wild German boar hogs and deer may encounter un-occasional
hikers and volksmarchers (German
hiking groups), but never anyone in the nighttime save for a seasoned hunter.
The hunter probably doesn't enter the hidden, veiled, and secret tract of forest.
It is pitch dark as dark can be, under a moonless night.
This is a place where brave men won't
venture. Stupid men, yes. I am that stupid man.
Oh, no! I hear the breathing, and
snorting. There are animals in my perimeter. My perimeter being me, no trip
wire to alert me, no flash light to illuminate the situation, no M-16 rifle to
protect me, no bayonet if it had to come to that. It was me against a very dark
nature. What the hell is near me?
I know they can see and smell me. A
fart or three may have helped the animal to further his disdain for me, me in
his forest, in his home, nervously farting.
Snap! Goes a twig on the forest
ground. I hear ground rustling and a loud snort. Waving my arms around my body,
like a blind insect's feelers and antennae, I touch nothing, then...... Ohhhhhh!
A large animal, probably a deer, bumps my body, not brutally, but rather
definitively. One of my flailing hands touched the back of the deer. A wild boar
hog would have struck me lower, in the legs, to knock me down. The deer were very nearby. I could
figuratively feel them around me. At
times, there was no sound. The birds were quiet. Maybe my presence in their
nocturnal forest caused them into silence. The forest takes care of itself, and
it was its design to take care of me!
At that moment, with no plan, and near
panic, I decided to erupt into a loud U.S. Army cadence. Clapping my hands,
singing to stay alive, trying my best to stay on the path under the thinning forest
canopy opening.
Not only was I dealing with the night, I also had to deal with the creatures of
the night. Isn't that just great?
I was highly alert and supremely attentive as no other thoughts had time to
enter my brain.
My
goal was to alarm the angry deer herd into backing away just a bit, enough to
allow me a noisy and forest tranquility-violating egress.
As I
had to get the hell out of there, I did, most assuredly, un-ass the area of
operations. As in take your body out of the A.O. I sang loudly and purposefully
a strong army cadence and began clapping my hands to give me some room. The
bucks, with their animal night vision, could have sought me out, hunted me
down, gored me with their sharp antlers, blinded me, or trampled me. A deer
stomp with full, downward hooves will be injurious and could be fatal to a
night-blind, unarmed, and ill-equipped runner. I wouldn't have known what hit
me.
So I belted out that U.S. Army
cadence: “C-130 rolling down the strip...64 troopers on a one-way
trip...mission top secret, destination unknown… WE DON’T KNOW IF WE’RE EVER
GOING HOME!...
As I am closer to exiting the dark forest,
I continued singing and clapping the Army cadence. I stopped vocalizing for 10
seconds…I heard nothing, nothing at all except for my heart beating out of my
chest.
Do I have separation from this close-in
threat?
Are the deer letting me run for sport,
as an inhumane human may do to a wounded animal? They know they can catch me,
at my current egress speed of 10 miles an hour. I could not run too fast with
solid trees standing nearby in all directions and near zero visibility. If
I conk myself out by running with speed into a tall German pine, then the deer
and the wild boar hogs, and the critters of the forest may very well eat
me. The greatest fear was being gored and stabbed and speared, in
numerous body places, while in the dark, by a multi-pronged 10-point, mad as
hell West German deer buck. A family of boar hogs would feast off me for a
week. They'll find my sneakers and dog tags in 3 years.
So far, no additional contact from the
large, furry creatures. I was purposely bumped by a deer in the deep, dark West
German forest. No human knew that I was there. Corporal Melnick went for a run,
that's all they'll say. He knows the area well. He was a damn good
soldier. I don't think he would go AWOL, he was just put in for his promotion
to Sergeant, E-5.
I was able to use the new influx of
oxygen into my lungs to help propel me forward, to un-forest me.
70 more yards. I hear rustling and movement now to my distant left. Are the
deer maneuvering to mount a counter-attack?
50-40-30 more yards...
I can fully see the farm land outside
the wood line. I don't care what’s out there. If the West German Werewolf is
out there, in that gloriously beautiful farm field, so be it. At least I'll be
able to SEE the beast that slays me!!
20 yards, 10...
In am finally free of the smothering and
oppressive pine tree canopy. I can see the stars! It is night, with the slightest fading glimmer
of dusk to the west.
I cannot slow down. The two lane
township highway is 300 yards across this magnificent field. I do not
look back, fearful of angry deer charging to spear me, and trample me. The veil of night and the forest’s gloomy
aspect had gotten the better of me back there.
Yet, the darkest German forest in history did not own me, yet it taught
me a very valuable lesson. Don’t’ go in
to the deep, dark German forest alone. Ever.
The deer herd probably vocalized or
snorted to each other, a derisive, “Look at that human run! He won’t be coming
back anytime soon. We really scared the
Hell out of him!”
Richard Melnick.
1987.
Near Kirchgoens, Hesse, West Germany.
Recalled April 23, 2023.
*Regarding the name of a group of deer, besides a herd,
“The other ways to refer to a group of deer
include a bevy, a rangale, a bunch, or a parcel. When using parcel, however,
it’s generally going to refer to a group of only young deer.”
Source: https://a-z-animals.com/blog/what-is-a-group-of-deer-called/
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