Stories
Horror at Sunrise
We took the new Rat Mass, our freshmen, to House Mountain each Fall. I was in on the initial planning of the first mission. A few members of the Commandant's Staff and I climbed to the top to find a good place to overlook the Valley.
The mission was a complicated muscle movement - The Advanced Party set up the Start Point, moved water and medics to the Saddle, and prepared for the busses. Companies moved by bus to the start point and sent the bus back to shuttle the next company from VMI Post. Companies departed at intervals.
I usually controlled the Dog Leg, a trail running off to the right, going out to the overlook. I helped Mitch control the flow so that only one company was at the top. Each Cadet Company Commander gave their company a rousing speech while they looked out over the Shenandoah Valley, using the climb as a metaphor for the struggle to graduate VMI.
Each year, I walked up in the dark, checking the trail for hazards, getting to the top well ahead of the first company. Once there, I changed my t-shirt, pulled out my poncho liner, got comfortable, and closed my eyes. Nap Time. Mitch would wake me with a radio call once the first company arrived at the Saddle.
One year, I was fast asleep when I heard a sound next to my right side. When I opened my eyes, I was face-to-face with SATAN! His bulging black eyes, a long gray goatee, foul breath, wicked teeth, pointed ears, and horns were no more than an inch from my face.
I did a combat roll to my left, sprung to my feet, assumed a fighting stance, and drew my knife.
Satan turned out to be a little goat about the size of a Scottish terrier, wearing a red collar. He was adorable. The expression on his little face looked like astonishment, no fear, just unbelieving astonishment. He let out a little bleat that I took to say, "friend." Maybe it was a question, "Hey, bud, got any snacks?"
I had heard stories of the "House Mountain Goat" from cadets who had seen him, but in all my years on the mountain, I never had.
Laughing and taking a few deep breaths to calm down, I spoke softly to the little guy. I opened my pack and, as an apology, I shared my breakfast with him. We feasted on apples, breakfast bars, and a bagel with cream cheese that I had carried to the top. After I ran out of food, he trailed every company to the overlook, mooching off them as they went.
He met me at the top for the next two years. I would always bring him a feast of apples, granola bars, and carrots.
He stopped coming.
As we added younger members to the staff, I ran the start point and let others climb. As the cadets returned from the top, I always asked if anyone had seen the goat, but no one had.
When I think about that day, I am still amazed at how quickly I moved that morning, like the paratrooper I once was, and how a little goat made me scream like a little girl.
