Point Man

The morning sun was falling on thick foliage, turning the chilly dampness into steam. Large insects chorused loudly, competing with the bird songs that had been rising since first light. A twig snapped. Beneath the leafy-green canopy a young man in military fatigues stood very still, dark eyes scanning the unbroken terrain around him. He carried a heavy pack on his back, and over his shoulders hung his most important piece of equipment—his M16 rifle. “Your weapon is your girlfriend,” his drill sergeant had told him. “Guard her with your life!” Whether they were marching, sleeping, eating, or using the toilet, their guns were with them.

Private first class José Torres could take that gun apart and put it back together in a minute flat. In the dark. That gun meant protection and success in battle.

José raised his hand, motioning for his fellow marines to move forward. The Marine Corps is a part of the Untied States military that is trained to fight on both land and sea. Their unit had been training in the jungle-like forest of North Carolina for several days already, carrying nothing but their packs and their guns. There were no tents or sleeping bags to shelter in at night. Sometimes they marched through the darkness. When they did stop, the men arranged themselves in a circle, guns pointing out as they would under threat. Each two soldiers aimed their weapons to slightly cross paths in the event of an attack, to leave no open spaces for the enemy to get in. When they did sleep, they had nothing but their military-issue rain ponchos to roll up in. The nights were long, and the sunrise was always a welcome sight.

The lieutenant signaled the men to stop for breakfast. Gratefully they dropped their packs on the leafy ground and pulled off their soggy boots and socks to let their feet air out. This break afforded them the luxury of putting on a clean pair of socks. José pulled out the packages of MRE (Meal Ready to Eat) rations they carried. He took out his small heat tab, then unsnapped his canteen from his belt. Pulling off the canteen cup that fit snugly onto the bottom of his canteen, he tore open the food pouch and poured its contents into the cup. He poured water over it from his canteen and set it on the heat tab. The food wasn’t delicious by any standards, but it tasted great to someone who had been marching through the night.

José rubbed his hands close to the heat tab, stomach growling. He thought about the steaming rice and beans and his favorite tamales his mother had made for him growing up. She had worked hard to support her three children as a single mom in inner-city Los Angeles. It wasn’t easy agreeing to sign him up for military service just shy of 18 years old or to see him fly away to the East Coast. Her beautiful handwritten letters filled with love and courage followed him, reminding him to read his Bible and pray. But José was on a different path now, one that didn’t have room for church or keeping the Sabbath or eating a clean diet. He knew it would break her heart if she knew.

After a hurried breakfast the men packed their stuff into their bags and started out again. He had been on weeks-long marches like this in Saudi Arabia, Korea, Japan, and the Philippines. During serious training times they covered 15 to 20 miles at a time, rain or shine, day or night. Sometimes they stood for hours in the pouring rain, protected by nothing but their parkas. They couldn’t light fires, and there was no place to sit, much less lie down. There were no trails, only the rugged terrain, and the point man—the marine designated to lead the pack.

Beneath the leafy-green canopy a young man in military fatigues stood very still, dark eyes scanning the unbroken terrain around him.

José was point man today. He set the pace and made the trails based on intuition and the direction of the platoon commander, who carried a map and compass. The point man always suffered the hardest part of the journey, such as spiderwebs across his face. He had to keep a sharp eye for poisonous snakes and dangerous drop-offs. Sometimes he would move several paces in one direction, only to have to double back and choose a different route. On one march several men had fallen off a steep bank and broken bones.

Unseen Danger

José broke through the leafy branches and saw an opening ahead that was smooth and sandy. It was a welcome relief from the constant bushwhacking. But as soon has his boots hit the smooth surface, he realized it was a mistake. The ground sagged away underneath him—quicksand! In no time at all, José’s body sank down to his backpack, until it was the only thing keeping him afloat. The pack pushed against the back of his head, forcing his face toward the mud. José handed his weapon to one of his buddies as the men surrounded him, laughing at his predicament. The gun was no use to him in this situation! Fortunately, the soft spot was narrow enough that the other men were able to grab José by the armpits and drag him to safety. The mud that clung to his body from the waist down smelled foul, and he knew he would have to wear it for a long time, as their journey continued with no showers!

After completing his military service, José went through some dark times that threatened to sink him in sin. But in time his mother’s prayers were answered, and he discovered Jesus as his Point Man. “Jesus walked this way before me,” he realized. “Jesus took all the scratchy brush in the face, stumbled over the roots in the ground, and made a trail safe from treacherous precipices. Jesus still forges ahead, and as long as I follow Him the nights will pass and the morning will dawn. I may fall sometimes, even get stuck in the mud. But Jesus doesn’t leave me. He’s always there to pull me out and clean me off. Jesus is always with me, better than the most powerful weapon. He gives me the courage to keep on going! I don’t want to walk my own way ever again!”

And he truly never has.