FACE TO FACE
The Cross Is All He Needs Wallace Alcorn
The combat engineer group I served as chaplain was on maneuvers in Germany and now bivouacked deep in the Black Forest. The Officer-of-the-Day (amusing to civilians and privates as doing most of his duty at night) called me out of my sleeping bag about 0100 hours. He asked me to locate an individual soldier in one of our companies and deliver an emergency message, which had just been radioed in from the American Red Cross. And, of course, I would minister, comfort and encouragement to the soldier at a time of his personal crisis. Having taken the soldier in my jeep to the airfield to await emergency evacuation, I had my driver return to bivouac. We arrived about 0230 hours and my driver gave the password to the sentries at the improvised gate. I jumped out and sent him back to his sleeping bag for the remaining hours. My night’s sleep effectively gone, I chatted casually with the lonely sentries. They listen to a chaplain more gratefully at a lonely time like this. I also stopped by the field dispensary to see if anyone had been admitted during the night and chatted with the lone medic on duty.
instructed to grant access only to authorized personnel and to deny and even prevent such to the unauthorized. The M-16 slung threateningly on his left shoulder was his weapon, but the access roster decided. He performed his task with the literal and mechanical obedience of which only a scared and inexperienced private is likely. The guard didn't find my name on the access roster because our headquarters just assumed the chaplain, like the group commander, to be authorized to go anywhere within the unit without question or challenge. A chaplain can go almost anywhere. But this kid was dutifully adamant about not yielding entrance. While I stood amused at the soldier’s naivety and wondering what trouble he was getting himself into, the operations sergeant major within the tent had recognized my voice.
And then to the very center of the barbed-wire bivouac where there was yet another barbed-wire enclosure. This was the Tactical Operations Center (TOC), command and nerve center of the operation. Always on duty there was at least a skeletal team alert to actions and other contingencies.
"Soldier, look at his helmet and tell me what you see!”
Sitting at a field table at the TOC entrance was a sleepy-eyed young private from a recently attached line company who didn’t know me. Before him was the official access roster of the few in the headquarters who were authorized entrance based on assigned duties within. This guard was strictly
Be my glory ever;
8
"Sergeant Major, it’s a cross.” "The cross is all he needs. Let'm in." In the cross, in the cross Till my raptured soul shall find Rest beyond the river.
