Safe or Sorry

The sentry stood at full attention, eyes darting, ears straining. 

He was sure…well, almost sure he had seen movement in the

distance, still a long way out, not near enough yet to qualify as a threat to the community.  

He blinked and strained against sunlight and shadows. A shudder ripped through him. He was new to the job and riddled with indecision he was trying desperately to hide, if only from himself.

The day was hot, and he was tired. Had there been movement out there, or had he imagined the threat?   Should he sound the alarm?

He paced. 

He stood. 

He worried. 

He stood again and paced and worried. 

He knew that safety for all meant treating strangers, all strangers as a threat and he knew all threats were intolerable. Danger of infiltration into the community required action, decisive and resolute. 

The sentry took a deep breath, preparing to err on the side of caution and raise the alarm, just in case…and hesitated. 

Youth and inexperience fueled his fear of making a mistake, of appearing foolish. He wanted, needed, to be certain that a threat existed before he called out warning. Others, also new and inexperienced, had been ridiculed for errors in judgement, sneered at for jumping at shadows, labeled “Frady Kat” and worse.  The worst offenders were singled out, by leadership, for punishment – made examples of for displaying incompetence and ignorance.

Sounding false alarms, sending members of the community into panic unnecessarily could mean being relegated, forever, to the lowest ranks in the communal hierarchy which carried constant threat of eviction and no hope of redemption.

He was almost as afraid of becoming one of them, as he feared

committing the ultimate, unforgivable blunder, of losing focus and allowing an outsider to infiltrate their boarders on his watch. 

The young guard shuddered, recalling an incident that occurred back when he was still little more than a pup when an intruder broke through the clan’s carefully managed ranks and the terrible consequence of that sentry’s dereliction of duty. The stranger slithered in, unnoticed by the youngster who may have fallen asleep or may have been distracted by food or may simply have failed to see the intruder’s approach, because watching is harder for some than for others. By the time the alarm was sounded, the threat was in their midst.

    Without the slightest hesitation, the elders took up their positions and advanced on the intruder, gnashing their teeth and screeching in protest and, by sheer force of numbers ran the intruder off. 

But there had been casualties, one dead and two injured, one so severely that death would have been a mercy.

The guard whose failure cost them all so dearly was immediately and unceremoniously exiled – as was warranted because failure of duty is indefensible. 

The sentry was young and strong and physically equipped to protect, but he lacked the confidence only experience would provide and so he continued to stare and worry and wonder.

A twig snapped, interrupting the sentry’s thoughts. He ducked and then quickly straightened; chest thrust forward in a posture of false bravado, heart hammering, head swiveling left to right, lip stretched into a sneer.

He squinted and sniffed as he adjusted his focus and confirmed the approach of friend, not foe.

His shoulders relaxed and a sigh of relief escaped him, unchecked. He gave a small nod of acknowledgement and turned his head away to hide the sneer transformed into an embarrassed grin. He felt his hammering heart begin to slow. He was relieved that his replacement had arrived, but the arrival posed a new concern. 

How to proceed? What was the protocol? This was his first change of watch. Was he expected to indicate the direction in which the suspicious activity may or may not have occurred, or was it best to remain silent and pretend that all was well.

If an intruder with nefarious intent lurked, and he failed to issue a warning that might have saved even one among them, would he be labeled a coward, incompetent and unworthy of membership in the group on whom he depended, as did they all, for survival? 

   Wasn’t it too late, though, to sound the alarm? And if the alarm were raised, and scouts sent out to investigate would they find hoards at the gates waiting to overrun the only place he had ever called home, the tiny piece of the world that belonged to his tight-knit and exclusive community? Would he be ridiculed for failing to see, and stop the threat?  Would he be punished? 

     His watch was over, he was free to go, and his replacement was a seasoned guard. Surely, if danger lurked, she would see, she would take appropriate action. And she would believe that the threat appeared after the change of watch, after she took ownership of protecting their boarders.

Best, he decided, to trust experience, wait for her to notice, wait for her to send out the warning call. 

Of course, if a threat did exist, and she sounded the alarm that saved lives, she would be celebrated, heralded a hero, held in high regard. Did he want her to hog the glory that would be, could be, should be his?

     After all, he had been standing watch, he had seen, or thought he might have seen, a threat at their boarders.  He might stand watch for weeks… months… a lifetime and never again be presented with an opportunity to send out the call that might save them all. 

    The sentry hunched forward, eyes darting, ears straining, scanning the horizon for a sign, any sign, of the movement he saw…or thought he saw…wanting to have one last look, just to be sure no intruder was out there, waiting to storm the boarders of his tiny settlement.

     He looked, hard, and saw nothing, no hint of danger. They were safe and he was relieved that he had chosen silence.

     He turned thinking of digging up some dinner and caught movement from the corner of his eye. It’s her shadow, he thought. He pictured his replacement standing tall and proud at her post signaling to the community her commitment to their safety.

     But he realized that the shadow was too long and dark and the shape was wrong and his first instinct was to duck. He opened his mouth to sound the alarm, but the sound he made was so small and thin it was no sound at all.

But his replacement did not falter. She stood, straight and tall on the mound of dirt that served as sentry’s post and barked out a loud, clear warning to her Meerkat community—take cover.

     The hawk swooped silently over the small sentry lying in the dirt, snatched his replacement from her perch and carried her away.                      

     The small sentry lay oh-so-still, staring at the sky, at the expansive wings of his mortal enemy and at the tiny, lifeless body clutched in the hawk’s talons. After a long moment, he stood and climbed the small mound from which his replacement had been snatched.  Eyes darting, ears straining he gazed out at the horizon and saw, or thought he saw, movement in the distance. He opened his muzzle and yelped, raising the alarm loud and clear, sending the clan scurrying back into their hidey holes for another round of run for your life.

Lesson learned. Better to sound the alarm, and be safe, than remain silent and be sorry.

                                                                 The End