On one fateful summer night in 1966, I was on guard duty at an ammo dump in Fort Bragg, N. C.  This is a special and needful part of our military’s duties, that most Infantry soldiers has to and will carry out.

The night was dark as usual in the piney woods, PITCH BLACK. As we were changing the guard, which is four hours on and four hours off, my name finally, agonizingly rolled around. My name was called out loud in a forceful blast, commanding me to snatch my half-asleep mind into the reality of the real world of military charm and grace. Being a Paratrooper in the 82nd. Airborne and Infantry trained, can be quite a test of discipilinary resolve and mind control over your emotional self.

Dragging my sleepy carcass up out of my bunk, moving thru dark shadows of other troops around me, was almost a robotic action. I never heard the other soldier’s name being called that was to join me, neither did I really care. That name happened to be attached to a friend of mine from Chicago. We became a good M-60 Gunner Team later on in combat.

He and I boarded the jeep and sped off into the night. With a backward glance I allowed my gaze to rest upon the peace and quiet and warmness of my camp as it quickly faded into the gloom of night.

After only a few minutes of bumping and jerking along pothole avenue our G. I. Limo came upon our destination point, our four hour security detail far from anyone except GOD. This ammo dump was an enclosed  perimmeter of barbed wire and steel posts, with a large oblong, partially submerged concrete reinforced steel building inside. Stored inside here are all kinds of ammo and supplies for the use of Uncle Sam’s best human fighting machines.

Disembarking from my G. I. Limo (Jeep) and slinging my M-16 Rifle over my shoulder, arranging my steel pot on my head, I moved toward our guard post, little aware of the other two soldiers trading places with us for their ride back to a better place of sanity, that those nice warm blankets and bunks had to offer..  As My buddy PFC. Evans and myself assumed our positions in front of the Ammo Dump, we tossed a coin to see who would start that long thirty minute walk around that lonely perimmeter. Joking about the darkness we promised each other, “If I fire my rifle or start yelling, the other would start Hot-footing it back to my position and I to wherever he is in the darkness. Thankfully we were armed with these little O. D. Green flashlights to help us peer into the darkness a little bit.

At the toss of the coin, I bet heads and won, therefore my buddy was on his way, for the first patrol. As he blended into the night, I stood quietly to listen to the clump, clump, clump of those combat boots fade away into the still and soundless night.

Wel, we alternated walking periods until past 2300 hours. It’s his turn again to stroll that hard concrete pathway, and me to stand as sentinel once again, at the gate.

(Note: this story is true. Some names has been changed to protect privacy and Military rules only. The following is a real encounter of the paranormal).

At approximately 2315 hours I stood there peering into the night, waiting for our final hour to end, so we could be whisked away and replaced by another two guards, when all of a sudden, I could see a bright shiny spot of light moving across the starry black night. I gave this not much thought as comets fall all the time, spreading their glow across the heavens as they plummet toward tera firma on clear nights in the countryside. But this comet refused to fall to the ground or go on it’s journey to earth. Shockingly it made an acute left turn in my direction with no visible tail behind it. Just above tree-top level some hundred yards or so, the brightly lit orb grew a little larger and came a hell of a lot closer to me. Then it hoovered above the trees for a moment— then dropped out of sight.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I can hear the running sounds of heavy combat boots rushing closer to me, also my name being called out in a winded, labored voice, straining against it’s own excitement.

“Private Love, Private Love, what the hell is going on, what was that, did you see that, what’s going on over there”? He asked.  “I don’t know, I just saw the thing a moment ago, land amongst those trees over there, I guess” I said.   He was winded and totally freaked out at the moment from what he had seen. Automatically he began to lock and load his M-16 Rifle, to prepare for an assult upon yonder intruder. I was amazed more than he, I had been closer to this thing.

Paratroopers are trained in fear management, it is ok to feel fear, but to acknowledge it, control it, then redirect it back to it’s source. We stood our ground, wondering in hushed voices what should we do about this situation. Immediately, the decision was agreed upon, to go into the piney woods and take a look-see.

Locking and loading my own M-16 and adjusting my 45-Colt, I took a moment out and took a deep breath to clear my mind, my nerves, and try to swallow my heart, that was up in my throat. Side by side in combat ready positions we strolled as one, cautiously, one step at a time, in the direction of the light. No more words was spoken, as none was needed as we inched closer. Moving approximately 100-yards from our original position, thru the trees a bit— there it was, our visitor.

Resting on a pine needle floor, in a small clearing, glowing as bright as a car’s headlight, illuminating all the trees around it, was a disc-shaped object, about two feet in diameter, much smaller that originally thought. We froze, staring at it, holding our rifles in a ready position, scared half out of our minds. Our poor feeble brains could not agree upon shooting the damn thing, so we just stared and stared, afraid to talk or breathe too loudly. I managed to squeeze a word out from my rear I guess, I told PFC. Evans to “get our butts out of here” he agreed instantly.

As we turned to leave, there was this gigantic pull of static electricity tugging at our clothing and hair. We wheeled around on our heels to face this awesome source of magnetic pull. The silver disk was slowly rising up from the ground, making no noise at all, not even a hum. As the UFO rose up the energy field around us was fantastic. That field of raw static nerve shaking sensation was to be remembered forever, even in my dreams at night. It moved to tree-top level, then for a moment in time, just hoovered there, then soundlessly, from a stationary position—– shot straight up into the night sky, did a 90-degree turn, then disappeared in a streak of white light.

We were both picked up a few minutes later, but PFC. Evans and I agreed to not say a word about this encounter. We did not talk to anyone else about that encounter, only when we were alone. After all these years I am writing about it here. I do not know why, and don’t expect anyone to believe me. But, I do hope you enjoyed the story, and that is was not a waste of your valuable time. What this has to do with Lovology is maybe why I am writing it here. Lovology is only for the few true chosen ones that has had amazing and wonderful things happen to them in mystical, magical, marvelous ways, and the real. The ones that can visualize wonderment and beauty in life and nature and in God. To seek peace and persue it. We are not alone, we have ourselves and a creator of awesome things yet to be seen.

PFC. Evans returned home to Chicago after discharge, and I to Louisiana, never to see each other again. I tried to visit him once while trucking thru Chicago one time, but no one knew where he was. The memories of that incidental night is still as fresh as the night it happened in the summer of 1966, at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, now in my dreams.