DISCLAIMER: I own the story, but THE SENTINEL'S CREED belongs to someone else.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I wrote this after visiting Arlington National Cemetery. If you have never seen Arlington National Cemetery, you must. Memorial Day will have a whole new meaning for you. I am not a guard at the Tomb, so naturally this is only a speculation of what they think. If I were one of them, all my attention would be focused on not dropping my rifle. It was difficult to find all the technical info I needed to write this, so I'm working mostly from memory. I apologize for all errors.

RATED: PG because it mentions war.

GUARDIAN OF GLORY

It's the middle of the night. There's nobody here.

It is three-thirty in the morning, and Arlington, Virginia is silent. My part of this city is always silent, be it three PM or 3 AM. This is the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington National Cemetery. I am a member of the United States Army 3rd Infantry Regiment. We are the Sentinels who guard this tomb.

I walk twenty-one steps, then turn and face the white marble sarcophagus. I don't exactly *face* it, but I can see it out of the corner of my eye. It is gigantic; the pictures don't do it justice. I don't need to see the inscription. I've read it so many times that I could probably draw every groove in the marble with exact duplication:

HERE RESTS

IN HONORED GLORY

AN AMERICAN SOLDIER

KNOWN BUT TO GOD

I sometimes wonder about the unknown soldiers who rest in that tomb. Perhaps, for one of them, his military comrades were the only family he had. Perhaps another one had a large family who loved him and was anxiously awaiting his return. Maybe yet another had just gotten married and left his wife a widow before even their first anniversary. Others may have had children of their own. Did one leave behind a pregnant wife whose child will never know him, except through the stories told?

I've stood here for twenty-one seconds, and it's time to turn around again. I execute my move with the precision that defines the military. I switch my rifle to my left shoulder-the outside shoulder-and I now face the DC night and the path so many other sentinels have taken before me. The blue fabric is worn to gray in the middle. It's amazing to think that we've all walked the same path in the same way, no matter the weather. I've been lucky. I just passed my first year as a sentinel and haven't yet had to walk in a thunderstorm or blizzard. After twenty-one steps, I turn to face the amphitheatre.

CLACK. The steel in my shoes makes the most splendid sound as I bring my heels together. Now I'm looking at the steps where crowds gather during the daytime. I always look at the faces of the people. Some of them simply sit on the steps, staring at the tomb in awe. Others take pictures. I wonder how many photographs I've been in that I'll never see. I'm sure the number is well over a thousand. I've seen some people cry, as if they're realizing for the first time what was sacrificed for their freedom. Sometimes schools come here on field trips. When I see kids who look bored, it makes me so angry. "Don't you know what you're looking at?" I want to say. One time a middle school group came and a kid pointed to me and leaned over to his teacher: "That's going to be me someday," he said. I thought, "Kid, we'll see what happens when you have to spend six months in silence, commit to not drinking or swearing for the rest of your life, spend five hours a day getting your uniform ready, and dress for duty in front of a full-length mirror."

Having stood looking at the empty amphitheatre for twenty-one seconds, I turn and face the other direction. My tour has to be nearly over by now. I'm starting to get tired and bite my tongue to hold in a yawn. That would be most indecorous. The soldiers resting in this tomb may have been tired, but they kept going. They kept going until their death, as will I. As General George Patton observed, "Americans love a winner and will not tolerate a loser."

Twenty-one steps, turn, CLACK, switch rifle. Once again, I look past the tomb into the starry sky. I don't know if there's a heaven or not, but if there is I'm sure our honored dead are there, watching me and making sure I guard their glory the best I possibly can. I sometimes get asked, "Is it hard to guard the tomb at night when no one's there to hold you accountable?" The answer is no. I've always had the feeling that if I were to stumble, waver, or not perform this duty perfectly, the unknowns would make themselves known by rising out of the sarcophagus and slaughtering me. And so I continue my tour, my duty, my honor, under the bright stars and the unknown's watchful eyes.

~THE SENTINEL'S CREED~

MY DEDICATION TO THIS SACRED DUTY IS TOTAL AND WHOLEHEARTED

IN THE RESPONSIBILITY BESTOWED UPON ME NEVER WILL I FALTER

AND WITH DIGNITY AND PERSEVERANCE MY STANDARD WILL REMAIN PERFECTION

THROUGH YEARS OF DILIGENCE AND PRAISE AND THE DISCOMFORT OF THE ELEMENTS

I WILL WALK MY TOUR TO THE BEST OF MY ABILITY

IT IS HE WHO COMMANDS THE RESPECT I PROTECT

HIS BRAVERY THAT MADE US SO PROUD

SURROUNDED BY WELL-MEANING CROWDS BY DAY

ALONE IN THE THOUGHTFUL PEACE BY NIGHT

THIS SOLDIER WILL IN HONORED GLORY REST UNDER MY ETERNAL VIGILANCE