The Chameleon Soldier: NOW AS AN ALIEN BLUE HE CANNOT DIE.

by D. B. Silvis

  “That was a superb piece of intelligence-gathering, Sergeant.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Your first name is Killian?”

  “That’s correct, sir.”

  “It’s an unusual first name. I heard that name a hundred times while I was growing up. My father, the late major, used to talk about a Sergeant Killian Muldoon. He’d talk about the extraordinary prowess the sergeant had in reconnaissance. He said it was almost unnatural. It was something which bothered him greatly. He couldn’t get that sergeant out of his mind.”

  “So your father retired as a Major?” asked Killian, with a wry smile on his lips.

  The major paused and gazed at Killian. “Yes, he blamed his not getting promoted on his open belief that Sergeant Muldoon was most likely a spy, as the information he’d secure would have been impossible to obtain under normal circumstances. Kind of like what you did tonight.” Again the major paused. “By any chance, are you related to Killian Muldoon, Sergeant?”

  “No one in my family was named Muldoon, sir. We’re all Danahers and Kilkennys, and there are a lot of us in America.”

  “Yes, I’ll bet there are. You Irish really do like to breed.” The major stared at Killian for another moment, then turned and stalked off.

  Killian glared after the major. “Major,” he murmured, “you’re just as big an asshole as was your narcissistic father.”

  Over the next two hours the Americans, and their allies quietly and quickly prepared. They made every effort to conceal their awareness of the Germans’ plans, as they shifted and strengthened their positions to counter the oncoming bombardment and land attack.

  Killian rejoined his men in the third platoon of the 38th Division that was entrenched in Mézy. At midnight the German Krupp guns began to fire. The field artillery of the French and Americans unleashed their own cannon fire in response. The bombardment lasted for four long hours. At four a.m., under the cover of gunfire and a smoke-screen, thousands of stormtroopers began to cross the river in the self-made rafts and canvas boats. They were met by various kinds of shelling, including point-blank fire from batteries of the terrible French “75’s”, which had been especially set up for the attack. The hundreds of Germans who survived this counter-bombardment were met on the south bank with small-arms fire, and the bayonets of the French and Americans. The 38th Division of the American Third Army that was spread out over a six-hundred yard frontage on the south bank of the Marne came under merciless attack by the stormtroopers. The American first platoon fought valiantly, but was overwhelmed. The stormtroopers, who had also sustained large casualties, moved inland, only to be met by the second platoon. The Americans fought equally fiercely, but this platoon too was eventually whipped by the vast number of Germans, who greatly outnumbered them.

  Killian, with the third platoon, had dug in by the railway. When the enemy appeared they engaged in ferocious hand-to-hand combat. This time, Killian and his men managed to hold the Germans back.

  At Dormans, several companies of the Pennsylvania Guard of the 28th Division made a heroic effort, but were too few in number to halt the German attack. Meanwhile, at Château-Thierry, the Germans took a terrible beating when they crossed the river. The French and American cannons had found their mark, and hundreds of broken boats and rafts, as well as thousands of dead German infantry, floated down the river. The gray hordes of the Kaiser’s stormtroopers, who did make it across, were met by the bullets of the Third Army Division’s 7th Machine Gun Battalion, and the Third Infantry Division, which included the 30th and 38th Infantry. They remained rock solid, and earned the nickname, in the Second Battle of the Marne, of “Rock of the Marne.”

  By ten o’clock in the morning, the Germans at Mézy realized they were defeated. Both the remaining stormtroopers and the Americans were exhausted as the Germans yelled, “Kamerad, Kamerad!” Their surrender was accepted. Some of the Germans began carrying their dead and wounded back to the river. The still living Americans, fifty-one men, and two second lieutenants didn’t object to their leaving. Killian wandered away from his men, looking down at the hundreds of dead bodies, both American and German. He did not want the men of the third platoon to take note of his own body, which burned and ached, as his many bullet and bayonet wounds began to heal. As he walked on alone, a weary German soldier stopped, and stared at him, his attention riveted by a bloody bayonet gash on Killian’s left arm. The man was stunned as the wound began to heal.

  “Mien Gott! Supermen!” he gasped, before hurrying away.

  The war continued until November 1918, when Germany surrendered. The Third Army remained on duty in Germany until it was disbanded in July, 1919. A month later, Killian returned home, to his ranch.

  CHAPTER 5

  When Killian returned home he was still a strong, youthful-looking man of twenty-eight, though he was, in reality, now eighty-seven years old. As he entered the house he saw Martha in the kitchen. He lifted her off her feet and gave her a big hug. She returned the hug as tears of happiness ran down her cheeks. “Oh Killian, it’s so good to see you.”

  “Where’s Chester, out in the stable?”

  “No, Killian, he’s out back. I’ll take you to him.”

  Martha went out the back door. Killian followed her, and realized she was heading toward the cemetery, where his parents were buried. As she turned the corner, he saw that a small church had been built next to the graveyard. He felt nauseated. His emotions were mixed; he liked the church, but was sad at not seeing Chester. Then the church door opened, and Chester came out. The two friends rushed toward each other and embraced, patting each other on the back and shaking hands. It was evident that Chester was as happy to see Killian as the latter was to be reunited with his old friend. But there was no escaping the fact that Chester, who had always been a robust man, was beginning to show his age.

  Soon after Killian returned, Chester’s now large family of two grown sons, and nine grandchildren celebrated Chester’s sixty-fifth birthday. Martha, his loving wife, along with Peter’s wife Tillie and Jacob’s wife Rosita, made sure there was plenty of food, and cake for the happy occasion. Rosita’s father and brothers had a mariachi band, and many of the grandchildren had learned to play guitars, violins and banjos. So, after dinner, the birthday party became very festive, with music, singing, dancing, and present-opening. Killian waited until Chester had opened all his gifts before handing him a long brown envelope. Chester looked up at him. He tapped the envelope against his knee, clearly wondering what was inside.

  “Must be a nice card or a little money,” he said, grinning.

  Killian smiled.

  The children were all laughing and shouting, “Open it, Grandpa! Open it!”

  Chester nodded, opened the envelope, and removed a sheet of paper. As he read it, he began to cry. He dropped the paper onto his lap. Then he handed the paper to Martha.

  She read it aloud, “I hereby deed forty-nine per cent of the Kilkenny Ranch to Chester Freeman, and upon my death I bequeath the balance of the ranch to the heirs of Chester Freeman.”

  She dropped the paper into her lap and began to sob. The children were confused, as they did not understand what was going on. Then Chester and Martha stood up, and hugged Killian.

  “What’s happening?” asked Todd, Peter’s oldest son.

  Chester stepped over to the boy, and rubbed his head. “It means we now own a piece of the ranch, Todd.”

  “Really, what piece, Grandpa?”

  Everyone laughed at Todd’s remark and then stood up. They were all hugging, and thanking Killian, who had tears running down his cheeks.

  Killian put his arm around Chester. “There’s one more thing, my friend.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a folded piece of white paper. “It’s about time we had a brand on our horses. I’m suggesting this.”

  He handed Chester the paper. Chester smiled, as he looked at the paper, and then held it out for all to see. It read, “KF”. Everyone applauded.

 
; The next few years were good. The ranch continued to prosper and grow. Hundreds of horses were bred, broken and sold to the cavalry at Fort Bliss. As Chester and Martha became older, Peter, Jacob and their wives and children were beginning to take over managing the KF Ranch, alongside Killian.

  Then there were some bad times. In 1934, at the age of eighty-two, Chester Freeman died. One year later, almost to the day, Martha passed on.

  Peter and Jacob, now in their late fifties, and their grown children, were in charge of running the ranch. Killian was spending most of his time at Fort Bliss, helping train the horses they had sold to the cavalry.

  Meanwhile, trouble was once again stirring in Europe. Upon the death of Germany’s president, Paul Von Hindenburg, Chancellor Adolph Hitler became the absolute dictator under the title of Fuehrer, or “Leader”. Hitler dismantled Germany’s democratic government, and replaced it with the Third Reich. Extremist propaganda spread the word of the regime’s ideals, and goals, according to the “Fuehrer Principles. Hitler now stood outside the legal state, and determined matters of policy himself. He had the final say in both domestic and foreign policy. Under the Third Reich, the German people had no guarantee of basic rights. The government issued a decree which suspended constitutional civil rights. Hitler’s Third Reich was a single-party dictatorship based on the totalitarian and autocratic ideology of Nazism.

  After World War I and the Great Depression no one wanted war. Hitler saw this as a weakness. His ambition was to secure more land, especially to the east of Germany. His idea was to expand Germany according to the Nazi policy of lebensraum. Hitler used the pretext for Germany’s right to acquire land where German-speaking people lived. In March, 1938, Germany took over Austria. Then, in March, 1939, Great Britain and France let Hitler take over Czechoslovakia. Both countries were taken without bloodshed as Britain and France were trying to appease Hitler, and avoid another war. However, all this did was boost Hitler’s confidence in his plans to continue taking land to the east.

  On September, 1, 1939, Hitler attacked Poland in a sudden blitzkrieg. Most of Poland’s air force was destroyed while it was still on the ground. Bridges and roads were bombed and marching Polish soldiers were machine gunned from the air. But the Germans didn’t aim just for the soldiers; they also shot at the civilians. Later that same afternoon, Great Britain and France sent an ultimatum to Hitler to withdraw from Poland or face war with them. On the third of September German forces penetrated deeper into Poland. Great Britain and France declared war on Germany.

  America had not build up arms or forces to prepare for war. The American people didn’t want to be involved in the warfare, in Europe. However, in March, 1940, the Land-Lease Act was passed. This stated that President Roosevelt could direct aid to whomever he wanted. That meant the United States was no longer neutral. America feared Germany taking over Europe, so the president contributed billions of dollars in aid to the British, and supplied French troops with arms and other support. President Roosevelt, together with some members of the senate and congress were looking for a good reason to enter the conflict. It would need to be an incident of a seriousness, which would lead everyone to agree that America should join the war. When the Japanese bombed the hell out of Pearl Harbor, the American people were incensed, and in such an uproar that no one wanted to back down from the fight.

  In 1942, the United States Army still had horse cavalry as there wasn’t any fully developed strategy for fighting a war in the western hemisphere. There was no guarantee there would be good roads, ample fuel, supplies, and good terrain where troops might be needed. The Army believed mounted soldiers, using sure-footed horses, would be invaluable. Another factor was that horse cavalry could quickly get around, and over such natural hazards as hills, rocks and deserts. Nonetheless, even with the advantage of mobility, cavalry units proved to be a difficult problem. The units were unpopular with operation commanders, as horses and their equipment took up valuable shipping space and logistic support, far more than other military outfits.

  For the first year of the war, none of the cavalrymen or their horses was deployed overseas. Killian continued to work at the ranch, and at Fort Bliss. Over the first few months of the war, Killian struggled over whether he should, once again, join the military. Then, one morning while reading the newspaper, he came across an interesting article. It was about an idea by Phillip Johnson, a missionary’s son, who had spent much of his life on the Navajo Indian reservation.

  Johnson’s idea had centered on military communication, which was an essential factor during wartime. From ship to ship or battalion to battalion everyone had to know when, and where, to attack. If the enemy could hear and break the special codes, the element of surprise would be lost, and probably the battle. Encryptions were vital in order to protect important conversations. Many different codes were used and often broken by the enemy. Phillip Johnson had thought of a code he believed would be unbreakable. It was based on the language of the Navajo Indians. While working as an engineer for the city of Los Angeles, he had heard that the Army was attempting to come up with a new code. He had driven to Camp Elliot, near San Diego, and presented his idea to Lieutenant Colonel James Jones, the Area Signal Officer. The colonel had been skeptical, but he had recommended a demonstration for Major General Clayton Vogel. The experiment of a talker program using the Navajo language was successful. Then Major General Vogel sent a letter to the Commandant of the United States Marine Corps, recommending they enlist two hundred Navajo Indians for this proven project. They were given permission to start a “pilot project”, but beginning with only thirty Navajo Indians. In May, 1942, Major General Vogel’s recruiters were at Fort Defiance in Arizona, selecting the thirty Navajo Indians, who were to be the first code talkers.

  Killian felt he could be very useful as a code talker. He had served as a Negro in the Buffalo soldiers, so why not now, as a Navajo code talker? He packed a small bag, got into his pale blue 1940 Chevrolet pickup, and drove the four hundred miles to Fort Defiance. When he arrived, and entered the recruiting building, he learned he was too late. They had already selected the thirty men. He felt hugely frustrated as he glanced around the large room at the chosen few.

  Then his eyes met the fierce glare of one of the Navajos. Killian recognized him at once as a Blue, possibly one of Lupan’s men. The big Navajo clearly recognized Killian, and knew him to be Taglito Silaada.

  Neither knew what to do. Killian decided it would be best if he went outside, and wait for the Navajo Blue to leave the building with the others. A few minutes later, the thirty men exited, and were led toward a barracks, where they’d spend the night. The Navajo, however, separated from the others, and walked warily over to Killian.

  “So, Taglito Silaada, you’re still alive. Lupan has been searching for you.”

  “As I have been for him,” replied Killian, staring at the Indian. “How are you called?”

  “I am Hok’ee.”

  “In English, you’re known as the high-backed wolf,” said Killian.

  “Yes. You know our language well, Taglito Silaada.”

  “Now you plan to use the Navajo language to cause ill as a code talker, Hok’ee.”

  Hok’ee’s mouth creased into a vile smile. “Yes. I will cause the death of many white men.”

  Killian wanted to attack him then and there, but knew it wasn’t the time or the place. “Is Lupan nearby?” he asked.

  “He is, and he will come to kill you, Taglito Silaada.” Hok’ee spat out the words. Then he turned and rejoined the other Navajos heading toward the barracks.

  Killian watched him go. His instincts told him later that night; Hok’ee would sneak out of the barracks. He’d go to tell Lupan that Taglito Silaada was at the fort. He’d wait for Hok’ee to make his move.

  After having dinner, Killian sat under a tall tree near the stables. It was a dark, cloudy night, but he could see the barracks doors. Two hours, he saw a figure leaving the barracks. It was Hok’ee, heading for the stables.
Killian moved back behind the tree.

  Hok’ee entered the stable, and was about to jump up on a Mustang pony when Killian threw him to the ground. Hok’ee was agile, and sprang back to his feet. They began to fight. When Killian knocked Hok’ee against a stall, the Indian grabbed a pitchfork hanging on the wall. He jabbed it at Killian, sticking a prong into Killian’s left leg. As he stumbled he wrestled the pitchfork away from the Navajo, and pulled the prong out of his bleeding leg. Hok’ee ran, and jumped up on the pony. Killian quickly grabbed a rope hanging on a post, and as he’d done hundreds of times, at his ranch, he lassoed his enemy, jerking him from the pony. When Hok’ee hit the ground, Killian quickly hog-tied him, and knocked him unconscious. Next he dragged the heavy body of Hok’ee out into the corral, and laid him on a pile of hay. He went back into the stable picked up two oil lamps and poured the contents over Hok’ee’, and the hay. Killian removed a small box of matches from his pocket, lit one and tossed it onto the hay. As the flames rose, and licked at his body, Hok’ee’s wild red eyes opened. As he struggled with the rope he burst into flames. For an instant he was transformed into a wolf standing on its hind legs, and howled; then there was a bright flash of blue light followed by a ribbon of blue-white smoke that rose up into the sky.

  The enthralled Killian watched. It was the first time he’d witnessed the spectacle the Crow Indian medicine man had told him about so long ago.

  As the smoke rose he whispered, “No, Hok’ee, you will not join the code talkers, and cause the death of many white men.”

  Killian returned to the stable, picked up a rake, and was beating out the burning hay when a few men rushed toward the stable.

  “What the hell caused the fire?” shouted one of the men.

  “I don’t know. I was just passing by. Get some buckets of water we need to put it out,” Killian answered.

  The men ran to get buckets of water.