Chapter 1

I was born after Vietnam and the feminists' movement. My parents lived as if neither had happened. Just a child in the Video Age, I grew up believing the world was a wonderful place to explore. Little did I know I lived in the best of times. The worst of times was faraway in another land where war, famine, and disease were as familiar as TV's. Nobody starved in my homeland and women were well respected as leaders as much as mothers. War was found in history books and epidemics were stopped with vaccines. Nuclear war and world destruction was only in the movies. When I grew up, white men were the only presidents as the history books go. No one ever thought the first woman and first black President of America would be elected the same night. I feel privileged to know Suzanne. This story is for her.

September 11, 2001 became a distant memory, but the war on terrorism continued on. Next came the attacks on Boston's underground tunnels and subways with plastic explosives strategically placed behind emergency door exits attached to remote controlled detonators. Why this is not call World War III, I have no idea. We have prepared for three generations to fight the impending World War III, but do we really know this time what we fighting about. A war of ideology that no one really wins and the world changes for good and for bad at the same time. I was drafted after reaching my thirtieth birthday from the loss of a generation who will never see a Social Security check. Their graves marked with tiny flags and the sound of bagpipes is heard every Memorial Day. Sure being a hero is great recognition, but I much prefer to stay alive and make the world a better place to live in instead of destroying it. My father said I had nothing to worry about. I would make a rotten soldier because a machine gun kick would break my arm and my asthma would make me a terrible prisoner of war. Nonetheless, I wanted to make a statement and protested the draft by not showing up for my physical. I wrote in my blog that I refused to die so President Bush could gain points in his poll ratings. I cried all night wondering what my uncertain future held for me. I was quickly arrested and made a hero in the papers.

Jail was not as bad as I thought. Everyone knew why I was there and gained their respect. I read plenty of books and learned several languages. I wrote an article for a hispanic newspaper with the translation help from an inmate on how many compare President Bush to Hitler, but I called him Napoleon because he tries to spread freedom by conquering nations. I thought it amazing that the leader of world freedom from monarchs crowned himself Emperor of France. My parents were ashamed of me. They failed to understand why I just couldn't simply fail the physical and get out of service. How does one explain the military in times of need just want bodies to go to war, not necessarily heroic warriors. My mother taught me to blindly obey authority as she did to watch her child rebel against it. Times have changed since she was a girl.

Sitting in jail, I wanted the world to know I hated this war and against everything it stood for. Then in a twist a fate, my father died of a heart attack and I could not attend his funeral. An army officer dropped by with an offer to join the military and be released to attend my father's funeral. Against my better judgment, I listened. The officer insisted that I would be placed in a non-combative position as an interpreter. I guess I should not have learned all those languages. I badly desired to say good-bye to my father so I signed on to the army. God help America. My father was in the Air National Guard, but never went to war. He got a military funeral anyway complete with volley and taps. I had the honor to hand over the folded flag to my mother sobbing with inconsolable tears. She thought she would never see me again.

Some called me a traitor while others called me the lost sheep that was found. I told the reporter walking away my father's grave that I did my duty and joined the army, but they can't make me feel patriotic about it. I'm still a rebel, just fighting in a different form. Like my father before me, I did not go to boot camp either. I learned languages over the next few years and became fluent in some. I traveled to Europe and met Queen Noor in the Palace of Versailles. We later gazed upon Paris from the Eiffel Tower discussing how the world seemed to fall apart overnight. To me it was overnight, but to her this fight started long before we were ever born. King Charles of Great Britain was soon crowned after the queen died in her sleep from an aneurysm. London was crowded as I attended meetings on where I will be sent to next. President Bush was leaving office and the hopeful Hillary Clinton was beaten by a Republican in the election. The Jackal had its day, but could he clean up Bush's mess. In time we would find out. As we waited for our world to change for the better in the following year, another unthinkable happened.

Kashmir usually means a sweater in America, but this time it meant war. India fired nuclear missiles at Pakistani cities in retaliation for their last outburst of violence against Indians and the deep fires of hell were unleashed. Since America allied itself with Pakistan when it invaded Afghanistan, America was dragged into another war as if Afghanistan, Iraq, and Iran had not spread American forces thin enough. In hindsight, this war did introduce me to my husband Josh and my good friend Suzanne. I flew on a plane to an unknown country few Americans dare to sight see. I met my Commanding Officer and Captain Suzanne.

"Very well," was all Suzanne said.

Captain Suzanne graduated West Point and fought in Afghanistan and Iraq. She knew her mission well and accomplished whatever her orders were. She commanded veteran soldiers and not impressed at all meeting a pip squeak for an interpreter who never had fired a weapon. Cold and distant at first, she warmed up to me once I said we were from the same area of America. I jabbered o my adventures and assured her I learn quickly. I was shown my radio room and the pool hall where her soldiers were. One tall man laughed at the sight of me and introduced himself as Joshua, also from the same part of America. We played pool and ate in the mess hall. Captain Suzanne was nowhere to be found. I heard she tried to dismiss me against the commander's wishes. Soon, I had a bodyguard when we went on out missions. I heard later that Joshua actually volunteered to protect me because I looked like a frightened kitten smiling in the pool hall. I practiced kickboxing with Suzanne and learned to shoot from Joshua. They found out I was not lying when I said I learn quickly. Most of my day at the base was playing with the radio.

I remember hearing the story of how the Americans foiled the Japanese code breakers during World War II by using the Navaho language over the radio. Speaking into the radio made me feel like a windtalker. Sure radio and cell phones signals can be received for miles, can the enemy speak pig latin in French. My Commanding Officer spoke fluent French, Spanish, German, and Italian. He had started learning Russian and Arabic too, but not quite as fluent. He was quite the gentleman. Old enough to be my father, he also shared that generation's hiding of emotion. Rare to smile, but full of confidence and wisdom that shown as he marched down the halls. I learned everyone from top to bottom of the military hierarchy respected him and listened when he spoke. He is the type who issues orders once and handed the job down to someone else if his order was not completed. When I asked for any advice before my first walk into the Kashmir mountains he provided only one command, Duck.

Walking in the mountains along the border of Pakistan was refreshing. I was more interested in the snow leopard in the distance than finding the unit we were there to meet. Joshua gave me a code word for alarm in case I saw human faces in the bushes I was enamored with. We had strange talks about courage under fire. I often heard desperate times require desperate measures. I thought desperate times needed better ideas instead. Joshua laughed at me. We found our unit and trailed on when I thought we were stopping to rest. We rested when I collapsed out of breath. I was sore for days after that walk. During the maneuvers, I typed what was happening on my cell phone to my Commanding Officer. Joshua stayed at my side through the whole battle, often on top of me. On the way back to the base, I were attacked by enemy militants. I got to be a hero for a day because I tripped over a rock and saw a mine in the road.

"Mine," I whispered.

"What Chameleon?" asked Joshua kneeling down.

"Snake mine," I whispered.

He turned his head and saw the mine near Suzanne's feet.

"Halt, Captain." said Joshua pointing to the road.

The troop dropped to the ground and the enemy hidden in the forest started firing. Joshua practically broke my arm yanking on me toward a cave. We hide for hours in silence until we heard whistling from the troop. I typed on my cell phone walking back to base what happened. We paced in another direction and found a tall barbed wire fence. Suzanne ordered us not to look at the prisoners staring blankly into space by the fence as if the life had vanished from their lives, they will think we care. We stopped in front of the gate to share details of the battle. Since I was not the hardened warrior I was shocked at a guard kicking a prisoner lying helplessly on a canvas stretcher with a knee injury. Without thinking I stomped to the guard and thrust my rifle butt into his calf. Enraged, I shouted at the guard who collapsed for his lack of restraint when doing his job. Josh jerked my arm pulling me away with guards hurling stones at me. I fell back into line glancing at the shocked faces staring at me. Suzanne ordered us back to base and we walked away.

“Stop grinding your teeth, your smile is too pretty to ruin.” Joshua broke the silence.

“I can’t help being pissed off at the guy kicking an defenseless prisoner! He should know better than that!” I exhaled in one breath.

“Don’t yell at me, Chameleon. You feel too much because you have never been trained not to like the rest of us. Your outburst is not a surprise to me.” continued Joshua.

“I guess you are right on that point. Did you say I have a pretty smile? I didn’t think you noticed.” I finished.

I noticed,” Joshua replied.

“When you two are done flirting, I would like you to notice that mountain pass. We will be going through it with tanks tomorrow.” interrupted Suzanne.

No one spoke on my outburst until I was called to my Commander’s office. He gazed out the window in silence and ordered “at ease” without turning around. I stared at the man bright in his uniform from the sun shining through.

“I hear you had an emotional outburst at the prison hitting another soldier with your rifle, Private. Is this true?” he demanded.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. I will try to control emotions better in the future, sir.” I answered.

“We can not allow the enemy to think we are divided in our mission or they will exploit our weakness. Would you want your comrades to die because you could not, as you say, control your emotions?” said the commander still gazing out the window.

“No, sir.” I replied. “It won’t happen again, sir.”

“See to it that it does not happen again, Private” directed the commander finally turning to face me.

Feeling relieved, I gave my salute and he returned it. I walked out the office covered in sweat with the wind knocked out of me. The last thing I want is my friends to die because of me. Life continued in the radio room. Suzanne and Joshua went out into the mountain pass without me. For the first time, I actually wished I was with Joshua. He came back covered in blood and healed fairly quickly from the shrapnel that hit his arm. I visited him every chance I got. Then we were separated. Suzanne took me out alone to spy along a known village hiding the enemy. We were disappointed from our vantage point in the spruce trees viewing only regular villagers shivering in the cold mountain air. Turning around, we found the enemy by a cave shooting at us. A rocket exploded nearby and knocked me off my feet. I couldn’t move from all the pain and prayed Suzanne was alright. She grabbed my cell phone to hit the S.O.S. button and slipped into my boot. Dazed, I saw a strange creature above me telling me not to worry, then realized it was an image of an angel with her soft wings touching my chest. Voices were shouted resembling Indian and I played possum the best I could. I was barely conscious anyway. I felt someone picked me up and carry me into a cool place.

I felt cold all of a sudden and shivered. I could hear my teeth chattering and feared the worst. A soft voice whispered in my ear I was not alone. It was Suzanne’s. I opened my eyes and told her that I prayed she was alright. Being a proclaimed atheist, that rarely occurs. I told her about my angel visiting me after I was injured. She didn’t see any angel over me. She told me about her getting shot and surrendering because she didn’t want to leave me alone with the enemy.