Sgt Zombie

Chapter 1

August 1943

Sitting against a cracked plaster wall, Corporal Samuel Israel braced for another impact.

“Incoming!” someone yelled, and a blast of wind and debris blew through the broken window above his head.

A foreboding figure stood up and stared out of the hole made by the attack. Raising his weapon and firing, Sgt Nicholas Zalinski screamed an incomprehensible guttural cry.

The Sergeant fired again and again. His anger growing with each attack. At six foot two and two hundred and sixty pounds, Zalinski was a formidable looking man. Any German soldier should think twice before confronting him in a dark alley. But Sergeant Z was more than just a man. Turning his unshaven face towards Corporal Israel, the true nature of this American soldier was revealed. Green skin, pocked with scars and a bulging blood shot eye stood out at once. Half of his mouth was disfigured, teeth exposed to the elements. Corporal Israel knew the effect well, having served with Sgt Z the past few months. With an almost maniacal laugh, Sgt Z declared his squad had the Germans on the run.

“Come on, Itchy, let’s go run those goose steppers down!”

Samuel grimaced, “You go ahead Sarge. I’m going to contact head quarters and tell them our status.”

The disfigured soldier looked out into the chaos. He lived for war. He hungered for it. Nodding at his friend, he leapt through the broken wall and was gone.

Samuel sighed in relief and collapsed against his resting place. He was proud to serve as a United States soldier and fighting the Nazis was important. But he was not about to go running into a battle unless absolutely necessary. After updating command on his squad’s location and status, Samuel decided to pull out his personal journal and write.

December 12, 1943

It was the first time I had ever been away from home. Being drafted was not on my life to do list. I had just been accepted to a local college and had hoped to become a journalist, but my draft number came up quick. As a young Jewish man, growing up in San Francisco, your life is expected to go a certain way. You go to school, meet a girl, and get married. I would have worked in my family’s grocery store while attending college but had hoped to be become a reporter for the LA Times. But sitting on the bus, headed to boot camp shattered all those possibilities. It was there that I met Sergeant Nicholas Zalinski. A chance meeting that I would have never expected to influence the path I would take for the next several months…

December 5, 1942

Stepping off the bus, Samuel Israel followed the other recruits to the main yard at Camp Roberts army base. Most of the young men were anxious to be at the base, but Samuel was terrified. He had never gotten along with men his own age. Growing up in public was a hardship. Not only was he a Jew, but he was awkward and anti-social in all the ways that mattered. He did not like sports, and he was not one to go out of his way to make friends. So, he had a reputation of being creepy and quiet. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something was not right behind him. Ducking and turning away, he just missed being slammed into by a couple of large draftees who were quarreling behind him. A loud whistle could be heard, growing louder and louder, as the Staff Sargent Tucker separated the two men and began yelling incoherently. Samuel shrunk back as far as he could behind the line of guys watching the spectacle. A voice from behind him caused him to jump in fright.

“Those were some nice moves you had out there. How’d you know that you were about to be clobbered?”

Samuel turned to see the man addressing him. He was much taller than Samuel, at least six feet. He had a rugged look with a square jaw and dark hair, chewing a toothpick. Samuel couldn’t help but notice how big this soldier was, he could snap Samuel in two.

“I dunno. I get a feeling sometimes. It kind of itches at the back of my neck when something bad is going to happen.”

The soldier took out his toothpick and pointed it at him. “That’s instinct kid. Don’t ever ignore that. It’ll keep you alive.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Smiling he said, “Now get back with your group. Looks like Sgt Tucker has finished chewing those two a new asshole. Good luck, Kid.”

Samuel watched the soldier walk away. He had no idea how important that man and his advice would be in his life.

February 15, 1943

Riding in a C-130 Hercules cargo plane, Samuel tried to keep his teeth from vibrating out of his mouth. The noise of the engine combined with the other men and the payload was intense. Boot camp had been a brutal combination of bad food and too much exercise, but at least the drill sergeant yelled at them to show how much he cared. Samuel smiled at himself, because of his journalism interests, he had pinned his hopes on a war correspondent position, but his skills as a communication specialist earned him a place in a European division. Private first class, Israel. While most of his squad had shipped off to the pacific, Samuel would go to Europe in style. Style was a misnomer that Samuel used to describe his three-day bus ride from California to Presque Isle Army base in Maine. British military had made a lend-lease agreement for American aircraft, which the US Army disassembled and flew to England in cargo planes. Samuel had been ordered to hitch a ride to reach his post. After a brief fuel stop in Goose Bay, Newfoundland, Samuel wondered if he would ever be warm again. It had been just days since President Roosevelt had given his fireside chat about the Casablanca conference with Britain and her allies. Roosevelt had called for an unconditional surrender saying "We mean no harm to the common people of the Axis nations. But we do mean to impose punishment and retribution upon their guilty, barbaric leaders." It had been fourteen months since Japan had bombed Pearl Harbor. The United States had been successful fighting the Nazi’s in Africa and now their attention was on beating the Nazi’s back in Europe. Samuel was being dropped into the next step of the Allies plan to fight Hitler. In his wildest dreams he could only imagine being in the room when the Allies caught the Axis leader. Samuel would want to see him beg for mercy. The man was truly evil. Yanking the eager soldier out of his thoughts, the plane shuddered. Grabbing his seat in a panic, Samuel tried not to scream in fright. Another solider saw Samuels reaction and laughed.

“First time on a plane, sport?”, he asked.

Samuel could only nod.

“At least no one is shooting at us yet.”

The comment made his heart race, being shot down had never occurred to Samuel. Looking around the plane, the private first class envisioned the large metallic craft as a tomb. There was no where to run and no where to hide. Gravity would latch onto this giant hunk of metal in the sky and drive it into the ground. Samuel grimaced at the solider who laughed again. Closing his eyes, the frightened young man tried to focus on reciting the Amidah in his mind. "Blessed are you, O Lord..."

After a rough landing at Royal Air force Welford station, Samuel received orders to meet with his new commander in London.

Perplexed, Samuel questioned the lieutenant, who handed him the orders.

“London, Sir?”

The young lieutenant smiled, “I don’t know who you impressed Private, but someone in ranks must like you. You are on the next transport to London and will meet your new commander. Do us proud.”

Saluting, Private Samuel replied, “Yes, Sir!”

Two hours later, Samuel’s transport pulled into London, England. For someone who had never been anywhere outside his own town, in less than a week, he had traveled across America; arrived in Newfoundland, England, and was now in London. The driver announced his stop. Grabbing his knapsack of belongings, the newly minted private hopped up from his seat like it was on fire and was out of the truck in moments.

Walking up the building, Samuel was confused to read the building name plate. 54 Broadway: Minimax Fire Extinguisher Company. Had the transport dropped him off at the wrong spot? The building looked like a normal office building, not military. Taking a chance, he walked up to the door and went inside.

Entering the building, the young man approached a large reception desk with a stoic looking man with his head down, writing intently. Samuel waited to be recognized, but after several minutes he spoke.

“I’m here with orders from the United States Army to meet my new commander.”

The man did not stop writing and did not look up. In an exasperated voice he asked, “Name?”

“Sam-Samuel Israel, I mean, Priv-private first class Samuel Israel.”

Writing at his desk, the man continued, “Take the stairs to the right and walk to the fourth floor. Room 42.”

Looking at the stairs, Samuel, asked, “Who am I supposed to ask for?”

The man finally looked at the private, giving him a onceover head and to toe. “You’ll find out when you report to the room.”

Shrugging at no one in particular, Samuel hauled his pack up higher on his shoulders and began the trek up the stairs.

Reaching the fourth floor, Samuel coughed an wheezed. If this was his assignment, he hoped he was not required to carry his pack every day.

The gray tiled floor led to a dark wood door with a gold painted number 42 on its frosted glass. No name. No division. Nothing to indicate what was inside. Taking a deep breath, Samuel crossed the floor and knocked. No answer.

Samuel was impatient, but he did not want to be disrespectful. He waited a few minutes and knocked again. No answer.

Grabbing the brass handle, he turned the latch and opened the door. Inside, was an empty room with a wood desk with a lamp and stapler.

No one else seemed to be around.

“Hello?” he inquired.

No response. This seemed highly unusual. Did the man at the front desk send him to the wrong office? Did he even know who Samuel was? Samuel walked down the hall a few steps and he heard a voice. Deciding that he must find out where he needed to go, Samuel followed the voice until he came to another frosted glass door. A light illuminated the office, and Samuel could hear the voice muffled, but speaking to someone. Samuel took another deep breath and knocked on the door.

The voice abruptly stopped, and the door opened to a man wearing a gray suit and tie.

At first the man’s facial expressions were confused, but after taking in Samuels clothes, he smiled, “You must be Private Israel!”

Samuel lifted his hand in salute, “Private Samuel Israel reporting for duty sir!”

The man kept smiling, “At ease Private. We are not big on ceremony here. Well, at least I’m not. I’m William Donovan, coordinator of this program. Please come inside and sit, we have much to talk about.”

As the soldier walked into the office, he was greeted by a familiar face. “Hello private. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. My name is Sergeant Nicholas Zalinski.”

Samuel stood at attention and saluted the man, “Sir!”

Nicholas chuckled, “At ease private. Please have a seat.”

The office was big. Bookcases lined the walls, but very few books took up space. A large desk and hutch stood in the corner and a rectangle table with several chairs sat on an old Persian rug that seemed to be faded from the sun. Wide blinds covered the windows to the outside of the building.

“See that Wild Bill? He takes everything in. I told you he was a good one.”

William Donovan took a draw on the cigar that appeared in his hand. “It’s ok, Israel. I know everything may seem strange right now but trust me all will become clear soon. Please, take a seat.”

Samuel felt at ease with these two men, almost instantly. Their good nature and relaxed postures were a real change from the service men he had trained with for the past two and half months. He had not realized he was so tense walking into the room, until he sat down, and the tension left his body. Suddenly he was exhausted.

“You’ve been on quite a journey this week, Israel. I am sure you’re tired and would like a meal and a bunk. I’m sorry, but time is of the essence and Sergeant Zalinski and I needed to meet with you right away.”

“Sir?”

Smoking his cigar, Donovan motioned for the Sergeant to talk.

Nicholas nodded at his superior and said, “Private we have seen your record during basic training. You not only scored the highest in Radar and communications training, but you also scored the highest in linguistics and code breaking. Your numbers were off the charts and when I saw your file, I recommended you join a new division that Mr. Donavon has started for the President.”

Samuel interrupted, “Roosevelt? You’ve spoken about me to Roosevelt?”

William laughed around his cigar, “Well yes. He’s the only President we’ve got.”

Samuels blood pressure shot up and he felt dizzy. Placing both hands on the table to steady himself, he asked, “What do you need me to do sir?”

The sergeant looked at Donovan and smiled. “Well, we need to know how you do it. What is your technique that allows you to be so good?”

Samuel shook his head, “I don’t understand, Sir.”

“Oh, come now, Private. You don’t just have the highest scores in your cohort. You have the highest scores ever tested by the US Army! How do you do it?”

Samuel seemed to shrink in his chair, “Do what sir?”

Zalinski opened a file folder laying on the table. Picking up the top piece of paper he read, “New recruit, Israel, has a better than 85% accuracy in identifying radar signatures. His code breaking skills were correct ninety-nine percent of the time. If the testing coordinators had not seen it with their own eyes, they would think that Israel was somehow cheating.”

“Cheat, Sir? I never cheated. They would give me orders and I followed them, Am I being punished , sir?”

“Punished?” laughed Donovan. “Hell man, why would we punish you? You are a miracle! If I had fifty men like you, we could win this war on intelligence alone. But I need to be sure that you are the real thing. Can you provide solutions every single time or was it just a fluke?”

Samuel looked down at the table. “I wish I could tell you how I do it, Sir. It’s hard to explain.”

“Try,” said Zalinski.

Samuel closed his eyes, “Sometimes, I get this…feeling. I dunno. When I have a choice to go left or right and there doesn’t seem to be a clear path, I get this little itch in my brain or on my neck. Sometimes it’s even in my hands.”

“An itch?,” inquired the Sergeant.

Samuel nodded.

Zalinski continued, “Is this the same itch you felt that day I saw you at basic training? When those guys were fighting and you side stepped them without looking at them?”

“Yes, Sir. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s a feeling I have had all my life. I trust it and it rarely lets me down.”

Donovan and Zalinski made eye contact. Unspoken words were exchanged and both men stood up.

Zalinski reached his hand out, “Welcome to the team private. I want you to always listen to that itch, ok? It may save your life and may help us win the war, all right?”

Samuel stood up, “Yes, Sir.”

Donovan walked Samuel out through the barren offices and handed him a paper.

“Private, I am establishing an intelligence unit for the US Army and these will be our offices. It will take a few weeks to get set up, but I want you to take your things to this address and take the next two days to get your affairs in order. We will be working day and night for awhile and its best that you are situated in your temporary housing before we get started. Miss Andrews is the land lady for your housing. She will help you with anything you need. Sergeant Zalinski will send for you as soon as we are ready to move.

Samuel stood to attention and responded, “Yes, Sir.”

“I was an officer in World War I, Israel. I’m a civilian now but work for the President. You don’t have to salute me. Just keep doing what you did in training and we’re going to win this war.”

Samuel still stood at attention, “Yes , Sir. Thank you , Sir. Will do, sir.”

Donovan laughed, “OK, son. You can let yourself out.”

Turning around William Donovan disappeared back into his office and closed the door.

All Samuel could think, was “What the Hell just happened? Was it good or bad?”

Closing the 42 door, Samuel descended down the stairs and asked for directions to his new housing.

William Donovan put his cigar out in his ash tray and looked at his colleague.

“So, you think he’s a sensitive?”

“Why not?” responded Zalinski. We know the Germans are rounding up people they think have abilities and they have made some enormous gains somehow. We know the Nazi’s are using drugs to push their soldiers farther, making them more effective killing machines. We need an edge, too.”

Lighting up a new cigar, Donovan asks, “Do you think there are more like him, out there?”

The sergeant shrugged, “I’m sure there is. He cannot be the only one.”

“Ok, Zalinski. You’ve convinced me. The first mission has to be finding out what the Nazi’s have and how they are making these superior race soldiers. In the meantime, I will start putting out feelers at the highest levels of command to be on the lookout for more soldiers like Israel.”

The sergeant stood up and saluted Donovan, “Yes, Sir!”

“Oh knock that shit off.”

Zalinski smiled, “Yes, Wild Bill!”

Donovan harrumphed. Smiling he pointed at the door. “Get out of here Sergeant. It’s been a long day. Go find a girl and drink to our new endeavor. “

“Yes, Sir!”

Zalinski walked out of the office before his superior could make a retort.

Picking up the phone, Donavon dialed a number and waited for the operator.

“Hello? This is William Donovan for President Roosevelt. Yes, he is expecting my call.”

After a few moments, “Mr. President? Wild Bill here. Yes, it’s good to talk to you too Sir. I think I may have an idea how we’re going to take back the intelligence edge from Hitler. Yes, Sir. “

Closing the door to his apartment, Samuel turned the key and the lock clicked into place. A sudden itch on the back of his neck warned him of an undesirable person coming down the hall. Taking a deep breath, the soldier turned and smiled at Miss Andrews, his landlady. Short and squat with a thick Irish accent, Miss Andrews was a peculiar woman. Polite in every sense of the word, she continued to make Samuel uncomfortable. His work was top secret and important. Miss Andrews was constantly asking him how he was doing and would ask about his work. Samuel tried to be respectful and would explain that he worked for the government and could not discuss his work with her. After two weeks of this verbal dance, he was growing tired of Miss Andrews.

“Hello Mr. Israel.”

“Hello, Miss Andrews.”

“Where are we off too today, lad?”

Samuel smiled. Same question every time. ”I’m off to work, Miss Andrews.”

“Such a busy boy, you are. I am sure this war is keeping you government boys busy. Have you taken out Hitler, yet?”

Samuel laughed, “I’m afraid I’m not privy to such knowledge, Miss Andrews. I am guessing if we take out Hitler, the news papers will know before I do.”

“I don’t suppose you have seen my cat anywhere about?” she asked. Mr. kitty has gotten away from me again. “

A constant irritation was Miss Andrews cat, Mr. Kitty. Apparently, it wanted to get away from her as much as Samuel.

“No Miss Andrews, I haven’t seen your cat. Sorry. I’ll keep an eye out though, ok?”

Walking very quickly towards the stairs, the young private held his breath that his encounter was over. Just as he reached the stairwell, he heard Miss Andrews call out, “Have a good day!”

Not waiting to give her a reply, the private rushed down the stairs to the street.

Several minutes later, Samuel walked into the familiar Minimax Fire Extinguisher Company building. Nigel, the man at the reception desk did his best to ignore Samuels entrance. After countless attempts to greet the man without any response, the soldier decided to walk straight to the stairs and climb his way to the fourth floor. Office door 42 looked the same. Gold letters stood out on the frosted glass, but behind the threshold many changes had taken place since the first day he arrived. Opening the door, Samuel was greeted by a cacophony of sounds and a bustling group of people. Doris, the main office receptionist answered calls while waving hello. Secretaries, office assistants, and other military staff busied themselves with filing, phone calls, and paperwork. The hallway teed at Doris’ desk and Samuel made a familiar left turn that led to his home away from home. Past Mr. Donovan’s office, a special room contained the code breakers who studied and decrypted German communiques. Samuel had excelled at code breaking and Mr. Donovan saw fit to give his best talent a room to better focus his efforts. Opening a door on the far end of the code room, Samuel entered his small office. A desk and chair sat in the corner of the eight by eight-foot room. A desk lamp, and file cabinet completed the office ensemble. It was not luxurious, but Samuel was proud of his private place. The code breaker bullpen housed ten men at tables. The environment was difficult to concentrate. Samuels abilities worked best when he was alone and could focus on his tasks. Water cooler conversations and office politics gave his results many false positives. Once he was given his own space, Samuel’s accuracy increased twenty-fold.

Looking at the stack of papers, Samuel felt his familiar itch. Shuffling the stack of information, he settled on the document that raised the hair on his neck. Nerves in his fingers and neck pulsated with electric needles. Sitting down at his desk, Samuel began to work on decoding the intelligence. Hours later, he knew his message was important. Mr. Donovan would want to hear about this right away.

William Donovan read the latest reports from Washington. Hitler was ______________ and the US was needed to infiltrate the enemy and create a counter plan to their advantage. A knock on his door caught his attention. Leaning back in his padded leather chair, he lit a cigar and yelled, “Come in!”

Private Samuel Israel stood in his doorway. Several weeks had gone by since meeting the private and Donovan had come to respect the young man’s talents. If Israel was knocking on his door, there must be something worth listening to on his mind.

“I apologize for the interruption Mr. Donovan, but I have discovered a communication you’ll want to know about right away.”

Donovan motioned Israel to bring him the message. After reading the paper, he asked his code breaker if he was sure it was correct.

“Yes, Sir. I’m positive, Sir.”

Picking up the phone, Donovan gave someone orders to find Sgt Zalinski. He finally had a mission worth his squads’ talents.

“Good job, son. Now get back to it and find me some more of the good stuff.”

Private Israel smiled, saluted. and performed a dramatic about face maneuver in the office, which resulted in him leaving the office and closing the door. For the first time since he arrived in London, Samuel felt like he had accomplished something for the war effort. He was in his element and excited to do the required work. This was a good day.

An hour later, a knock on the door, startled Samuel out of his concentration. Charlie, a code breaker in the bullpen, handed Samuel an envelope and closed the door. Samuel had never received a sealed envelope at work before. Samuels anxiety began to rise. Opening the letter, he read the words aloud, “To Private first Class Samuel Israel. You are ordered to report to the 42nd division, Gamma Squad. At 0100 tomorrow. Prepare for an infield assignment. Regards, William Donovan. “

Samuel sat back down and looked around his small office. An electric charge ran from his hand to his neck. This mission was important and dangerous. The day had started out so nice. Now he was departing into the unknown with unfamiliar people. Turning off his desk lamp, Samuel grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and said, “Into the great beyond” as he departed his favorite place in the world.

The 42nd division was a Donovan creation. He may not act like it, but William Donovan had a Generals’ rank in the US Army. So, when he ordered you to go somewhere—you went. Approaching a group of non commissioned soldiers, Samuel inquired to the location of Gamma Squad. After a few wrong turns, he made his way to a transport truck, loading with men. A tall man barked orders at a group of the men, as they scrambled to load the truck. Samuel felt confident that he recognized that tall solider.

“Sargent Zalinski?”

The Sargent turned around and recognized Private Israel and laughed. “Private Itchy! Just the man I have been waiting on.”

“That’s Israel, sir, “Samuel corrected.

“Not to me private. You are Private Itchy. I need that itchy sixth sense to guide my mission.”

Samuel had never had a nickname before. Other members in basic were nicknamed as a badge of honor. He would wear his new name with pride.”

Saluting, Israel responded, “Yes, Sir!”

Grinning, Zalinski ordered, “Get on the truck, Soldier.”

Climbing up onto the two ton vehicle, Samuel sat down on the end of the bench. The soldiers were noisy and the tension flooded the space. Sargent Zalinski hopped into the back with an exuberance that no one else seemed to share.

Israel leaned into him and asked, “You really get a thrill out of combat don.t you?”

The big man smiled, “I do love excitement. The thrill of the chase. The anticipation before a battle. It is not the combat itself. I don’t like to see any man die, but the actual engagement is my thing. The risk. Bullets whizzing over your head, one group trying to outflank the other. It’s like a giant chess board.”

“Chess? You play chess?”

Laughing, “Of course, doesn’t everybody?”

Samuel watched as Zalinski engaged with the other soldiers. He did not yell, he pumped them up. He was definitely a man’s man, but there was something else. A compassion for life, that Samuel envied. Maybe it would become infectious. Most days, Samuel was happy to live in his little corner of the world. He would rather watch the world go by under a dome and only write about what he observed. Zalinski waded into life hip deep and splashed everyone in the pool.

Hilter had begun building the Atlantic wall along the French coast in 1942. This repelled most allied attacks and would be the first major hurdle of the mission. Alpha squad would be sent in as a distraction, targeting key sections of the wall and testing German defenses, while Gamma Squad would penetrate a known section of the wall still under construction. During the cover of battle the small group of soldiers would make their way to the next contact point.

A short boat trip across the English Channel and by 0400 the allied forces were engaged in heavy combat. Artillery explosions, gun fire, and men yelling in every direction created a scene of chaos. Zalinski yelled at Samuel to keep his head down and stay close as they stormed the beach in the dark. Samuel tried not to hold his breath as every nerve and instinct warned him to run away and hide. Cowardice was not his issue. He would do what must be done for his country but running into a wall of German fortified soldiers while they fired down on you was madness. His itchy sense fired all of his neurons at once, warning him of every danger. He could barely think as his head began to pulsate with a migraine of sensation. Men on both sides of Samuel were shot and went down. Pinpoints of light ahead and to the sides distracted him from seeing his objective in the dark. His feet were wet from slogging through the channel and caked with sand from the beach. They felt like cement shoes and he remembered seeing a gangster movie when he was a boy. Sargent Zalinski was a power house, he fired two guns at once, yelled commands at his troops and direct traffic to the breach in the wall. How did he manage to keep his senses? Running up a hill, soldiers began hauling themselves over the shortened section of the unfinished wall as German soldiers yelled and fired at their penetration. A solider went down on the wall as he crossed, Samuel tried to grab for him, but Zalinski yelled to leave him and shoved Samuel over the wall. Escaping into the woods, more German soldiers pursued, but were cut down by alpha troops. Assuming he survived this mission, Samuel wondered if he’d know how many men lost their lives today. Of course, the day was still young.

Making the tree line, Gamma Squad became silent and camouflaged into the French forest. Zalinski did a head count and was not happy with the results. Only ten out of the eighteen men made it to the trees.

“Damn Krauts,” he muttered.

Using hand signals that were passed on down the line, the small brigade made their way through the woods to meet their next contact. A cold wind passed through the trees as Samuel focused on following the man in front of him. Like an army of ants, the soldiers walked in a line to keep everyone together. Land mines, bear traps, and every other obstacle could be in their path and the last issue Zalinski wanted to deal with was losing another soldier today.

“Private Israel, front of the line.”

Samuel appeared at Zalinski’s side. He knew want his commander wanted.

“itchy, I need to know if we are walking into any traps. I want you to stay up here and let me know if you feel anything bad, understand?”

“Yes, Sargent.”

Staying away from main roads, Gamma Squad walked through forests, fields, and traversed streams. Aside from a few horses and chickens, they made their way to the town of Buron on the north west outskirts of the city of Caen without any German encounters. Here they would meet up with the French Resistance and be directed to their final destination. As the soldiers laid flat in a field, Zalinski and Israel approached a stone house, buried into the side of a hill. Zalinski scratched at his neck to indicate that Samuel should warn him of any danger. The private gave an ok sign and a thumbs up that everything was clear. Placing his hand on the door handle, the Sergeant slowly opened the entrance. The room was dark with a small candle burning on a table. No one else was inside.

“Are you sure this is it?,” whispered Samuel.

Zalinski nodded and scanned the room with curious eyes and his gun, cocked and loaded for any surprises. Samuel spoke, “I don’t like this, maybe it’s a trap?”

“Shhh,” hushed the Sargent, “Are your senses picking up anything?”

“Well…no.”

“Okay…then let me think.”

The click of several rifles sounded at the same time.

Part of the wall opened to reveal four people pointing rifles at the two soldiers.

A woman stepped forward and said, “Combien d'anges dansent sur la tête d'une épingle?” (How many angles dance on the head of a pin?)

Zalinski responded, “Autant d'étoiles que dans le ciel.” (As many as the stars in the sky)

The rifles barrels lowered, and Samuel sighed in relief.

Stepping into the light of the candle, the woman spoke first, “I am Odette Boudreaux. We received word of your coming.”

Smiling at the French woman, Zalinski turned on the charm, “I’m Sergeant Zalinski and this is private Israel. We are here to see the scientist laboratory your people warned us about.”

Samuel had to smirk at the Sargent. They were out in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a war, without any back up and he was trying to pick up beautiful French women.

The light flickered and Samuel found it difficult to see clearly, but Odette was beautiful. Long white hair was braided and fell against her porcelain white skin. Her eyes appeared to be violet and Samuel noticed that even her eyebrows were white. She looked like a doll wearing leather and camo.

Zalinski went to the door and used his flashlight to summon the rest of the troops. Once all of the men were inside, Odette invited the Americans to follow her crew down a dark hallway into an underground bunker.

Odette explained, “Our resistance is small, but we are all locals here. We grew up in this village and know the area much better than German soldiers.”

Zalinski listened and talked about the free France movement led by Charles de Gaulle in London. As the conversation turned to the mission, Samuel became more interested. The intelligence Samuel had provided supported other reports of Nazi scientists working on a new wonder drug that could make Hitlers soldiers invincible. The local resistance was aware of a Buron farm that had been seized by the Germans. Villagers had been used as workers by the Nazi’s. Many had disappeared. German soldiers had dug pits where the bodies were thrown into mass graves. The military presence in the area became more active last week. Odette believed that the Nazi’s had made a breakthrough.

“If you’re right,” said the Sergeant, “than its very important that we infiltrate, find out what the Krauts are up to, and stop it.”

Odette’s organization made maps of the area, tracked guard shifts, and documented supply runs. The Americans had all the intel they needed for a raid. Gamma Squad developed their plan for that night. Taking the down time to rest and check weapons, Samuel found a quiet corner and tried to nap. His mind was buzzing with a hundred concerns, but he felt like everything would be ok. That in itself was strange. Usually the universe was crying out for him to stay in place or find a different path, but today his sixth sense was calm. From his position he could see most of gamma squad. They seemed restless and nervous. Samuel noticed that Zalinski spent as much time with Odette as possible, he was incorrigible. Closing his eyes, Samuel thought about home. His parent’s grocery store. Sitting in rural France, his previous life was like a distant memory. More like a book he had once read and now the details were vague. He wondered if Sarah Goldman e from high school ever thought about him. What would life be like when he got back?

“Wake up Itchy! It’s time to go!”

Samuel startled. Sleep had overcome his thoughts and he wasn’t sure which was real, now or in his dream.

Gamma squad prepared to move out. Guns, ammo, packs. Everything was prepped and ready. Standing up as quickly as he could, Private Israel looked for his place in line. As the troop deployed, everyone was tense with anticipation.

Along the targeted location, a river cut through the land, forming a shallow valley. The soldiers used the topography of the land as coverage to approach the site. In the dark, the local creatures complained at the intruder’s disturbance. Crickets and frogs called out to each other warning the area about the newcomers. Samuel had considered the noise pleasant until he realized they may give the men’s position away to the Germans. If Zalinski was concerned about the wildlife noises he didn’t mention it to the private. Samuel decided to keep the concern to himself. As a guide, Odette had been quiet, stepping through the fauna and trees like a willowy deer. She stopped their advancement now and again but led the soldiers safely to their destination. At a break in the ravine, Odette indicated a steep incline of a tributary that flowed from under a spring house. From the crest of the bank, lights and vehicles could be seen like a beacon in the dark. The objective was within reach.

Zalinski sent his snipers to watch each entrance of the building. Several soldiers set up mortars in the darkness to cover the penetration teams exit. Samuel felt his itch. It became an electric bolt down his neck.

“Sarge!” he whispered, “Something’s wrong!”

Zalinski stopped as he heard the privates call.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Samuel shook his head in the moonlight.

Odette pleaded, “We must go now.”

Turning to Samuel, “Are we in trouble? Is the mission in jeopardy?”

Samuel shrugged, “I don’t know. I just got a warning that somethings going to happen.”

“To us or you?”

Samuel shrugged again, “I don’t know.”

The sergeant was unconvinced, “We’re in too deep to pull out now. If you don’t have any specifics, I gotta move forward..”

Samuel nodded. “Just keep an eye out for anything weird.”

Zalinski smiled, “I do that already. Why don’t you stay with the snipers and alter them if anything saprks our way, ok? We’ll be back in a few.”

Samuels feelings were hurt, but his itchy neck calmed down. Maybe it was him going ion that put everyone in danger. Zalinski, Odette, and four members of Gamma Squad kept low and ran for the main building.

Moving behind some clouds, the moonlight disappeared, and the small group surged forward. German soldiers rounded the corner of the barn and were easily dispatched by the Americans. Odette had timed their approach perfectly.

Leaning up against the wall, Zalinski told her, “You’re really good at this sneaking around stuff. What did you do before the war?”

Without looking at the sergeant she replied, “Fortune teller.”

Opening the outside door of the barn, Odette led the men inside. A hallway had been constructed with rooms on each side. A man could be heard screaming as machinery whined in the distance.

As the group approached the end of the hallway, a much bigger room emerged. Scientists and German soldiers were everywhere. A man was suspended by an apparatus on a large machine. He had been savagely beaten and was covered in cuts and bruises.

A scientist with short black hair, white smock and gloves held a box in his hand with a cord leading to the machine.

“Dort, dort, mein Freund, wird der Schmerz nur ein wenig länger dauern.” (There, there my friend, the pain will only last a little longer.)

Turning a knob on the remote, electricity crackled and flashed as the man was electrocuted over and over. His screams stopped, as he passed out from the pain. Red lesions formed on his face and arms. His bare chest ripped open and his bones stuck through the flesh.

Zalinski watched in horror as the man literally fell apart. The bones sliding out of the body and the straps holding his limbs couldn’t contain the torso as it melted onto the floor.

A German officer stood at the back of the room and yelled, “Ich dachte, Sie hätten Fortschritte gemacht, Doktor?” (I thought you had made progress doctor?)

The scientist smiled at the officer, “Warten Sie einfach, General.” (Just wait General.)

The mass of flesh and bone congealed on the floor of the lab. Even as the blood continued to drip from the restraints on the machine, the blob on the floor began to stir. A mans face had begun to form and tentacle like appendages grew from the center. One, two, three. Three tentacle like forms protruded from the horrific creation. The scientist smiled and pointed as if he had produced a beautiful painting. The creature did not speak, the face from the middle of the body opened its mouth and collapsed. Fluid began leaking from holes in the main body and the figure shriveled and shrank to the floor.

In German, “We have begun the process of reanimating the flesh. It responds to our chemicals and electric stimulus like clay. Once it is perfected, the flesh will bend to our will and we will have fully animated soldiers who will not feel pain or become tired. We are very close General. I just need some more time.”

The general looked at the bloody mess on the floor. In German, “The Furor doesn’t reward failure. I do not see this as a success. I will give you two weeks. If not perfected by then, we will find someone else who will actually advance the Third Reich!”

Zalinski’s German was not as good as he would have liked. He only caught part of the argument, but he saw and heard enough to know that what was happening was not good. Turning to Private Jones, he ordered the soldier to lob a couple of grenades into the machine. Pulling the pin, Jones threw the grenade into the largest machine. None of the German soldiers saw the grenade, as they concentrated on the General yelling at the scientist. Within seconds the explosion rocked the room and everyone in it. Jones pulled a pin on a second grenade as a Nazi reacted to the men in the hallway and fired. The bullet struck Jones in the shoulder which redirected the explosive, sending it into a tall shelf full of chemicals. Zalinski jumped towards the closest Nazi and fired his pistol towards the man. Chaos erupted as the Americans fired into the room as scientists and soldiers ducked for cover. The lead scientist tried to run for the exit, but Zalinski cut him off.

“Stop right there, Hans!”

But an explosion of glass, metal, and chemicals covered Zalinski and the scientist. Searing agony burned into the Sergeants skin as he attempted to shield himself with his arm. Glass shards embedded into his uniform and tore at his face. The last thing Zalinski saw was the top of the scientist’s head explode as he fell face first onto the floor, with the remaining shelf bits falling on top of his neck and back. Pain, then darkness.

Chapter 2

Sergeant Nicholas Zalinski wandered in the woods. Gunfire and men yelling in the distance were out of sight. The moon was full and lit the path beneath his feet. A gun, he did not feel swayed at the end of his arm as he chased his attacker. The lead scientist limped in front of him, just out of reach. The moonlight reflected off the Germans black hair and white lab coat.

“Where ya’ going, Hans?” Zalinski murmured.

The scientist huffed and puffed under labored breathing. Clouds of breath shone over his head.

“How many men did you torture, Herr Doktor? Did you use woman? Kids? You Nazi’s are a plague on our planet, and I am going to kill every one of you before this war is over. Do you hear me, Doktor? I’m going to kill you!”

Reaching out for the scientist, the sergeant spun him around, ready to put a bullet into his brain. But as the Scientist turned around, his face and most of his head was gone. Zalinski recoiled from the walking dead man. The man slumped onto the ground, body twitching.

Voices of unseen people in the woods came closer. In Zalinski’s shock he did not know if they were Gamma Squad or Germans. After what he just experienced, he was not sure he even cared. Louder and louder the voices grew. Zalinski could hear Private Itchy, Jones, McEntire. They were his guys. His guys had come to save him. Using his flashlight to identify his people, Zalinski stared into a nightmare of ghoulish faces. Soldiers American and German with grotesque features. Missing eyes and melted faces. Zalinski dropped his flashlight and ran further into the woods, the moans of the monsters chasing him from behind. As he ran, his hands began to sting. Looking at his arms and skin, they were turning red and blistered. What was happening? When will this end?

Laying in a bed, wrapped in bandages, Sergeant Nicholas Zalinski remained in a coma. Private Samuel Israel sat by his side, going over classified communications. It had been three months since their mission to Buron, France. The United States army called their mission successful. Over forty men died in the attack on the Atlantic wall or during their mission. Plus, various wounded, including the Sargent. Israel would not have labeled it successful. The horrible result of a Nazi scheme to make super men had claimed hundreds of villagers. Israel closed his eyes and played the memories in his mind like a bad recording.

Standing outside the Barn in Buron, an explosion blew out part of the barn wall. More explosions sounded inside as Samuel and the snipers prepared to shoot anyone wearing a German uniform. The barn door their men had entered flung open and smoke billowed out into the night air. The snipers took aim and felled one German after another. Cars drove up to the barn with Nazi soldiers who fired into the dark, no idea where the snipers were located. Gamma squad pelted the vehicles with motors, adding to the explosions and chaos.

Samuel felt his familiar itch as he told the snipers to hold their fire. Odette came to the door, waving her arms.

“Somethings, wrong,” said Israel. “Cover me, I’m going in.”

Within minutes, Odette and Israel were dragging the sergeant out by his arms. More Gamma squad members assisted the rescue as the American snipers continued to pick off German soldiers at their backs. Using Odette’s contacts and French resistance, six of the original eighteen members of Gamma Squad made it into the darkness to safety. It took days to reach free France and make their way to allied forces to return to London. Zalinski was badly burned over half his body and lacerations covered the other half. As Israel boarded the medical van with Zalinski, he looked out over the other wounded and thought, “This is war.”

Moaning and twitching his arms, Zalinski tried to sit up. Samuel got up from his chair and tried to make his friend lie still.

“Whoa, Sarge. You’re not going anywhere right now. Doctor? Nurse? He’s awake!”

As the medical team entered the room, Samuel stepped back. It was a miracle that the sergeant was alive. Any lesser man would have died long ago, but Sargent Nicholas Zalinski was a mans man. Tough as nails.

Samuel listened to the doctors trying to calm the soldier down.

“Yes, you are in a hospital. Yes, you are in England. Yes. Yes. Sargent, I need you to lie still while we take some readings and keep you stable. You have been through a lot of trauma and if you do not calm yourself, you will make your condition worse.”

“What’s my condition Doc?” Zalinski’s voice was coarse from not speaking.

“Please Sargent, let the nurse take your temperature so we can tend to your needs.”

A pretty blonde nurse held out a thermometer and slid it into the space around his mouth. Zalinski stopped and stared at her.

Israel laughed. Same old Sarge. If he could still take in a beautiful woman, he would be ok.

Samuel turned to leave when a water glass broke on the floor. The thermometer in Zalinski’s mouth broke and he spit it on the floor. Rising out of bed, the patient ripped at his bandages and growled.

“What have you done to me? What is this?”

Pushing the nurse out of the way, the doctor cried out for orderlies.

Two MP’s entered the room and tried to restrain Zalinski, but the angry soldier was not going to be restrained. With one arm, he hurled one MP out the door way, slamming him against the wall. With his other arm, he slammed the other man into the floor, cracking the tile. Ending his vicious attack, the Sargent continued to tear at his bandages until he could see the charred flesh underneath. A full length mirror on the wall reflected a terrifying image, as Zalinski stepped closer and scratched at the charred flesh, revealing dark green skin underneath. His right eye was bulging, and blood shot. His mouth was missing lips at the corner and his teeth and gums were exposed. Looking down he could see that right side of his body was covered in green leathery flesh. Pulling back his head bandage, his thick black hair was gone. Pocked marked green skin oozed under the coating of blackened skin, which slipped off like a snake.

Staring into the mirror, Zalinski was shocked. “What am I?”

No one spoke.

He repeated the question with ferocity in his voice, “WHAT AM I?”

“We don’t know, “ said the doctor in a timid voice.

William Donovan appeared in the doorway.

“Nick?”

The sergeant stared at his commanding officer, “W-Wild Bill?”

Laughing, “Yeah, it’s me old buddy. I know things look grim right now, but we’re going to figure this out.”

“Grim? Grim? Is that some sort of reaper joke? Look at me!”

Donovan nodded, “I know. I know. But you are alive. We didn’t even know if you’d wake up. “

Zalinski looked at the floor, the MP he smashed into the floor was dead, his head bled all over the floor, “I’m a monster.”

Donovan also stared at the dead man on the floor. “We’re soldiers, Nick. When we are threatened, we defend ourselves. You and your squad saved thousands of lives. You paid a great sacrifice for our country, but I am going to get you the best doctors. Round the clock treatment. Come on, let me make this right. I owe it to you. Your country owes you a great debt.”

Zalinski stared back into the mirror. Lifting his fist, he smashed it. Broken pieces feel to the floor. “I don’t want to see any more mirrors until this is fixed.”

Donovan nodded and more security came to usher Zalinski into another room. Samuel stared at the dead man on eth floor and at the man collapsed against the wall. Even at Zalinski’s strongest, he couldn’t have tossed a full-sized man with just one arm. While nobody has said anything, the Sargent had changed more than just green skin. He had become something else.

Several days later, Israel was called to the basement of the SIS building. Donovan had gone to great lengths to convert the buildings basement into a laboratory for Zalinski’s treatment. Walking through the hallways, the smell of antiseptic and body odor filled the air. A familiar voice could be heard laughing in the main lab.

Sitting on a hospital table in an army issued t-shirt and shorts, Sargent Nicholas Zalinski flirted with two female nurses. The left side of the sergeant’s face was unshaven but looked normal. The cuts and bruises had all but disappeared. As he turned his head, Samuel could see the nightmarish image of what happened to the right side of his face. The skin had become a lighter green but was still heavily scarred. The bulging eye seemed to wander on its own. Green skin trailed down his neck and arm, with patches on his thigh and ankles. The corner of his mouth could not contain his teeth and gums, placing him into a perpetual evil grin. The visage was chilling.

“Private Itchy! My best friend. So glad you could make it. These two beautiful ladies are Betty and Margret. Come join us.”

Samuel sighed and walked in. He was glad to see that his friend had not lost any of his charm, gruesome or not.

A doctor walked in closely behind Israel with William Donovan. Zalinski laughed and pointed at Donovan, “All my friends are here!”

William made introductions, “Nick, this is Doctor Archibald McIndoe. He is one of the foremost plastic surgeons in the world. He worked with some of the best doctors in World War I. I have seen their results firsthand.

Zalinski held out his green hand to the doctor to shake, “Howdy Doc.”

McIndoe was fascinated. “Mr. Donovan told me about your condition Mr. Zalinski, but I was not ready for the full impact of your tragedy. Of course, I will do everything I can to return you to your former glory.”

“Do I detect an Australian accent there Doc?”

McIndoe shook his head, “New Zealand actually. That’s where I have been practicing since the war.”

Speaking to the nurses, the doctor gave orders to have Zalinski medicated for performing biopsies and tests.

Donovan and Israel stepped away from the professionals to let them work.

“Private, I know you are excellent at your job upstairs, but I need you to be a support for Nick right now. There are still a lot we don’t know about his condition and to say he has suffered a psychological trauma is an understatement.”

“Yes, Sir. But I can keep working if you continue to send me briefings.”

Donovan smiled, “I appreciate your resolve, private, but right now, Nick needs your attention. Let me know if that itch warns you of any impending issues, ok?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good, lad. I’m counting on you.”

As Donovan departed the room, Samuel can hear the doctor asking Zalinski to hold still, while they apply a local anesthetic.

“There will be a sharp pinch and then the area will begin to go numb.”

As the doctor used the syringe to pierce the sergeant’s skin, the needle snapped in two.

The doctor turned to the nurse, “Nurse Betty, I have a faulty needle, please bring me another.”

The nurse replied, “Yes, Doctor” and handed him a second syringe.

Pushing against the green skin, this needle bent.

Holding up the needle to look at its condition, the doctor’s eyes opened wide. Grabbing a scalpel McIndoe attempted to make a small incision in the leather like skin. Nothing. With enough pressure, the blade tip snapped off and fell to the floor.

“Nurse, I need another syringe.”

Zalinski, laying flat asked, “Everything ok there Doc?”

Under labored breath McIndoe replied, “Just a minute Mr. Zalinski, I’m trying a different approach. Walking around to the other side of the lab table, the doctor plunged the needle into the pink dermis. Drawing out the plunger, the doctor withdrew bright green liquid. Nurse Betty gasped when she saw the fluid. Samuel stared at the vial and at Zalinski’s face. The sergeant was not producing normal blood.

“Mr. Zalinski, “I need to confirm with some colleagues over the best course of treatment,. Please excuse me.”

The doctor and both nurses left the room. Samuel approached the soldier lying on the table. One look at Samuels face, and Nick Zalinski knew something was up. Samuel laid his hand on his friends’ shoulder as a reassurance.

Turning his good side to face Israel, the Sargent spoke, “I guess I should have listened to you before going in. You tried to warn me. I was just hell bent on taking those Krauts out.”

Samuel tried to put his best face on, “We’ll figure something out. At least you’re alive.”

As the doors to the room opened, several Military Police aimed their guns at the two American soldiers.

Samuel turned to the men, “What the Hell is this? We’re United States Soldiers.”

Nigel, the man at the front desk walked in and said, “You may be a soldier, but that man is not human. As an operative of the SIS, I order him to come with us to a secure holding facility.”

The doctor appeared at the back of the group. The look on his face was pure fear.

Samuel protested, “We’re not going anywhere until our Commanding Officer tell us to, Where is General Donovan?”

As if by the mention of his name, Wild Bill Donovan stepped from behind the Military Police and told every to stand down.

Staring at the desk man, Donovan yelled, “Nigel? What the hell are you doing? You don’t have authority to be here. You certainly don’t have the authority to give orders to my soldiers. Just because your daddy is a big wig in SIS, doesn’t give you the right to do this. Now take your men and get the hell out of here!”

Holstering his weapon, Nigel glared at Donovan and glared at the soldiers. Motioning the MP’s to follow him, they left the room. The Doctor came back into the room flustered.

“I am so sorry. One of the nurses must have said something to the desk man. Luckily, I went to get Mr. Donovan.”

Zallinski sat up. “What the hell is going on, Bill?”

Donovan shook his head, I don’t know. Your skin has changed. The green areas have become as tough as steel. The doctor can’t penetrate it with normal instruments.”

Samuel spoke up, “What was the liquid you took out of his other arm?”

The doctor looked at Donovan first and then at the other two soldiers. “I do not know. I’ve never seen anything like it. We need to run more tests. We need more doctors. Mr. Zallinski has undergone a massive biological metamorphosis.”

“Into what?” asked Nick.

The doctor looked at the floor and then to the sergeant. “I don’t know.”

Two weeks and dozens of tests later, Israel and Zallinski are working out in a private gymnasium built for the Sargent. While Samuel pulls on rubber ropes fastened to a pole, Zallinski rides one of the latest inventions in England, a new model of stationary bike. The sergeant’s legs pump the pedals as the wheel spins mile after mile. Experience had taught him that he rarely became tired anymore. He would try to push his new body to its physical limits, but the results were just the same – no feeling. The sensitivity in his right hand was completely gone and all the nerves in his face, neck, and torso were no longer active. The pink skin on his body could be cut and penetrated but would heal within minutes. At least he could feel some sort of pressure in his legs and feet, but nothing else worked like before. He never felt hungry, thirsty, or tired. If his mug looked the same, he would have been thrilled. He was the ultimate soldier.

Hopping off the bike, Zallinski made his way to the weights. Samuel yelled out, “Are you going to show off again?”

Smiling, the sergeant racked up four hundred pounds on the dead lift and with bent knees, he hoisted the weight up with ease.

“I think I can do more.”

Samuel stopped pulling on the tethers and shrugged, “Try it.”

Setting down the bar bell, Zallinski added another hundred pounds. With a huff of breath, me managed to lift the new weight with some straining. Smiling he set it down and added another hundred pounds.

“Careful,” warned Samuel. “You don’t know your limits yet.”

Bending his knees, Zallinski pulled the six hundred pounds to his chest. With a lot of effort, he raised the weight over his head. Within seconds, his left forearm broke, and he dropped the metal bar onto the floor mat with a loud crash.

Samuel rushed to his friend who had bent over looking at his broken arm. Laughing he held his arm high as it formed itself back from a ninety-degree angle into a straight line.

“Look at that,” yelled Zallinski. “Look how fast that healed!”

Samuel’s face was a mixture of shock and worry.

“Clearly five hundred pounds is your limit.”

The green faced man smiled and said, “For now.”

Samuel took the towel from his shoulders and wiped his face. He has soaked his tank top and shorts with sweat and now needed a shower. As always, Zallinski did not sweat at all.

“I know you are feeling invincible right now, Sarge, but we still don’t know what limitations your new body possesses. Let’s take things a little slower, ok?”

The tall man slapped his friend on the back, “Ok, Itchy. I’ll try to be more careful.”

As the two men headed for the locker room, Zallinski began to stumble. Before Samuel could ask if he was alright, Zallinski hit the floor. Before he blacked out, Zalinski heard Samuel cry for help and then everything went dark.

Waking up in the laboratory, Zallinski asked about his condition. In the prevailing weeks, scientists and doctors from around the world had been called into investigate the Sergeants condition. His status had been determined classified and the best minds the Allies could offer answered the call. Doctor Ann Bishop, a biologist known for her parasitic research answered his question.

“Sergeant we have determined that your body has been slowly making toxins. While we assumed it was a natural part of your bodies new structure, I have discovered that you are a product of microscopic creatures.”

Zallinski looked at the other professionals to see if she was pulling his leg. Their serious faces told him; she was telling the truth.

“Ok, you are going to have to explain this to me.”

Looking at her colleagues, Doctor Bishop took a deep breath and explained. “Inside every living being are millions of microscopic organisms. Animals, people, insects, everything. Now normally, these creatures go about their business and we never even know they are there, unless it is a bacteria or virus that makes us sick. We even have good bacteria that help with our digestion and so forth.”

Zallinski chided her forward, “Ok. That makes sense, go on.”

“In your case, Mr. Zallinski, the microscopic organisms have changed. The chemicals you were exposed to altered their function and structure. As a normal virus takes over the cell and replicates itself, they have rebuilt your body to suit their new existence. The byproduct of their development is this toxin. We will have to drain this toxin from your body every so often or it will overwhelm your new system. Just like our body creates carbon dioxide and must be expelled when we breath.”

While Zalinski tried to process all this new information, Samuel understood right away.

“So, what you are saying doctor, is that you must siphon off the toxin or the Sargent will get sick.”

Nodding, “Yes. More tests must be done to understand at what rate his body is producing the chemicals, but I know we can discover a schedule to keep the Sargent from succumbing to the toxins.”

Zalinski sat up. “Okay, I get that part, but are you going to get these little bugs out of me?”

The doctor shook her head, “To remove the organisms, would be detrimental to your health. You have become their host. They need you to survive and you need them. It is a symbiotic relationship.”

Zalinski scowled at Samuel and scratched at his skin, “Great, now I feel itchy.”

Washington, DC- Pentagon

General DwightEisenhowerreceives a memo from the White House to meet with General Donovan, the coordinator of the London American Operatives Unit. A new development in enemy infiltration has become a possible gamer changer for the war effort.Eisenhowerorders his aide to extend an invitation to Donovan and prepares to meet later in the week. A second letter from William Donovan, himself, lays on his desk. Opening the letter, GeneralEisenhowerreads the communique. Turning to his aide, he ands him the letter to read and asks, “Is this some sort of practical joke? Wild Bill’s just bullshitting, right?” the aide shakes his head, “No, General other reports from London have reached the White House. He is very serious.”

Standing, Eisenhower gives orders to schedule his meeting with Donovan as soon as possible. He is taking the next plane to London. He had to see this for himself.

Three days later, Eisenhower walked into the Minimax Fire Extinguisher Company on Broadway. Making his way to Donovan’s office, both men shook hands and sat down.

Donovan offered a cigar, but Eisenhower held up his hand to say no. The two men stared at each other for a moment and then the visiting General said, “Tell me this is bullshit.”

Donovan smiled, “It’s not.”

“What’s the soldiers name again?”

“Sargent Nicholas Zalinski. He was one of my top operatives. Best soldier I have worked with since WWI.”

“And now what? He’s a monster ready for hire?”

Donovan stood up and said,

“Let me show you some film footage.”

Turning on a reel to reel projector, images of Sargent Zalinski appeared on a far screen. Donovan narrated the images.

“We know he can life over 500 lbs, as you see here, he’s not even breaking a sweat. He can run for miles and never get tired. He also doesn’t feel any pain on his right side and bullets can’t penetrate his green skin.”

Eisenhower watched as the scene changed from one task to the next. “He sure is an ugly son of a bitch. What’s the downside, bill? Can he be controlled?”

Donovan turned off the projector. “He is still a dedicated United States Soldier. He was head strong before and he is the same now. I believe we can use his abilities to go where normal soldiers can’t. He’s near indestructible and strong as five men.”

Dwight laughed, “The enemy may run just from seeing him.”

Donovan replied, “We have been developing a mask that he could wear to appear more human to infiltrate. And we can make him look like anyone. He’s the perfect undercover asset!”

Sitting up in his chair, Eisenhower held out his hands, “And you say that Hitler was trying to make more men like him? Good God man, we won’t stand a chance on the battlefield.”

Donovan handed his colleague a report, “Our intelligence describes other sites like the one we destroyed in Buron. Hitler is losing his men to the wonder drug they used in the Blitzkrieg. He needs something more potent. This isn’t going to stop. We need specialized agents that can combat this growing issue.”

“So, what are you suggesting?”

Handing him another report folder, William continued, “We have identified several individuals in the Allied ranks that possess extraordinary abilities. There is a dossier on each person in that folder. I know that you are getting ready to take over the European operation, Dwight. I want your support to assemble this team of unique people to form a phantom squad, Led by Zalinski, that can track down these sites and other phenomenon Hitler values to destroy, catch and recover, or whatever we deem fit. This could be the turning point we have been looking for to win this war for the allies.”

“Ok, Bill. I’ll consider it. But I want you as lead. I don’t have time to chase down a crew of crazy people.”

“Of course.”

“After vetting, I want this crew to be ready for their first mission in three weeks, Bill.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Standing up, General Dwight Eisenhower made his goodbyes and departed.

Donovan sat down and lit a cigar. Thumbing through a copy of the personnel folder, he continued to make notes. The fate of the free world was in play. He was putting a lot of faith into a group of people he knew little about. But sometimes it was the fringe people, who worked better outside of the normal channels that made the difference.

His office phone rang, and Donovan reached for it to answer, “General we need you right away in the gymnasium, Sargent Zalinski is out of control!”

Flying down the stirs as fast as he could, Bill Donovan made his way to the gymnasium.

Bar bells and sawhorses were thrown everywhere. Private Israel was attempting to talk Zalinski down.

“Sarge! Sarge, put down the weights!”

The gruesome looking soldier held a bar bell over his head. It looked to be about a thousand pounds and he used it to hit the concrete walls over and over. Standing in shock as he looked about the room, Bill tried to keep everyone else in the room back. MP’s, nurses, and a few doctors had responded to the noise and were nervously staring at the scene.

“Everyone please stay back. Let Private Israel and I handle this situation.”

As the crowd retreated into the hall way, Bill closed the door and faced the situation.

“Hey Nick! What’s going on buddy?”

Samuel knew Donovan was there but did not want to take his eyes off his friend. The thunderous clang of weights against the wall rang out again and again. Cracks in the plaster and stone revealed its inability to repulse the attack. A few more strikes and the back wall was coming down.

The Sargent did not react to the sight of his friend, William Donovan. He did not react to his friend Samuel Israel. Inside his mind, his vision was narrowing. He felt trapped, like he was in a box and the earth around him was piling on top. He felt his death and he desperately wanted out.

Samuel’s abilities lit his skin like a thunderbolt. He knew his friend was in pain but he did not have the ability to stop him. Dropping the weight bar, Zalinski began hitting the walls with his fists. The weight bar bounced and cut the sergeants ankle. Green liquid leaked from the gash and spread on the floor, where it bubbled and stained the wood planking. As the liquid continued to pour from his ankle, the Sargent began to calm. Eventually he turned to Private Israel and said, “Itchy? I’m tired,” collapsing in the pool of his own blood.

Donovan called for the medical staff who rushed in and loaded the Sargent onto a gurney. Israel leaned against a work out machine and put his head down in relief.

“You ok, Private?” asked the commander.

Israel held up his hand in a thumbs up position.

“What happened?”

Catching his breath, private Israel reported that the two men were doing their normal work out, when the Sargent wanted to try and increase his lifting record. Israel wanted him to take it slowly, so they began to increase the 500 pound limit by 50 pound increments. At 700 pounds, Zalinski began to tire. Israel suggested he stop, but the sergeant was insistent they keep going. At 800 pounds Zalinski let out a triumphant cry and then like a light switch, everything changed. Zalinski was no longer coherent. He began to scream and stomp. At one point he started kicking everything in the room, while he was still carrying the weight bar.

Donovan clapped the private on the shoulder. “Ok Son. Let’s go check on him.”

In the main laboratory, Zalinski was still unconscious. Doctor Bishop hooked his left arm up to a rubber tube and they were draining green liquid into a bucket. A bandage wrapped the wound on his ankle.

Donovan inquired, “Doctor?”

Bishop held a clipboard in her hand, pointing to figures she wrote and explained, “His toxin levels were off the charts. Draining the toxins from his body has calmed his system. What was he doing before the incident?”

Israel narrated the story of the past hour.

Bishop replied, “I see.” Scribbling a few more notes, she continued, “I believe extreme stress creates high toxin levels. At elevated levels, it renders the sergeant comatose, but at high levels he is aggressive. It’s most likely a reflex to the adrenaline pumped through his system. There is so much we still don’t know about his biology. We need to run more tests.”

Donovan frowned, “ You have three weeks doctor. I need to know everything about his strengths and weakness in less than three weeks.”

Samuel was on alert, “Then what?”

Donovan walked toward the laboratory doors and pushed them open, saying “Then we go to war.”