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

by D. B. Silvis

  The import business of the Dunnes took a devastating hit. When the economy fell, their wine and liquor sales came almost to a halt. With the high tax on imported goods, even if Prohibition ended, they would still have to continue bootlegging. Canada was one of the countries, which were most miffed about the United States’ new tariff. They forged even closer economic ties with Great Britain and France, and in return imposed their own tariff on U.S. goods.

  To increase their profits, Donald made a trip to Ireland. Shortly thereafter, the Dunnes began importing Irish and Scotch whiskies into Canada.

  In December of 1933, based on the belief that repealing Prohibition would generate enormous sums of much-needed tax revenue, and weaken the base of organized crime, congress passed the Twenty-first Amendment. Under its terms, states were allowed to set their own laws for the control of alcohol. Once again, the Dunnes business went back into full swing. However, because of the tariff law, which was still in effect, their bootlegging from Canada, continued. Later on, during the 1930s, tariffs were lowered, and the Dunnes relied less and less upon their illegal imports into Canada.

  Over the next few years, their business continued to flourish, except during World War II when they became more involved in the politics, and the needs facing the nation. After the war, they began investing their cash in land, mainly in southern California and in Florida, where they acquired an estate on Biscayne Bay, in Miami.

  In July, 1950, tragedy struck the Dunnes. Whelan’s parents and his Uncle Danny were killed in an airplane crash. They were on their way to California to spend two weeks with their old friend and partner, Sal Macaluso. Whelan was devastated, but he had little time to mourn, as the fortune the family had accumulated, and the business empire they had built, was now his to manage. His son Douglas, who had recently graduated from the Harvard Law School, was brought into the company to assist him. His daughter Maggie was also in the Harvard Law School, but wouldn’t graduate for two years. During her summer vacations she had worked as a page in the House of Representatives in Washington, D.C., and she had informed her father that she would not be working for him. After graduation she planned on being a legislative aide; her ultimate goal was to be a congresswoman. Her father agreed wholeheartedly with her decision.

  By the fall of 1959, his son Douglas had taken over management of the Dunne Corporation. His daughter Maggie had graduated from Harvard Law School and, in the fall of 1958, had been elected to congress. Whelan was now one of America’s richest men.

  In the middle of January, 1960, Whelan Dunne’s old Annapolis roommate called him. During their private meeting, Admiral Hildegard requested financial assistance for a secret program he, other military officers, and two members of congress were promoting. After hearing about their clandestine endeavor, Whelan Dunne was more than willing to help.

  CHAPTER 11

  On Monday morning, Kip called General David Dugan’s office, and made an appointment for he and Killian to meet with the general the following day.

  Tuesday afternoon, when Killian and Congressman Kipling Smith entered General Dugan’s office, the general stood. He came around from behind his six-foot long cherry wood desk to greet them. Dugan had a puzzled look on his face as he looked at Killian.

  “Congressman, is this the man you recommended for our clandestine operation, Zack’s horse trainer?”

  “Yes sir. General Dugan, I’d like you to meet Killian Muldoon.”

  The two men shook hands.

  The general sized up Killian. “Well you’re certainly a big, strong-looking fella and–” he chuckled, “–obviously an Irish lad.”

  Kip smiled. “I take it those are pluses in your book, General?”

  “They are, and I have to admit I’m a bit surprised. But, if you can do the job we’re asking of you as well as you cooked those T-bone steaks Saturday night, I’m all in for you, Killian,” chortled the general.

  The three men laughed as General Dugan went back to the brown leather chair behind his desk. “Have a seat and let’s get down to business,” he instructed.

  They sat down.

  “So Killian, Kip here has really built you up. He says you’re the best man for our operation. Do you feel the same? Can you handle it?”

  “If I had any doubts, sir, I wouldn’t be sitting here. Kip knows I’ve been looking for a situation like this.”

  “Well, I doubt you’ve been thinking about a situation quite like the one we’re proposing. I don’t believe that one part of the government has ever secretly investigated another, at least, not to the extent we plan on doing.”

  “That may be, sir, but I am looking forward to the challenge.”

  “Good!” exclaimed General Dugan, as he sat gazing at Killian. “At the ranch Kip told us about your qualifications. They’re pretty impressive. Why do you feel you’re up to this job?”

  “First of all, everything Kip told you is true. Secondly, I have had experience in doing unusual and different tasks, plus I have the confidence I can handle this mission for you.”

  General Dugan nodded. “I like your honesty and confidence.”

  “General, even though Killian doesn’t have a paper trail of records like the regular men in the service, he has experience and comes from a long line of men who have served our country. His great-great grandfather, also named Killian Muldoon, was a highly decorated sergeant during the Civil War. He even marched in the parade here in Washington after General Lee surrendered.”

  “That a fact! Being a Civil War buff I’ll certainly look that up.”

  Silence reigned for a few moments.

  “General, most operations have a codename. Have you and the other officers came up with any?” asked Kip.

  “We’ve tossed around a few names, but so far we haven’t picked one.”

  “May I suggest the word ‘chameleon’? I think it describes our program,” Kip offered.

  General Dugan considered the suggestion. “Yes. I like it. What we’re asking Killian to do is to be a bit of a chameleon, to conceal our operation, to camouflage and disguise it, while gathering the information we want. Very good, Kip. Chameleon will be the code word for our operation.”

  “I’m glad you like it, sir. Both Killian and I were hoping you would.”

  General Dugan chuckled. “It’s too bad Killian can’t change the color of his skin like a chameleon. Boy that would confuse the hell out of the CIA!”

  Killian and Kip smiled.

  “When do you plan to start the mission, General?”

  “Anxious, are you, Killian?”

  “Yes sir, the sooner the better.”

  “My feelings exactly, could you be ready to start SERE training tomorrow?”

  “I’m ready right now, General,” replied Killian.

  “I’ve decided to have you enroll in the five-week training course. I’d like you to pass the test to be a field instructor.”

  “Good, I’d prefer to be an instructor,” agreed Killian.

  “I think it will prove to be important, as you’ll have more of a free hand to move from area to area, as an instructor.”

  “That makes sense to me, sir. I’m all for it.”

  “Okay then, we’ll move forward.” The general looked at Kip. “For your information, in order to launch, and pay for our operation, Whelan Dunne has put one hundred thousand dollars in an unlisted bank account, so we’re ready to go.”

  Kip nodded. “That is good news, sir.”

  “It is. So in the morning, you take Killian to the airport. I’ll arrange to have a plane fly him to Camp Mackall for training. We’ll get this show on the road,” said the general as he stood up and walked around his desk. “Killian, welcome to our team, I believe this is going to be an interesting, and hopefully a beneficial, ride.”

  “Thank you for this opportunity, General.”

  “Let’s save the thanks until later, when we see how this all turns out.”

  “Sir,” Kip assured him, “if you knew what I know about Killian
’s abilities, you’d have a more positive attitude.”

  “I sure hope you’re right, Kip. This is a dangerous mission. We’re all going to need to be at our best. The CIA group is damn good at what they do, and they’re very experienced.”

  He shook their hands. “Good luck, Killian. We’ll all get together after your five weeks of training.”

  The following morning, Kip put Killian on a private military plane for Camp Mackall in North Carolina.

  Five weeks later, after Killian had completed the SERE training, he had another short meeting with Kip and General Dugan before boarding a military plane for Saigon.

  It was a warm spring day, when Killian stepped off the plane at the Tan Son Nhut Air Base. He went into the city and rented a room at a small hotel, which was near the RMK–BRJ Construction Firm. General Dugan had chosen the American construction company to be the base area for Killian to work as a SERE instructor.

  As an instructor, Killian wore non-rip poplin fatigues, with the black, yellow and green SERE patch, and an instructor’s ribbon on his shoulder. From time to time, Killian oversaw the training of a few of the civilian workers at the construction company; but, most of his time was spent observing, and learning what the CIA was up to in Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia.

  Over the following weeks, Killian obtained information through conversations with military personnel and contractors. Most of them were willing to speak freely to him, as they felt he was one of them.

  However, when mingling among the Vietnamese people and Vietnamese soldiers he would transform into a Vietnamese officer. While speaking their language, he was able to gain more valuable information about the CIA and their military movements.

  During the first week, he learned about the black press operations of the CIA, involving the use of misleading propaganda to influence local people. They did this by way of leaflets, radio broadcasts and infiltrators whose job it was to sway the Vietnamese people into believing what the CIA wanted them to believe.

  Over the past few years, the CIA had backed the anti-communist Ngo Dinh Diem as the president of Vietnam, and established the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN), which was entirely armed and funded by the United States.

  When Michael McComb became the CIA’s new Chief of Station, in Saigon, he ordered his officers to funnel money to the political parties, in an effort, to gain a long-range advantage in manipulating and monitoring present and future developments. In addition, he focused on building up Vietnamese capabilities to combat the Viet Cong insurgency in the countryside. This Saigon Military Mission (SMM) was a covert unit attached to the US embassy, which was run by the CIA. The unit quietly entered Vietnam to help the pro-western Vietnamese people wage political and psychological warfare.

  During his gathering of information, Killian learned that the South Vietnamese, who opposed Ngo Dinh Diem, had recruited thousands of people and formed the National Liberation Front (NLF), which trained them to be guerrilla fighters. The leaders of the NLF made a promise to the Vietnamese people, who mostly lived in small villages, and led a peasant lifestyle that they’d remove Diem from power and redistribute the land, taking it from the rich and giving it back to the poor.

  The NLF, otherwise known as the Viet Cong (VC), rarely met Ngo Dinh Diem’s military forces head on, but used guerilla tactics by attacking their enemy and then disappearing into the dense jungle.

  One evening, while was Killian having a drink in a Saigon bar, a slightly drunk construction worker, came over to his table. “Hi there, buddy. I’m Bill Curry, mind if I join you?”

  Killian looked up. “Sure.” He gestured to a chair at the round wooden table.

  Bill Curry sat down and Killian extended his hand. “I’m Killian Muldoon.”

  “It’s nice to know you, Killian.”

  They shook hands, and for the next few minutes the two men made small talk, about where they were from, how long they’d been in Vietnam and other inconsequential matters.

  “I see you’re only wearing the SERE patch,” observed Bill. “Aren’t you attached to any of the military units?”

  “No, I’m a freelance civilian trainer assigned to the RMK–BRJ construction group,” Killian answered.

  “That’s interesting. I’m with the MSUG. Have you heard of us?”

  “I’ve heard mention of it, but don’t know what it is,” said Killian.

  “It stands for the Michigan State University Group. It’s a program set up to provide technical assistance to the government of South Vietnam on behalf of the Department of State,” Bill explained.

  “How’d Michigan State get involved in something like that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know all the particulars, Killian, but it seems Ngo Dinh Diem had some connection with the University. I heard he had spent some time at the college. Most of us are former Michigan State Troopers or big city detectives. We’re here to advise the local government on regulations and police matters.”

  Neither man said anything for a few seconds.

  “Is the CIA involved in your group?” asked Killian.

  Bill hesitated for a moment, finished off his drink, and waved at the waitress to bring another round.

  “Yeah, between you and me they’re into everything over here. At Michigan State University, the CIA was interested in the school’s courses in the field of police administration. Over the past year, the CIA has infiltrated the MSUG; they’re using it as a front for their covert operations.”

  The waitress set down their drinks and walked away.

  Bill continued. “Under the Chief of Station, the CIA has recently increased its assistance, and advice to the Government of Vietnam’s security forces.”

  Killian didn’t respond, but took another sip of his drink. Bill gave him a studied look.

  “I had a particular reason to come over to your table, Killian.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. Right now we’re in need of men with experience. Men like you.”

  Killian decided to lead him on. “I might be interested. I’m not doing any training right now.”

  “I’d like to introduce you to my boss.”

  “If I joined the MSUG what would I be doing?”

  “In the beginning we helped set up a police constabulary, and gave instruction to their security forces about guarding bridges, major roads and power stations. We also trained their police force to enforce curfews and maintain law and order. Now most of us act as advisers. We range across South Vietnam, reporting on village life and conducting studies.

  “That doesn’t sound very challenging. Why are you looking for more men?” asked Killian.

  “The problem is we’ve found we’re crossing paths with secret policemen posing as village chiefs, and CIA officers masquerading as anthropologists. I have to admit those CIA ploys are helping catch the VC; but they’re putting us in the crosshairs of the Viet Cong.”

  “Sounds like things are going off track for you guys.”

  Bill finished his drink and waved for another round. “Yeah, the damn CIA has been, and is continuing to be the swizzle stick that stirs up Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam.”

  “Yes, the longer I’m here, the more I’m realizing that,” agreed Killian.

  “And now the construction companies are getting involved in more than just construction.”

  The short Vietnamese waitress set two more drinks on the table and left.

  “What do you mean, Bill?”

  “The Vinnell Corporation, which is constructing military bases and airfields here, now has US military officers overseeing the construction work. One of them told me the CIA is working, in secret, with the Vinnell Corporation to build up its own mercenary army.”

  Killian shot Bill a doubting look.

  Bill nodded his head. “It’s true, I swear.”

  They sat in silence, drinking. After a few seconds, Killian stood up.

  “Bill, it’s been good talking to you, but I need to go. I’m flying over to Laos in the morning. I’l
l think over your offer.”

  Bill stood, and they shook hands. “You do that.”

  Killian tossed some money on the table. “The drinks are on me tonight.”

  He turned and left, with a wide grin on his unshaven face.

  The following morning Killian made his way to the Tan Son Nhat Airport, carrying small overnight bag. He looked around the tarmac, and saw an Air American Fairchild C-123 Provider cargo plane. It was being loaded, with large cartons, by a sergeant and three airmen. He walked over to them.

  “Good morning, sergeant, are you the cargo master?”

  “I am,” replied the sergeant, looking at Killian.

  “You guys heading for Laos?”

  “Right, we’re leaving in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Think I could hitch a ride?”

  The sergeant glanced at the SERE patch and instructor’s ribbon. “Sure. Are you going to be doing some training?”

  “That’s what I need to find out, sergeant.” Killian held out his hand. “I’m Killian Muldoon.”

  “Nice to meet a fellow Irishman, I’m Connor Boyle.”

  They shook hands.

  “Our whole crew took the SERE training before we left the states. Good stuff. I sure hope to hell we don’t need it. This area would be one miserable place to go down,” said Conner grimly.

  “From what I’ve heard, the enemies here are mean bastards. This is a lousy place, sergeant.”

  Conner spit. “Lousy? It’s a shit hole, and these fucking people are goddamn animals.”

  Killian laughed. “Yeah, it’s not a place I’d pick to settle down.”

  “Settle down? No, this place needs to be blown to hell.” The sergeant paused. “And we’re doing to best we can.” He loudly laughed.

  Fifteen minutes later they were taxiing down the runway and lifting off into the air. Killian and the sergeant were sitting up near the front of the plane. The three privates were sitting in the back, by the cargo.

  “Been over her long?” asked the sergeant.

  “Nope, just a couple of weeks,” Killian answered.

  “I’ve been riding around on these friggin’ CIA planes for over six months.”