Friendly Fire

The 6'4" Navajo Indian we called Chief,  was an Airman Basic (Private) who lived and worked with us on top of a mountain in Germany's Schnee Eiffel.

At one time, Chief was one of the "Navajo Code Talkers," who were important in helping the U.S. win  WWII in the Pacific.

When I first saw him, he was wearing the uniform of a Master Sergeant.  The uniform was covered with medals.

Recently, upon embarkation to Europe, Chief was demoted to Airman Basic for a minor infraction by a stupid Second Lieutenant testing new-found authority.

Humiliated, Chief began to drink.  About once a month, he would get a little too drunk and would go on a mini warpath.  At these times, Chief would fire a pistol in the barracks.  He never intended to harm us.  Most of the bullet holes were in the ceiling. 

At first we were scared, but after a while we got used to the target practice and ignored it.

Normally, the Officers on night duty left us alone.  However, one night during one of Chief's shooting sprees, a new Second Lieutenant had night duty and decided to catch the perpetrator.  He burst into our barracks and announced that we all needed to stand next to our bunks for his inspection.

As he proceeded with that inspection, he would lift up blankets and pillows, knowing that sooner or later he would find the pistol and nab the shooter. Even though a skinny little guy, he felt that this would ensure a position of "Big Man on Mountain Top."

After a while his inspection led him to Chief's bunk.  Chief was standing at attention next to it.  The Second Lieutenant lifted up Chief's pillow and underneath was the errant gun.  Being smarter than the usual Officer, the Second Lieutenant glanced at the pistol,  looked up at this gigantic muscular Indian, put the pillow back down over the gun, and continued on  with his inspection.

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