After the meeting Colonel Martin was angry. He was not used to people challenging his authority and threatening to go over his head. He was carrying out the wishes of the President and the Joint Chiefs for godsakes. What did Congressman Stephens expect him to do, defy his Commander in Chief? As he walked around the exterior of the cathedral, he couldn’t help but marvel at its beauty. He wondered if God was really responsible for this living miracle or if it was a fluke of nature. He felt helpless for the first time in his life. He’d always been able to handle anything his superiors had thrown at him. He’d always been able to rely on his experience, training, and common sense to solve difficult problems, but nothing about this assignment was common or made sense. He didn’t know what to do and he was scared. Scared he’d fail and end his career in disgrace or, worse yet, scared this miracle wasn’t from God but from the Devil himself.
It was late when he finally went to his tent and climbed onto his bunk. He tried to sleep but he felt uneasy and tossed and turned for a long time until he finally fell into a shallow slumber. Angry jabs to his face and intense pain to his left eye awoke him. “What the hell!” He screamed, sitting up, arms flaying, trying frantically to brush the creatures off him. Covering his wounded eye and feeling warm blood dripping between his fingers he stood up and quickly scanned the darkness with his functioning eye. The sound of flapping wings sent a wave of terror through him. “Oh, my God!” he screamed as he twirled around to confront his attackers.
A bat landed on his torso and sank its claws through his T-shirt, into his skin and then began stabbing his stomach with its beak. He grabbed the bat by the wings and tried to pull it off but another bat landed on his head. The second bat went after his good eye while several more landed on his back and head. They were all relentless in their attacks, their fangs ripping into his skin like drill bits. “Oh, my God! Help me! Somebody help me!” he screamed. He stood up, shook himself violently and grabbed another bat by its cold, angry wings. “Leave me alone you bastards!” he wailed but the bats were relentless in their attack finally driving him to his knees. Blood oozed from his eyes and dozens of wounds until he became so weak he collapsed and shrunk into the fetal position.
There were footsteps as soldiers rushed to his tent. The front flaps flew open and dozens of angry bats flew out into the night. The Marine sergeant in command of the night watch turned on a lamp and cringed at the bloody sight before him. “Oh, my God, Colonel! Are you alright?” he asked, but immediately realized it was a stupid question. The Colonel’s eyes had been plucked out and his face was a bloody pulp. “Oh, shit? Medic! We need a medic!” He felt for a pulse but found nothing but stillness.
Two other sentries ran in and gagged at the sight. “Oh, shit!”
When the medical team arrived they kicked everyone out, and after satisfying themselves that the Colonel was dead, covered his body with a sheet.”
Ten minutes later when the officer in charge, Lt. Herbert Miller, arrived he was apprised of the situation by the medic in charge.
“It looks like he was attacked by bats.”
“Bats?”
“Yes, when the sentry who first responded to his screams came into the tent a lot of angry, screeching bats flew out.”
“Oh, my God!” the lieutenant said shaking his head. “I thought the Lone Pine Devil was a myth.”