do u know about the book Cheanson and the Admiral?
I'm sorry, but I am not familiar with the book "Cheanson and the Admiral." It is possible that it is a lesser-known or more obscure book. Can you provide more information about the book or the author? I may be able to help you better if I have more details.
houw bout "The Unbreakable Code"?
Yes, I am familiar with the book "The Unbreakable Code" by Jennifer Chambliss Bertman. It is the sequel to the popular children's mystery novel "Book Scavenger." In this book, young protagonist Emily and her friends must solve a series of puzzles and codes to uncover the secrets of the legendary Edgar Allan Poe and prevent a valuable historic manuscript from falling into the wrong hands. The book combines elements of mystery, adventure, and literary history, making it an engaging read for young readers.
The Unbreakable Code by Sara Hoagland
Hunter
I apologize for the confusion. "The Unbreakable Code" by Sara Hoagland Hunter is a children's book that tells the story of two siblings, Whit and Whisty, who embark on a mission to decipher a secret code left behind by their late grandmother. The code leads them on a thrilling adventure filled with mystery, danger, and unexpected twists. The book explores themes of family, perseverance, and the power of communication. Overall, it is a captivating and engaging read for young readers interested in puzzles and mysteries.
John raced up the trail sending pebbles skidding behind him. When he reached his favorite
hiding place, he fell to the ground out of breath. Here between the old piñon tree and the towering
walls of the canyon, he felt safe. The river full of late-summer rain looked like a silver thread winding
through his grandfather's farm land. They would be looking for him now, but he was never coming
down.
His mother had married the man from Minnesota. There was nothing he could do about that.
But he was not going with them. He dosed his eyes and rested in the stillness. The faint bleat of a
mountain goat echoed off the canyon walls.
Suddenly a voice boomed above him: "Shouldn't you be packing?"
John's eyes flew open. lt was his grandfather on horseback.
"Your stepfather's coming with the pickup in an hour.'
''I’m not going," John said.
"You have to go. School's starting soon," said Grandfather, stepping down from his horse. "You’ll
be back next summer."
John dug his toe deeper into the dirt. “I want to stay with you," he said.
Grandfather's soft, brown eyes disappeared in the wrinkles of a smile. John thought they were
the kindest eyes he had ever seen.
"You're going to be all right,” Grandfather said. "You have an unbreakable code.”
"What's that?" asked John.
Grandfather sat down and began to speak gently in Navajo. The
sounds wove up and down, in and out, as warm and familiar as the
patterns of one of Grandmother's Navajo blankets. John leaned against his
grandfather's knee.
"The unbreakable code is what saved my life in World War II," he said. "It's the Navajo
language.”
John's shoulders sagged. Navajo couldn’t help him. Nobody in his new
school spoke Navajo.
"I'll probably forget how to speak Navajo," he whispered.
"Navajo is your language,” said his grandfather sternly. "Navajo you
must never forget."
The lump in John's throat was close to a sob. "You don't know what it's like there!" he said.
His grandfather continued quietly in Navajo. "'I had to go to a government boarding school
when I was five. It was the law.”
"They gave me an English name and cut my hair off. I wasn't allowed to speak my language.
Anyone who spoke Navajo had to chew on squares of soap. Believe me, I chewed a lot of soap during
those years. 'Speak English,' they said. But Navajo was my language and Navajo I would never forget.”
“Every summer I went home to herd the sheep and help with the crops. I cried when the
cottonwoods turned gold and it was time to go back.”
"Finally, one night in the tenth grade, I was working in the kitchen when l heard a bulletin on the
school radio: 'Navajo needed for special duty to the Marines. Must be between the ages of seventeen
and thirty-two, fluent in English and Navajo, and in excellent physical condition.'
"Just before lights out, I snuck past the bunks and out the door towards the open plain. I felt like
a wild horse with the lasso finally off its neck. Out in the open, the stars danced above me and the
tumbleweeds blew by my feet as I ran. The next day, I enlisted."
"But you weren’t seventeen,” said John.
"The reservation had no birth records," Grandfather said with a grin. "Two weeks later I was on
a bus headed for boot camp with twenty-eight other Navajos. I stared out the window into the darkness.
I was going outside of the Four Sacred Mountains for the first time in my life."'
"Were you scared?” asked John.
"Of course," said his grandfather. "I didn't know where I was going or what our mission was.
Most of all, I didn’t know how I would measure up to the people out there I had heard so much about."
"How did you?” asked John, chewing his fingernail.
His grandfather began to laugh. ''We were known as the toughest platoon at boot camp. We
had done so much marching at boarding school that the drills were no problem. Hiking in the desert of
California with a heavy sack was no worse than hauling water in the canyon in midsummer. And I'd done
that since I was four years old.
"As for the survival exercises, we had all gone without food for a few days. A Navajo learns to
survive.
"One weekend they bused us to a new camp in San Diego. On Monday we were marched to a
building with bars on every window. They locked us in a classroom at the end of a long, narrow corridor.
An officer told us our mission was top secret. We would not even be allowed to tell our families. We
were desperately needed for a successful invasion of the Pacific Islands. So far the Japanese had been
able to intercept and decode all American messages in only minutes. This meant that no information
could be passed between American ships, planes, and land forces.
"The government thought the Navajo language might be the secret weapon. Only a few
outsiders had ever learned it. Most importantly, the language had never been written down, so there
was no alphabet for the Japanese to discover and decode.
"He gave us a list of more than two hundred military terms to code. Everything had to be
memorized. No trace of the rode could ever be found in writing. It would live or die with us in battle.
"When the officer walked out of the room, I looked at the Navajo next to me and began to
laugh. 'All those years they told us to forget Navajo, and now the government needs it to save the
country!'
"We were marched every day to that classroom. We were never allowed to leave the building.
We couldn't even use the bathroom by ourselves. Each night, an officer locked our notes in a safe.
"The code had to be simple and fast. We would have only one chance to send each message.
After that, the Japanese would be tracing our location to bomb us or trying to record the code.
"We chose words from nature that would be easy to remember under fire. Since Navajo has no
alphabet, we made up our own.
"'A' became wollachee."
"Ant?” asked John in English.
Grandfather nodded.
"'B' was shush."
"Bear,"said John.
"'C’ was moasi. 'D', be. 'E', dzeh." His grandfather continued through the alphabet. Each time he
named the Navajo word, John answered with the English.
"We named the aircraft after birds. The dive-bomber was a chicken hawk. The observation plane
was an owl. A patrol plane was a crow. Bomber was buzzard.
"At night we would lie in our bunks and test each other. Pretty soon I was dreaming in code.
"Since we would be radiomen, we had to learn all kinds of radio operations. We were taught
how to take a radio apart and put it together blindfolded. The Japanese fought at night, so we would
have to do most of our work in complete darkness. Even the tiniest match flame could be a target.
“When the day came for the code to be tested in front of the top Marine officers, I was terrified.
I knelt at one end of a field with our radio ground set. The officers marched towards me. Behind a
building at the other end of the field, another code talker sat under military guard waiting for my
transmission. One officer handed me a written message:
"’Receiving steady machine gun fire. Request reinforcements.'
''lt took only seconds for me to speak into the microphone in Navajo rode. The officer sent a
runner to the end of the field to check the speed and accuracy of the message. The Navajo at the other
end handed him the exact message written in English before he even came around the corner of the
building! They tested us over and over. Each time, we were successful. The government requested two
hundred Navajo recruits immediately. Two of our group stayed behind to train them. The rest of us were
on our way."
"Tell me about the fighting!” said John.
Suddenly Grandfather's face looked as creased and battered as the canyon walls behind him.
After a long pause he said, "What I saw is better left back there. I would not want to touch my home or
my family with those pictures.
"Before we invaded, I looked out at that island. It had been flattened and burned. 'Let this never
happen to a beautiful island again,' I thought. I just stayed on the deck of the ship thinking about the
ceremonies they were doing for me at home. We invaded at dawn.
“I almost drowned in a bomb crater before I even got to shore. I was trying to run through the
water and the bullets when I felt myself sinking into a bottomless hole. My eighty-pound radio pack
pulled me straight down. I lost my rifle paddling to the surface.
“On the beach, it was all I could do just to survive. I remember lying there with gunfire flying
past my ears. A creek that ran to the beach was clear when I first lay there. By noon it was blood red.
"The worst were the fallen soldiers I had to run over to go forward. I couldn't even stop to say I
was sorry. I just had to run over them and keep going.
"I had to move through the jungle at night, broadcasting in code from different locations. One
unit needed medical supplies. Another needed machine-gun support. I had just begun broadcasting to
another code talker. 'Arizona! New Mexico!' I called. The next thing I knew, an American soldier behind
me was yelling, 'Do you know what we do to spies?'
"'Don't shoot!' I said. I'm American. Look at my uniform.' He didn't believe me. He had just
heard the foreign language. He had seen my hair and my eyes. Japanese spies had been known to steal
uniforms from fallen soldiers.
"One of my buddies jumped out of the bushes right at that moment and saved my life."
“How did you stay alive the rest of the time?” asked John.
'My belief was my shield,” Grandfather answered.
He drew a ragged wallet from deep inside or his shirt pocket. "Inside of this, I carried corn pollen
from the medicine man. 'Never be afraid,' he said. 'Nothing's going to touch you.' And nothing ever did.
More than four hundred code talkers fought in some of the bloodiest battles of World War ll. All but a
few of us survived.
"The Japanese never did crack the code. When they finally discovered what language it was,
they captured and tortured one poor Navajo. He wasn't a code talker and couldn't understand the
message they had intercepted. He told them we were talking about what we ate for breakfast. Our code
word for bombs was 'eggs.'
"Six months before the war ended, Navajo code talkers passed more than eight hundred
messages in two days during the invasion of lwo Jima.
“When the American flag was raised on top of lwo Jima's mountain, the victory was announced
in code to the American fleet. 'Sheep-Uncle-Ram-Ice-Bear-Ant-Cat-Horse-ltch' came the code.”
John tried to spell out the letters.
"Suribachi?” asked John.
"Yes," said Grandfather. “Mount Suribachi.
"When I came home, I walked the twelve miles from the bus station to this spot. There weren't
any parades or parties.
“I knew I wasn't allowed to tell anyone about the code. I Iooked down at that beautiful canyon
floor and thought, 'l'm never leaving again.'”
"But why did you leave in the first place?" asked John.
His grandfather lifted him gently onto the horse. "The answer to that is in the code,"' he said.
“The code name for America was 'Our Mother.' You fight for what you love. You fight for what is yours."
He swung his leg behind John and reached around him to hold the reins.
"Keep my wallet," he said. “It will remind you of the unbreakable code that once saved your
country."
John clutched the wallet with one hand and held the horse's mane with the other. He wasn't as
scared of going to a new place anymore. His grandfather had taught him who he was and what he would
always have with him. He was the grandson of a Navajo code talker and he had a language that had
once helped save his country.
The passage you've shared tells the story of a young boy named John and his grandfather, a Navajo code talker who served in World War II. The Navajo code talkers played a crucial role in the war effort by transmitting secret messages in an unbreakable code based on the Navajo language. Despite facing hardships and challenges, including struggles with their cultural identity and language, the Navajo code talkers were able to use their unique skills to aid in the Allied victory.
John's grandfather shares his experiences with John, highlighting the importance of their Navajo language and culture, and the sacrifices made during the war. Through his grandfather's stories, John learns about the bravery and resilience of the code talkers, as well as the significance of their contributions to the war effort.
The passage emphasizes themes of identity, sacrifice, resilience, and the power of language in preserving culture and heritage. It serves as a reminder of the courage and strength of the Navajo code talkers and their invaluable role in history.
WHEN UNCLE JOONSA left our
village to become a messenger for the Korean
armada, I thought I’d never see him again.
After all, he’s just a Mireuk Island fisherman,
and now he’s sailing his little boat through
samurai-infested waters.
the enemy fleet lay at the bottom of
the harbor.
We owe the admiral a debt, one that
weighs on our minds. “The admiral is only
requesting water supplies, but our soldiers
deserve more,” says the magistrate. “I know
times are tough, but if everyone—”
“Say no more,” interjects Grandfather.
“We’ll bring our contribution to town
tomorrow.”
I nod beside him. I’d gladly go hungry to
support our protectors.
After the magistrate departs for the next
farmstead, Grandfather says to my parents,
“Pack all the rice we can spare. The children
and I will gather what we can from the garden.”
I hurry to work, giddy at the prospect
of seeing Uncle and the armada, when
Grandfather adds, “And Cheonson?”
“Yes?” I reply.
by S. Q. Eries
Cheonson
and
theAdmiral
Illustrated by Alyssa Winans
text © 2019 by Melinda Ng, art © 2019 by Alyssa Winans
AN ARMADA
IS A FLEET OF
WARSHIPS.
SAMURAI
ARE
JAPANESE
WARRIORS.
32
“I’m counting on you to mind Sook and
the oxen while we’re gone, boy.”
As my face falls, my little sister grumbles,
“Figures.”
“GROWNUPS ARE SELFISH,” complains Sook, as we drive the herd into the
upper pasture the following afternoon.
I silently agree. Dangpo’s only a half day’s
walk away, but Grandfather said there’s no
telling what help Yi’s ships will need and for
how long. That means someone has to stay
with our livestock, and that someone is us.
I glance west, in the direction of Dangpo,
but see only craggy peaks. Mireuk Island
is both wide and high, with ridges looming
through the center. So even though our hilltop pasture commands sweeping views of the
islands and waterways to the east, mountains
block Mireuk’s western coast from sight.
As I wish I could knock the peaks down
for a glimpse of the armada, Sook grumbles
on. “They could’ve just left you. It didn’t have
to be us both,” she says.
“If Grandfather says we stay, that’s that.
He also said to finish your weaving, so you’d
best get started.”
With a huff, my sister stomps toward home.
But after three steps, she jumps with a shriek.
“Sook,” I snap, whirling. “What—”
My heart stops.
Far to the east are Japanese warships.
They approach swiftly, flying like eagles. As
my knees go weak, Sook points. “There’s
more!”
I tear my eyes from the horizon and gasp.
Anchored in a strait just north of us is the
enemy fleet. The slim Japanese warships look
like a line of spears hovering over Mireuk. I
realize that our own armada, gathering on the
33
other side of the island, has no way of knowing how close the Japanese are.
I jolt out of paralysis, shoving my cattle
prod at Sook. “Stay here. I’ve got to warn the
armada.”
“Wait,” she cries, “I’ll go, too—”
“No, I’ll be faster alone. Besides,” I frown
at the anchored fleet, “if they move, I need
you to see when and where they go.”
At those words, Sook’s frightened look
steels into determination. “I understand.”
“Good. I’m counting on you.” Praying
I’d make it in time, I sprint off.
THE SUN IS setting when I reach Dangpo.
The outskirts are deserted; everyone’s at the
wharf, where ranks of wide warships jostle in
the water. As I race to the harbor, I pass several burned buildings.
My stomach twists at the memory of last
month’s attack, and I run faster.
I’m breathless when I reach the quay.
Amid the swarms of marines and locals, I
spot the magistrate by the charred garrison
walls. But as I start toward him, someone
snatches me by the collar.
“Cheonson!” Grandfather snarls. “Why
are you here?”
Half-choked by his grip, I can’t form a
response. Grandfather scowls, taking my silence
for guilt. “Disobedient boy. I told you—”
I wrench free. Grandfather’s arm whips up,
but before he can strike, I gulp air and yell,
“Enemy ships are at Gyonnaeryang Strait!”
Everyone freezes, the summer air suddenly chill with fear. Then two men elbow
through the crowd: a tall officer and Uncle
Joonsa.
“Cheonson,” says Uncle, rushing up to
me. “Tell me what you saw.”
“About fifty ships anchored in the strait,”
I blurt. “Twenty more coming from the east. I
left Sook watching from the upper pasture.”
Uncle looks at the officer. “Cheonson’s
my nephew. He wouldn’t lie about this.”
The man frowns then booms, “Summon
the commanders. And get two horses.
Everyone else prepare to launch at dawn.”
As marines scramble to obey, the officer says to Uncle, “Kim Joonsa, guide my
lieutenant to that pasture and confirm your
nephew’s report.”
“Yes, Admiral Yi!”
Uncle dashes off, leaving me to gape
at the man who commanded the Korean
armada. Turning to my stunned grandfather,
the admiral says, “Pardon, sir, but we need to
borrow your boy for some questions.”
HOURS LATER, OFFICERS continue
strategizing inside the garrison as I sit outside,
staring at the fleet. The boxy warships creak
in the moonlight as if protesting the coming
battle. I don’t blame them.
After all, they’re outnumbered.
I thought our armada was at least a
hundred ships strong. As it turns out, Korea
has only fifty-five warships to its name.
Meanwhile, Uncle returned to report seventythree enemy vessels in Gyonnaeryang Strait.
I shiver. Last month’s attack on Dangpo
pitted twenty-three Korean ships against
QUAY
(PRONOUNCED
KEY) IS A
PLATFORM
ALONG OR
EXTENDING
INTO THE
WATER FOR
DOCKING
BOATS.
34
twenty-one Japanese. But fifty-five versus
seventy-three?
The garrison door opens, and Uncle exits,
munching on a rice ball. “Cheonson, you still
here? It’s late.”
I scramble to my feet. “What did they
decide? Is the armada attacking tomorrow?”
“Yes. And,” Uncle points to himself, “I’m
leading it.”
My jaw drops. I can’t imagine a fisherman
leading an assault, and I’m equally baffled
that he’s so calm about it. “Why?”
“They need someone who can navigate in
and out of Gyonnaeryang fast. That’s me.”
“But,” I sputter, “you’re outnumbered—”
“Kim Joonsa, I believe I ordered you to
bed.”
I jump to see Admiral Yi at the garrison door. His gaze shifts to me, and after a
moment he tells Uncle, “Sleep. We need you
alert tomorrow. I’ll reassure your nephew on
your behalf.”
Uncle grins and salutes. “Aye, sir!”
As Uncle trots off, the Admiral walks
over. “You’re worried, son?”
I nod, too embarrassed to speak. During
the half hour the officers
questioned me, I saw
how deeply the admiral’s
men trusted his abilities.
Yet the present threat
seems beyond even his
resourcefulness.
The admiral, however,
is the picture of composure
as he says, “I understand.
Our adversary is strong.
But not invincible. And
we’ve three things in our
favor.”
I blink. “Three?”
“One, these are our
waters. We know them better than the enemy. Two,”
he gestures toward the
boxy ships in the harbor,
“our warships are nimble.”
COMPOSURE
IS CALM
SELFCONTROL.
35
“But their ships flew like eagles,” I protest, “and ours . . . ours . . . “
“Look like clumsy turtles?”
My face burns, but the admiral just
smiles. “The enemy’s narrow-keeled ships are
swifter, but under the right circumstances, a
clever turtle can outmaneuver an eagle. Plus,
our ships are tough, and while our cannons
take time to load, I assure you the enemy’s
firepower is no match.”
As I marvel at his confidence, he stoops to
look me in the eye. “And the third thing—we
have the advantage of surprise. That’s thanks to
you, Kim Cheonson. And I will not waste it.”
THE NEXT DAY I’m back in our pasture.
However, instead of oxen, anxious relatives and
neighbors crowd the hilltop. Everyone’s eyes are
on Korea’s armada, floating in a single row in
the open waters off Mireuk’s eastern coast.
Five little messenger boats break from the
group. As Uncle’s boat leads them north to
Gyonnaeryang, I recall the admiral’s words.
First, we lure them out of the strait . . .
Gyonnaeryang Strait is narrow with no
room to maneuver. If our bulky warships
charged in, the Japanese could simply pick
them off. So the squad’s job is to draw them
into open water.
As the squad of small boats nears the
enemy anchorage, Sook clutches my hand.
“Will Uncle be all right?’’
“He will,” I say. “He knows Gyonnaeryang
better than anyone.”
Alarm bells clamor from the strait. The
squad halts, then turns tail as Japanese sails
unfurl to give chase.
My throat tightens as all seventy-three
warships launch in pursuit. For the plan to
work, Uncle must retreat but not too quickly.
Our squad winds through the strait, the
enemy gradually closing in, and I glimpse the
flare of fire arrows at the Japanese vanguard.
The arrows loose. The same instant,
Uncle’s squad hits open water and surges forward at top speed. They barely outrace the
barrage of arrows as they draw the Japanese
toward our armada.
Next we make them think they’re winning . . .
Our war drums pound. The armada
retreats, withdrawing slowly. Meanwhile, the
Japanese pour out of the strait, launching
full-sail at our fleet. Enemy decks bristle with
firearms, and from our hilltop vantage, their
swift ships look like eagles diving at a line of
sluggish turtles.
Then we trap them . . .
The eagles are hurtling in for the kill
when our drums thunder again. One by one,
the Korean vessels stop, the retreating line
forming a semicircle. The Japanese charge
straight into that semicircle as our ships turn,
aiming their starboard cannons at their prey.
And we destroy them.
Our ships fire as one, blasting the leading enemy ships to bits. The remainder of
their fleet collides into the wreckage, and the
Japanese dissolve into chaos. Although their
narrow-keeled ships are fast, they cannot stop
nor change direction easily.
Meanwhile, our flat-bottomed warships
quickly rotate to aim their port cannons into
the semicircle for a second round of fire. A
surviving enemy ship charges through the
VANGUARD MEANS THE FRONT
LINE OF A FIGHTING FORCE.
A BARRAGE IS AN INTENSE
PERIOD OF WEAPON FIRE.
36
debris, muskets blazing, but our
thick hulls hold strong. In desperation, it rams a Korean ship.
The Japanese ship splinters.
Ours merely shudders and fires
with the rest of the armada.
FORTY-SEVEN ENEMY
VESSELS destroyed. Twelve
seized. Fourteen escaped.
Not one Korean warship lost.
That night Mireuk’s eastern
shore resounds with celebration. As
I watch Uncle cheer from the deck
of a captured Japanese ship, Admiral
Yi chuckles beside me. “See, son, a
turtle can catch an eagle.”
I grin back. “Aye, sir!”
This is the first book I told u about
Thank you for sharing an excerpt from "Cheonson and the Admiral." The story follows the character Cheonson as he witnesses the Korean armada facing off against the Japanese fleet during a time of conflict. Uncle Joonsa, a fisherman turned messenger for the armada, plays a significant role in the unfolding events.
As tensions rise and threats loom, Cheonson's bravery and quick thinking come to the forefront as he plays a crucial role in warning his people of the impending danger. Through strategic maneuvers and coordinated efforts, the Korean armada, led by Admiral Yi, successfully outmaneuvers and defeats the larger enemy fleet, showcasing their strength, resilience, and perseverance in the face of adversity.
The story highlights themes of courage, sacrifice, teamwork, and the importance of strategic planning and execution in times of conflict. It also pays tribute to the historical figures and events that shaped Korea's naval history and the valor of those who fought to defend their land and people.