The Last Jump: A Novel of World War II

by John E. Nevola

  “First the navy, then the army had bills introduced in Congress for the creation of a Medal of Honor. The intent was to inspire men to their duty. The Medal was for both enlisted ranks and officers who distinguished themselves by ‘gallantry in action’ and other soldier-like qualities. Congress approved the bills and President Lincoln signed them on 12 July 1862. The Medal of Honor quickly became very popular and a victim of its own success, as we shall see in a moment.” Chase paused. “Questions?”

  Francis Blossom was the first to speak. “This is all very interesting, Colonel, but I don’t see how this is pertinent to the issue at hand. We didn’t attend this meeting for a history lesson.” Blossom glanced furtively at his boss for some sign of approval.

  What a worm, thought Chase but before he could respond General Clayton replied to the comment speaking directly to Secretary Radcliffe. “Sir, it will become clear in a moment how this background supports the efforts of this Review Board and more importantly, the credibility of their recommendations.”

  Radcliffe nodded and gestured for Chase to continue and he positioned the next foil. “Today,” he began, “the criteria for winning the Medal of Honor are extraordinarily high. One must demonstrate conspicuous gallantry that places his or her life at great risk. Most present-day recipients do not survive the action for which they were recognized. You may not know this but a person cannot receive this award for acting under orders. In the beginning it was not exactly this way.

  “There were no specific criteria for the early awards. Since it was the only medal available, it was conferred for good as well as great accomplishments. Medals were awarded en masse to whole units for simply extending their enlistments as well as for acts of great courage. Initially about twenty-five hundred Medals were awarded in the Civil War alone. There was such a wide disparity in the justification for the Medal in the first forty years that the recipients formed the Medal of Honor Legion in 1890 to protect the integrity of the Medal. They campaigned Congress for more stringent guidelines, received them and then an extraordinary thing happened.”

  “And that was?” Blossom interjected as Chase changed foils. “That was, Mister Blossom,” Chase responded, “the Purge of 1916. With the passage of Section 122 of the National Defense Act of 1916, a board of five retired generals was convened to review every Medal of Honor previously awarded under the new, stricter requirements. They reviewed the citations without knowing the individual names and what do you think they did?”

  “No clue,” answered Blossom. Chase smiled to himself. You never have a damn clue, Francis. “They revoked nine hundred and ten Medals previously awarded. That caused quite a stir at the time but it was done nevertheless. On 9 July 1918, Congress passed an act that stated…” Chase pointed to the screen.

  …the President is authorized to present, in the name

  of Congress, a Medal of Honor only to each person

  who, while an officer or enlisted man, in action

  involving actual conflict with the enemy,

  distinguish himself conspicuously by gallantry

  and intrepidity at the risk of his life

  above and beyond the call of duty.

  “These are the criteria for the Medal of Honor that exists today,” continued Chase. “I might point out this act also established a precedent. That precedent was that a duly authorized panel could change the criteria. Now, fast forward to the present time.”

  Radcliffe shifted slightly in his chair. His body language indicated he was suddenly much more interested in this part of the presentation.

  Chase placed the next foil on the projector. “It’s the late 1980s and two Congressmen, one a black Democrat from Texas and the other a white Republican from New York, petition the Secretary of the Army to investigate the lack of Medals of Honor for African-American soldiers in World War I and World War II. This was a sensitive issue. No one wanted to appear arbitrary or unfair to either African-Americans or to the high standards of the Medal. Upon investigation, it was discovered that four African-American soldiers had been recommended for the Medal of Honor in World War I. Three of the awards were processed, reviewed and downgraded to a Distinguish Service Cross, the second highest military honor. This in itself is not unusual; many DSCs start out as Medal of Honor requests. But given the time period and a segregated military, these decisions remain controversial.”

  “You said three of the recommendations were downgraded to Distinguish Service Crosses. What about the fourth?” asked Blossom, now more interested.

  “The Department of the Army dispatched a team to France to review the circumstances of that recommendation for Corporal Freddie Stowers. He served with the Three hundred seventy-first Infantry Regiment which was attached to the French Hundred and fifty-seventh Infantry Division.”

  “And the result?” asked Blossom again.

  General Clayton interjected. “The Army Decorations Board approved the award and Corporal Freddie Stowers was awarded the Medal of Honor in the East Room of the White House by President Bush on 24 April 1991. The Medal was presented to his two surviving sisters. He was killed in the action for which he was recognized. The citation is truly extraordinary. You should read it. It’s in your package.” Clayton pointed to the handout. “Also, there’s a street and an elementary school in Fort Benning named after Corporal Stowers,” he added with just a tinge of pride in his voice. “Sorry for the interruption, Colonel. Please continue.”

  “Which gets us to the current issue,” Chase continued, “the absence of Medals of Honor for World War II African-American soldiers. The previous Secretary started down this road in 1993. He wanted an independent investigation and a fair review process so he recruited some academics and historians from Shaw University in Raleigh, North Carolina and teamed them up with some combat veterans. We’ll call them the Process Team. The first rule they established was any solution had to follow established precedent. That way there could be no accusations the military made up new rules that were custom-designed for just this situation. The second rule was to find that precedent. They found two.” Chase paused a moment to heighten the curiosity, changed the foil and continued.

  “The first precedent was not at all well known. After the First World War, General Pershing was deeply disturbed only four Medals of Honor were awarded primarily because of the slow moving military bureaucracy. So he ordered an immediate review of all Distinguish Service Awards and seventy-eight were subsequently upgraded to Medal of Honor awards.”

  “So, most of the Congressional Medals of Honor awarded in the First World War were based on an after the fact review of DSCs?” asked Blossom.

  Chase stared directly at Blossom. Now he would have some fun. “For the sake of accuracy, Mister Blossom, the correct and appropriate title is simply ‘Medal of Honor’. There is no Congressional before it even though it is awarded by the President in the name of Congress.” Chase smiled to himself. He loved to tweak Blossom.

  “Of course. I knew that. Slip of the tongue,“ responded Blossom as he glanced over to his boss with a sheepish grin.

  Chase continued. “The second precedent turned out to be the most relevant and more important one. In 1943, after the Mediterranean campaign, General Eisenhower noticed there were relatively few Medals of Honor awarded to his soldiers, so he ordered a review. Subsequently four DSCs were upgraded to Medals of Honor. The Process Team concluded if the army could review awards for possible upgrades based on geographical imbalance they certainly could review awards for administrative or racial imbalance. These are our two precedents. Now we had to develop fair review procedures and the Process Team recommended the ‘double blind’ approach.”

  “Would you explain that approach, Colonel?” asked General Clayton.

  “Certainly sir, I have a foil here somewhere.” Chase fished through his pile until he came up with the correct foil.

  “Our Review Board consisted of four senior army officers and one enlisted man. Three white, two black. All combat veterans. On
e was a Medal of Honor recipient.” Chase used the pointer for the first time as he discussed each bullet on the foil. “They were given twenty-one citations to review. The names, locations and unit designations were carefully disguised and not disclosed. Ten of the citations were from previous Medal of Honor winners and ten were from lesser awards presented to African-American servicemen. The last one was entirely new. We told the Review Board to evaluate the citations and unanimously agree on which ones deserved the Medal of Honor. They had no idea which ones were already awarded and which ones were for lesser awards…which, by the way, included nine Distinguished Service Crosses and one Silver Star.”

  Chase changed a foil. “Here are the results. First, the Review Board recommended all ten who had previously been awarded the Medal. We were very pleased with that outcome. In addition, they recommended the Medal for six of the ten black soldiers who had been originally put in for lesser awards. Of these six men, three died in the action for which they received the award and the remaining three have subsequently passed away. He looked directly at Radcliffe. “Obviously, sir, we concur with these findings of the Review Board and are soliciting your approval.”

  “Certainly, of course I approve,” answered Radcliffe, “But if I’m not mistaken, at the start of the meeting you mentioned seven awards including one living recipient. Your math doesn’t add up. What am I missing?”

  “Of course, I apologize sir. Let me explain,” replied Chase. “Six of the ten are upgrades from lesser awards. The seventh, and only living recipient comes from a separate review of an after-action investigation and report for which no commendation was ever originally sought. This seventh award was a result of the letter the President gave to you back in February.”

  Radcliffe quickly swiveled his chair and faced General Clayton. “Aaron, I thought you said the claim in that letter was not supported by the historical facts.”

  “The letter contained many of the right facts, sir, but in the wrong sequence,” Clayton responded. “The soldier involved did not become part of the Eighty-second Airborne until some time after the action at Bastogne for which he won the Medal. At the time of the action, he was a Red Ball driver, a support services soldier. His name is Lincoln Abraham and his citation is also in your package.”

  “Was he put in for any medal?” asked Radcliffe.

  “No,” answered the general.

  “Since there was no original citation or any award, it was extremely difficult to track down the facts,” offered Chase, “but we found a sufficient number of eye-witnesses to verify this action. It turned out to be one of the most extraordinary acts of courage to save others in the entire War. It also has a bit of an unexpected twist to it.”

  “And that is?” asked Radcliffe.

  “Well, there was a white soldier with him,” answered Chase.

  Radcliffe contemplated this bit of unexpected news for a moment and asked, “So, they will both be receiving Medals of Honor?”

  “That is our recommendation, sir. The Review Board approved the Medal based on the description of the action, not on who or how many were involved in it,” answered Chase. “That makes a total of eight Medals of Honor to be awarded, seven to black soldiers, of which only one is alive.”

  “Is there a precedent for awarding two Medals of Honor for the same action?” asked Blossom.

  “I’m afraid so, Francis,” answered Chase. “Somalia, 1993. Sergeants Gordon and Shugart.” He was referring to the two Delta Force soldiers who volunteered to protect the crew of a downed Blackhawk helicopter and were killed in the effort. Many Americans still shuddered at the images of the two Special Forces soldiers’ bodies being dragged through the streets of Mogadishu.

  “Right. Of course,” said Blossom.

  “Aaron, I’m not sure this is what the President had in mind when he handed us that letter,” said Radcliffe to General Clayton. Radcliffe was thinking of the photo op and wondered if the presence of a white soldier among the black recipients would somehow dilute the intent of the ceremony.

  “I’m sure it wasn’t,” answered the general. “It surprised us too. But, if it’s any consolation, the white soldier, John Kilroy is his name, recently passed away.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” feigned Radcliffe. “So we’ll have only one living recipient, this Lincoln Abraham fellow, at the awards ceremony and seven other posthumous awards.” Radcliffe contemplated that prospect for a moment. “I think the President will be pleased, especially since you acted positively on the letter from Congressman Williams.” Radcliffe looked over to Francis Blossom. “Comments, questions, Francis?”

  “Do we have a date for a formal presentation ceremony?” asked Blossom.

  “We have a hold for 13 January pending approval,” Chase nodded toward Radcliffe. “We have a lot to do between now and then. Notification of the recipients and the invitations to the surviving relatives.”

  “Sounds like you have all the bases covered Colonel,” said Radcliffe. He turned to General Clayton. “This is a fine piece of work. Please pass along my appreciation to your team. I’ll notify the SecDef and I believe the President will also be extremely pleased.”

  “Thank you, sir,” replied Clayton. “We feel good about the credibility of these results.”

  Radcliffe turned to Colonel Chase and asked, “What do we have to do to formally authorize and approve these awards, Colonel?”

  “Mister Secretary, yours is the final approval.” Chase placed a stack of approval forms in front of the Secretary of the Army and pointed to the signature line. “Right here, sir.”

  Radcliffe began signing the first of eight forms. He muttered, “What’s today’s date?”

  Blossom answered. “September twenty-third.”

  Chapter Eight

  Fort Jackson, South Carolina - April 1,1942

  “A decent boldness ever meets with friends.”

  Homer, The Odyssey, c. 800 BC

  Johnny Kilroy wondered exactly how he wound up in the middle of an army barracks in South Carolina surrounded by a group of crazed Alabamans who were about to beat the crap out of him. Was this some cruel April fool’s prank or were they serious about doing him grave bodily harm?

  When he left the Induction Center in New York City a few days before, the United States Army gave him subway fare, a meal voucher and a train ticket. With a small group of other young men from New York, he made his way by subway to New York City’s Penn Station to await his train to Fort Jackson, South Carolina. He was now a bona fide GI (Government Issue), the universal label given to every grunt who ever served in the army in World War II and after.

  In a corner of the waiting room in Penn Station, he and his new found New York acquaintances discussed advice about never volunteering for anything and never acknowledging you had special skills or attended college. The Non-Commissioned Officers (NCOs) would absolutely torture anyone who appeared smarter than they were.

  “Try not to get noticed,” was another tidbit of good advice offered by a hulk of a kid from Brooklyn named Vinny Larini. “Those sergeants will crucify you if you answer back or if they think you’re a wise-ass. They’re always looking for scapegoats to show us how tough they are. And those southern sergeants hate New Yorkers.” Vinny had a year at Brooklyn College and Johnny took a liking to him right away. They had some things in common. Here was somebody he might be able to buddy up with.

  The conversations continued until late in the afternoon when the announcement was made over the loudspeakers for their train. Like so many condemned prisoners, they morosely ambled toward their track number. Rose asked Johnny to call her so she could come down to Penn Station to say good-bye. It was a farewell Johnny could not endure and he knew it. He never called.

  Once on board the train, he was directed to a cramped private compartment, called a Roomette, which served as his sleeping berth. The conductor took great pains to explain how unusual this was, that most of the inductees were assigned to bunked beds in Pullman sleeping cars. But
with the shortage of rolling stock in America – steel had to be used for more important purposes – exceptions had to be made to squeeze every ounce of space from every trip. Johnny felt fortunate he didn’t have to share this closet-sized room with another GI. After a few minutes, the train jerked and lurched and got underway to begin their long trip to South Carolina.

  Johnny brought a small gym bag that contained his shaving kit, a few chocolate bars, soap, toothbrush and toothpaste along with two paperback books; The Robe, a novel by C. Lloyd Douglas and the non-fiction comedy, See Here, Private Hargrove by a reporter named Marion Hargrove. He had hoped to gain some insight into the military by reading about the adventures of the author regarding life in the army. Johnny always tried to gain some advantage or get an edge by simply knowing more and being better prepared than the next guy. He sat back on the bed, his back against the wall, and gazed out the window.

  The train started out in darkness under Manhattan and remained so as it crossed under the Hudson River. It emerged in New Jersey to a bright setting sun perched on the distant western horizon. Johnny shaded his eyes as he watched the landscape race by. His mind wandered as he took in the scenery. Eventually the huge oil storage tanks and refineries gave way to wooded pinelands and a broad landscape of budding trees in emerging forests. The wheels raced like galloping steel as the train bounced along the rails and the bumpy, swaying motion of the train merged with his conscious thoughts. He wondered what Rose would think of this turn of events? What did that lieutenant mean when he said, ‘You won’t make it’?

  A sharp knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. “Dinner served in the dining car, “ said the anxious voice of the conductor.

  Johnny locked his berth and made his way to the dining car. While it was obvious most of the passengers on this train were young male inductees, there were a number of civilians. The dining car was emptying out as the meals were served in shifts. It was an old World War I era railroad car with a pot-bellied stove at one end for heat and old-fashioned oil lamps for light. Every last bit of the rolling stock in America was being pressed into service.