He weighed his options quickly. There were two choices; either ignore the provocation or confront it. If Johnny challenged him, there would be a fight. There was no telling how many others would jump in. More than likely, he would get in a few good shots before some NCO would eventually show up and break up the brawl. Then there would undoubtedly be disciplinary action taken against all the participants. His army life would instantly turn to shit. He might even be thrown into the stockade. So much for not being noticed.
To do nothing, on the other hand, meant he had backed down. He would have to live here, in this barracks, with all of these guys for the next four or five days with that stigma hanging over his head. It was a humiliation he couldn’t handle.
The shrill voice of the redhead, punctuated by the laughs of the other soldiers, continued to pierce the darkened barracks. Johnny was now focused on what he had to do. He continued to hear “Red” talking along with the howls and laughter of the men but could no longer understand the words. Their meaning was lost in his tunnel vision. His focus was entirely on Red and he glared at him through the darkness. Johnny stood up slowly and took off his wet jacket. His heart was pounding and the adrenaline was surging as he began walking down the central corridor toward Red. It had already been a long day and he would end it by taking on half of the state of Alabama.
Red continued to pace back and forth spouting his rancor, oblivious to Johnny slowly walking toward him. Someone quietly said, “Oh shit,” and the barracks went silent. Johnny continued walking deliberately toward Red who had stopped and was facing him.
“I’m from New York City,” Johnny said in a firm and steady voice, “and I don’t have a car antenna, ” he held out his hands palms up. “So come and whip my ass.” Johnny wagged the fingers on both outstretched hands in a ‘come-to-me’ gesture.
Red wasn’t expecting this. He froze and then took a step back. Through the dim light Johnny thought he saw fear in Red’s eyes. That was all he had to see. He kept closing the distance. In a few seconds he would be all over Red. Suddenly, he heard some of the recruits hop off their bunks behind him. He figured he was about to get jumped by Red’s friends and he sensed someone directly behind him. Johnny quickly turned ready to defend himself.
Tom Swanson came up behind Johnny swiftly. He positioned himself solidly between Johnny and Red before Johnny could do anything. “Whoa,” he said in a booming voice. He had one hand lightly on Johnny’s chest and was pointing at Red with the other. “This is not going to happen. Not here. Not tonight.” Swanson was obviously trying to prevent the fight. He wheeled around to the few boys who had jumped off their bunks and pointed at them. “Get back on your racks,” he commanded. Swanson was an intimidating figure at nearly six foot five. The men quickly jumped back into their bunks.
“There’s not going to be any fight in this barracks tonight,” Swanson continued. “I don’t need this trouble.”
Emboldened by Swanson standing between him and Johnny, Red suddenly recovered his bravado. “Ah was only foolin’ with you Yank. Can’t you take a joke?”
“This is not over between us, Bubba,” Johnny called out over his shoulder as Swanson guided him back to their bunk.
“Fuck you, Yank,” Red managed to respond in a weak and squeaky voice once Swanson had maneuvered Johnny back to their bunk.
“Remember, it ain’t over between you and me,” Johnny pointed back at Red.
Suddenly, the NCO who brought Johnny into the barracks appeared in the doorway. He wasn’t wearing his poncho and Johnny could see he was a corporal. “Everything all right in here?” he yelled rather than asked.
“Yeah, Corporal. Everything is fine,” answered Tom Swanson. “No trouble here.”
“Well keep it down. It’s past lights out,” he said as he left.
Tom Swanson climbed back up onto his upper bunk. He was as calm as he was when Johnny first showed up. Tom resumed writing his letter as Johnny was still trying to come down from the adrenaline high.
“I suppose I owe you a debt of thanks,” Johnny finally said after a few minutes.
“They set you up,” Tom replied not looking up from his writing pad.
“What?” Johnny asked.
“The corporal is from Alabama too,” Tom said, putting down his pencil. “Apparently, they all got along famously since this morning. I came in this afternoon with another guy from Michigan. That guy got sick so they took him to the base hospital and an officer told the corporal to fill the bunk. Then he actually asked his fellow Alabamans who they would like to have added to the barracks and Red asked him to get them a New Yorker.”
All of a sudden it became clear to Johnny. “I guess it was all a joke,” sighed Johnny.
“A bad joke,” answered Tom. “You were right to stand up to them. If you hadn’t your life here would have been miserable. But I had to stop it. You were taking it a lot further than they thought you would. I think you surprised them by standing up to them. You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that, but I think they would have kicked your ass and my corporal friend back there would probably have reported the brawl. Then we all would have been in deep dung.”
Tom was right. Johnny knew it. He was outnumbered by a lot and would have taken a bad beating. “You’re right, Tom,” said Johnny. “How can I thank you?”
Tom grinned. “You can lend me five-bucks?”
“Really?” Johnny was surprised by the request.
Johnny remembered what Vinny Larini said to him about being a friend. Besides, Tom Swanson just got him out of a big jam. He reached into his wallet, fished out a five-dollar bill and handed it to Tom.
“Thanks. My family is wiring me some money. I’ll pay you back.”
The next few days went by swiftly. The army had the recruits running ragged all day, every day. First order of business the next morning was haircuts. Immediately after the haircuts, the recruits packaged their civilian clothes to be mailed home. The rabble began to look like they were actually in the army although most of the men wore ill-fitting fatigues. Next was a battery of written tests. More inoculations were given and then another medical exam.
By the time Johnny got back to his bunk at the end of the first full day, Tom was gone. His barracks bag was gone and his bedding had been removed. No one knew why and no one replaced him. Johnny kissed his five bucks good-bye.
The next day was more of the same. Forms upon forms were filled out. Insurance beneficiary forms, pay forms, forms for everything. After lunch the entire regiment was lined up in formation when the cadre asked all members of Barracks One to step forward. Johnny watched as all the Alabamans dutifully complied. He remained in formation. The cadre quickly picked out a dozen men for Kitchen Police (K.P.) and some other work detail. Red was one of them and Johnny caught his eye as he marched by. Johnny cocked his head with a look that said, go ahead and open your mouth and I’ll kick your ass. Red said nothing and just kept marching.
The army was expanding rapidly and the growing pains showed in many different ways. “Hurry up and wait” became the bywords of the daily routine. Recruits would stand in lines for hours not knowing what they were waiting for before they would be shuttled off to another line, again to wait for hours. They were given work detail upon work detail including policing the area of trash and cigarette butts, painting (the army saying was if it moved, salute it, if not, paint it), K.P., cleaning latrines, digging ditches and on and on. Then they would be rushed to and through the mess hall for meals.
Finally, after days of this mass chaos and confusion the company received word they would ship out by bus the next morning for Camp Gordon, Georgia, for Basic Combat Training. Everyone had enough of this madness the army called a Reception Center. Now they would get down to the nitty-gritty of getting into shape and becoming soldiers.
On the last day Johnny was moving along the chow line having food ladled onto his tray by the servers. First the beef stew was slopped on, then the green beans, and in between the mashed potatoes server an
d the ice cream station a disembodied hand came through the soldiers serving the food and dropped a folded five-dollar bill onto the green beans. It was Tom Swanson who was on K.P. duty. “Thanks,” Tom grinned.
“You’re welcome,” Johnny replied as he was swept down the line. “Where you been?”
“Infirmary. Sick call. I’ll be leaving in a few days for Gordon.” Tom was raising his voice as Johnny moved along the line.
“See you there. We’re leaving tomorrow,” he hollered back as he reached the end of the line and looked for a seat. There was something about what Tom did that made Johnny feel good and it wasn’t just the money. The chances of running into Tom again were pretty small and Tom could have easily let Johnny pass by on the chow line without paying him back. It occurred to him that Tom was the sort of young man who always paid his debts. That gesture helped reinforce Johnny’s rapidly depleting faith in human nature. If you want to have a friend, you need to be a friend.
Johnny had survived the Reception Center without being noticed. He managed to duck all of the work details and stay under the radar. With the help of Tom Swanson he dodged a bullet in the barracks and avoided a brawl that would have surely caused him great difficulty if not significant injury. The cadre didn’t give him any trouble and he didn’t give the cadre any trouble in return. He also earned the grudging respect of the Alabamans in his barracks although he was sure while respecting him, they surely didn’t like him.
From time to time, over the days at Fort Jackson, some of them approached him about the “incident”. They were mostly contrite about their part in the “joke”. He accepted their grudging comments graciously. Thanks to the Alabamans, Johnny would be leaving for Camp Gordon with a nickname and a reputation. Behind his back they called him “Yank” and it was no secret they believed him to be one ballsy, crazy son of a bitch!
Chapter Nine
Georgetown – December 13, 1996
“Men in general are quick to believe that which they wish to be true.”
Julius Caesar (100 BC - 44 BC)
There were two messages on his answering machine when he got home late from Christmas shopping. The stores were crowded even though he expected more people than normal to stay home. After all, it was Friday the thirteenth.
He hit the blinking play button and proceeded to pull off his tie and hang up his overcoat and sports jacket while he listened. Two messages within a few hours of each other from the same person indicated a matter of some urgency. Despite the late hour, J.P. decided to return the call, if only to leave a message. He was surprised when someone picked up the phone.
“Colonel Chase. May I help you?”
“Ah, yes, Colonel…this is J.P. Kilroy. I’m returning your calls.” J.P. had his wireless telephone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he scurried around the kitchen to prepare his dinner, a nightly ritual that he became adept at since his divorce.
“Very good, Mister Kilroy, I was hoping it was you.”
“How can I help you, Colonel?”
There was a slight pause and J.P. could hear the shuffling of papers in the background. “If you have a moment, this might take a bit of explaining.” There was a tone of gravity in the colonel’s voice.
“I have some time. I’m listening.”
“I’m currently assigned to the Untied States Army Awards Branch here at the Pentagon. For the last six months my team has been researching the lack of Medals of Honor for African-Americans serving in World War II. We recently concluded our analysis and recommendations. There will be a ceremony in the East Room of the White House on January thirteenth for one living recipient and six posthumous awards. Here is where it gets a bit delicate. I would like to invite you to attend a…”
“Excuse me, Colonel,” J.P. interrupted. “If you want that ceremony covered you should call the assignment editor at the Times.” There was silence on the other end of the line.
“I don’t think you understand, Mister Kilroy,” Chase began again but more slowly and deliberately. “We want to invite you to accept the Medal of Honor on behalf of your father. It would be a private ceremony but on the same day.”
J.P. was utterly bewildered. He sat down at the kitchen table. “You’re right, Colonel, I don’t understand. My father is not African-American.”
“True. However, your father participated in a combat action that resulted in the awarding of the Medal of Honor to both himself and an African-American named Lincoln Abraham.”
This was all happening too fast for J.P. If he accepted the invitation, he would obviously have to meet with his father. He still was not ready for that confrontation. Perhaps he would never be. “Why can’t my father accept the Medal himself?” he finally asked.
Again there was a pause on the other end of the line. “This is quite awkward for me, Mister Kilroy,” Chase stammered. “Uh hum, didn’t you know that your father recently passed away?”
J.P. let out an audible sigh. “No, I was not aware.”
“My condolences, sir,” Chase responded. “I’m sorry to break the news to you this way. I didn’t know...”
“We weren’t exactly close.” J.P. realized how lame that sounded. “I mean…we weren’t close at all. You could say that we’ve been estranged for some time.” He took a deep breath. “We never stayed in touch.”
“Once again, I sincerely regret having to break the news to you this way.” Chase sounded sincere and contrite. “We have invited three of your father’s wartime friends to attend the ceremony. If you choose not to attend, the Sergeant-Major-of-the-Army will accept the award.”
J.P. considered what the colonel just said. All he had to do was decline and he would finally be done with his father. This news could conceivably put that chapter of his life behind him. He simply had to hang up the phone.
But he couldn’t get his mother’s words out of his head. He made a promise and hadn’t kept it. His mother died knowing her last request went unfulfilled. And then there was the family secret he was supposed to uncover. It all seemed so damn important to her. Maybe if he accepted the Medal of Honor on behalf of his father, he would earn some level of redemption. It was the last possible act he might perform to partially honor his mother’s last wishes.
But there was something else pulling him in the other direction, telling him not to go. Perhaps it was that other reason he never wanted to face his father again. Maybe his reluctance was the product of how quickly this all came to pass and the shocking news. Whatever the reason, he found himself suddenly adverse to the notion of attending any ceremony. Before he could distill the conflicting thoughts, the words began spilling out of his mouth.
“Thank you for the invitation, Colonel Chase, but I’m afraid I must decline.”
Chapter Ten
Fort A.P. Hill, Virginia – June 4, 1942
“All that can be done with the soldier is to give him espirit de corps,
a higher opinion of his own regiment than all the other troops in the country.”
Frederick the Great (1712 - 1786), Military Testament, 1768
“It’s a damned suicide outfit, Jake,” exclaimed Sergeant Harley Tidrick as they hurriedly walked across the parade ground toward the Regimental Day Room. “Everybody knows it. Those guys are all fucking crazy!”
“If you believe that Harley then why are you here? Why don’t you go have a beer or something?” replied Jake.
“I’m trying to talk you out of this, kid. Why the hell would you want to join this outfit anyway?” Harley had seen this stubborn look on Jake’s face before.
“Why the hell don’t you mind your own business, Harley?” Jake blurted it out before he could catch himself. He was instantly sorry. Jake liked and respected his cousin. Harley had always looked out for him but especially since Jake joined the Stonewallers of the 29th “Blue and Gray” Division. Jake didn’t make it easy for Harley. His frequent disregard for regulations resulted in numerous minor infractions, all of which were maddening to Harley.
Af
ter basic training, Jake was sent to Fort Meade, Maryland, halfway between Baltimore and Washington D.C. Discipline was lax. There were not enough weapons to issue a rifle to each infantryman so whatever little training they did, they did with broomsticks. Stovepipes served as mortars and baseballs as hand grenades. The morale of the once-proud division plummeted.
Then the draftees began arriving in April 1941. Their negative attitude was poisonous. They were already counting the days when their one-year term of service would be completed. Any unit cohesion that existed based on hometown friendships began to unravel. The War Department sent in regular army officers to “shape up” this former National Guard division. The resulting churn only served to further deteriorate morale.
Sergeant Harley Tidrick was a squad leader in the 2nd Platoon of Able Company of the Stonewallers. He arranged to have his cousin Jake assigned to his squad so he could keep an eye on him. All during the tumult and instability of 1941, Harley was a constant. He remained calm and focused and provided attentive leadership to his squad. They tried to stay out of trouble mostly because of their loyalty and friendship to him.
In September 1941 the 29th Division moved to Fort A.P. Hill, halfway between Washington, D.C. and Richmond, Virginia. Jake continued to get home to Macie as often as he could.
Macie was tall at five feet eight inches and somewhat awkward and gangly. Most of the time she kept her long black hair in a ponytail. Her eyes were nearly as dark as her hair and the only minor imperfection to her otherwise flawless face was a small mole on her upper lip. Jake thought it gave her face character.
She found a job in a boarding house cleaning rooms and serving meals. It didn’t pay much but she always had something to eat and a roof over her head. Nothing in the orphanage had prepared her for life on the outside. As a consequence, she remained shy and withdrawn. However, she was a hard worker and took pride in whatever she did. Jake was the center of her young life and she adored him. He would take a room at the boarding house whenever he got home. It was all very convenient and respectable. He realized before long that although he always loved her, he had fallen in love with her. She became the focus of his life. They would take long walks holding hands or go to the movie house or have a float at the soda fountain in Green’s Drugstore. It was just understood that they would someday marry.
The Last Jump: A Novel of World War II Page 7