The Last Jump: A Novel of World War II

by John E. Nevola

  “With most of the misfits and pretenders washed out in A-Stage, the B-Stage training became all about learning the techniques for jumping out of planes and how to land. We prepared and trained by doing thousands of tumbles in the gym. We also jumped from platforms without gear over and over again. The jumps were called PLFs, parachute landing falls, and we did so many that we could do them in our sleep. Then we learned how to strap on the parachute and harness; not too tight, not too loose. We were taught how to check our equipment and how to exit the plane from a mock-up airplane door. They taught us the proper body position in the air. We went out of that mock-up probably five hundred times. Easier said than done with a hundred pounds on your back. Instructors would critique and correct us. Our goal was to jump a stick of eighteen paratroopers in less than ten seconds. We never quite made that in training but we got close.”

  The waitress brought Sky another Vodka Collins. “Every time Johnny and Jake checked each other’s equipment or passed close by each other I held my breath. But other than looks that could kill, nothing happened. I don’t think either of them wanted to screw themselves or their buddies out of making it through jump school.” He took a sip and continued. The vodka was beginning to loosen him up. “Then we jumped from the thirty-four foot tower on a harness rigged to a cable that went from the tower to a pole a hundred feet away and eight feet off the ground. It was hairy and scary.”

  Frank finished eating his crab cakes and joined the conversation. “We had a lot of guys wash out on the thirty-four foot tower too. Once they got past that, they were likely to make it through jump school.”

  “Right,” Sky agreed. “Most of the guys had never even been in a plane before they joined up.” He leaned back in his chair. “Anyway, here we are in C-Stage and they take us to the two hundred and fifty foot towers. That’s where they hook you up to a parachute, pull you all the way up and let you go.” Sky was motioning with his hands. He had everyone’s attention. “They trained us to guide the parachute using the risers, the straps that held the chute to your harness. Pull hard on one side, dump some air from the canopy and guide the chute in the direction you want to go. It was good to know and worked if the wind wasn’t too strong. When you hit the ground they had these big fans blowing air into your chute. You had to learn to collapse it and muscle it down. A guy could really get busted up bad if he let himself be dragged along the freakin’ ground. Suddenly, the pushups and rope climbing made sense. We were stronger and able to execute these difficult strength maneuvers.”

  J.P. was anxious to hear about what happened between his father and Jake and wanted Sky to get to the end of the story. However, he was reluctant to disrupt his train of thought. Sky seemed to enjoy reliving those days, which seemed seared indelibly into his memory. Harley and Frank seemed to be enjoying the reminiscence as well. J.P. decided to take a chance. “So, what happened on that last day of C-Stage?”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry,” Sky continued. “It started in the packing shed. We were learning how to pack parachutes. We were very closely supervised and everyone paid attention because our first jump would be with the chute we packed for ourselves. It was serious shit and we knew it. If you screwed it up you’d wind up with a streamer and they’d be scraping you up with a shovel. And you would have nobody to blame but yourself.”

  J.P. looked at Frank curiously. Frank responded. “A streamer was when your lines get fouled up and keep the chute from opening. Usually happened when you didn’t pack the chute right.” J.P. nodded and looked at Sky who continued.

  “I knew Johnny was feeling bad about how he acted but he wasn’t about to apologize. Jake certainly wasn’t going to offer Johnny his hand a second time. The situation was tense and it wouldn’t take much to ignite it. So, we’re next to each other in this hot packing shed, each of us with his chute laid out on this long, smooth table, listening to the instructors and flattening the silk panels and separating and clearing the shroud lines and carefully folding everything into the pack tray. Suddenly, Johnny notices that Jake left one of the shot bags under the folds of his chute and was just about to pack the chute into his tray and…”

  “What’s a shot bag?” J.P. interrupted.

  Frank answered. “It’s a cloth pouch about the size of a sausage with small round lead shot in it. They were used to hold down the silk while we straightened out the shroud lines. You know, so a breeze wouldn’t blow your chute off the table. It’s not a good thing if you pack them in with the chute.”

  J.P. nodded his understanding and looked back at Sky who continued. “So Johnny looks around, no one else sees it, he doesn’t really want Jake to get killed so he innocently says, ‘Hey Enema, you left a bag in the chute’. Johnny was trying to be helpful but unintentionally called him Enema. Jake went nuts, came flying around the table. Me and some other guys got between them again. Jake’s friend, Danny Boy, was also trying to get at Johnny. It was a mess. The instructors jumped in, screamed at everyone and restored order. We finished packing the chutes and put our names on them. Johnny yelled over to Jake to remind him to make sure he picked out the right pack this time. They were seething at each other. So, Bancroft decided to punish the entire company with a forced march the Friday night of C-Stage. If we all didn’t finish on time there would be no passes for anybody. Now everybody was pissed at both of them.”

  “So you marched?” asked J.P.

  Sky deliberated for a moment. “I’m not sure why Bancroft set people against each other. He seemed to particularly enjoy the conflict between Johnny and Jake, since he pretty much started it.” Sky took a sip of his drink and then a deep breath. “Anyway, Bancroft did something that night of the march that I never saw an NCO do before or since.”

  Sky hesitated, enjoying a sense of the drama he was creating. J.P. prodded him. “And what was that?”

  “Well, nobody actually witnessed it, but the story goes like this.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Newport News, Virginia – July 22, 1942

  “But for every man there exists a bait which he cannot resist swallowing.”

  Friedrich Nietzsche (1844 - 1900)

  The cool breeze, hastened by an onshore gust from the James River, was refreshing as it swept the heat of the day from the sidewalks. The shadows of the buildings lengthened as the day wore to a close. Macie Vance and Nora Lee had just finished a double shift and chatted as they walked among the crowd headed toward the busses and home. Macie was wearing a pair of new coveralls over a man-tailored short-sleeved shirt. A red print bandana kept her hair in place. Nora was dressed the same, as were most of the other women, only Nora wore a white polo shirt under her coveralls. They both carried metal lunch boxes and Macie held a welder’s helmet in her other hand. They sauntered with a casualness of having recently accomplished something worthwhile.

  A group of men were walking in the other direction. They whistled the universally familiar two-note call in unison as they passed by. Macie became a bit self-conscious but Nora turned to face them as they looked back over their shoulders.

  “Bring it on, boys,” she smiled as she walked backwards and raised both of her arms as if to show off her entire body. “I just love the attention!” Then she turned and slapped her backside.

  The young men quickly turned away. It was unusual for women to confront men who wolf-whistled at them. Nora surprised them.

  She was a beautiful blonde who resembled a taller version of Veronica Lake. When Nora’s shoulder length hair wasn’t pinned under her bandana, it hung lazily over her right eye imitating the iconic peek-a-boo hairstyle of the popular actress. The men could have been whistling at either of the girls but it was Nora who instinctively responded. She simply would not be intimidated by any of the men in the dockyard.

  “Don’t ever let them get away with nothing,” she whispered to Macie as they walked.

  “You’re something, Nora,” was all Macie could say in reply.

  “Gangway, ladies,” an older heavy set man yelled as he pushed
his way between them and walked quickly toward the gate. He knocked both of them off balance and Nora almost fell.

  “Very nice, you old fart. What a gentleman you are!” Nora hollered as he made his way through the crowd.

  “Listen sister,” he yelled back over his shoulder. “Why don’t you go to the tool crib and get the left-handed monkey wrench?” The older man guffawed at his joke.

  “Try another one, fatso,” Nora replied. “That stupid old prank won’t work anymore.”

  “Why don’t you go back to the kitchen where you ladies belong, barefoot and pregnant?” he yelled back. He got a chorus of catcalls and boos from the other women walking toward the gate. Nora flipped him her middle finger. A wide-eyed Macie stifled a giggle at the gesture.

  “Oh my gosh, Nora. You’re terrible,” Macie laughed.

  “He deserved it, the lazy fat bastard.” She raised her head to look for him disappearing in the crowd and raised her voice toward him. “You heard me, you’re a good-for-nothing lazy fat bastard and you can go to hell.” The other women yelled sentiments of agreement.

  Macie continued to laugh. None of the women behaved that way in Bedford. She was both amused and a little embarrassed.

  “I’ve seen him around before,” Nora continued. “He has a problem with women working in the yard and he doesn’t care who knows it. He has a problem with niggers too. Next time he pushes me I’m going to crown him with this lunch bucket.”

  “Okay, me too. We’ll both hit him,” Macie smiled.

  “I’m not kidding, Macie. It’s bad enough some of these fat old men make almost twice as much as we do for the same jobs but then they run around treating us like we’re shit. They make all that money while our guys are fighting this war. Bullshit! I’m not taking their crap.” Nora became angrier at the thought of her boyfriend who was still missing in action in the Philippines.

  “Really, they make more than we do?” Macie was genuinely surprised.

  “More than the niggers, too,” Nora confirmed. “I don’t know how the shipyard gets away with it but that’s the truth.”

  Macie shook her head in disbelief. She didn’t doubt Nora but found it hard to understand. “There’s probably a good reason. They probably have more experience than us,” Macie rationalized. “Besides, I’m making more money than I ever did and more than I can spend.”

  “You’ll see, Macie. When you start working rings around these guys and leaving them in the dust, you’ll still be making less than all of them.”

  Before Macie could answer, she spotted Derek Edson coming out of the crowd and walking toward them. “Oh, there he is.”

  “That’s the guy you told me about?” asked Nora. “Girl, he’s a dreamboat!”

  Derek approached them. “Congratulations, Macie. I heard you graduated and got assigned.” He held out his left hand.

  She took it. “Yes, over a week ago, thanks. They have me welding sub-assemblies in the big shed down by the wharf. I hear they’re going into your ship, the Bon Homme Richard.” She let go of his hand and introduced him to Nora as the guy who recruited her to the shipyard. Nora didn’t let on that she knew of him.

  “Sub-assemblies. That’s great. It won’t be long before they have you right on the ship itself, joining iron, as they say, welding the hull and bulkheads and stuff. Maybe you’ll even be on my crew,” he speculated.

  Macie smiled. Derek had a way of finding her despite the vastness of the shipyard. He bumped into her almost every day while she was in Welding School. Now, he accidentally ran into her again. She was flattered that he seemed to be making an effort to stumble upon her. Her question was not whether or not he was doing it on purpose; the question was how was he doing it on purpose.

  “I’m glad I ran into you,” he smiled back. “I hoped maybe we could go to a movie to celebrate your graduation.”

  Macie glanced at Nora and then back to Derek. “I don’t think so. But thanks anyway, Derek.” Macie averted Derek’s eyes and looked back at Nora.

  Derek recovered. “Oh, Nora, of course, please. You’re welcome to come too. I have a buddy, nice guy…”

  “I don’t do blind dates,” Nora interrupted. “Besides, we both have boyfriends.”

  Macie glanced quickly at Nora who gave her a quizzical look back.

  Derek had to think fast. He appealed to Nora. “It’s not a date, so it can’t be a blind date.” He shifted his gaze to Macie. “We’d be going in a group…just friends.”

  “As just friends, right?” Macie anxiously confirmed.

  “Of course. There’s a new Jimmy Cagney movie playing at the Palace, Yankee Doodle Dandy. Just released. I hear it’s swell.”

  Macie looked over at Nora. She wanted to go but not alone. Nora picked up on the silent plea and answered for both of them. “Okay, Derek. Bring your buddy. We’ll all go but just friends. No funny stuff, Derek. Got it?”

  “No problem. I swear. As friends.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Fort Benning, Georgia - July 24, 1942

  “It is not so much our friends' help that helps us,

  as the confidence of their help.”

  Epicurus (341 BC – 270 BC)

  Johnny Kilroy was frozen at attention with the rest of his platoon. He was annoyed Bancroft had called the formation and surprised to see the other three platoons in their training company in formation with them.

  Tradition held, and the rumors supported, the company would be granted a pass for post privileges for the weekend. But something else was in the wind and the sense was the company would not be double-timing over to the mess hall. If they were going to chow, they would not be in formation and straining under full field packs in the hot Georgia sun.

  Johnny tried to occupy his mind. He had to be prepared to handle whatever Bancroft had in store for them. He gazed out over the landscape as he waited and just took in the vast expanse that was the Parachute School at Fort Benning.

  Fort Benning was considered the home of the fledgling United States Army Airborne in the summer of 1942. Even though the Airborne Command staff under Colonel William C. Lee had moved to Fort Bragg, North Carolina, the action and the heartbeat of the airborne revolved around the Parachute School. The history of the airborne was short, less than two years old, but everywhere in the training area were signs of powerful and deeply held traditions. Paratroopers of legendary stature who circulated freely in the day rooms and beer gardens added to the mystical aura of this self-proclaimed invincible fighting force.

  In early July of 1940, soon after the fall of France, the United States Army’s Parachute Test Platoon began training. Formed from a pool of 200 volunteers from the 29th Infantry Regiment stationed at Fort Benning, the forty-eight enlisted men and one officer began the perilous process of experimentation and discovery into the feasibility of mass dropping heavily laden infantrymen into combat behind enemy lines.

  The practicability of the theory had to be proven even though the idea was not entirely new. Leonardo da Vinci designed, drew and described a “tent of linen” parachute in the 1500s. In 1784 Benjamin Franklin pondered the idea of “ten thousand men descending from the clouds” to cause great mischief before a force could be brought together to repel them. In October 1918, Colonel William “Billy” Mitchell, chief of American Expeditionary Forces Air Units, wrote a memo to his superior, General John Pershing, suggesting that an armed force be dropped by parachute behind German lines to fortify and hold a position from where the enemy could be attacked from the rear. The War ended before the idea could be seriously considered but Mitchell has been credited with first suggesting the concept of “vertical envelopment” of an enemy force.

  The concept of a Test Platoon had its genesis in an order from Chief of Staff General George C. Marshall in May of 1939. He had been receiving reports from U.S. consulates in Europe regarding the advanced development of foreign parachute and air-landing infantry units, particularly in Russia and Germany.

  Marshall named Major William C. Lee,
one of the brightest and most conscientious staff officers in the infantry, to lead the project. It received a boost from an unexpected source in May of 1940. The German Wehrmacht attacked France and the Low Countries. The Fallschrimjaeger, the German paratroopers, successfully spearheaded the attacks on Holland and Belgium by parachuting and seizing positions behind enemy lines. The Nazis had been training large-scale airborne forces in Stendal, Germany since 1935. The Americans were far behind and General Marshall hurriedly placed more emphasis on what he called the “air-infantry project”.

  Lee designed a grueling eight-week course covering all phases of parachute activities, a strenuous physical fitness program and rigorous infantry training. The Test Platoon double-timed everywhere. Even though future training cycles would be reduced to four weeks, the rigor and high standards established by the Test Platoon were never compromised.

  Under the command of Lieutenant William T. Ryder, the Test Platoon moved into a tent city on the heights overlooking Lawson Field adjacent to Fort Benning. There they began their pioneering adventure into the unknown. Fundamental procedures were developed, such as the position of the head, eyes, hands and feet when standing in the door ready to jump, body position in the air and landing technique. After eight weeks they celebrated by performing a mass jump in front of a reviewing stand of VIPs including General Marshall.

  By the end of September 1940, the War Department authorized the establishment of two parachute battalions, one army and one marine. The marine battalion of about 400 men would be named the 1st Parachute Battalion and to avoid confusion the army named its force the 501st Parachute Infantry Battalion (PIB).

  The army sought out one of its finest young officers, Major William M. “Bud” Miley, to command its battalion. A West Point graduate of the class of 1918, he threw himself into the job with great passion. The first order of business was to find volunteers to flesh out his command. Initially, enlisted men had to be unmarried, between the ages of twenty-one and thirty-two, weigh under 185 pounds, and have at least one year in the army. In addition, the volunteer had to have a letter of recommendation from his CO and the necessary aptitude to enable him to learn map reading skills, demolitions and communications. While some of these restrictions were relaxed after the United States entered the War, the graduation standards were never compromised.