“Flatcars, sir. They were empty but there were only flatcars on all three trains.”
“So, you saw flatcars? So what?” Taylor sounded abrupt.
Gardiner leaned forward, suddenly interested. “Wait a second. Flatcars move vehicles, right?” He aimed his question at Jake.
“In this case, heavy vehicles.”
“How can you tell that?” Taylor asked, now also interested.
“Each train had three locomotives.” Jake looked directly at Taylor, no longer hesitant. “I know railroads. You only chain that many together when you’re pulling a very heavy train.”
“Like one with tanks and heavy artillery,” Taylor sighed.
“That’s not all, sir,” Johnny chimed in. He looked at Jake. “Tell him.”
“What else did you see, son?” Taylor was not only now interested but also more receptive.
“That guard at the checkpoint was Fallschrimjaeger, a German paratrooper.”
“And you know that, how?” Gardiner challenged.
“I was just inches away from him, sir. He was wearing a paratrooper badge on his collar.”
“You sure, son?” Gardiner asked.
“Absolutely positive, sir. We captured a few in Sicily. Tough bastards,” Jake added.
Taylor took a deep breath. He believed the Italians may have lost their nerve and their will to fight but they weren’t lying about the Germans moving strong forces into Rome. “God help me, but I’m pulling the plug on Giant Two.” He looked at Gardiner. “You agree, Bill?”
Taylor had the utmost respect for Gardiner. He had once been the governor of the state of Maine. He was intelligent and level headed. Taylor could not have hoped for a more competent officer to accompany him. “I agree, wholeheartedly.”
“Begging the General’s pardon, sir, but we had our fill of fighting Tigers on Sicily,” Johnny recalled. “I know the boys would appreciate not having to fight tanks with their bare hands here in Rome.”
Taylor didn’t respond. In his heart he knew he was preventing a slaughter. He also knew that by passing on this opportunity, he would subject himself to merciless second-guessing from the highest levels of government and maybe Ike too. However great the risk to his own career, he had made up his mind. Now, to stop Giant Two before the planes got in the air.
In the dead of night, Carboni drove back to the Palazzo Caprara where the Americans and Italians quickly coded and sent two messages to Eisenhower’s headquarters. The first, from Badoglio, simply stated it was no longer possible for the Italian government to accept an armistice and the Italians could no longer guarantee the airfields. The second message from Taylor stated Giant Two was impossible based on the increased German presence around Rome.
Taylor waited for an acknowledgement. He received one for Badoglio’s message and could only imagine the fury it caused at Ike’s headquarters. Late that afternoon, coded instructions were sent to Taylor to return to Algiers immediately. The Americans took General Francesco Rossi of the Italian Supreme General Staff to explain the Italian position to Eisenhower. The small group was driven in the same military ambulance through enemy infested Rome to Centocelli Airfield on the outskirts of the Eternal City. Once there they boarded a Savoia-Marchetti tri-motor bomber for the two-hour flight.
Meanwhile, Eisenhower replied to Badoglio and advised the Prime Minister he had in his possession the surrender documents signed by Italy’s duly authorized representative and planned to announce the surrender at 1830 hours that same evening. If Badoglio failed to also make his planned radio announcement to the Italian people and military, Eisenhower would expose Italy’s duplicity to the whole world and Italy would “suffer the most serious consequences including the dissolution of the Italian government and nation.” Ike was playing hardball with Badoglio.
In the meantime Ridgway’s Pathfinders took off while the rest of the 504th PIR boarded their C-47s. When the cancellation orders finally arrived, Ridgway was delighted to recall the sixty planes that were already in the air heading for the Cerveteri and Fubara airfields north of Rome. He knew Taylor had made the right call and his division had avoided a massacre.
At 1830 hours Eisenhower made his announcement over Radio Algiers. He stated the Italian forces had surrendered unconditionally and were granted a military armistice. An hour later Prime Minister Badoglio came on the air and shocked the world by stating the same thing. Italy was officially out of the War. Ike had forced Badoglio’s hand.
Meanwhile, the Italian plane ferrying the American group delivered its human cargo safely to an airfield near Eisenhower’s Headquarters. Two waiting jeeps with armed escorts drove the men to the immense white building that served as Allied Headquarters.
Taylor, Gardiner and Rossi were ushered in to see General Eisenhower. Jake and Johnny waited outside. After a few minutes, Gardiner came back out. He put his arms around Jake and Johnny and walked them to the side of the building out of earshot.
“You boys did a great job. I’d get you a medal if this wasn’t so hush-hush.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jake smiled. “I guess we can’t call you Bill, anymore.”
“Did our guys get the word in time?” Johnny asked.
“They did. The drop was cancelled.”
Both boys let out audible sighs of relief. Gardiner continued. “And Ike made the announcement anyway. Bullied Badoglio to do the same. Italy is out of the War.”
“Wow, that’s swell news, sir,” Johnny smiled.
Gardiner looked at Jake. “Some in high places are not happy having to cancel the drop. General Taylor is in for some heat on this. But he’s convinced he did the right thing and the critical observations you made convinced him the drop would be a slaughter.”
Jake put his head down, speechless. Johnny put his hand on Jake’s shoulder and shook it in a sign of congratulations.
“We’ll be flying back to Sicily. You’ll be back with your unit pretty soon. Needless to say, where you were and what you did the past two days is top secret. Nobody knows except General Taylor and me. You’re to tell no one, ever.” Gardiner was calm and matter of fact. What he said next shocked the boys. “If you do, you could be shot. So, please don’t ever say a word about this mission to anyone.”
The two paratroopers nodded solemnly.
“Your country owes you a great debt,” Gardiner continued. “I’m sorry that my ‘thank you’ is all you’re ever going to get.” Gardiner shook their hands one at a time. “One more thing,” he looked at Jake. “You can call me Bill, anytime.”
At 0330 hours the next morning, 9 September 1943, 450 ships disembarked the Allied invasion force at Salerno. The troops stormed ashore buoyed by the knowledge that Italy was out of the fight.
Chapter Thirty-Six
L’Enfant Plaza Hotel - January 13, 1997
“Who naught suspects is easily deceived.”
Petrarch (AD 1304 - 1374)
“We were really glad to see the boys show up after disappearing for those few days. They seemed happy to be back too. No one told us where they went. They wouldn’t say anything either, not even to me.” Sky sipped his Prop-Blast and held the glass up to the dim light and looked at it. “Brings back lots of memories.”
“Did you ever find out where they were?” Cynthia asked.
Harley answered. “Not until much later, kid. They were on a top secret mission.”
J.P. was intrigued by that answer but suppressed any reaction. The busboys came by again and cleared the last of the utensils. They even cleaned off the already clean white tablecloth with their little crumb-scrapers. The waitress remained by the kitchen door and held the dinner bill in a leather folder with hands clasped across her apron. J.P. knew he had run out of time. He signaled the waitress and she was over in a flash. He placed his American Express card on top of the folder without examining the bill. She disappeared toward the cash register.
“And you said they were transferred after that?” J.P. directed the question to Sky. He had a few more m
inutes before he had to sign the credit card slip and would squeeze every last drop of information possible. He sensed he would never see Sky in person again.
“Not immediately.” Sky pursed his lips and squinted to help him remember. “The beachhead at Salerno was in trouble. The Germans counterattacked and punched this huge hole through American lines toward the beach. General Ridgway was ordered to send in reinforcements so we made what became know as the ‘oil drum drop’.”
“Oil drum drop?” Cynthia asked. She seemed completely sober to J.P. now.
“We didn’t drop oil drums,” Sky chuckled. “The guys on the ground set up these sand filled fifty-five gallon drums and doused them with gasoline. They marked the drop zone, which was behind our own lines. When the planes hauling the Five-oh-four got close, the GIs on the ground lit fires in the drums. Guided them right in. Once the paratroopers hit the ground, they piled into British lorries…that’s what the Limeys called trucks…and were ferried right to the front lines. They were crucial to holding the line the next day. The Five-oh-five dropped twenty-one hundred troopers on the DZ the second night. When we dropped we could hear the guys on the ground cheering. I remember it felt like the cavalry coming to the rescue. We held the beach and pushed the Krauts back. History says the Eighty-second saved the beachhead. I agree.” Sky raised his glass and gulped down the last of his drink in a personal toast to that memory.
“Was that about the time they were transferred?” J.P. pressed for more even as the waitress returned his credit card and signature slip.
“Yeah, and even that was strange. Right after we loaded up on the trucks, Cannonball himself comes running to the back of each truck in a panic yelling out their names. When he found them in our truck, he pulled them out.”
“What happened to them?” J.P. asked.
“They were flown back to Sicily right away. The next time I saw them was in London. They were with the Hundred and first, the Screaming Eagles. Imagine that! From an All-American to a Screaming Eagle just like that!”
“That’s right," Frank said. “They wound up in my company.”
“I’d love to talk to you about that,” J.P. said.
“My flight doesn’t leave until tomorrow night. I’d be glad to meet you tomorrow.” Frank seemed willing despite another stare from Harley.
“That would be great.”
J.P. scrawled his signature on the credit card slip and turned to Harley. “I’d love to talk more with you.”
“If I ever get back to D.C., kid, I’ll be sure to look you up,” Harley lied. “In the meantime, call me anytime. I’m only a four hour drive away and I’ll be mostly busy with the D-Day Memorial…I’m on the committee…should break ground this year…so if you feel like taking a drive, you’d be welcomed.”
“I guess I kind of dominated the conversation,” Sky interjected. “Sorry, I got carried away. I hope I helped.”
“You were a great help,” J.P. exaggerated.
“Anyway, thanks for dinner.” Talking about the War was cathartic for Sky.
The group moved slowly to the main lobby. J.P. gave his parking stub to the valet.
He turned to Cynthia. “Do you have a car?”
“I took a taxi.”
“Can I give you a lift?”
She clutched his arm suggestively. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Frank walked over to J.P and touched his arm. “About tomorrow, Mister Kilroy, how about noon at the Wall?”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Vietnam Veterans Memorial - January 14, 1997
“We come, not to mourn our dead soldiers, but to praise them.”
Francis A. Walker (1840 - 1897)
John Patrick Kilroy Junior walked briskly south on 23rd Street past George Washington University having just exited the Metro Station at Foggy Bottom. There was a bounce in his step. It had been a long time since he had been with a woman and Cynthia proved to be more than just another woman. She was spectacular.
It was a rather mild day for January with a moderate southerly breeze just strong enough to blow his thinning hair out of place. The sky was the kind of cloudless blue panorama often referred to as “severe clear”. The street traffic and tourist crowds were normal for lunchtime on a weekday in Washington, D.C.
Soon after J.P. turned left on Constitution Avenue he crossed over and entered Constitution Gardens adjacent to the National Mall on Henry Bacon Drive. He had been to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial only once, shortly after it was dedicated in 1982, and had not been back since.
The Wall, with all of its inscribed names and bequeathed flowers and mementos at its base, was barely visible until standing at the top of the sloped paved walkway. The path declined gently to the apex of the V that divided the Wall into two distinct sections at an angle of 125 degrees, 12 minutes. The bright sun was low in the southern sky over the Potomac and glared brightly off the 144 black granite panels that comprised the structure. Kilroy started to walk, apprehensively at first, but soon steadier. He was looking for Frank West and as he walked down the path, the Wall rose on his left. Soon it was well above his head and the breeze stopped. The quiet stillness was overpowering. The hairs on the back of his neck stiffened and chills ran through his body. He looked at the endless sea of names and began to perspire uncontrollably. It was as if the souls of the 58,000 fallen were all crying out to him at once, where were you?
Kilroy recalled the controversy that surrounded the 246-foot wall when the design was first exhibited to the public. It was radically different than the figurative memorials most people had become accustomed to for thousands of years. In addition, a young undergraduate student from Yale University by the name of Maya Lin won the public design competition over more than 2,500 applicants. Yale was a hotbed of anti-war protest and this irked many veterans. However, it was the American people who were the final arbiters. They flocked to the Wall by the millions and were universally moved by the understated symbolism of the sacrifice of American youth. The acceptance by the people, and ultimately the living veterans, validated the selection of the peculiar and emotionally moving design.
As a concession to those who initially criticized the design as too unconventional, a more traditional bronze statue was erected in 1984. The Three Soldiers statue, depicting GIs easily identifiable as African-American, Hispanic and Caucasian in combat accoutrements, stood close enough to the Wall to appear as if paying silent tribute to their fallen comrades, yet far enough away so as not to interfere. It was next to the Three Soldiers monument that Kilroy spotted Frank wearing a windbreaker with a Screaming Eagles emblem on the back and a baseball cap. J.P. ambled over to him. Frank was examining a rubbing he had taken from the wall. Probably a friend or relative, thought J.P. Hopefully, not a son.
J.P. extended his hand. “Thanks for meeting me.”
Frank accepted it. “You’re welcome.” He placed the rubbing in his wallet. “Thanks for meeting me here. I just needed to stop by to get this rubbing.”
They both looked over toward the wall. Frank said, “This is an amazing place. I get goose bumps every time I’m here.”
J.P. nodded in agreement. Frank looked at him. “Did you serve?”
J.P. shook his head in the negative and changed the subject. “Are you hungry? I know a great place for lunch.” He was anxious to leave.
“I can eat,” replied Frank.
They walked to Constitution Avenue where J.P. hailed a taxi. “Two thousand Pennsylvania Avenue,” he instructed.
In a few minutes they were outside the door of Kinkeads Brasserie, a restaurant well frequented by Washington insiders. Frank took off his baseball cap as they waited to be seated. The room was large and already filling with the lunchtime rush. The long bar was heavily built from sturdy dark wood. A piano plinked out a soft tune in the far corner. Frank leaned over to J.P. as he smoothed back his black hair. “I don’t think I’m dressed properly for this place.”
“No problem, Frank. They know me here.”
They were seated at a table for four in a far corner away from the piano. The table was behind an artificial floor plant. A young waiter approached with menus.
“Welcome Mister Kilroy,” he addressed J.P. while placing the menus on the table.
“Hello Andrew. How’s school?” J.P. answered. Andrew was a student at George Washington University.
“Graduating in June, sir. Everything is going well, thank you.”
J.P. scanned the menu. “I’m ready. I’ll have the Fish and Chips.”
Frank looked at Andrew. “The Maine lobster roll looks good. I’ll have that, please.”
J.P. closed his menu and looked over to Frank. “How about a nice white wine? Unless you want to order another Prop-Blast,” J.P. smiled.
“That was just for memories. I never really liked the drink. Wine will be fine.”
J.P. looked at Andrew. “A nice Riesling then. Lingenfelder, if you have it.”
“Of course, sir.” Andrew picked up the menus and left the table.
Frank looked around, a bit self-conscious about his casual dress. He removed his windbreaker, folded it and placed it along with his baseball cap on the empty seat of an adjoining chair. “I know I agreed to meet you today, Mister Kilroy, but I’m not sure what I can tell you over lunch that would satisfy your curiosity. You had a lot of questions last night.”
“Well, Frank. I took the day off so I have all afternoon. I really need to know everything you can tell me about my father. This is really important to me.”
“I’ll do my best.”
J.P. started out slowly, hoping to lull Frank into a comfort zone that would loosen him up and permit him to speak more freely than he could last night. The absence of Harley should help in this regard. In addition, J.P. listened to the recording made at the dinner table the previous evening. He learned that there was something and it certainly didn’t appear to be the Rome Job. On the recording Harley had asked both of them, “Do you think he knows?” Knows what?
The Last Jump: A Novel of World War II Page 32