On behalf of the American people -- your own people -- I send this Christmas message to you, who are in our armed forces:
In our hearts are prayers for you and for all your comrades in arms who fight to rid the world of evil.
We ask God’s blessing upon you — upon your fathers and mothers and wives and children — all your loved ones at home. We ask that the comfort of God's grace shall be granted to those who are sick and wounded, and to those who are prisoners of war in the hands of the enemy, waiting for the day when they will again be free.
And we ask that God receive and cherish those who have given their lives, and that He keep them in honor and in the grateful memory of their countrymen forever. God bless all of you who fight our battles on this Christmas Eve.
God bless us all. Keep us strong in our faith that we fight for a better day for human kind -- here and everywhere.
Macie began to tear up. She always found the President’s words both comforting and brutally honest. While predicting a victorious outcome, he tried to inure the citizens of America to the terrible toll it would require. Americans needed to prepare for the toughest part of the long road ahead. She wiped her tears with a tissue and prayed Jake would not be among those who would pay the ultimate price for freedom.
The door to the apartment swung open with a rush. Nora Lee stormed in and slammed the door behind her. She was crying as she sat down at the kitchen table. She put her face in her hands to muffle the sobs and catch her tears.
Macie rushed to her quickly and sat down beside her. “Nora, what’s the matter?”
Nora embraced Macie. “Jonah was killed on Tarawa.”
“Oh my gosh!” Macie hugged her close. “Hold me honey. Hold me tight. I’m right here for you. It’ll be all right. Just let it out.”
Nora sobbed uncontrollably for some time. Macie brought her a glass of water. Nora gained control of herself. She took a deep breath and looked at Macie.
“You would think I would be better at this by now,” she chided herself. “First Butch, now Jonah.” She paused. “I mean, I really loved Butch and I really liked Jonah…a lot.” Nora began sobbing gently again.
Macie held her as she continued.
“I mean, why did he have to join up, anyway? He was safe here, had a good job so why?” She sniffled and wiped a tear.
Macie chose not to answer. She just held Nora and rocked her gently.
“I went with Jonah to help me forget about Butch and wound up getting my heart broken twice,” Nora complained. “It doesn’t pay to wait for someone.”
“We don’t know about Butch, Nora. Maybe…” Macie tried to console her.
“I know,” Nora interrupted. “I know what those fucking Japs do to prisoners over there. Butch is as good as dead. And if he were not, he’d be better off dead. In any case, he’s not coming back to me.”
“You don’t know that, Nora. You’re just upset.”
“I tried not to care. I went with a lot of guys. I tried to protect myself from this heartache…but I can’t do it anymore.” Nora suddenly controlled herself, straightened up in the chair and raised her head high. “Would you like some tea?”
Macie had seen this before, the rapid mood change. It was as if Nora commanded herself to regain control of her mind and body.
“I’d love some,” Macie replied. “Let me do it.” Macie got up to fill the teapot.
“I’m not raising my hopes that Butch will come back. The odds are against it. They’re against anyone coming back.” Nora was calm and now speaking matter-of-factly.
Macie lit the stove and sat back down. “If hope is all we have, why just throw it away?”
Nora suddenly realized what she had said. “I’m so sorry, Macie. What was I thinking? Selfish me! I didn’t mean Jake. I didn’t mean to…”
Macie raised her hand and Nora stopped. “I understand, Nora. Believe me, I get it!”
“You’re like a sister to me, Macie,” Nora continued. “I don’t want to see you hurt. Derek is a great guy and he’s here and he’s not going anywhere near a battlefield.”
Macie just nodded. Derek had been her struggle since she met him.
“If you don’t nail him down now, plenty of other girls will.” Nora got up and retrieved two large coffee mugs and four teabags from the pantry.
“Do you know what he actually said to me?” Macie didn’t wait for an answer. “If anything happened to Jake he would be there for me.” She paused. “Imagine that? I worry about Jake all the time. What am I supposed to do with that information?”
“Nothing Macie. He’s just telling you how much he cares for you right now but you can’t keep him on a string forever.”
“I’m not trying to, Nora. At least I don’t think I am. He just won’t go away.”
“All I’m saying Macie is that Derek is a catch and if I were you, I’d reel him in before he gets away. Derek’s a sure thing and losing Jake would rip your heart out.”
“I understand you, Nora, but it’s not that easy.”
“Sure it is! Which one do you love right this minute, Sweetie?”
“In some ways I think I love them both.”
Chapter Forty
Devonshire, England - December 24, 1943
“The pen is the tongue of the mind.”
Horace, (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) (65 BC - 8 BC)
Sergeant Harley Tidrick sat on his bunk in a Quonset hut in the town of Ivybridge, Devonshire, England. He had just returned to his former unit, Able Company, 116th Infantry Regiment, 29th Infantry Division.
Unexpectedly and even more unexplainably, the United States Army disbanded the 29th Ranger Battalion (Provisional) after eleven months of training. The order came through on 18 October 1943 and Harley recently arrived back to his old unit. It was Christmas Eve and he decided to write Jake. He was angry and upset as he chain-smoked his way through the letter. He reread it for the third time.
December 24, 1943
Jake,
First let me say Merry Christmas to you, kid. I hope this letter finds you in good health. I know you’re in England somewhere and we have to get together on leave sometime and whoop it up. Maybe we can meet in London for a weekend.
I’ve never been so down in all my time in the army. They just disbanded the 29th Rangers. They sent us all back to our outfits. What a waste of all that training. I can’t believe the army is so fucked up. Unbelievable.
We started last December with a call for volunteers. About 170 men and 10 officers volunteered. I wrote you about that. Our cadre was made up of British Commandos, tough bastards.
Our CO was Major Milholland. I didn’t know him because he came from the 115th Regiment but he turned out to be a swell CO. They sent us to Tidworth Barracks for training. We trained hard for two months. At least we thought it was hard. Then we went north to Scotland to the British Commando Depot at Achnacarry House. This was a rugged desolate place that God made just to break men. A combat veteran Scottish Black Watch officer named Captain Hoar of Number 4 Commando trained us. They worked us hard. We did speed marches, PT, hand-to-hand combat, we climbed mountains, ran courses and were thrown to the wolves and had to find our way back. Some of the boys dropped out but most stuck it out. The Stonewallers were well represented. The British instructors were impressed and they’re hard to impress. We were so into it we would run the obstacle course for fun.
We trained in seven or eight different places. Then finally in September we went to Scotland to Dorlin House Commando Training Depot. By then we were hard as steel and in great shape. There were calluses where there used to be blisters and we could speed-march for hours on end without rest. We could climb anything with or without ropes. We were ready!
Then a mission came up. It was a hit and run raid to destroy a radar station on the Ile d’Ouessant. This small island in the Atlantic just off the Brittany Peninsula is also called Ushant on British maps. Lieutenant Gene Dance (you remember him) led a team of eighteen Rangers on the raid. I was one
of them. Some British Commandos also came along. Our orders were to destroy the radar station and bring home 2 prisoners. We were also supposed to leave some sign that American Rangers were there so we left Major Milholland’s helmet and pistol belt. We demolished the radar station but the boys got too excited and killed all the Germans. No prisoners! Who can blame them?
Then we moved to Dover to prepare for another raid, this time on France. We had a hundred men ready to go but were turned back by the weather.
Then we got word in October that the War Department pencil pushers had dissolved the 29th Rangers. Major Milholland went to bat for us along with General Cota, the Division G-3, but they couldn’t stop this. I’m sure we’re all better off for the training but if we could have fought as a unit, I think we would have been a special fighting force. We turned in our jump boots. We kept the shoulder tab and decided to sew it on our combat blouse. We earned it. Fuck them all if they don’t like it.
I was proud to be a Ranger with my boys from the 29th. This will take a long time to get over. Have to go now. Wally is playing Father Christmas at a local town party. That’s what they call Santa here in England. Merry Christmas. Write soon.
Harley
Harley finished reading the letter. Having written it all down, he already felt slightly better. The censors, he imagined, would have a field day. There would be barely anything left to read once they got through with it. He lit a match, touched it to the lower corner of the letter and let it burn in the ashtray.
Chapter Forty-One
Cookstown, Northern Ireland - December 24, 1943
“Be slow to fall into friendship but when thou art in,
continue firm and constant.”
Socrates (469 BC - 399 BC)
December 24, 1943
Dear Yank,
Thanks for your letter. I was surprised at the return address. I never thought that’s where you would wind up. Anyway, at least I have your APO address.
After you and Jake disappeared from Sicily, we kept asking about you guys. Nobody knew. Other guys have been transferred but at least we were able to have a party and say goodbye. But you guys disappeared off the face of the earth. Even that freaking heel Bancroft didn’t know.
Anyhow, after you left, we moved into the line defending the right flank of the 504. The Krauts backed off and retreated north. We marched north along the coastline. We passed Castellalmare, Pompeii and Mount Vesuvius before marching into Naples. We were first into the city. This was early October. The Germans pretty much destroyed the place and the harbor on their way out.
Old Cannonball is still our CO. He raised his American flag over the post office. The same one he raised in Gela on Sicily. He carries it around with him all the time and intends to raise it over the first town in France that we liberate. He’s still the same asshole he’s always been.
We spent some time in Naples. Teddy came through for us. He looked up Dom’s relatives. They took him in like family and they fed us real good. These are remarkable people. They hardly had enough for themselves but they shared everything with us. We left them whatever we could, some C and K rations, D bars and cigarettes, which are like money here.
The Third Battalion was ordered to guard Naples while the rest of the regiment pushed on north with the Limeys. All we had to do in Naples was keep the peace and beat the shit out of any rear echelon mother fuckers we caught wearing jump boots. We caught a bunch of them. That’s why the replacement boots hadn’t been making it through to us. Those REMF bastards were pilfering the boots for themselves. All of a sudden, after we kicked some ass, that problem went away. Paratrooper ingenuity!
Colonel Gavin got promoted to Assistant Division Commander. We’re all happy for him. He still looks too young.
Danny Boy and Teddy are doing fine. We all pal out together. Danny spent two months in the hospital but came through OK. We took on replacements after Sicily. It’s hard for those new guys to fit in.
By early November we got orders to ship out. Nobody would say where, but the rumors were flying. We sailed on the SS Fredrick Funston, a true troop carrier ship. It was still crowded but there were enough showers and working latrines for all the guys and the food was great compared to our first trip over. We left the 504 behind in Italy. I don’t understand why Ridgway let that happen. They’re being used up in the mountains like straight-leg infantry. Sure, they’re great soldiers but what a waste and now our division is split up.
After 21 days at sea with a brief stop in Oran, where we spent Thanksgiving, the rumors kept flying. Finally, we pulled into Belfast. Then we came here to Cookstown by train. We’re in a camp once occupied by British troops. The land is mostly farmland. We can’t do maneuvers so we train on all types of weapons.
The people here are great although some of the Catholics in our company get a rough time from the Protestant locals. I can’t believe how important religion is over here. It’s freaking ridiculous. Not like back in the States where nobody cares. At least these people speak English, they’re clean and they’re not begging all the time. It’s a pleasant relief from the places we’ve been. It’s still a lousy place to spend Christmas! Rumor has it we’ll be heading for (blacked out) in a few months. When we get there, I’ll contact you and Jake and maybe we can all meet in London. That would be great to get together before the big one. Say hi to Jake. Merry Christmas.
Your Buddy, Sky
Johnny assumed the censor wasn’t paying strict attention to let so much information through. Or maybe he never read past the first few sentences. Whatever the reason, Johnny was glad to hear from Sky after so many months and looked forward to getting together in London.
He handed the letter to Jake.
Chapter Forty-Two
Washington, D.C. - January 14, 1997
“Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to the vice of lying.”
William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)
“They arrived in Liverpool on the SS John Ericson at the end of October with some other Hundred and first artillery and engineer units,” Frank West explained between bites of his lunch. “All that bullshit about removing patches and jump boots…as soon as we got to England we hear Axis Sally on Radio Berlin welcome Max Taylor and his convicts of the Hundred and first Airborne.” Frank reflected a moment. “Sky tells me she did the same thing when the Eighty-second arrived in Africa, only that time it was ‘Matt Ridgway and his bad boys’.”
“Really? Security was that bad?”
“I suppose so. The Jerries had a daily broadcast called Home Sweet Home where Axis Sally played American music and tried to discourage the GIs with anti-Semitic and anti-FDR stuff. No one took it seriously but everyone liked the music.” Frank paused. “I can’t remember her real name.” Frank took another bite. “Anyway, when the boys got to England they joined us in Littlecote, Wiltshire. I was an officer in the Second Battalion, Headquarters Company of the Five-oh-six and they reported to me.”
J.P. had finished his lunch while Frank was talking and poured himself more wine. “Do you remember what kind of soldiers they were?”
“They were both good, smart soldiers. Jake was more intuitive, Johnny more analytical. I remember when they first came to my unit it was unusual. Two paratroopers with combat jumps, both corporals and nobody asked for them? We had no open billets, and one day they just showed up with orders. It was very unusual. We made them jeep drivers and they shuttled brass back and forth to the nearby villages. Our division was pretty spread out.”
Andrew came by and picked up the empty plates. Both men declined a dessert menu and J.P. broke the brief silence as he emptied the wine bottle into their glasses.
“Nothing notable or unusual up until D-Day?” J.P. asked.
“Jake and Yank were good troopers until that bar fight in London. Then they both got busted back to private. It was a month or so before D-Day. I found out much later what it was all about but they wouldn’t talk about it at the time. Quite frankly, troopers were getting busted left and
right for brawling. Everyone was on edge for so long, pent up on that island and ready to explode, it didn’t take much to start a fracas.”
J.P. noticed Frank was getting melancholy. His memories were flooding back both strong and emotional. The whole D-Day experience was resurfacing in his mind and not all the recollections were pleasant ones.
“Sky was right last night when he said there were screw-ups,” Frank added. “In Normandy they dropped us all over the place. Instead of cutting engines to jump speed, most of the pilots sped up to avoid the flak. Men went out the door at over two hundred miles an hour from less than five hundred feet. The shock ripped equipment off their bodies and in some cases broke bones. Some of the landings were deadly, in swamps and lakes and even into the sea. Some of the chutes never deployed they were dropped so low. But those who landed all over the place killed Germans and eventually seized their objectives.”
J.P. decided to gently provoke Frank. “You were all trained for that, right?”
“Right. We were trained to anticipate the unexpected, to take the initiative and think for ourselves. The men who found themselves on the ground that night in Normandy did just that.” Frank was less emotional than Sky had been the night before but was also fighting off old ghosts. “But General Taylor told our men to give him three days of hard fighting and we’d be relieved to plan for ‘bigger and better missions’, as Taylor called them.” Frank took a sip of wine. “Thirty days later we were relieved and shipped back to England.” Frank hesitated. “Thirty days! They used us as regular infantry for a month with no consideration of our limitations. What a huge waste. They had landed plenty of regular straight-leg infantry by then but they exhausted us instead. Our unique knowledge and training were shot to shit in line combat. They bled us white.”
The Last Jump: A Novel of World War II Page 36