The Last Jump: A Novel of World War II

by John E. Nevola

  “Impossible,” the major replied. “Road south is crawling with Krauts.”

  “I have my orders, sir. We’ll try cross-country.”

  “You’re not even armed properly, soldier,” the major noticed. “Pick up a weapon and stay with us. We can use you men right here. Better than getting killed or captured.”

  Krause and a captain stepped forward. They had been listening to the exchange. The captain spoke first. “Do I know you, soldier?”

  Jake took off his steel pot. He recognized Captain Louis Wolff. “Yes, sir. I was in the Five-oh-five, Item Company…in Sicily. We lit the bonfire. Gela-Niscemi Road. Biazza Ridge.”

  “Of course,” Wolff acknowledged. “I thought I recognized you. You’re an Eagle now!”

  “Got transferred, sir. I’m glad to see the Captain has recovered.” Jake continued.

  “More like a stupid injury than a wound,” Wolff answered referring to the broken ankle he sustained on the jump. “But I appreciate the sentiment, son.” Wolff put his arm on Jake’s shoulder. “We can sure use you. Get yourself a weapon. We’ve built a pretty big stockpile from our dead.” Wolff pointed to a pile of scavenged weapons.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Jake didn’t salute. He walked over to the weapons pile. His three cohorts followed him.

  The pile contained a few dozen weapons. There were M-1 Garands, M1A1 .30-caliber carbines with folding stocks, a few BARs and a single Thompson submachine gun.

  Jake reached down and picked up the Thompson. It was an original M1928A1 variant. He could tell by the Lyman sight, the Cutts compensator and the charging handle on the top of the receiver. It was stronger and more rugged than the later M1A1 version, which was redesigned to be manufactured faster and cheaper. The stock, pistol grip and forward barrel grip consisted of smooth, highly polished wood. Someone had taken meticulous care of this weapon; a weapon usually reserved for sergeants and above. However, Jake shot expert with the Thompson in training and there was no one here to tell him not to use it. He picked up an ammo sling, with five long thirty round box magazines, and slipped it over his shoulder.

  “There’s more ammo in the gliders,” the familiar voice said over his shoulder. “They should be bringing in more any minute.”

  Jake turned. It was Sky Johnson wearing a huge grin. They grabbed each other’s shoulders warmly and shook each other in elation. Sky spoke first. “Glad to see you made it, buddy. But aren’t you in the wrong place?”

  “We’re definitely in the wrong place. We’re supposed to be in Sainte-Marie-du-Mont.” Jake introduced his three buddies to Sky. They all shook hands.

  Sky looked at Jake. “Johnny?”

  Jake shook his head. “We got separated on the jump.”

  Sky put his arm around Jake’s shoulder. “He’ll turn up. He’s a good trooper. Right now you got to say hello to some old friends.” Sky motioned to Jake’s companions and they all made their way toward the church where Item Company was gathering.

  “I saw Danny Boy a few minutes ago. He had a run in with Colonel Krause,” said Jake.

  “I need to kiss him when I see him,” answered Sky. “The Pathfinders did a great job. We were right smack on our freakin’ drop zone. Just like I told you we would be. We had this town captured before breakfast!”

  When the group reached the church, a number of the men in Item Company who knew Jake greeted him warmly. There was much backslapping and friendly pushing and shoving. When the small commotion died down, Sky pulled Jake aside.

  “What are you going to do? You going to stay here or try for Sainte-Marie-du-Mont?”

  Jake looked around. “I don’t know. We probably should hook up with you guys and stay right here. We’d be sitting ducks trying to make our way in daylight.” Jake looked over at Christian, Smith and Goldbacher. “We’re staying here, okay?” They all nodded.

  “Who with?” Smith asked.

  “Whoever needs us, Homo,” Jake answered. He turned to Sky. “Bancroft still first sergeant of Item Company?”

  Sky shook his head. “No. He transferred over to Second Battalion, Easy Company.”

  Jake nodded and changed the subject. “Do you know what Kraut outfits are in this area?”

  “Not yet, why?”

  “Because we came across a pretty gruesome sight. Paratroopers executed, stripped and their bodies mutilated.” Jake leaned in closer to Sky. “The Krauts cut their balls off and shoved them in their mouths.”

  Sky nodded. “We’ve been hearing rumors about that but we don’t have any prisoners yet.”

  “We need to get some and figure out who did this.” Jake looked over his shoulder and spotted something. “Sure as shit we won’t get any prisoners standing around here.”

  A platoon-sized unit was forming up in the square. A staff sergeant was yelling, “Second Platoon, Dog Company, shape up here.” Paratroopers were running into a loose formation. The lieutenant in charge was talking to Vandervoort. They were both reading a map and the colonel was issuing directives. The lieutenant was nodding vigorously as he received his orders.

  Jake looked at his small contingent of Screaming Eagles. “Let’s go with them, what d’ya say?” He pointed to the platoon forming up.

  “Where they going?” asked Goldbacher.

  “I have no idea but they look like they mean business and could use some help,” Jake noted. “Maybe we can bag some prisoners.”

  The four men walked over to the sergeant. Jake spoke first. “We’re kind of separated from our outfit. Can you use some help?”

  The sergeant called to the officer. “Lieutenant Turnbull, sir. Do we need any help, sir?”

  “We’ll take all the help we can get, Sergeant.”

  The sergeant smiled. “Fall in, troopers.”

  “Jesus Christ almighty. Is that you Jake?” The voice came from the formation.

  “Teddy!” Jake shouted back. Private First Class (PFC) Carmine Tedesco broke out of formation and grabbed Jake by the shoulders.

  “How the hell are you? We thought you died or something,” said an excited Teddy. He looked at the amused sergeant. “We know each other from Sicily. He used to be Eighty-second.”

  “What is this? Old home week?” said Christian sarcastically. “Do you know everybody in this god-forsaken town?”

  “Is Johnny with you?” Teddy looked around.

  “Not yet. We got separated.”

  The platoon fell in and marched north along both sides of Highway N-13 in combat separation. Jake and his small party were on this same paved highway, but further north beyond Neuville-au-Plain, earlier in the morning. This was Vandervoort’s initial objective. He decided to send a platoon north to secure the town and serve as a tripwire for any German advance from the north toward Sainte-Mere-Eglise. Vandervoort chose Lieutenant Turner B. Turnbull and his platoon of forty-three men to capture and hold a town originally assigned to an entire battalion.

  As the platoon headed northwest along N-13, the stone buildings of Neuville-au-Plain shortly came into view. The road was as straight as a rod and the two towns were only a mile apart. Patches of farmland separated by pastures bordered by thick hedgerows flanked the road. With scouts forward and flankers out, they spread out and marched off the side of the elevated road in a drainage ditch. They moved quickly with the precision of experienced, combat-hardened veterans. No orders were given. None were necessary. Every man knew his job and what to do when they encountered side trails, small walls, undergrowth and other obstacles.

  Jake cradled his newly found Thompson submachine gun in the crook of his right arm with his left hand on the pistol grip. Scattered thoughts raced through his mind as he scanned the roadside for movement. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours. From the safety of his bivouac in England to the maelstrom of liberating occupied France were the most contrasting of emotional extremes. The jump was harrowing and excruciatingly disorienting. One moment he was lost and the next he was in the company of friends, although the one that counted
most was still missing. Jake was tired and hungry but most of all he was angry with the Germans for the desecrated bodies of men he trained with, ate with, laughed with. Finding out which German outfit perpetrated that atrocity became a personal obsession and there would be a measure of violent revenge. He was also annoyed at not being dropped where he was supposed to be. Nevertheless, if he couldn’t fight with the Five-oh-six, he would fight with his old friends in the Oh-five. At least he wouldn’t die among strangers.

  Turnbull was gratified to find the town unoccupied by the Germans. He knew his small force would not be capable of holding the town against a determined German attack with artillery and armor. But he would put up a delaying fight and provide the alarm to his superiors in Sainte-Mere-Eglise. He was confident he would at least be able to hold back the enemy for a little while.

  As the American force moved cautiously into the town, Turnbull deployed most of his men on the far side where some slightly elevated ground gave them clear sight lines and good fields of fire. They could see out in three directions to a distance of about 600 yards. Two of his squads dug in to the right of the road behind a small hedgerow and one squad was deployed to the left of the road behind a low wall.

  Turnbull set up his CP in a small château just north of the old stone church at the crossroads of the town. He had a good vantage point from the upper floor. The church steeple would have provided better visibility but the lieutenant was sure it would be the first structure shelled when the Germans attacked. The small group of Screaming Eagles was assigned to CP security and Jake and his buddies manned the north side second floor windows. The first thing Jake did was to break the glass completely out. The other Eagles followed his lead. Veterans knew the shock wave from the first artillery rounds would shatter the windows and send deadly shards of flying glass in all directions.

  Jake pulled a small couch up to the window and set himself in a comfortable position with a good field of vision. Turnbull’s communications section had strung wire from Sainte-Mere-Eglise as they marched to Neuville-au-Plain. He established contact with headquarters and reported his status. His men were in position and dug in. It was 0900 hours on D-Day.

  As Turnbull’s force awaited the inevitable counterattack, some of the paratroopers spotted supply bundles that were scattered over the fields to their rear. They retrieved the bundles and were rewarded with extra ammo for their machine guns, rations and bazooka rounds. The troopers immediately began to dispense the supplies among their squads. A few hours went by and still no sign of the Germans.

  PFC Tedesco came up the stairs with his arms loaded down. He dropped a pile of K-rations on the floor. “Come and get it! Breakfast is served.”

  Most of the men hadn’t eaten since the afternoon before and many of them lost their rations when their leg bags were ripped off during the night jump. The K-rations, for all their monotony, were greatly appreciated.

  Teddy walked over to Jake. He dropped two canvas cartridge belts with five box magazines each on the floor next to Jake. “I noticed you were carrying the Thompson. Three hundred rounds…all I could find.”

  Jake smiled. “Hey, thanks Teddy.”

  “I wouldn’t want you telling everybody that the All-Americans didn’t treat you well on your little visit here.” Teddy handed Jake a K-ration box. “Mind if I join you?” He took off his helmet and sat down.

  “The hospitality’s been great, Teddy! Sit down.” Jake took the wax-wrapped carton and broke it open. It was the size of a Cracker Jack box. That same company manufactured the K-rations for the military.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, looking out the window up the highway. Teddy broke the silence. “Remember that night in Sicily when we almost burned down that farm?”

  Jake nodded.

  “That family was scared shitless. I still dream about them…the fear in their faces.”

  Jake nodded again. He wondered why Teddy was bringing this up.

  “Dom and I talked about it a lot before he bought it. We agreed that civilians are the ones who get the shaft in a war.”

  “That they do,” agreed Jake.

  “If it wasn’t for you and Johnny that night, I think the lieutenant might have burned their home down and shot them if they got in the way,” Teddy confessed. He was staring down the road, shaking his head ever so slightly and looking further than he could possibly see.

  Jake studied his face. Some of what happened in the past was bothering Teddy. That was the problem with combat veterans. While they were physically proficient at the craft of killing, they were emotionally vulnerable to the memories of the waste and carnage they had already seen. They were somewhat diminished as human beings by what they had already been exposed to.

  “I don’t remember it that way, Teddy,” Jake replied. “You and Dom decided not to burn that family out. You stood up for them. You gave the lieutenant another option. Johnny and me just stuck up for you and it all worked out. But it was you guys who saved that family.”

  Teddy reflected for a moment. “I’m not so sure we could have pulled it off without you…and I just wanted to say…thanks.”

  Jake laughed. “Sure, no problem.” He looked down the road. “It’s funny the things that stick in our minds. I almost forgot about that family.”

  “They remind me of my grandparents back in the Bronx. It’s hard for me to forget them.”

  Teddy tossed an empty food tin out the window. “Whatever happened to you guys? You two just disappeared.”

  “We got transferred. Simple as that.”

  “Nothing that happens that fast is simple,” Teddy commented. Suddenly he jumped up. “What the hell…”

  Jake stood up too. In the distance a column of German soldiers was marching down the center of the road. They had their hands on their heads. Walking alongside them were two paratroopers guarding them, one on each side of the column. One paratrooper was holding an orange cloth identification panel.

  “Where’s the lieutenant?” Jake shouted.

  “Down in the street. He’s meeting with the colonel,” someone in the room answered.

  Jake slung his Thompson over his shoulder and flew down the stairs and into the road. He found Turnbull staring down the road with his binoculars. Vandervoort was sitting in his jeep doing the same. The colonel had just delivered a 57-millimeter antitank gun that came in by glider. He drove out to get a first-hand look at the tactical situation and provide more firepower. While the paratroopers were unhooking the artillery piece from the jeep, a French civilian rode up on a bicycle and told the officers a large collection of German prisoners were coming down the road from the north. The two officers were scanning the road as Jake came out the door.

  “What do you make of it, Lieutenant?” Vandervoort asked.

  “Looks like our guys bagged some prisoners, Colonel.”

  “I make it a few hundred or more. More than a company,” observed Vandervoort.

  “At least,” agreed Turnbull.

  “But what’s that at the end of the column?”

  Turnbull strained to see. “Looks like two vehicles of some kind. Can’t make them out.”

  Vandervoort turned quickly toward the French civilian who reported the column. “What are those vehicles?” The civilian was gone.

  Jake stepped in between the officers. He addressed Turnbull directly. “It’s a trick, Lieutenant. They’re just trying to get closer to our positions.”

  “What makes you so sure, son?” Vandervoort asked.

  “Well sir, we were up that way this morning. We found some of our guys stripped down naked. They were carrying those orange panels.” Jake paused. “The bodies were mutilated, sir.”

  Vandervoort nodded knowingly. He raised his binoculars. “Sure seems like a pretty small guard for such a huge captured force, Lieutenant.”

  “Those guards are Krauts, sir. They’re wearing the uniforms they took off our guys,” Jake persisted.

  “Tell you what, Lieutenant. Fire some machine gun round
s off to the side of the road. Let’s see what we shake out.”

  Turnbull gave the order and the .30-caliber light machine gun opened up. Suddenly the column of prisoners pulled their rifles from their backs and scattered to both sides of the road. They took cover in the natural folds in the terrain and began firing on the American positions.

  Turnbull turned to the antitank crew. “Take out those vehicles on the road,” he yelled.

  The crew aimed, fired and scored a direct hit on the first vehicle. They were obviously some type of self-propelled artillery as the armor on the heavy German Panzers was not susceptible to the 57-millimeter antitank rounds. Before they could target the second vehicle, it began to fire smoke rounds onto the battlefield. This shielded the movements of the German infantry and defeated the visibility of the sole American antitank gun.

  “Good job, son,” Vandervoort slapped Jake on the shoulder. He turned to Turnbull. “It’s show time, Lieutenant.” There was concern and urgency in his voice but no panic. “Hold on here as long as you can and then fall back to help defend Sainte-Mere-Eglise. I’m not interested in another Custer’s Last Stand!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The driver started the jeep and turned it around heading back south down N-13. “Watch your flanks, son. They’ll try to outflank you,” Vandervoort yelled over the noise of shellfire as his jeep sped away. It was 1300 hours on D-Day.

  Turnbull turned his attention to his positions. He knew he was outnumbered and immediately began issuing orders to keep his force compact and mobile. He ordered the men in the CP out of the building and into the streets where he would set up a mobile CP. No sooner had they left than a towed 88-millimeter artillery piece began shelling the château and the church. The unique high-pitched sound of a German 88 high velocity round was easily identifiable on the battlefield. The noise was deafening as stone splinters showered down onto the street.

  German mortars started laying down a barrage making movement difficult. Turnbull knew he had to put up a mobile defense and try to suck the advancing Germans into favorable fields of fire before withdrawing further. He was concerned about his right flank where the woods came right up to the town. If the attackers got in among the buildings they could easily cut off his escape route. He pulled back the two squads defending along the low stone wall on his right, the east side of the highway, and deployed them facing east toward the woods. Turnbull took a huge risk by abandoning the defense of his center along the axis of N-13 in order to keep most of his force deployed to the flanks. Perhaps the Germans didn’t have adequate forces to try to envelop him and attack his center at the same time, he wished more than reasoned.