The Last Jump: A Novel of World War II
Page 52
Jake looked out the window. As predicted, the weather had cleared considerably over the Continent. The sky became azure blue with just a whisper of white, puffy clouds. What began as a relatively serene ride soon became intense. Jake could see the American P-47 Thunderbolt fighters diving down and strafing suspected enemy anti-aircraft batteries with devastating firepower. Despite the efforts at flak suppression, some of the enemy guns began scoring hits.
The crew chief removed the door, a sure sign they were nearing the drop zone. The sounds of gunfire were more clearly audible to the anxious paratroopers. The flak became more intense as the Lassie neared the drop zone. One C-47 Skytrain in their serial was hit and started a slow rollover. Troopers were still spilling out as the plane crashed into the countryside.
Lieutenant West sensed the uneasiness in his men. The red light had not yet gone on but he decided to prep his men for the jump anyway. He stood up near the door and faced the cabin. All eyes were on him.
“Get ready!” West yelled over the roar of the engines.
The men shuffled in their seats and tensed.
“Stand up!” West jerked his thumbs upward while the men struggled to their feet.
“Hook up!” West crooked his forefinger and jerked it up and down. The troopers snapped their static line fasteners onto the cable that ran over their heads down the center of the cabin.
“Equipment check!” West pulled on his harness with his thumbs. Each man began to check the equipment of the man in front of him. Johnny turned around and ran his fingers up and down Jake’s harness. He visually verified Jake had hooked up his static line. As the paratrooper jumped, the line would play out and rip the cover off the pack tray exposing the canopy. The canopy would be pulled loose by a thinner cord, which would break when the canopy inflated. Johnny made sure Jake’s Thompson was secured to his equipment. He tapped Jake on the shoulder with the bottom of his fist and turned around. “Sixteen Okay!”
Jake did the same to Johnny. He patted Johnny’s helmet. “Fifteen Okay!”
Johnny proceeded to check the trooper directly in front of him. It was Homer Smith. Johnny tugged slightly on the harness, visually checked the fifteen-foot static line that was coiled up on Smith’s shoulder and tied off with a rubber band. The end of the coil snaked up to attach to the overhead cable. “Fourteen Okay!”
Smith patted Private Robert Goldbacher’s harness. Goldbacher’s M-1 was inside his bellyband, without the Griswold case, sticking straight up and down. Smith grabbed the butt over Goldbacher’s shoulder and shifted the angle of the weapon so it would not slip out during the opening shock. “Thirteen Okay!”
Goldbacher fingered the harness of PFC Leland Brewer’s parachute. Brewer didn’t carry a rifle; just a .38-caliber revolver his father had sent him. He was otherwise weighed down with musette bags filled with medical supplies. Goldbacher tugged on all the straps to make sure Brewer’s heavy load was secure and would not rip away during the five G force of the opening shock. After he pulled Brewer’s chinstrap tighter he yelled, “Twelve Okay!”
Brewer visually inspected Christian’s static line and pulled on his harness. He turned Christian’s shoulder slightly to make sure his reserve chute was fastened securely to his main parachute harness. He checked the safety pin of the quick-release buckle. Brewer clapped Christian on the shoulder to signal everything was in order. “Eleven Okay!”
The countdown reached West just as the indicator light turned red. He took his position in the door looking for landmarks and watching for the green light. The men crowded together behind him, ready to spring out in one continuous stream. The plane rocked and bounced as the flak increased but the course remained true. The engines throttled back to jump speed.
Suddenly, the cabin floor erupted in a succession of explosions. A series of 20-millimeter anti-aircraft rounds smashed through the thin aluminum skin and floorboards. Jake pushed hard against Johnny. “I think I’m hit!”
Johnny wheeled around and quickly scanned his friend. “Where?”
“My back!”
Johnny turned him around. There was a large hole in the top of Jake’s parachute cover. A camouflage colored silk plume fluffed out from the perforation. The round had gone straight up through Jake’s parachute and out the top of the airplane. Jake’s chute was shredded and useless.
“You can’t jump!” screamed Johnny over the howling noise. “Your main chute is blown out!”
Jake looked toward the door. Lieutenant West was looking outside the plane and focused on the drop zone. Suddenly the light turned green and out he went. The stick started moving.
“I’m not staying back,” Jake pointed toward the door and the fast disappearing stick of paratroopers exiting the plane.
Johnny began moving backwards toward the door. He thought Jake didn’t understand him. “You can’t jump. No parachute!”
Jake nodded and grabbed the D-Ring of his reserve chute and pointed to it. Johnny understood but immediately recognized the danger. If Jake’s main chute deployed, it might foul the shroud lines of his reserve parachute but there was no time for Jake to remove it. Johnny pulled out his switchblade and cut Jake’s static line just before he turned and went out the door.
When Jake reached the door he leaped out and quickly pulled the D-Ring on his reserve parachute. He heard the zip of the shroud lines playing out and the welcome snap of the opening shock. His main chute was still safely tucked away in his pack although a small stream of silk was billowing out through the crack on top.
Jake looked around. The scene was incredible. The stream of planes seemed to stretch back beyond the horizon. Camouflage parachutes filled the bright sky as far back as he could see. There were red colored chutes on the para-packs indicating weapons and ammo and blue colored chutes signifying rations and medical supplies. It was a spectacular once-in-a-lifetime scene.
At this height a normal drop would take about sixty seconds but he and the para-packs were falling faster. Jake came down hard. All around him troopers and supply packs were hitting the landing zone. The sky remained full of parachutes in a jump that reminded him of the demonstration jumps they made back in the States.
Jake took inventory of his body and his equipment. Shaking the anxiety from his mind, he cut loose the reserve parachute and knelt down on one knee to orient himself. His weapon was still secured by its sling over one shoulder and under the other and all the equipment and supplies he was carrying survived the hard landing. It was the most frightening two minutes of his life.
Johnny came rushing over. “Holy shit, that was close!” He pulled the safety pin behind Jake’s parachute harness buckle, rotated it and slammed it with his fist. Jake’s useless main chute dropped off of his back. Johnny helped Jake to his feet and pulled him toward the woods. Supply packs, parachutists and debris were raining down all over the drop zone.
“We’ve got to get off of the DZ,” Johnny yelled as they scrambled for the shelter of the tree line.
As they entered the pine forest Johnny saw Colonel Sink in consultation with Major James L. LaPrade, CO of the 1st Battalion. They were organizing small parties and sending some through the woods along a forest trail and others down the main highway toward the bridge over the Wilhelmina Canal. When Lieutenant West came off the drop zone, they ordered him to take a squad of paratroopers. Jake, Johnny, Brewer, Christian and Goldbacher were in that group.
“Follow me,” West whispered as he took the lead.
“Jake,” West called back and Jake was instantly at his side. “Point!”
“Roger that,” Jake whispered and took off in front of the group. He moved silently through the pines for a few hundred meters before he stopped and raised his Thompson over his head parallel to the ground. Enemy sighted. Jake took cover as the group cautiously closed up on him. West pulled out binoculars and searched along the canal.
The unmistakable shriek of a German 88 broke the calm. The shock wave could be felt as the flat trajectory shell smashed into the tr
ees along the main highway hurling sharp steel splinters and deadly wooden shards in all directions. The Germans had spotted the main body coming down the highway but not this little group on its flank just yet. It fired again, then quickly again. There was more than one gun guarding the bridge.
The small group edged closer, still undetected. The 88s kept firing down the road and the main body of paratroopers returned fire with small arms. West was upright now, standing next to a tree. He imagined the paratroopers under fire were setting up their mortars and maneuvering closer to get a shot at the guns. He spotted the 88 gun flashes. There were three of them along the canal on this side in sandbagged revetments. Dug in infantry with machine guns were guarding the positions.
He held up three fingers without taking his eyes from his binoculars. “I count three.” Immediately a 2.36-inch bazooka rocket found an opening in the far sandbag emplacement and blew up a gun. “Make that two!”
The two remaining 88s continued to fire flat trajectory rounds into the trees sending deadly slivers in all directions. As West’s undetected group crept closer, the men could feel the muzzle blasts of orange fire and the hot pressure waves hitting them with tremendous force.
West moved out in a trot to get within striking distance before his team could be discovered. The men followed. An MG-42 machine gun opened up with a ripping sound, firing blindly into the woods. Goldbacher absorbed the full brunt of the salvo. He flew backward and went down like a rag doll. Brewer was on top of him before he could yell for a medic. A few other men fell under the hailstorm of bullets and shrapnel.
Johnny went forward and fell into a trench in front of a high mound at the base of the sandbag emplacement. The 88 traversed in their direction and fired again but was unable to depress the muzzle sufficiently to hit anyone in West’s group. The blast knocked West and Johnny down as the round crashed into a warehouse along the canal well behind them.
Some German soldiers appeared on the crest of the mound. Jake emptied his Thompson and they fell back wounded or dead. Johnny fired off eight rounds and reached for another clip. Jake dropped his empty magazine and reached for a full one. He fumbled trying to get the magazine out of its canvas case and when he finally yanked it free, it fell to the ground. He reached for it and couldn’t find it in the swirling dust. He pulled another magazine from the case and saw two more Germans reemerge on the crest as he slammed the magazine home.
It was too late. The Germans had him.
“CRACK! CRACK!!” Johnny fired two quick rounds into their center mass and the Germans fell dead into the trench. Johnny stepped over them and out of the trench.
“Thanks, buddy!” Jake hollered.
“A bit slow on the draw, hey partner?” Johnny joked.
Jake nodded; a little too embarrassed to respond with one of his sarcastic quips.
“Grenades,” ordered West and the men each tossed a grenade into the gun pit. In a loud, blinding flash, the second gun was destroyed. They moved past that position to the final 88 alongside the canal. It was still firing down the main highway north of the canal. They were out of the woods now and maneuvering among some structures. There was a water tower, a brickyard, a warehouse and some small buildings. What was left of West’s small group approached the 88-millimeter gun from its flank and took the emplacement under fire. The Germans were in crossfire from the road and from West’s group on their flank.
West looked back. All that was left were Jake, Johnny and Christian. They were spread out among the structures. Jake was crouched at the base of the water tower, Johnny peered out from behind a pallet of bricks and Christian was at the corner of the warehouse.
The main group of paratroopers launched an attack up the main road. With the defenders distracted, West yelled, “Follow me!” The group took off toward the emplacement firing and hurling grenades. The 88 belched out one more round before it was silenced. The Germans in the position raised their hands and came out under a torn and tattered white flag. The paratroopers took the dusty and dirt-caked defenders prisoner.
Jake took a seat on the shady ground, his back up against a small brick building. Johnny stood alongside him. They both were breathing heavily as West and Christian approached. They sat on the ground in the shade as the main force of paratroopers continued toward the bridge.
“Good work, men. I’m surprised that…” A blinding flash and a tremendous explosion interrupted him. The shock wave knocked Johnny to the ground and tore the helmets off of the other soldiers. An enormous dust cloud was kicked up and fragments began falling all over. Chunks of concrete and huge pieces of wood rained down on them. The four men squeezed against the wall of the building while scrambling to retrieve their helmets. The debris shower continued as the lighter stones, smaller pieces of wood and clumps of dirt descended to earth.
In a few moments the dust cleared and everyone could see the bridge over the Wilhelmina Canal was gone. West began to pull his Company together. Johnny saw Brewer treating some troopers with superficial wounds and he and Jake walked over.
“How’s Goldbrick doing, Beerman?” Johnny asked. “Is he gonna make it?”
Brewer just shook his head. “He nearly had his leg severed at the hip. Nothing left of his crotch as far as I could see. He was alive when I shot him up with Morphine and sent him back to the aid station.” Brewer worked on another paratrooper as he talked. “He was a mess.”
“Thanks.” The two men walked away to rejoin what was left of their squad.
Jake spoke first. “If that ever happened to me, I need you to kill me.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“If I ever get my balls shot off or lose a leg I want you to finish me. Right here on the battlefield. I’m not going home like that.” Jake looked solemnly at Johnny waiting for an answer.
“You’re nuts, Jake. You know that?” was all he could think of saying.
“Well, I couldn’t ask just anyone. I wouldn’t trust anyone else. But if you promise me, I know you’ll do it.”
“You’re still a fruit cake, Jake. Who else thinks of this shit?”
“I’d do the same for you,” Jake persisted.
“Well, that makes me feel a whole lot better.”
“C’mon Yank. Do you want to go home with your dick shot off or without your legs? Is that something you want to put her through? Are you that selfish? Could you even handle it if she left you because of that?”
Johnny pondered that for a moment. “She wouldn’t leave me because of that but I get your point about putting her through it. Still, I have a son to take care of.”
“Well if it came to that, I’d make sure your son was taken care of but at least promise to finish me off if it happened to me. I don’t have a son to worry about and I’m not about to put Macie through that and I know I couldn’t handle it if she left me because of that. Besides,” Jake smiled his impish grin. “What good is a godfather with no balls, right?”
Johnny pulled Jake off to the side behind a pine tree. “Just to make sure I get this, you want me to kill you if you get shot up really bad, right?”
“I’m begging you to kill me. Otherwise I’ll have to do it myself and I’m not sure I can. I’m not going home half a man,” Jake answered.
Johnny looked around. No one was within earshot. “All right, all right. We’ll do each other if it comes to that.”
Jake reached out his hand. Johnny took it and shook it once vigorously and said, “So, we have this pact and we have the other one about not being taken prisoner.” Jake nodded.
Johnny continued with a wry smile. “Hanging out with you is starting to get very dangerous. And I’ll need to start a damn journal to keep all these pacts straight!”
West walked over. “Good job today, men.”
“Thanks,” Jake answered.
“I have a job for you two. Division lost a glider with some jeep drivers in it. Go back to the DZ and pick up a jeep each. You’ll be driving division staff to visit the regiments.”
“Probably,” answered West. “Heck, I don’t know. Whatever the heck they want you to do. Now go!”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Washington, D.C. - March 30, 1997
“In war there is never a chance for a second mistake.”
Lamarchus (465 BC - 414 BC), quoted in Plutarch, Apothegms
“Hello, this is Sky.”
J.P. Kilroy froze in his steps. He was whisking a small bowl of eggs and was about to pour them into the sizzling pan when Sky Johnson unexpectedly answered the phone. He looked at Cynthia Powers who was sitting at his kitchen table in a borrowed man-tailored shirt holding a hot cup of coffee and reading the Sunday newspaper. The article describing former President George H.W. Bush’s parachute jump near Yuma, Arizona, at the age of seventy-two had her complete attention. She was reading aloud to J.P. when the phone call was answered.
J.P. had asked her to hit the speed dial for Sky’s telephone number and set the phone on speaker. He had done that numerous times in the last few weeks. But unlike those other occasions, Sky answered this time. J.P. set the bowl down and moved toward the phone.
“Mister Johnson, this is J.P. Kilroy. How are you today, sir?”
“I know who this is. You’ve left me enough freakin’ messages.”
“I’m sorry about that, sir. I just have a few more questions for you. We really never finished our conversation back in January and you did give me your number.”
“I’ve been out of town…on one of those battlefield tours in Europe. I like going back from time to time. Nobody is shooting at me anymore.” J.P. heard Sky chuckle on the other end.
“Well, thanks for answering my call, Sky.”
J.P. motioned to Cynthia to get his recorder. Sky was undeniably a part of the conspiracy of old soldiers dedicated to keeping the secret.