They ate in silence for a few minutes. J.P. was impressed with Lincoln’s knowledge and recall. The ribs were great too and he had been famished after his long ride that morning. After a brief time, Lincoln picked up the story again.
“After Operation Firefly, we were assigned to Fort Bragg, North Carolina. We continued smoke jumping after the War. In late 1945, we were assigned to the Eighty-second Airborne Division who was returning to the States after occupation duty in Berlin. There was a big victory parade scheduled for New York City. General Gavin insisted the Nickels march up Fifth Avenue with the rest of his division.”
“That was a very nice gesture,” added Keisha. “When I wrote the letter to Congressman Williams, I described my grandfather as a member of that division because that was the unit he was discharged from. I had no idea he earned the Medal before he became a part of the Eighty-second. I was told it caused a bit of confusion in the research,” she smiled innocently.
“It was a wonderful gesture of inclusion,” Lincoln continued. “General Gavin was truly colorblind. We were part of his division and he welcomed us in every respect. Even though we never set foot in Europe, he insisted that our uniforms include every battlefield decoration and citation his division had earned. The Nickels were assigned as the Third Battalion of the Five-oh-five.” Lincoln choked up a bit. “It was men like him that gave me hope and the strength to carry on.” He made eye contact with Keisha. She knew he made many sacrifices and suffered untold indignities for her to achieve her dreams of equality and equal opportunity.
Lincoln continued. “So, we marched better that day than we ever marched before. So straight, so proud. The drums were beating, the bands were playing and confetti filled the air all the way up Fifth Avenue through the arch at Washington Square. Black people in the crowd were cheering and crying, running out into the streets to cheer us on and touch us. The look in their eyes was priceless. Chills ran up my spine! It was a cold day but nobody noticed. It was a day to remember. A day to make all the sacrifices and all the struggles worthwhile.”
“That’s a wonderful story. I’d like to hear more about the reunion before the parade but may I use your bathroom first?” J.P. asked.
“Right through there,” Keisha pointed.
J.P. got up and went through the doorway. He left his recorder running. No one noticed.
“Are you going to tell him about his father?” Keisha asked.
“I don’t think I’ll need to. He’s smart enough to figure it out for himself.”
“Are you going to tell him anything at all?”
“I might tell him something but I’m not breaking my promise.”
In a few minutes J.P. came back out to the porch. “That was a lovely lunch, Keisha. Thank you very much.”
“That was the least we could do since you’ve come so far for nothing.”
J.P. was taken back by her sudden frankness. “I’m not sure it’s for nothing. I’ve learned a lot and I really haven’t asked any questions yet.” He smiled, tried to be friendly, as he sat back down. J.P. knew he had to start probing Lincoln but decided to start off slowly.
“A while ago you said only one thing really disturbed you back then. What was that?”
Lincoln reflected for a moment and appeared to recoil at the memory. “I could put up with a lot but when I saw German prisoners getting better treatment than black American soldiers…well that enraged me. These prisoners probably killed Americans. So, to treat them better than black soldiers made absolutely no sense. I could never get my mind around that! They could go places we could not, ride in the front of the bus and sit in the white section of the movie theatre. They got more respect and decent treatment from the townspeople than we did. That infuriated me more than anything else and still does!”
“I can understand that,” J.P. acknowledged.
“A little anger is okay, Grandfather,” Keisha contributed.
“As long as I live I will never understand that. For all the bad behavior and indignities I was exposed to, that is by far the absolute worst.”
J.P. decided to change the subject. “I was curious about the reunion before the parade?” He let the question hang in the air.
Lincoln looked to be thinking, trying to remember. “Like I said, not much to tell. Sky was a captain by then. He came back to the States ahead of the division as liaison to the Triple Nickels. I was a lieutenant assigned to work with him to coordinate the transfer and assimilation of the Nickels into the Eighty-second. We became friendly. We found out we had common friends in Jake and Johnny. Like I said, your parents were there and Harley, who knew Sky and your father. And Frank, who was your dad’s CO for most of his time in paratroopers.”
J.P. was having a hard time reconciling all of the friendships and relationships and decided to wait until he got home when he could listen to the recording and draw a diagram. He was a visual person and often solved problems by writing them down. He decided to move on to another subject.
“Can you tell me anything about how you and my dad won the Medal of Honor?”
Lincoln took a deep breath and shook his head. “As I said, I won’t brag about what I did. But I will tell you, Mister Kilroy, all that you need to know about that day is written on the citation for the Medal of Honor. Have you read the entire citation yet?”
“Not really. Not all of it.”
“Well you should,” Lincoln advised.
J.P. noticed Lincoln seemed to be getting tired and Keisha was beginning to lose her patience. He decided to go for broke before he ran out of time.
“Mister Abraham, before my mother passed on, she made me aware of a family mystery which she pleaded with me to find out about from my father. He died before I could do that and I’ve been trying to find out about it ever since. I’ve spent a lot of time talking to Sky, Frank and Harley. They have all but admitted they know something about this secret but refuse to reveal it. It’s like they entered into some sort of agreement never to talk about it.”
Lincoln sat silently, listening carefully to every word, nodding his head slightly.
J.P. continued. “I’ve listened to a lot of stories. In those stories a number of unusual or suspicious events have occurred. But as of yet I still can’t conclusively put my finger on anything specific. So, I ask you, sir. Do you know what I am talking about? Do you know anything about this oath of silence? Are you part of it?”
Lincoln caught Keisha’s eyes. He glanced back at J.P. with a look of resignation on his face. “Yes, I know all about it. I’m part of it!”
J.P. stiffened up in his chair. Lincoln’s admission was unexpected. It surprised him. “Then what can you tell me, sir?”
“Not a thing, I’m afraid. You see, Mister Kilroy, I took an oath as well as the others. I’m not about to break my word and I’m happy to hear none of my brothers did either.”
J.P. slumped back in his chair. He had run into another brick wall. There was no way, he concluded, that any of them would voluntarily break ranks. Lincoln was his last hope. He suddenly became extremely discouraged.
“Well,” J.P. sighed, “I suppose there’s no one left who knows or is willing to come clean.”
Lincoln had long ago decided he would not break his promise under any circumstance. However, he did sympathize with J.P. and decided to point him in the right direction without breaking his word. “I can give you two pieces of advice.”
“Yes, I’m listening.”
“The first is you already have everything you need in your possession, right now, to uncover the secret. Letters, papers, memorabilia, citations…all you need to figure it out.”
J.P. pondered Lincoln’s words. He had been through all of that dozens of times in the last months and discovered nothing. He and Cynthia examined all of the memorabilia and nothing jumped out at them. Maybe they had been looking at them the wrong way?
“And the second piece of advice?”
“There is someone living in Bedford, Virginia, who knows everything,
more than the rest of us, and you need to talk to him face to face.”
“Who? Harley? I plan to visit him next.”
“No. Not Harley. Your father! He’s not dead but rather very much alive.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Newport News, Virginia - October 31, 1944
“Whoever has trusted a woman has trusted deceivers.”
Hesiod (c. 800 BC – c. 720 BC)
Frightened, overwhelmed and encouraged by Nora Lee, Macie Vance reached out for Derek Edson in desperation and from fear of losing him also. When she received the delayed letters from Jake in one bundle, and noted the dates, she was shocked and horrified. A week later a telegram arrived from the Secretary of War, verifying Jake was not missing in action. It was all a cruel mistake but now she could not unravel the tryst she created.
A part of her was relieved and happy Jake was alive. Another part of her was extremely angry. She was furious with herself for having bailed out so quickly and for seamlessly moving into another relationship. That angry side of her had forgotten what it felt like to be terrified and to face the world alone. After coming so far in personal responsibility, independence and self-confidence, she crumbled and panicked when she believed she had lost Jake. She dealt with the sudden insecurity by grasping at the first available lifeline, Derek. Ever since then she had been at war with herself. Her hasty action had made a mess of her life and now she struggled to rebuild the torn and twisted remnants of what was left. She couldn’t tell Derek she no longer needed him. Not after he accepted her so openly and easily. It would be impossible to dial back their relationship to where it was before. If she tried she would lose him. Her other choice was to send Jake the dreaded “Dear John” letter. For days she agonized between the two alternatives.
Nora’s advice was influential on Macie. Nora had already suffered great personal loss with Butch being a prisoner and Jonah Cash being killed on Tarawa. Macie saw how those tragedies changed Nora, made her a fast and loose woman, and she didn’t want to follow that example. Macie was not judging Nora. She just didn’t want to emulate her.
Macie finally made a decision and it was based primarily on the heartbreak she had already suffered when she believed Jake was dead. The pain was unbearable and she knew she could never survive that torture and torment a second time. Jake was always in harms way and the reality was he was more likely to become a casualty than return home unscathed. Besides, she had a wonderful guy in Derek who adored her and was right here safely tucked away from the ravages and risks of war. She made the safe though agonizing choice to break up with Jake.
It was a simple letter without detailed explanation. She wrote it so there was no ambiguity and no hope for reconciliation or negotiation. The ink on the letter ran from her tears. It took four tries to create a dry V-mail whose space limitation lent itself well to the brevity she was trying to achieve. Her large, bold print strokes left no doubt their relationship was over. She mailed it that morning.
It was Halloween and the doorbell rang. It was probably the neighborhood kids. She grabbed the candy bucket and opened the door. It was Derek dressed up as a sailor.
“Well, Derek, that didn’t take much imagination.” She pointed to his sailor outfit. “I thought you’d be more bold, my pretty!”
She was dressed as the Wicked Witch of the West from the 1939 motion picture, The Wizard of Oz. Her face was covered in green grease paint and she wore the black robes and spindly black hat of the infamous witch. A large false nose and a few well-placed large black moles completed the masquerade.
“You slay me, Macie.” Derek laughed. “Your costume is swell! Watch out Margaret Hamilton!” He was referring to the actress who played the part in the popular movie. “We’re late. We have to go. Is Nora ready?”
“I’m coming. I’m coming.” Her voice came from the bedroom. “Where is this party, anyway?” Nora emerged dressed as Cleopatra and performed a quick twirl. “How about this?”
“You look great. We’re going to the Officer’s Club at the Naval Base,” Derek answered her question. “And Julius Caesar is in the car.” Nora giggled as she went down the steps.
“Ready to go?” he asked Macie.
She nodded and they headed toward the door.
Derek locked the door to the apartment and walked down the stairs. “What made you decide on that costume?” Among the many attributes he admired in Macie was her lack of vanity. She rarely wore makeup, was not preoccupied with her hair and had the nerve to dress up as the homeliest character in Hollywood. She had a humility rarely found in beautiful women.
“I just felt like a witch today, Derek.”
Derek knew Macie struggled with her decision. When he found out Jake was alive, he expected the worst. He was somewhat surprised but delighted when Macie chose him.
“Don’t punish yourself, Macie. If you’ve changed your mind…”
“I mailed the letter today, God forgive me,” she interrupted. She realized Derek might mistake her uncertainty for animosity toward him. “It’s not you, Derek. It’s me.”
He flashed his disarming smile and reached for her hand. She took it and forced a smile in return. He knew it would take some time for her to fully accept her own decision. He would give her all the time she needed.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Rheims, France - December 17, 1944
“Nothing but heaven itself is better than a friend who is really a friend.”
Titus Maccius Plautus (254 BC - 184 BC)
The major sat on the cold cobblestones in the dark alley. He moved his short chubby legs slowly in a bicycle motion as his feet pushed him backward into the wall. His nose was crushed crooked and bleeding profusely. The major tried in vain to stem the bleeding with his forearm as he continued to push his body against the wall. He wore the dragonhead shoulder flash of the XVIII Airborne Corps but there were no combat decorations or jump wings on his chest. He was what combat troops called a REMF – a Rear-Echelon Mother-Fucker!
“I’ll ask you again, sir. Take off the goddamn boots.” Corporal Jake Kilroy stood over the major with curled fists.
“Shit! Shit!” Johnny shut his eyes tightly and grabbed his temples with his palms immediately after Jake threw the left hook squarely into the major’s face. “What the hell are you doing, Jake?” Johnny whispered through his teeth as he walked to the street to stand lookout.
“I’m tired of these rear area bastards taking all of our equipment,” Jake leaned closer to the major who was unlacing a boot with one hand. “We spend two months in that mud hole and our uniforms are rotting off our bodies and our jump boots are falling apart and we can’t get replacement gear. And these legs intercept all our special gear just so they can look good? Bullshit!” He looked at the major. “C’mon, hurry up, sir.”
The major loosened the first Corcoran jump boot and Jake pulled it off. “They take everything first,” Jake rambled on. “They take the Lucky Strikes and the Camels and we get the Raleighs. We never see the ice cream or the canned peaches. Isn’t that right, sir?”
Jake pulled off his worn out boots and tossed them at the major’s feet as he cowered under the verbal onslaught and silently loosened his second boot. Jake shoved his foot into the new boot. “Pretty good fit,” he commented. “Besides, ain’t there some unwritten law that if a paratrooper catches a straight-leg with jump boots he can kick his ass and take the boots?”
Johnny was looking from side to side down the street. “Yeah, but I don’t think that rule applies to majors, Jake,” he said without turning around.
“Screw that. It does now. What the hell are they going to do to me? Hang me? Put me in the stockade? Like I really give a shit anymore?”
Johnny had been worried about Jake ever since he got the Dear John letter from Macie. Jake hid his heartbreak behind his anger. His already quick temper was on a hair trigger. He wasn’t the first or only paratrooper who received such a letter but it hit him harder than most. Johnny was determined to help his friend t
hrough this difficult time, but this latest incident spun out of control too quickly.
When the 101st Airborne Division left Holland in late November, they were a tired and battered outfit. After the slashing mobile tactics of the first week of Market-Garden, in which the Germans frequently cut Hell’s Highway and the paratroopers repeatedly reopened it, the battle settled into static trench warfare. The Screaming Eagles, along with the All-Americans, were deployed in defensive positions on “The Island”, so called because it was bounded by the Waal and Lower Rhine Rivers. The unrelenting and incessant mud and dampness gave way to an early winter chill and it became uncomfortably cold and wet. A dry farmhouse was considered heaven until the Germans started shelling everything over two stories high. The paratroopers were forced to scrounge sleeping spots in the rubble or in the cellars. Sleep quickly became a rare luxury and lacking cold or wet weather gear, many suffered from trench foot in the quagmire.
Both sides patrolled aggressively day and night. Local skirmishes and firefights were the norm and the casualties began to mount. It all seemed so fruitless as the static lines rarely moved in one direction or the other. Seizing ground was not the objective. Killing the enemy was.
The food was atrocious. Johnny particularly hated it. The British rations were called “fourteen-in-one” and were designed to feed one man for fourteen days or fourteen men for a single day. The items were all canned and included such servings as kidney pie, kippered herring, plum pudding, scrambled eggs, mutton stew and bully beef. The meat items had a wretched smell and tasted rank and spoiled. Nearly every American GI became sick at one time or another. In addition, there was no coffee, which irked many American soldiers. The British issued tea instead. Even the British troops unanimously preferred any type of American rations to their own.
The Last Jump: A Novel of World War II Page 55