The Last Jump: A Novel of World War II

by John E. Nevola

  J.P. spoke first. “It’s beautiful,” he nodded toward the water and the statues.

  “Harley came here every day,” his dad finally said. “I’m glad he got to see it finished before he passed away.” He breathed the words hard as he tried to choke back tears. He just stared at the beach in a near comatose state. The only noise was the popping sounds of the faux bullet splashes in the water.

  Frank turned to J.P. “Bloody Omaha decimated the Stonewallers. The only thing that came close to that for us was Bastogne.”

  “The Battle of the Bulge?”

  “Oh, yeah. We were surrounded and cut off and the Krauts wanted that town bad. Fortunately we collected a bunch of artillery units who were retreating and along with the Tenth Armored and a few scattered TD units, we gave the Krauts more than they could handle.”

  “Until Patton rescued you.” J.P. paused. “I saw the movie.”

  Frank glowered at him. “Hollywood!” he growled. “We never agreed that we needed to be rescued!”

  J.P. smiled. It was a source of pride among paratroopers that they never needed outside help from anyone. Frank went on. “We would have never surrendered but Bastogne was hell. It got very cold after we arrived and snowed every day. We dug in on the outskirts of town and the Krauts shelled us regularly with flat-trajectory eighty-eights. They would hit the trees and spread shrapnel and wood fragments down on us. The Screaming Eagles lost a lot of guys. Bastogne was our Omaha Beach.”

  J.P. looked over to his dad who stood up and began walking to the chain. The old man was transfixed on the bronze relief statue of the Rangers scaling the heights of Pointe-du-Hoc. J.P. looked back at Frank. “Tell me about it.”

  “After the retreat from Noville and Foy we gathered our forces in the woods outside of Bastogne called the Bois Jacques and dug in. I sent Lincoln back to the artillery park in the city to serve with a colored artillery outfit. Before I did that I told him about the Five hundred fifty-fifth, an all-colored parachute battalion forming up in the States. I told him I would provide a recommendation. He was happy about that and anxious to sign up. In the days that followed, I wrote both of them up for a commendation but it went nowhere. I guess someone in the chain of command pigeon-holed it.”

  “So, that’s how you met Lincoln and how he found out about the Triple Nickels,” J.P. concluded.

  Frank nodded. “Good man, Lincoln. They both deserved that Medal.”

  “But you were saying about Bastogne?”

  “It was cold and it was bloody. The Krauts shelled us every day. We were surrounded and cut off. The weather was too bad for aerial resupply. We ate pancakes every day because we had a huge supply of flour in town. I still can’t eat pancakes.” Frank took a deep breath. “We just stood there and took it, beat back every attack and denied them the city. Some of their armored elements bypassed us and continued to the Meuse River but without the roads through the city the Krauts couldn’t supply them. But they kept attacking and we kept beating them back. We took tremendous casualties. We lost a lot of guys in that town. But we held. We never surrendered.”

  Frank paused. He became emotional. J.P. touched his knee with a compassionate tap of his fist. After a moment, Frank continued.

  “Jake and Johnny were inseparable as usual. If one was ordered to set up an observation post, the other went too. If one was ordered to mount a patrol, the other volunteered to join the detail. If they were close before Bastogne they were inseparable during and after.”

  Frank paused and reflected. “Ike gave Monty command of all the American forces north of the Bulge. That pissed off the American generals to no end. The Eighty-second was part of that force. They hated Monty for making them retreat ‘and tidy up the lines’, as he put it. It was the first time in history that the All-Americans ever gave up ground. Sky told me more than once how they hated Monty for that.”

  “You guys seemed to have had a bit of a rivalry going.”

  “We did,” Frank smiled. “But it was based on mutual respect. The Eighty-second was every bit as good as the Hundred and first and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Sky knew how I felt. If the Eighty-second had been at Bastogne, they would have done as good a job as we did.

  “In any event, the glory of Bastogne fell to us. Around Christmas Eve the skies cleared and the Allied fighter-bombers pounded the Kraut positions and C-47s dropped supplies on the town. Two days later Patton’s force broke through, the Kraut offensive petered out and we went on the attack. By mid January we retook Foy and Noville and were chasing the Krauts back to the Fatherland. Then they shipped us one hundred sixty miles to Alsace to stop Operation Nordwind, a Kraut attack to cover their retreat from the Ardennes. As if we weren’t beat up enough. It took a month but we stopped them there, too.

  “Finally, after spending a few weeks in the village of Haguenau on the Moder River, we were sent back to Mourmelon, France to rest and refit. Word was out that the division was to be awarded a Distinguished Unit Citation in the name of the President; the first time in army history the award went to an entire division.”

  “That must have been some moment,” J.P. acknowledged.

  “The guys were almost more nervous about the ceremony than going into combat. They spent hours spit shining boots, pressing uniforms, oiling rifle stocks, making brass gleam…I’d never seen them so frazzled. Finally, on a Thursday morning, 15 March 1945, Eisenhower himself inspected the ranks and made the award. Big, tough paratroopers were seen in tears. They were crying for their brothers who would never come back and whose bravery and dedication made the last stand at Bastogne a victory.

  “By then the War was pretty much over for us, except Jake and Johnny were ordered to accompany Captain Lewis Nixon to observe the jump of the Seventeenth Airborne Division in Operation Varsity. Sky was transferred to the Seventeenth and was short of experienced jumpmasters so he called in some favors and had Jake and Johnny temporarily assigned to him. All three Screaming Eagles made the jump but were pulled out of the combat zone before they could become casualties. That’s how the boys got their fifth combat-jump star.”

  A noise behind them attracted their attention. Both men turned to see an oversized golf-cart ferrying a group of visitors to the Necrology Wall. The memorial was waking up and the aging visitors were getting assistance from the attentive volunteer staff.

  Frank continued. “The division absorbed replacements and were dispatched to the Ruhr Pocket along the Rhine River where a huge Kraut force was holding out. By April, we had reduced the pocket and were into Germany. That’s when we found the camps…the concentration camps. I’ll never forget how that felt. Jake and Johnny took it hard. Johnny was simply overwhelmed and Jake was madder than hell. He was ready to kill every German in the town. Cooler heads prevailed. By early May, we were in the town of Berchtesgaden where Hitler had his Eagle’s Nest retreat and the high-ranking Nazis had homes. We sat out the end of the War in relative comfort.”

  J.P. turned to Frank. “But if they both survived the War, how did Jake die?”

  Frank swallowed hard. “I’ve already said too much.”

  J.P. sighed. He looked over at the back of the man he called dad and jerked his head up. “I already know the secret, Frank. That man is not my father.”

  Frank looked stunned.

  “I know he raised me and I’ll call him dad but the DNA test said he’s not my biological father. I may never find out who is, but it’s not him. Apparently, my mother was indiscreet.”

  A slow smile crept across Frank’s face. He shook his head. “Things are not always as they appear. What you think you know may not always be correct.”

  J.P. was about to question Frank further when he heard a commotion behind them. One of the volunteers in the golf cart was holding a radio to his ear.

  “What’s going on?” J.P. asked.

  The volunteer shook his head in disbelief. “Someone just crashed a plane into the Pentagon!”

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Kaprun, Austria - Jun
e 27, 1945

  “Loyalty is the marrow of honor.”

  Field Marshal Paul von Hindenburg (1847 - 1934), Out of My Life.

  Johnny and Jake Kilroy were standing in a line of paratroopers that snaked out the door of the Kaprun town hall and into the street. The building served as headquarters for the 506th PIR. The Divisional S-1, the Staff Officer for Personnel and Administration, was hearing appeals for reconsideration of the points assigned to each member of the division. Eighty-five points were required for immediate rotation back to the States and discharge. Points were credited to an individual for factors such as length of service, time overseas, marital status, campaigns fought, battle stars won, medals awarded and wounds received. Most of the 101st Airborne Division had not amassed sufficient points but some, particularly those who served with other units prior to the Screaming Eagles, were extremely close to the life altering magic number. Each came to plead his case to the high-ranking officer who was sent to adjudicate complaints, address discrepancies and render judgments.

  The records were notoriously out of date. It was impossible for the paper trail to keep up with the lightning campaigns fought in Europe in the fall and winter of 1944-1945. Some of the paratroopers needed only to show a marriage certificate, a Purple Heart or some other proof of participation in a campaign to be awarded additional points. Officers from the 506th were present in the room to validate or deny the claims and assertions of their men. Those who received good news rushed back to their quarters to pack for home. All of these “high-point men” would be sent home the next day.

  Jake and Johnny were near the end of the line, which moved surprisingly quickly. They inched their way steadily to the door of the interview room.

  “This ought to be a snap,” Johnny excitedly said to Jake. “We got enough points. We’ll be home in a week.” He rubbed his hands softly in anticipation.

  After the division left Berchtesgaden, the day after the Nazis surrendered on 8 May, the 101st Division was assigned to the Zell am See area of Austria and the 506th occupied the town of Kaprun. Their duties became rather routine if not outright tedious.

  Occupation duty was fine with Johnny. But high-strung paratroopers used to a steady adrenaline rush became bored and susceptible to mischief. There were accidents, brawls and all sorts of troublesome behavior. Captain Frank West worked equally hard to get both the civilian population and his own men under control. He relied heavily on both of the boys, especially Johnny and his language skills.

  “Jake, remember that letter I gave you back in Bastogne?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let me have it back.”

  “Jeez, Johnny. I lost that letter.” He hesitated. “Actually I burned it.” Something inside Jake had told him carrying that letter invited bad fortune. Not that he was superstitious but with the War in Europe being over, he didn’t see the need any longer.

  “I know you did. So here’s a new one. Clean and tightly wrapped.” Johnny had a big smile on his face. He handed the white envelope to Jake.

  Jake took the letter. “I’ll humor you, Johnny. Since the War is over, I won’t be giving this to Rose, ever.”

  Johnny chuckled. “Hey, there’s still the Pacific. Rumor has it that anyone staying will wind up fighting the Japs. But if we pull this appeal off, when we’re both back in the States, you can give the letter back to me.”

  “You’re nuts, Johnny,” Jake laughed.

  They moved closer to the door until they were next.

  “We go in together, right?” Johnny was becoming anxious. Getting enough points to go stateside was much more important to him than it was to Jake.

  “Together, like always.”

  Captain West opened the door and they both entered the room.

  “One at a time,” the colonel behind the desk growled without looking up.

  West intervened. “They joined my outfit at the same time, from the Eighty-second. I think that’s the basis for their appeal.”

  The colonel shuffled some papers. “At ease. Both Kilroy? Brothers?”

  “No sir,” Johnny answered.

  The colonel shuffled more papers. “I got the Eighty-second service on Sicily but you’re still ten points short. The married one is only five short. Anything else?”

  “What about Italy? The oil drum drop? On Salerno?” Jake asked.

  The colonel turned some pages. “Nothing here about that.”

  Jake and Johnny looked at each other. They both realized their mission into Rome and the subsequent secrecy must have resulted in cleansing of their personnel files.

  Jake was the first to react. “There must be some mistake,” he said angrily. He looked for help from Captain West who just shook his head. Whatever happened in Italy was before his time.

  “I don’t think so, soldier, and besides…” the colonel looked, stopped in mid sentence and stared at Jake.

  “Sir,” Johnny interrupted. “We participated in the Italian Campaign. If you would just contact General Taylor, he can personally vouch for us.”

  “I’ll do no such thing, Private.” The colonel answered Johnny and then looked back to Jake. “Have we met before, Corporal?”

  Jake stared back at the slightly crooked nose and pudgy face and immediately recognized the major he had punched and whose boots he had taken in Rheims. “No, sir. I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”

  Johnny looked at Jake with a quizzical stare. Jake was beginning to sweat. He knew there was no way this officer was going to help them.

  The colonel continued. “I think we have met, Corporal.” He stamped their petitions, “DENIED” and threw the paperwork into a tray on his desk. “Too bad there are no battle campaign points for Rheims.” The colonel’s mouth twisted into a cynical smile. “Dismissed!”

  The two men left the room and were back out on the street. An extremely disappointed Johnny spoke first. “What the hell was all that about?”

  “Sorry, buddy. I am truly sorry.”

  “About what, Jake? What the hell was that crack about Rheims?”

  “That colonel won’t help us. We’re screwed and it’s my fault.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Jake?”

  “He used to be a major…”

  “So?”

  “A certain major in Rheims that I liberated a pair of jump boots from.”

  Johnny stopped. “You’re pulling my leg!”

  Jake shook his head. “I wish I were.”

  Johnny took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Jesus, Jake. Do you know what you did?”

  Jake nodded. Letting his best friend down was the last thing on earth he ever wanted to do.

  Johnny struggled to gain control over his rising outrage. He looked around and exhaled loudly. He saw that his friend was inconsolable and Johnny couldn’t stand that. With an extraordinary force of will he suppressed his anger and put his arm around Jake’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault if that pansy-ass colonel doesn’t have a sense of humor!” Johnny let out a faint laugh, trying to hide his disappointment.

  “Thanks, buddy,” Jake smiled. “I owe you big time.”

  “You owe me?” Johnny asked rhetorically. Then his face lit up with a huge grin. “Fine, you owe me so buy me a beer and don’t ever lose my letter again!”

  Chapter Seventy

  Washington, D.C. - June 1, 2004

  Rest easy, sleep well my brothers. Know the line has held, your job is done.

  Rest easy, sleep well. Others have taken up where you fell, the line has held.

  Peace, peace, and farewell.

  Unknown

  Twenty-one steps.

  J.P. Kilroy counted the number of steps the soldier took before executing a precise ninety-degree turn to face the huge white marble sarcophagus. He paused for what seemed like twenty-one seconds before making another ninety degree turn. The guard deftly shouldered his bayonet-tipped rifle to the damp white-gloved hand facing the gallery before beginning his march back. J.P. watched intently as he st
ood at the entrance to the Tomb of the Unknowns.

  The young soldier was not much over twenty but he moved with a smooth grace and dignity that defied his age. His army dress blue uniform was impeccable and he glided softly down the narrow black carpet, past the Tomb and down to the other end. Waiting there, next to a small green canvas guardhouse, was a sergeant and another physically perfect specimen of a soldier. They executed a series of precise moves, with muted verbal orders, until the second soldier had replaced the first and was “walking post” at the guard position. He would do so for thirty minutes. Though the amphitheatre was full of spectators, not a sound was heard. Even the birds and the breeze seemed to stop as the Sentinel continued his silent vigil in the sober stillness.

  The Tomb of the Unknowns was a striking rectangular structure of white marble originally erected in 1931. The Sentinels, as they were called, guarded it continuously since 1937. Seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day, the sleek and trim young soldiers from the Third Infantry Regiment, The Old Guard, paid homage to the deceased warriors by protecting their resting place.

  It was a rare privilege to become a member of the Honor Guard who accepted only twenty-percent of those who applied. They had to be formidable of mind and body and dedicated to the duty. Their training was rigorous and meticulous. They had to memorize the resting places of 175 notables within Arlington National Cemetery. To spend five hours each day preparing their uniforms and shining their equipment for duty was not unusual.

  Although he lived in Washington, J.P. Kilroy had never been to the Tomb before. He read the pamphlet while he waited. The Third Infantry Regiment, stationed at Fort Myer, Virginia, was the oldest active-duty infantry unit in the army, serving since 1784. The Old Guard remained the army’s official ceremonial unit and escort to the President. They also provided the Honor Guard for burials in Arlington National Cemetery as well as for funeral processions for dignitaries.