“What the hell happened, Jake?” It was Sergeant Christian’s voice.
“That drunken dead-beat guard shot him.” Jake didn’t look up. He just nodded toward Tom English as he tried to stem the bleeding.
“He’s a dead man. We’re gonna fuck him up.” Christian and two other paratroopers began stomping English before they dragged him off kicking and screaming.
Corporal Leland Brewer ran up to the scene.
Jake looked up. “Beerman! Am I glad to see you!”
Brewer felt around the wound. “Aw shit, Jake. This is bad. I don’t have my stuff.”
“Go get it!”
“Be right back.” Beerman took off for the infirmary.
Johnny was breathing heavy, his eyes wide with anxiety. Suddenly he pounded the ground with his fist. “Shit! Goddamn it! I can’t believe this!”
“Calm down, buddy. You’re gonna be fine.”
“He pulled a pistol on us! I can’t believe he did that. That little shit pulled his weapon on us.”
“He pulled it on me, Johnny.” Jake closed his eyes and shook his head. “Why’d you get in the way?”
“Where is he?”
“Some of our guys took him. They’re kicking the shit out of him. I think they’re gonna kill him.”
“Let me see,” Johnny tried to raise his head. Jake was not sure if he wanted to look at the wound or English being dragged toward the barracks.
“Stay down. Stay calm. Beerman is getting his stuff.”
“Beerman. Good man. Great medic. Wants to be a doctor when he gets home.” Johnny’s breathing was labored and shallow.
“I need a meat wagon here,” Jake yelled out. Some more troopers were gathering around. Someone dropped a towel and Jake used it as a compress.
“Oh, man. I almost made it. I almost made it home.”
“You’ll make it home. We’re gonna get you to the infirmary hubba-hubba and they’ll take care of you.”
Someone dropped to his knees alongside Jake. It was Captain Frank West. “What the hell happened?”
“Trigger happy sentry, sir. The boys took him to the barracks.”
West looked at Johnny. “Stay with us, son. Help is on the way.”
Johnny’s eyes calmed though his breathing remained rapid and strained. “Jake, brother.” Johnny forced a smile. “Can you get off my legs?”
Jake looked down and then at West. Neither of them was on Johnny’s legs.
“We have to roll him over,” ordered West. He looked at Johnny. “Hang tough, trooper.”
They rolled him partly on his side and West took out a flashlight. There was an exit wound on Johnny’s lower back near the spine. They gently rolled him to his back.
“What’s there?” Johnny asked anxiously. “What do you see?”
No one answered. Johnny took a deep breath and exhaled. “No one’s kneeling on my legs. It’s my spine right?”
“Don’t give up on me, buddy. Don’t quit. Hang on.”
Johnny punched the ground again with his fist. “Don’t rush, don’t hurry. I’m not going home like this.”
“Johnny, save your breath. Don’t give up!”
“That’s an order, son,” West added. He turned to look for some help. About a dozen troopers had gathered around. The call had been put out for an ambulance and Beerman was off getting his supplies and trying to round up a doctor. But West could not see anyone racing toward the scene. Johnny was bleeding out and help was not imminent.
“Jake, come closer.”
“I’ll take that,” West pointed to the towel. Jake took the pressure off. The towel was soaked blood red. Captain West began to apply pressure as Jake moved toward Johnny’s head. He cradled his head in his arms. There still was a chance to save him if he could only get Johnny to want to live.
“You have a wife and son, home. You have to fight!”
“Do you still have my letter?”
“Sure, I still got it. I was giving it back to you tonight!”
“Good, you bring it to Rose… in person… like you promised… right?”
“Don’t talk like that! Don’t give up, for her sake. You’re gonna make it!”
“I don’t want to make it. Not like this.”
“Look, buddy, don’t quit on me!”
“Jake, I don’t have a lot of time. I don’t want to spend what’s left arguing with you. I love you like a brother. I need you to promise me something.”
“Sure!”
“I need to ask you to take care of my family. I need to know they’ll be in good hands.”
Jake blinked. Tears began streaming from his eyes. “Jeez, I would do anything for you, buddy. You know that. But how am I supposed to do that?”
“I don’t expect her to stay single forever. Bring her my letter. Use your charm!”
Jake looked at Captain West. His eyes asking what do I do now? How do I deal with this?
West nodded. His facial expression replied tell him what he wants to hear.
Johnny coughed. He was spitting up blood. He grabbed Jake’s collar and pulled him close to his face. “C’mon brother. You can do this. You have nothing to go home to anyway. I need to know my family is…in good hands. In your hands!”
Jake smiled slightly. He wanted to reassure his dying friend; make his last moments bearable. He wanted to say he would try his hardest but it would be up to Rose. He never got to share the news he had a letter in his pocket from Macie asking him to come back to her. And now, at this moment, he knew he never would. Looking into the pleading and desperate eyes of the friend he loved, he could not bring himself to excuses or explanations. “Of course, buddy. I’ll take care of them.”
Johnny smiled back. His face instantly became relieved. “Is that a blood pact?” Johnny weakly raised a fist.
Jake tapped it with his. “You have my word.”
“That’s all I needed to hear. There’s no one on this earth I would rather have raise my son and take care of my gal than you. No one!”
Johnny’s hand slipped from Jake’s collar. He leaned back on his makeshift pillow. He began to cry through labored breathing. “I feel cold…like Bastogne! It’s so damn cold!”
Jake was crying. He reached down and cradled Johnny’s head and shoulders in his arms. He hugged Johnny tightly to provide warmth, rocking him ever so slightly. Jake looked at West. All three men had tear-streaked faces. Jake held his friend tightly and gently rocked him until he expelled his last breath.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Charleston, South Carolina – June 20, 2007
“There is nothing on this earth more to be prized than true friendship.”
Saint Thomas Aquinas (1225 - 1274)
Macie made the revelation with the calm conviction of someone who was certain of the truth.
J.P. folded his hands and looked at her. “I learned a lot from his buddies. I know they were both back in the States in September of forty-three and they stayed in my parents’ apartment for one night.” He hesitated, trying not to contradict this nice old lady. “Are you telling me my mother had an affair with Jake that night?” The words sounded foreign, like they were coming from someone else. “And I’m the result?” He pondered the unlikely thought for a moment. “Because I already know the man who raised me is not my biological father and if I were Jake’s son, that would explain it. Is that the big secret everyone was trying so hard to keep from me?”
“No, silly!” she admonished. “You have it all backwards.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” he exhaled. “And Frank said the same thing, that I had it upside down. But you said Jake was my father?”
“No, John, I didn’t say Jake was your real father. What I said was the father you knew, the father you grew up with, that man was Jake Kilroy. John Patrick Kilroy was your biological father but he never made it home. Jake raised you.”
J.P. nodded. He considered that possibility when he realized the name on the tombstone had no middle initial. That was either a mistak
e or the person lying there was John NMI Kilroy. However, there were too many unanswered questions to arrive at that conclusion. “This makes no sense, Macie. How can that be?”
“Let me explain,” she took another sip of her tea. “It gets complicated so try to keep up.” She smiled her disarming smile. “Johnny, your biological father, was killed in France in 1945, right after the War ended. Unfortunately, a drunken American soldier killed him. On his deathbed he asked Jake to promise to take care of you and your mother. Jake gave his word. And once Jake gave his word, it was written in stone! Besides, Jake always blamed himself for Johnny being killed over there. It was a guilt he never got over.”
J.P. contemplated what Macie just told him. “So, that’s why he failed the paternity test,” he mumbled aloud. “So, why did he pretend to be my real father? Why didn’t he ever tell me who he was or who my real father was?”
“Jake was too modest to tell anyone what he was doing. That he was giving up his own life to raise his friend’s son. He didn’t want anyone else to know. It was Jake who made everyone promise to keep the secret, even your mother. He certainly didn’t want your mother embarrassed. Neither of them had any family. It was an easy ruse to pull off. So he stayed with you and your mother until you were grown and on your way in life and then he came home to Bedford and back to me. Then the Medal of Honor thing came up and he figured if he went back to Washington, he was likely to run into you, with the publicity and all. He was trying to avoid that. With Harley’s help Jake pretended to be dead to avoid the ceremony. He wanted you to have the Medal. Harley just reminded everyone involved they made a pledge to keep Jake’s secret. They didn’t realize until later that your mother had sent you on the mission to reconcile with your father and find out the secret. It wouldn’t have mattered. Even after your mother passed, it was a matter of honor for them to keep their promise.” She touched his hand. “Jake always had your best interest in mind.”
“But to do that? Give up his own life and dreams to keep a promise?”
“Let me explain. Jake and I were engaged when I sent him a Dear John letter. I was a confused kid,” she smiled again. “When he got the letter he went a little crazy and wound up punching an officer. A few months later, when they each missed rotation back to the States by a few points, they went to appeal. The appeals officer was the one Jake hit. Of course, the officer denied them on the spot.”
“The point is?” he asked.
“The point is Jake felt totally responsible for his friend not making it home. He never got over that guilt. They would have gotten the needed points on appeal but for Jake hitting that officer. Then the night your father was killed, Jake got into an argument with an armed sentry who was drunk. Your father tried to break it up and stepped in front of Jake and was shot and killed.” She paused, her eyes welling up. “Jake was overwhelmed with guilt. In his own mind and heart, Jake caused your father’s death and was honor-bound to keep his last request. For Jake, it was also a small piece of redemption.”
“Unbelievable,” J.P. shook his head.
“And your father believed Jake had no one to go home to anyway. He was wrong. Jake had me but he could never tell Johnny we had reconciled.”
Chapter Seventy-Six
Marseilles, France - November 4, 1945
“Adapt yourself to the environment in which your lot has been cast, and show true love to the fellow-mortals with whom destiny has surrounded you.”
Marcus Aurelius (AD 121 - AD 180)
Corporal Jake Kilroy leaned over the rail of the USS Wooster Victory, an American fast steam turbine troopship. He held the letter from Macie he had repeatedly read since receiving it in August. This time it hit him hard. The irony was so thick it was almost comical. No, he thought, more like a Greek tragedy.
He watched the wharf as the last of the American soldiers, barracks bags piled high on their shoulders, ambled up the gangway and onto the ship. Most wore the red, white and blue patch of the 75th Infantry Division. The division was scheduled for deactivation and high-point men from other divisions were transferred into the 75th for the trip home. Many of the transferees were from the 101st Airborne Division. It was distasteful for a paratrooper to belong to any unit other than an airborne unit, especially a straight-legged infantry outfit. Not that the 75th was a poor division. On the contrary, they were respected as a hard-fighting outfit. Their original nickname, the “Diaper Division”, given to them because they were so new in the ETO, gave way to their ultimate nickname, “Bulge Busters”. That moniker was hard earned as they fought fiercely for ninety-four consecutive days to help push the fanatical Germans out of the Ardennes and back to the Fatherland. Still, they weren’t airborne!
As a matter of mild protest, the Screaming Eagles continued to sport their own Eagle patch despite orders to the contrary. Even the airborne officers defied the orders. The patch was sacred to the paratroopers and no one pressed the issue, as they were aware every single member of the Screaming Eagles of the 101st Airborne Division was in a particularly foul mood.
Captain Frank West walked over. “How are you doing, Jake?” West leaned over the railing alongside him.
“I’m okay, Sir. Not looking forward to getting home. Not as much as I thought I would be. Johnny and me…we were supposed to make this trip together. It’s just not the same now.”
West nodded. “For sure. That’s a tall order Johnny left you with.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Sir. I’ll do it if I can but I can’t imagine Rose letting me take care of her and the baby. There better be some magic in this letter Johnny wrote to her.” He tapped the breast pocket of his combat blouse.
They leaned against the ship’s rail in silence for a few minutes. The dock crane was pulling the gangway away from the ship. Glints of bright sunlight sparkled from the gleaming metal stairway. The seagulls, disturbed by the motion, complained loudly as they scattered in all directions into the clear Sunday sky.
West broke the silence. “Johnny was a great guy and an outstanding paratrooper. We’re all going to miss him.” West turned around and stared out to sea. “We’re going to miss a lot of those guys, good guys who put themselves between their country and its enemies. All those great lives not lived, children never born.” West choked up a little. “The world will never know what pieces of humanity are missing from it and our countrymen could never be thankful enough for what they sacrificed for our liberty.”
Jake knew West took every casualty hard. He wrote to the family of every man he lost. Both of them, along with many others, suffered from survivor’s guilt. They simply suppressed that emotion as deeply as they could and carried on. Jake leaned his back on the railing.
“I can’t believe they’re deactivating our division,” Jake blurted out in a surly tone. “After what we did at Normandy, Holland and especially Bastogne. It’s just not fair to the guys who didn’t make it. I thought the Eagles would be an active division forever.”
“You and everyone else, Jake. Nobody can believe what those stupid idiots in the War Department did.” West had an edge in his voice. “When General Lee formed the division he told everyone we had no history but we had a rendezvous with destiny. That turned out to be Bastogne. We’re the only division to get a Presidential Unit Citation in the history of the army. We created a legacy for future warriors to follow and a tradition to be proud of. And what do the damn pencil pushers do? They did what the Jerrys could never do. They wiped out our division! Dumb shits!”
The deck began to vibrate as the engines started up. Longshoremen released the lines and the tugs began to edge the ship from its berth. The long awaited journey home was finally at hand.
“What do you have there?” West asked pointing to the letter in Jake’s hand.
Jake put a wry smile on his face. “This is what Johnny would call irony. Or maybe he would call it a Greek tragedy.” Jake handed the letter to West.
It was short letter and West finished it quickly. He had a dumbstruck look on his fa
ce.
“Can you believe that, sir? Macie wants me back and I’m headed for New York City. Would you call that a tragedy, or what?”
West nodded. “It’s certainly a twist the ancient Greek playwrights would appreciate. Shakespeare too. What are you going to do, Jake?” West handed back the letter. “Would you take Macie back?”
“Absolutely, with no questions asked. She’s always been in my life. I thought she always would be my destiny. On the other hand, if I can convince Rose to keep me around, I’ll keep my promise to Johnny. I’ll take care of them.” He paused. “And I’ll do my best to persuade her but if Rose throws me out, I have a place to go.” Jake folded the letter and stuffed it in his pocket. “I’ll answer Macie’s letter after I know which way the wind blows in New York City.”
West shook his head. “Good luck, Jake. I don’t envy you.” He pulled out a small notebook from his pocket and scribbled something. He tore the page out and handed it to Jake. “Here is my home address, Jake. If you need anything…anything at all just let me know. If I can help in any way, I owe it to you and Johnny. Remember! Anything at all.”
“I’ll remember that, Sir. And thank you.”
“You can call me Frank.” West smiled to himself. “Just don’t call me Casper.”
Just then the deep-throated ship’s steam whistle blared a long note followed by a few short blasts. The gulls scattered again. The deck vibrations strengthened as the ship’s propellers churned up the water in the stern. At last, they were finally heading home.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Charleston, South Carolina – June 20, 2007
“What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments
The Last Jump: A Novel of World War II Page 70