For a while Jake thought he might end up working in the coalmines since they seemed to be the only jobs available until he realized he was claustrophobic. He was lucky his cousin Harley Tidrick got him a part-time job in the Norfolk and Western Railway yards cleaning out boxcars, sweeping the offices and running errands. Harley had since left for the army and Jake moved up to a full time job. It seemed like he might have finally caught a break and would be able to scratch out a living when the most recent fight occurred.
It wasn’t exactly a fight. He had beaten Curley Stevens senseless. Nobody in Bedford had much use for Curley. He was a mean drunk and drank more of the moonshine he made than he sold. Jake lived with Curley and his wife in foster care when Jake was thirteen but was removed to another foster home rather abruptly. Jake claimed the bruises on his face were a result of a fall he took while working around the still and though Curley didn’t explain his own bruises, the inference was clear.
That incident over four years ago was not the reason Jake had recently returned to the Stevens home. For a long time Curley and his wife continued to take in foster children, one at a time, each lasting no longer than a year until the latest young girl, Macie Vance. Jake had known Macie from the orphanage since they were both ten years old. She was a timid, beautiful little girl with black hair down to her waist. There was a hint of mischief in her saucer-like deep brown eyes. Young Jake instantly came to like her and eventually became extremely protective. They would often be seen walking down the dark dreary halls of the orphanage holding hands.
When she came to see Jake at the rail yard early that morning she was still visibly shaken. Macie was frightened to death of Curley Stevens.
“Did he touch you or hurt you?” Jake angrily asked.
“No Jake,” she explained. “Last night he came into my bedroom after Mrs. Stevens went to sleep. I told him to leave but he just sat there, at the foot of my bed. I could smell the stink of liquor on his breath. He rambled on and on about how we could be good friends.” Macie wiped a tear from her cheek. She was having a difficult time explaining this. “I really don’t know what he was saying. He was rambling,” she continued. “I was just too scared to pay attention.”
Jake pulled her close to him and hugged her. She was still shaking in his arms. He looked at her tenderly. “Don’t you worry ‘cause he won’t scare you no more. Go have some coffee at the diner, give me half an hour.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’m going to take care of this the only way Curley Stevens understands,” he replied. “Just don’t ever tell anyone you came to see me about this, okay?” She nodded quickly, wiped a sniffle with her handkerchief and headed off toward the diner. Jake stuck his head in the office door and yelled to the yard boss, “Be back in thirty minutes.”
He never came back.
Mrs. Gail Stevens was dialing the sheriff’s office as soon as she saw Jake walking up to the front door. By the time the sheriff arrived it was all over.
Jake crashed through the front door and went straight to the bedroom. He found Curley asleep and threw a bucket of water on him. It wasn’t difficult to drag the groggy man into the front yard. As hung over as Curley was, he initially put up a credible fight. He swung his fists wildly. Jake sidestepped the long punches easily and threw jabs at Curley’s eyes. He had learned long ago, when fighting a man bare-fisted, to never throw a punch at the mouth or jaw where his teeth could chew up your hands. It didn’t take long before Curley’s eyes were swollen shut by Jake’s powerful jabs. Even though Curley was still swinging blindly, Jake had no trouble sidestepping and throwing short but hard hooks into Curley’s ears further disorienting him. Sensing Curley was about to fall, Jake threw the last few punches aimed purposely to break his nose, splattering blood onto the green grass. It was a beating Curley Stevens would never forget. As Jake stood over him, hands covered in blood and oblivious to the screams of Gail Stevens, the sheriff and a deputy grabbed him by the arms and pulled him toward the police car.
“Why, Jake?” screamed a hysterical and distraught Gail Stevens. “Why?”
Jake yelled back over his shoulder as the sheriff and deputy cuffed and tucked him into the back seat of the police car. “He knows why!”
Judge Draper peered over his bi-focal glasses. The courtroom was otherwise empty except for the court reporter. It had the smell of wood polish mixed with sweat. The walls seemed to be closing in on Jake and he suddenly felt so alone. He didn’t even have a lawyer.
“You are gonna do some time, son,” said Judge Draper. “But before I pass sentence, tell me, since Curley is in the hospital, was there a reason for this?”
Jake stood before the judge; head bowed concealing his angry gaze. He would not implicate Macie. He lifted his head ever so slightly. “Goes back aways,” he answered.
“Goes back aways, your honor,” barked Judge Draper.
“Yes sir, your honor.” Jake was surprised and taken off guard.
“I figured this was bad blood simmerin’ for a long time, Jake,” the judge began, putting his eyeglasses down on his bench. “But that ain’t no excuse. This was not self-defense. You went to the man’s home and beat him stupid. I know Curley is not exactly a role model, but he has rights too.”
Jake decided the judge was right. He had no defense. At least none he wanted to put forward. He would just shut his mouth and take the punishment. The silence was interminable.
“Assault and battery,” continued Judge Draper, “and since you’ve been before my court before, carries a sentence of eighteen to twenty-four months.” For the first time since he stepped into the courtroom, Jake looked directly at Judge Draper.
The judge raised his gavel, about to formalize the sentence by a stroke when he hesitated. “Or,” and he waited.
Sheriff Abbott nudged Jake. “Or what?” asked Jake.
“Or what, your honor,” responded an exasperated Judge Draper as he put the gavel down gently. He motioned to the court reporter to stop recording, clasped his hands and leaned forward. “This country will be at war soon, or haven’t you noticed what’s goin’ on in the world. I’ll make this simple. You are probably going to get drafted as soon as you get out of jail. You were probably going to get drafted anyway. The choice I’m about to give you today son is… county jail or the army.”
Jake thought for a few seconds and said, “Your honor, sir. Are you saying if I go into the army I won’t have to do any time in jail?”
Judge Draper took a deep breath. “Look Jake, you’re a young man who’s made mistakes. Your life will be much harder in the future with a criminal record. I think it’s a waste for you to be in jail when your country needs you. So, go into the army and your record stays clean. Simple.”
Jake felt pressured to make a fast decision but he wanted time to think it through. He looked over at Sheriff Abbott who nodded back at him. Jake needed to stall for time, to think. “How long, your honor, will I be in the army?”
“That is not the point, Jake,” sighed Judge Draper, “The point is you stay out of jail. And we have our own National Guard company right here in Bedford. Company A of the One Hundred and sixteenth Infantry Regiment, Twenty-ninth Infantry Division. I’m sure the National Guard recruiting office down the street can arrange to take a Bedford boy into the Company. So, what will it be?”
“It’s a fine regiment with a great tradition,” offered Sheriff Abbott.
“I don’t know anything about it, your honor. I never heard of it,” Jake lied. He was stalling for time. His cousin Harley was in Able Company of the 116th Infantry Regiment.
Judge Draper let out another audible sigh. “That is the trouble with you young people these days, you have no sense of history. Let me tell you about the roots of the One Hundred and sixteenth Infantry Regiment. Their nickname is the ‘Stonewallers’. Know why?” Judge Draper didn’t wait for an answer. “Even though they trace their roots back to Seventeen-sixty, truth be known, what the boys are really proud of
is the fact that the Second Virginia was the senior regiment in Stonewall Jackson’s First Virginia Brigade of the Army of Northern Virginia. At First Manassas, the Yankees called it Bull Run, the brigade held firm like a stone wall. That is how Stonewall Jackson got his name and how the One Hundred and sixteenth Infantry Regiment, direct descendents of the Second Virginia, became known as the Stonewallers. The regiment has twelve rifle companies all over Virginia and Able Company is made up of mostly Bedford boys, so you’ll be serving with some of your friends, I’m sure.”
Jake didn’t have any friends. Times were hard and many young men were either going into the service or joining the Civilian Conservation Corps. The only appeal this offer had was it kept him out of jail. Jake was far removed from the wars ravaging Europe and raging in China. He never considered enlisting when those foreign wars started and never thought much about getting drafted. And he was a little embarrassed he knew so little about the culture and history he was born to. He stood there, head bowed, mind racing, trying to make a decision.
“In fact,” Judge Draper continued, “the Twenty-ninth served with tremendous distinction in France in the Great War. It can trace all three of its infantry regiments way back to the Revolution. But here in Virginia we’re partial to the Stonewallers.”
Jake shuffled his feet nervously and looked back down at the floor.
“Tell you what, son,” said the judge finally, “the sheriff here will walk you out the door. You got until then to decide which direction you’re gonna go.”
Jake nodded and turned. Sheriff Abbott walked him to the door and out into the street. The air was cold and crisp but the sun warmed his face. They stood in silence in front of the old red brick building alongside the tall white columns that graced the entrance. “You know, Jake, the judge and me both have sons serving with the Stonewallers. That’s how come he knows so much about them.” Abbott turned to face Jake. “Whatever you decide to do, I’ll keep an eye on Macie for you.”
For the first time that day, Jake smiled slightly. Abbott had a reputation in town for being fair. Jake sensed Macie would be all right. And the prospect of spending so much time confined in a small jail cell sealed his decision. Without saying a word, he held out his hands so the sheriff could unlock his cuffs. He turned right toward the recruiting office.
Judge Draper stood by the window and watched young Jake Kilroy join the army. He wouldn’t be the first felon the judge steered in that direction. He had been doing this same thing for years and most of those would-be criminals had decided not to squander their youth on some work gang. However, in this case he felt particularly gratified. He was taking a quick-tempered young hothead off the streets of Bedford and at the same time putting him into the fight with his country’s enemies. Somehow, where Jake Kilroy was concerned, the judge felt just a little bit sorry for his country’s enemies.
The next day, 3 February 1941, the 29th Infantry Division (National Guard) was activated into Federal service.
Chapter Three
The Pentagon – July 10, 1996
“The sweetest of all sounds is praise.”
Xenophon (431 BC - 352 BC)
“Well, sir, I have some good news and some bad news,” reported Colonel Carlton Chase, United States Army Awards Branch, to General Aaron Clayton, Chairman of the Joints Chiefs of Staff. Chase sat in the general’s Pentagon office. His high and tight haircut rendered his light blonde hair almost invisible. His boyish good looks were marred only slightly by his wire-rimmed glasses and his Class-A uniform was impeccable, as usual.
Colonel Chase was assigned the task of reviewing records to determine if Medals of Honor should be awarded to African-American servicemen in World War II. It was Chase who, working with a specially selected team of historians from academia, developed the evaluation procedures used to analyze World War II combat records for possible medal upgrades.
In Carlton Chase, the general found a person of integrity, high principle and great respect for military honor and tradition. It was important to the general, on many levels, that outsiders perceive the results of this review board as a fair and deserved outcome to remedy prior injustices, and not motivated by political expediency.
When Secretary of the Army Charles Radcliffe and Clayton left the President’s Oval Office back in February, it took Radcliffe all of five minutes to punt this mission to the general.
“Well General, this is entirely in your sweet spot,” Radcliffe began as soon as the limousine made a right turn onto Constitution Avenue. “Have your team do the same thing they did with that World War I Medal and let me know when you’re done so we can schedule a follow-up meeting with the President. I’ll advise the SecDef but I suspect this will be an army show, so please handle it.”
Clayton pondered for a moment. He was about to explain how much more difficult and complicated this task would be when Radcliffe’s cell phone rang. With a dismissive wave of the hand he slipped his phone from his inside pocket, turned his body toward his side window and began speaking.
As the limo approached the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge, Clayton could see the outline of the Iwo Jima Memorial Statue on the Virginia side of the Potomac River. It was just one of the many symbols he saw in and around Washington, D.C. every day. Those symbols silently, yet incessantly, testified to the unbroken chain of sacrifice made by generations of Americans from the Revolutionary War to Desert Storm. They represented the price paid in American blood to preserve and protect this country and defend its liberty. Honoring and remembering their dedication and sacrifice was the only way to appropriately acknowledge that great debt; a debt that could never be truly repaid. Aaron Clayton lived by that creed.
A West Point graduate and teacher at the War College, General Clayton was both a warrior and an ardent student of military history. Three tours in Vietnam, a Silver Star for gallantry and two Purple Hearts later he found himself on a fast promotion track. It had all happened so fast, one successful command after another, promotion after promotion when suddenly he realized the pinnacle of his ascension as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff with four silver stars on his shoulders.
Shoulders, he thought. Whose shoulders have I stood on to get here?
The student and teacher in him reminded him constantly so many others paid dearly for him to be where he was. He knew military history extraordinarily well, particularly the history of the United States Army. He knew black Americans had served with distinction in every war since the Revolutionary War but more often than not their deeds had been overlooked or minimized. The Hollywood movie Glory brought some long deprived attention to the 54th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry, who fought with distinction during the Civil War, but there were many other all-black units and individuals who fought bravely for this country. What the movie Glory did not portray, and what Clayton knew all too well, was the first Medal of Honor awarded to a black soldier was given to Sergeant William H. Carney of Company C, 54th Massachusetts, for bravery and wounds received at Fort Wagner, South Carolina in July of 1863. The movie also did not accurately portray that over 160 all black regiments, nearly 180,000 soldiers, served the Union in that bloody strife.
After the Civil War, Congress authorized the establishment of six Negro army regiments, two cavalry and four infantry, whose billets were quickly filled by Civil War veterans. The 38th, 39th, 40th and 41st Infantry Regiments served well as the nation pushed westward and encountered the hostile Native Indian tribes. These four units were eventually consolidated into the 24th and 25th Infantry Regiments.
Clayton also knew the 9th and 10th Colored Cavalry Regiments helped to open the American West and served alongside Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders in Cuba during the Spanish American War. The 10th fought courageously in the battle of Las Guasimas and both regiments were with the Rough Riders in their famous charge up San Juan Hill a few days later. However, the contemporary media as well as the War Department ignored their accomplishments. These black units were never adequately recognized for their contri
butions nor were they particularly well known anywhere outside of military circles.
Clayton authored a paper for the War College detailing how the 369th Infantry Regiment of the 93rd Division established an outstanding fighting reputation in World War I. He was surprised how few knew of its existence.
In the Second World War, the 99th Fighter Squadron and the 332nd Fighter Group, known as “The Tuskegee Airmen”, were given some recognition by a made-for-TV movie but the 92nd Infantry Division, “The Buffalo Soldiers”, and the superbly trained 761st Tank Battalion, “The Black Panthers”, remained virtually unknown to the American public. Clayton believed these units held the best possibilities for the Medal of Honor. From September 1944 until the end of the War in May 1945, the 92nd was in continuous combat as part of the IV Corps of the Fifth United States Army in Italy. The 761st Black Panthers fought with great distinction while attached to the 26th Infantry Division, “The Yankee Division”, in General George S. Patton’s Third United States Army. In combat for 183 consecutive days, the Black Panthers participated in the relief of Bastogne in the “Battle of the Bulge” and was eventually awarded a Presidential Unit Citation. If there were to be any medal upgrades or previously overlooked awards for bravery, it would invariably come from these units or from the lesser known, almost anonymous, “5th Platoons”.
Clayton considered the saga of the 5th Platoons one of the most shameful episodes in the history of the United States Army. After D-Day, as American forces pushed across France toward Germany, the casualty figures began to mount at a terrifying rate. As the number of killed, wounded and missing approached 350,000, General Dwight David Eisenhower took drastic action to replenish the depleted ranks of riflemen. Back in the United States, units not immediately scheduled to deploy to the European Theatre of Operations (ETO), were stripped of their trained cadres who were sent to front line units as replacements. Non-combatant units were combed for anyone who could shoot an M-1 rifle. Training cycles were shortened. Aviation cadets and Army Specialized Training Personnel were re-assigned and trained as infantry replacements. Any warm-blooded GI who could carry a rifle was snapped up for frontline infantry duty. Despite those efforts, the shortfall still could not be fully met.
The Last Jump: A Novel of World War II Page 2
