Chapter One: Forgettable

November 1942

So this was how a life ended.

Kneeling in the desert sand, his parachute lying behind him, Staff Sergeant James Ivan Kinchloe slowly raised his hands in surrender as he stared at the barrel of a rifle held steady by a young German soldier.

Willing himself to remain still, he tried to appear nonthreatening in the hopes that the soldier would simply take him captive. He was a member of the United States Army Air Forces which meant that he should be protected under the Geneva Convention, but the look of hatred in his captor's eyes didn't bode well for his chances.

Each second felt like an hour as Kinchloe waited to die with a mind full of regrets. For if at that moment, if someone had asked him to recount the story of his life he would be able to sum it in a single word: forgettable.

Spring 1930

Trying his best to sit up straight and look presentable, James waited nervously as his high school guidance counselor, Mr. Green, looked over his proposed schedule for next year. The white man was dressed in a grey suit, looking every inch like the authoritarian figure he was known around the school for being.

Furrowing his brow, Mr. Green looked at James with a critical eye. "French?"

"Yes, sir," James said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

"Why French, Master Kinchloe?

"I need a foreign language if I want to get into college."

"You have good grades for someone of your background but college is a hard path," Green stated.

"I know, sir, but I can do it."

Mr. Green sighed. "Have any members of your family attended college?"

James shook his head. "No, sir."

"Have any members of your family graduated from High School?"

Too embarrassed to meet his counselor's gaze, James looked down at his feet. "No."

Mr. Green looked kindly upon his young charge, "You're hard worker, James, but you need to start thinking realistically about a career path. We wouldn't want you to get in over your head and drop out like your brother did, would we? Not when you can start preparing now to attend trade school to become a metal worker or an electrician and contribute to society."

Not knowing what to say, James remained silent and watched as Mr. Green crossed out French on his form and instead signed him up for shop class.

Determined to keep his disappointment to himself, he returned to class and sat in the back, talking to no one as he didn't really fit in at his high school. Most of the students were white and, on the good days, they pretended that he didn't exist. Though, when he stole a glance at Carol Dukes, who was laughing at some boy who was flirting with her, he was reminded that he didn't get along much better with his own people. The son of a factory worker didn't belong in the same circles as those whose parents were merchants or professionals.

A conversation from the front of the classroom caught his attention as he listened to classmates talk about their schedules. It didn't take long for what James heard to make his blood boil; Mark Miller was signed up for French! He was smarter than Mark! He got better grades then Mark in every class! But Mark was white and he was colored and James doubted that Mr. Green would ever tell Mark that college was unrealistic.

Mad at the school and mad that there was nothing he could do about it, James barely paid attention to what his teachers were saying. When the final bell rang, he was glad to get out of the school and out of the white neighborhoods and return to his section of town.

Back in the familiar and friendly streets of Black Bottom, James slowed his pace and debated his next step. He wasn't ready to go home – to the townhouse he lived in with his parents, brother, sister and grandfather – and face their questions about school and admit his failure.

Sighing, he kicked at the ground and was surprised when his kick sent a small object skittering down the sidewalk. Curious, he hurried after it and was rewarded when he leaned over and picked up a quarter!

For the first time that day, he smiled.

He turned the quarter over in his hands as he thought about the things he could buy. Part of him knew that he should give it to his mother. Money was tight at home and there were rumors that the factory where his pa and brother worked would start laying off workers. If that was true it could be a long time before he got another quarter to spend as he wished.

Quickly, before he could change his mind, he hurried towards Hastings Street and Mr. Johnson's bookstore.

Mr. Johnson was James' favorite adult and not just because he let James read the books in his store whenever he wanted. Mr. Johnson had been born a slave and had secretly taught himself to read. He was still a boy when the war ended and his family moved to Detroit. Years of hard work resulted in this store. He told James a couple of years ago that he didn't sell books for the money but to share his love of reading. It was for that reason that the children of the neighborhood were always welcome to come and read even if they couldn't afford to buy anything.

When James walked into store a bell twinkled and he looked around the shelves full of books. Mr. Johnson was at the counter with a customer so James spent a couple of minutes just searching the stacks.

"What are you looking for, son?" a kind voice asked from behind him.

James turned and saw the weathered and wrinkled face of the friendly storeowner smiling at him. "A French grammar."

Mr. Johnson didn't blink an eye at the odd request. "I think I might have something. Why the interest in French?"

James briefly debated his answer but he decided if there was anyone who deserved the truth it was Mr. Johnson. Besides, something told the young man that the elder man would understand.

He was right. For, after he recounted his experience with the guidance counselor, Mr. Johnson disappeared for a couple minutes and then returned with three books in his hands. One was the grammar he asked for and the other two looked like children stories. James' heart beat fast; the books were perfect but he that doubted he could afford all three. "How much?"

"What do you have?" Mr. Johnson seemed to guess James' predicament.

James held out the quarter which the shopkeeper took with a smile. "Thank you, Mr. Johnson!" James declared as he clutched his precious books to his chest.

The elderly man wished him luck as he sent him on his way, telling him that when he was able to read those stories he could trade them for more difficult books.

Racing home, James briefly greeted his mother and grandfather before disappearing into the room he shared with his older brother. Pulling out the French grammar, he turned to the first page and began to read: ah, bay, say, day…

Months and years passed and James' knowledge of French grew by leaps and bounds until he was able to read any book Mr. Johnson found for him. However, in the end he couldn't help but think that it was all for naught, for when he graduated, he went to trade school and studied electronics just like his guidance counselor had predicted.

Winter 1935

A young man sat at the kitchen table fiddling with the controls of a ham radio. James had gotten the once broken radio from his trade school's lab. His professor told him it wasn't worth saving and had let him take it home. It had taken him a month to fix the parts he could and scrounge up replacements for the parts he couldn't but it had been worth it. Now when he flipped the switch and adjusted the dials, he received a station in Pittsburgh loud and clear.

Excited and knowing that with the right conditions, ham radios could pick up signals from anywhere in the world, James consulted a sheet of frequencies and tested that theory as he first listened to a station in London and then Paris.

The rapid pace with which the French spoke shocked him. He had considered himself pretty good with the language – so much so that in the past year he had started teaching himself German in order to have a new challenge. But after a couple minutes of listening, he learned that there was a huge difference between being able to read a language and being able to speak it and understand it spoken.

Changing the radio to pick up a station in Berlin, he again was only able to understand a couple of words. Smiling, he decided that he had a good excuse to now spend lots of time with his new toy and spend the time he did.

Whenever he could, James listened to stations in Europe and the more he listened the more French and German he understood. Yet, as he played with his radio he couldn't help but be nagged by a growing sense that while he listened the world was passing him by.

Especially as he grew more concerned by words he heard coming out of Berlin.

July 1940

"Kinchloe! Where are you, you lazy sot?"

James hurried to shove the book he had been reading into his back pocket. The last thing he needed was for his supervisor to label him a traitor for reading a German book, not that his supervisor needed any excuse to make trouble for him. With Depression seeming to have no end and jobs scarce, his supervisor was a man who relished his ability to lord his authority over his men because in this economy who could afford to quit? There were no other jobs to be had. No, James did not need to give the man any more ammo to use even if he hadn't been doing anything wrong. As the night technician at the phone company, his job consisted mostly of sitting around waiting for problems to happen and then rushing to fix them as fast as possible.

Finding his supervisor, the man led him to the issue and James quickly examined the machinery to discover the source of the problem. Luckily, it was minor, just a couple of frayed wires that needed replacing.

"Well, boy?" his supervisor asked.

Shrugging off the insult, James quickly examined the rest of the problem before replying, "It'll be fixed in ten minutes, sir."

The supervisor wandered off leaving James to work in relative peace. His job was a thankless one and, even though he was good at it, he found no joy in it. However, he couldn't leave; he was the only member of his family with stable employment. His grandfather was too old to work, his father and brother had been fired from their factory jobs years ago and had been only been able to find odd jobs here and there. His mother and sister did laundry whenever they could find customers and his brother's new wife had lost her teaching job when she married. They all lived together in the same townhouse to save money and James' job paid the rent but money was still tight and he had learned that a thankless job was better than no job at all.

So he waited. Waited for things to change. Waited for America to enter the war that the rest of the world was engulfed in. Waited for factories to start producing once more so his family could get their jobs back. Waited for the chance to do something meaningful.

He had seen flyers advertising the Tuskegee program and he wanted badly to enlist. For war would mean the opportunity to do something memorable, to prove to the world that he was a man worthy of dignity and respect.

He just needed a chance. Was that too much to ask?

January 1942

"You signed up to do what?"

Looking at the six faces of those whom he loved the most, James knew that they were taken off guard by his acceptance into the Tuskegee program but the judging by the tone on his older brother's voice he had misjudged just how much of a shock his announcement would be.

"I enlisted in the Army Air Forces," James said calmly. "They are going to train me to serve as a radio operator on a bomber crew."

Matthew quickly moved from shock to anger as he lectured his younger brother, "You're a fool, James, if you think the white folk are going to let you fight."

"That's why I have to go. I will show them that we can fight."

"The whites hate us. Fighting to save their sorry hides won't change that. All you'll show them is that you can die," Matthew argued. "That you'll die for a country that doesn't give damn if you die."

"That's enough," the booming voice of their father ordered. "James has made his decision."

"Thank you, Pa," James responded quietly.

James' father turned to look at his younger son. "I didn't say I agree with the choice. Matthew's not wrong. You probably aren't going to change any minds but if you want to go I won't stop you."

While it wasn't a blessing, his father's tacit permission would have to suffice.

James' baby sister rose from her seat as she stared down the rest of the family. In that moment, James was reminded that in the past couple years she had grown from a shy little girl to a confident young woman. That confidence was on full display as Abigail defended her brother. "Who says James won't make a difference? Sitting around here and complaining about our lot won't change nothing. At least James is willing to fight."

"Easy for you to say," Matthew shot back.

"I'd fight if I could!"

Shaking his head in disgust, Matthew stormed out of the room. Eliza watched her husband leave before addressing her brother-law, "I think you're a fool but make sure you're a live fool and you come back." Then without another word she followed her husband.

Looking over to where his mother and grandfather sat quietly throughout the whole conversation, James could see the worry etched in his mother's face. "It will be okay, Ma."

Tears glistening in her eyes, his mother rose and cupped James' face in her hands. She kissed her son's cheeks and then said, "If you feel that you must do this then go. Just know that you go with my love."

"I know, Ma."

Slowing backing away, his mother grabbed Abigail by her elbow and steered her out of the room. After receiving a pointed look from his wife, his father left as well.

"Humph, you really threw us a curve ball there."

Sitting down on the couch next to his grandfather, James asked, "Do you think I made a mistake?"

The Kinchloe patriarch seemed to ignore the question as he instead told a story. "I remember when my father told me he had enlisted in the Union army. He was going to go fight to ensure that I grew up free. I was so proud of him. I thought he was a hero. Then I remember my mother having to beg to find work because my father had no pay to send home. You see the government decided to pay all Negro soldiers seven dollars a month even though the lowest ranked white soldier earned fourteen dollars. Your great-grandfather's whole regiment refused to accept any pay unless it was same as what white soldiers got. There were times I went days without eating because Pa wasn't sending money home. Ma and I could have died because of Pa's decision to fight."

Turning so to look directly into his grandson's eyes, the elderly man inquired, "Did my father make a mistake?"

James had heard this story before and he knew how it ended. Several regiments of colored soldiers refused pay for eighteen whole months until Washington passed a law granting all soldiers equal pay. He had admired his great-grandfather and his fight for equality had influenced James's own decision to enlist. However, he never heard the story of just how much the great-grandfather's choice to fight had cost his family.

"You were named for my father, James. This thing you want to do, it won't be easy. Fighting is easy but standing up for your rights as a man while fighting takes sacrifice. Before you leave, ask yourself just what you are willing to sacrifice."

"I'll give my life for our people to be free."

Sorrow flickered in the old man's eyes as he said, "James, your life may be the easiest thing you will be asked to sacrifice before this war is over."

Present

As a German soldier pushed him roughly into the back of a truck with several other prisoners, Kinchloe couldn't help but be disoriented by the whole situation.

His captor hadn't killed him. His crewmates most likely were dead. He was alive. He should be dead.

What would happen to him now?

Would he be taken to a prisoner of war camp to spend the rest of war powerless to do anything but wait for its end? Would he be killed for being an enemy or for being a Negro or both? Did it matter?

To his family, to his friends, to himself it mattered that he lived but he quickly came to the realization that neither option would change the fact that his military career was a total failure. Shot down and taken prisoner before his plane had dropped a single bomb, he had just had one of the shortest and most forgettable military careers of all time.

What a fool he had been to think that he could save the world when couldn't even save himself.

Author's Note:

The Tuskegee Institute trained men for the 99th pursuit squadron, 337th fighter group and the 477th bombardment group. The 99th pursuit squadron saw duty in North Africa campaign in July '43 as they assisted in the invasion of Sicily and were later joined by the 337th fighter group. The 477th bombardment group was activated in late '44 but were stationed stateside and never saw combat. During the war thirty-three Tuskegee Airmen were captured and became POWs.

Obviously, this creates a bit a dilemma as Kinch is an enlisted man and so would have been part of a bomber crew which means, historically, he would have never served in combat during WWII. So I'm asking you, my readers, for the purpose of this story to imagine that the all the Tuskegee Airmen, including the 477th, were permitted to join the fight in North Africa with their white comrades in November of '42.

Moreover, it is impossible for Kinch to have been drafted as one episode states. The application process for the Tuskegee Airmen was very rigorous as the military wanted to ensure that the men they selected had 'sufficient intelligence.' Kinch would have had to apply in order to earn the right to fly.

Also, the story Kinch's grandfather told about several black regiments refusing to accept unequal pay while they were fighting in the Union army during the American Civil War is true.

On segregation:

In the south segregation was de jure, that is by law. However, since Kinch lived in Detroit he would have grown up with de facto segregation. For, in the north, it was cultural and social norms (imposed by the white majority) that caused the segregation as blacks and whites lived in separate neighborhoods and shopped at their own businesses, etc.

In 1869 the Michigan Supreme Court ruled that segregated public schools were unconstitutional. This means that there were black students attending school with white students in Detroit in this time period. Though, from what I read, there were policies put in place to limit their number and ensure that no white students ever attended a majority black school.