CHAPTER ONE
Jack Delany's Journal Entry #3; July 9, 1943: The world I once knew is now just craters and rubble and blood. The death toll of soldiers in our platoon goes up each day. Although I refuse to lose all hope, I feel as if I am drowning, drowning inside of my comrade's sickness and tears. My name is Jack Delany, and by the time this is read, if it ever is, I may be dead. War is hell as they say, but I would take the flames of hell any time before the sight of my beloved ones getting shot, bombed, and tortured if I had a choice. Being 20, I have been placed into this wretched war having no say in it on my part. Having been pulled from a quiet farm life into a bustling, loud, and rather gloomy state of mind, it takes and will take longer for me to adjust to this environment, if at all.
It would have been a dreary and dusty day back then in Sicily.
Instead, the day began with bombs dropping, people screaming and fleeing their homes.
Click. Click. Click.
Jack lifted the lighter up to Larry Harthorne's cigarette and watched as the miniscule flame grabbed for the tip of the roll-up and burned part way through it in only a couple of moments. He then flipped the head of the lighter back over its body and slipped it into his shirt pocket, patting it down to make sure it wouldn't fall out. Surprisingly, beside the fact that it was two minutes past midnight and he could barely manage to keep his eyes open, he had still managed to remember to put his cigarette lighter away.
There was no sound inside the airplane. It was weird and unnerving. No talk. No chatting. No nothing. You couldn't tell if the paratroopers in this plane were blind or had twenty-twenty vision, as their eyes stared blindly at whatever seemed important enough to grab their attention. Jack was no different. This cramped floating pig wasn't an ideal way of transportation, and he felt like he was on another one of his family road trips…which, in all honesty, were miserable for Jack. His father would always round up his mother, sister, and himself, stuff them in their Ford and drive all the way down from New York to Florida nonstop. The car would always be stuffed with luggage, as his father didn't put anything into the trunk except the shoes he sold to people all of over the nation.
That's what they were like now, except the luggage they were carrying was vital and not something used to make a living, and weren't the usual t-shirts and khaki shorts you would usually take while going to another country. Arranged in near-perfection he carried all of it in the pouches and pockets of his uniform. This included a three day supply of K-rations, chocolate bars, Charms candy, powdered coffee, sugar, matches, compass, bayonet, entrenching tool, ammunition, gas mask, musette bag with ammo, his M1 Thompson, his .45 caliber pistol, two cartons of cigarettes, Hawkins mine, two grenades, smoke grenades, Gammon grenade, TNT, and a pair of strangely designed skivvies. Beside this he also had his parachute, his reserve chute, and his Mae West life preserver, which was named so because of how it rhymed with the word "breast."
The ridiculous part was that this stuff weighed more than he did and it was nearly impossible to move around anywhere. So imagine in your mind what it was like to walk up a set of stairs to get into the airplane. Picture what it was like to attempt to move through that cramped compartment and sit down, and then have to eventually stand up and run forward as the inevitable green light would begin to flash.
It won't be long now, he thought.
Not too long now, his eyes shut tightly and his lips mutely moved in rhythm to what he was thinking.
He blinked and leaned back, lighting a cigarette for himself and placing it onto the bridge of his mouth. Jack placed himself back into the depths of his mind, shutting back into darkness, silence. This would be the one time he would have to go over what the 504th was putting into motion at this second; previously briefed to him and the other officers and NCOs of Able Company by Captain Edward Glover. The last time he had thought about their mission was back in the briefing room. He had managed to shove this thought deep into the back of his mind and just pretend he was just there for the ride. He had been occupying his time by keeping his men awake and ready.
God, he thought. He'd forgotten. Jack had just recently been promoted to the rank of Sergeant. Now Jack was in charge of his own squad…twelve men were now under his command. Twelve men barely into their twenties were counting on him to bring them out of this. Twelve lives were in his hands. Twelve…fuck.
He wasn't ready for this.
Why did Sgt. Harrison have to go to that bar? Ditch his duties and get in a fight with a drunken lumberjack with a knife? He was dead now and had left Delany unprepared and unaware that he would be taking control of their squad. Jack would never think that he, of five other corporals in the platoon, would be promoted to Sergeant and be given this responsibility. This big responsibility he'd been hoping he'd never get.
Jack wasn't faster or stronger or cleverer than any other, though he was very popular amongst the men of the company he had never given off that essence of being an "alpha male". He was reserved. He was soft-spoken. He never really got in trouble. Platoon sergeant McCullough had said in the tent at camp that Delany was the most qualified soldier in the platoon to take on this responsibility. This had confused Jack immensely, but before he could ask any questions, McCullough had sent him off to get ready for what he said was Operation Husky.
Jack trusted McCullough with his life. He had been a professional soldier since the early 1930's and was often considered the best at his trade. Sean had served all over the world and had volunteered for the airborne in 1942. He was dedicated, committed and an expert with all infantry weapons and a superb "lead by example" platoon sergeant. Sean had never let the men in his platoon down and was the envy of his younger and less-experienced platoon leader, Lieutenant Richard Smith. He was very proud of the 504th Infantry Parachute Regiment and his 3rd platoon.
So Jack wasn't completely unsure about leading his own squad and fighting against the Germans. Plus their mission was a relatively simple one: once inserted the regiment was to sweep the flank of Gela, Sicily, where the main invasion was taking place. They were to set up perimeters around the German lines, carry out demolitions, cut lines of communication, establish roadblocks, isolate the German and Italian forces, and cause so much confusion that the men storming the beaches would have an easier time securing their part of the plan.
But this is all if everything went smoothly. And Sergeant McCullough stretched the word IF; as no one had a clear idea of what it would be like once they hit the ground. For the past week and a half Jack had been memorizing maps, photos, and all of the mission details of all the units of the 82nd Airborne Division. Everything had to go perfect. He would make sure of it.
"Jack. Jackie boy! Don't sleep now, man." Walden patted me on the back.
"Huh? What?"
"Don't go to sleep, Jack, we're almost there."
"What? No, no." Jack said, shaking his head. "I'm not sleeping, man, I'm just thinking. Just thinking…"
Mickey laughed. "You're thinking? Ha! That's a good one. When was the last time we had a chance think in the past two days?"
"Shut up—"
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
A series of bullets slammed into the side of the plane, destroying a window and allowing the wind outside to swell up inside the fuselage. One man slumped over as his helmet popped off and blood splattered onto the face of the soldier sitting next to him. Everyone started freaking out, some ducking down while others stood up from their seats in fright.
Two soldiers took the dead man and sat him back up in an upright position, salvaging his ammo and his helmet back on his head.
BOOM! The plane shook violently and tipped over to the left. Several soldiers fell over as one of the wings caught fire. Jack's cigarette flew out of his mouth as the explosion jerked him violently. Bullets ripped the hull of the plane open and two more men were shot. Jack watched as Sergeant McCullough stood up from his seat and quickly made his way to the cockpit, stumbling every couple of steps.
"Who's shooting at us?" Walden screamed attempting to stand after another explosion shook the plane.
McCullough dropped face first onto the floor as he attempted to come back from the cockpit. He jerked his head up and shouted, "That's not the enemy! It's our own goddamn navy!"
"Are you kidding me?"
McCullough stood up and lifted up five fingers. "Five minutes! We're going to be there in five minutes, boys!"
Everything was happening so fast. Jack couldn't breathe. He wanted to help, do whatever he could to help the men around him as they all stumbled and fell and struggled to stand. But there was nothing he could do, if he stood he would end up like them and they would all probably die. The wind gusted through the broken windows and pulled at all of their bodies, with most of their helmets flying in the breeze. Jack's adrenaline was building and his blood was pumping. He quickly tightened all the straps that helped encase his body in bags. Jack had forgotten which one contained which as the adrenaline began to blank his thoughts. Aside from the standard gear he'd brought along with him his reading glasses and his notebook. But he'd forgotten a pen, so he didn't know how he was supposed to write in the thing.
McCullough hooked himself onto the rail hanging from the ceiling.
"Wake and shake fellas! Stand up!"
Again another explosion ripped through the side of the airplane, spinning the plane halfway, knocking over half of the men in the plane. Jack felt weightless as the plane took a dive down towards the island.
It was about to crash.
They had to get out of this plane or they were all going to die.
Jack stood, helping Larry Harthorne to his feet, and hooking his parachute cable to the rail and prepared to jump. One of the pilots called to them from his seat in the cockpit.
"You guys got to get out of here. Don't wait for the green light! Go!"
McCullough nodded and started getting men hooked up onto the rail and got about three men to jump out the door in rapid succession. Delany pushed Larry forward and watched as he dove out of the door. Walden and Mickey were behind him. It was at this moment that Jack realized he might not actually want to jump out of this plane. As he stared down at the ground, hundreds of miles below him—and gaining fast—that he didn't want to be a soldier.
Jack would rather be back in jail than this.
He grabbed the sides of the door and prepared to jump. The pale spark of a distant explosion forced Jack to turn his head and look to his left. It was followed by a low bang, like thunder from a distance. Now the Germans were beginning to fire on them. Soon spotlights began to light up all over the nighttime sky and the noise of the flak shells bursting in the air was followed by the bang of the flak hitting their targets
Jack watched as a plane took a direct hit, burst into flames, took a dive, and crashed into another one, which split in half. He saw several bodies fly out of the front of the shattered airplane and into the night sky.
They were all dead.
"Delany! What is your fucking problem?" Walden yelled. "Let's go! Let's go!"
Cover was of no use to them now. The enemy had finally seen the airplanes coming. The first airborne invasion in history was underway. Tracers began to fill the sky and Jack could clearly hear warning sirens from below. Smoke and metal were ripped as the enemy relentlessly pounded all they had on their plane. The navy had stopped, but this was worse. The floor of the plane was nearly obliterated and all the windows had been destroyed along with chunks of the wall.
Jack tried to concentrate. But it was no use, only giving him a headache. The last thing he wanted to do was piss his pants, but all of this was making Jack really have to go to the bathroom
He couldn't believe the Germans had done this back in Crete. Shit…
Walden kicked Jack in the back.
Jack fell out of the plane started to plummet to the ground.
The rush of the wind and the bellowing smoke streaming from the flaming plane wing smashed against Jack's face. But his chute opened. His body was catapulted slightly up as the air finally caught up with it.
This had surprised him. It felt as if somebody had yanked the ropes hanging from the parachute above him. But the thrill of jumping out at 3000 feet was overwhelming. For the first time in his life, Jack felt the rush of taking a true leap of faith.
Somehow, everything around him began to slow down. This was only one of the instances in Jack's life when he would mindlessly savor moments; even if he didn't want to remember them. Call it a time warp if you may, everything seemed and felt black and white; as quiet yet surreal like a Charlie Chaplin silent film. He was in awe in a different way than he thought he would be.
Welcome to Europe, he thought. Or Welcome to Hell as it resounded.
Jack's decent was slow, but very violent. The Germans and Italians below began shooting the troopers that parachuted down. Flak shell bursts were missing him by only a few meters.
Jack closed his eyes even harder, denying himself from the harsh reality of the background around him. He simply repeated in his mind that everything was going to be fine. Then he began to picture…home; New York. His parents, William, Chris, George, Uncle Franklin, Jessica, Mr. Monterro…their faces suddenly began to picture. So, it was true. For the first time in two years Jack had regretted signing that contract. That he hadn't stayed in prison instead of this. He had yet to realize what war actually was. But it was too late now.
It seemed like an eternity as invisible angels lowered Jack down to the ground. He mustered the strength to open his eyes. A tree was right below him.
And he was headed straight towards it.
He braced himself for the inevitable impact. Soon there was a violent thud up Jack's face as leaves and branches broke apart. He was pulled back in a violent reaction; his straps caught the lower branches of the tree. Then it went black as his head slammed hard on the side of the trunk. For the first time, there was pain.
For the first time, he was in Italy.
Two years ago
December 30, 1941…Manhattan, New York
Bright lights and loud music were the only things Jack could see or hear as he sat down at a bar, watching as nearly dozens of people were enjoying themselves, laughing and drinking. Many had been drinking for the past hour, and they looked like they weren't going to stop anytime soon. He could only imagine how drunk they were going to be in the next hour if they kept up this pace.
He had come into the same bar countless times, and he had grown accustomed to seeing the usual people walk in. But there was something different this night. What surprised Delany was the fact nearly half the bar was filled with similar looking people. They were all dressed in clean, sharp military attire, new recruits by the looks of them. They were all wearing the same dress pants, dress shirt, tie and hat. All in uniform, yet they continued to drink and drink.
The military's been working hard lately. Delany thought, shaking his head.
"Some week, huh?"
Mickey Jayden slid in quickly onto the stool beside Jack, a small smirk on his face and two pints of beer foaming in his hands. As he sat he placed one of the glasses in front of his friend.
Taking a sip from his glass, Delany looked at Jayden. "Hey, shouldn't you be working today?"
"So did I!" said Mickey, downing his drink in a matter of moments. "But the old whore decided to close early. Too bad for me she decided not to tell me until I'd come in the morning." He motioned at the bartender for another drink, casting his empty glass aside.
Mickey Jayden was born to a middle-class family just outside of Bronx. He was the third child of seven (three sisters and four brothers). His father was an architect with no criminal record, no military background, and who followed the Quaker faith without any actual passion. Mickey took more of a liking toward his mother, who, at the age of twenty, was arrested and later released on one year parole for drunk driving and resisting arrest. Both her grandfathers fought in the American Civil War and her father fought in the First World War. Mickey was rebellious and defiant in his youth and often got into trouble at school.
Before he joined the military, Mickey was a tough and ignorant eighteen year old man. His aggressive blue eyes were framed by the large locks of his long dark brown hair. He was often clean-shaven, kept a good tan during the summer, and was substantially thin and muscular.
Recently, he'd been working at Madame Catherina's flower shop.
The bartender returned with an ice cold drink, and Mickey took it, taking a long swing before setting the glass back down and sighed, lying back in relaxation.
"So?" Mickey started, staring at his glass.
"So what?" Jack asked, looking at his friend in confusion.
"So, who is she?"
Jack gave him a weird look. "What are you talking about?"
Mickey motioned behind Jack, causing him to glance over his shoulder. Behind him sitting on a stool was a young girl, sitting silently at the bar, holding a glass of water. She was staring off into the distance, like she was deep in thought about something.
The first thing that caught his attention about her was what she was wearing. She was dressed in the same uniform as everyone else who was with the military in the bar, same markings and everything. Judging by what he had seen, she was probably the only few sober people here, let alone the bartender and himself.
"What about her?" Jack asked. "You think I know her?"
"Well, why else is she sitting next to you?" Mickey said in a low voice.
"Shit, I don't know, maybe because this is a public bar!" Jack said sarcastically. "Just because someone sits next to you doesn't necessary mean you know who they are."
"Well, I can change that." Mickey replied, getting out of his stool.
Jack watched as Mickey took his and another drink around his seat and towards the young recruit sitting next to him.
Jack groaned and rolled his eyes. "Not again…"
"Hello!" Mickey greeted, a cheesy smile on his face. "I notice you didn't have a drink!"
The young girl looked up at him in confusion, as if she didn't know that he was referring to her.
"Here!" Mickey said, offering her the drink. "It's on me."
She politely smiled. "No thanks." She said, turning down his offer. "I don't drink."
"Oh...I see..." Mickey said, taking an open seat next to her, causing her to shift uncomfortably in her stool. "And what do you 'do'…exactly…Miss…"
"It's Maria." she answered, turning away. "I'm a United States Marine."
"Oh, so you fight yellow skinned, slanted eyed monkeys!" Mickey said, a smile on his face. "Semper fi…right?"
"Actually, I'm a kitchen girl." she replied, still trying to avoid him. "Sorry to disappoint."
"It's fine." Mickey said, giving her a look and causing her even less comfort. "With curves and a body like that—"
"What my friend is trying to say," Jack said in a panic tone, cutting Mickey off abruptly and quickly getting between the two of them. "Is that he is honored to have meet you and we are grateful for your service to our country. Thank you and sorry for wasting your time."
Maria smiled politely. "Not at all, um..."
Jack waited for her to finish, but she was instead waiting for him. He didn't know what she was even waiting for.
"Your name?" she asked, still waiting.
"Oh," Jack said, trying to recover. "My name is Jackson Delany."
"Jackson Delany." she repeated, smiling to herself.
"Or just Jack for short." he added, scratching his head.
She nodded. "Well 'Jack' Delany. It was nice to meet you and your friend."
"My name's Mickey Jay—"
"It was nice to meet you to Maria." Jack replied, cutting Mickey off before he embarrassed himself even more. It was bad enough he was drunk, even worse when he was trying to hit on a girl, let alone one that was in the military. But he had seen him do worse.
"Hey, Maria!"
Mickey and Jack turned to see three large men, all wearing the same military uniform as the rest of their comrades. They walked up to Maria, glaring at Mickey and Jack.
"These two aren't giving you any trouble, are you?" the recruit asked, looking over at them.
Maria let out a small laugh. "Please, it's nothing I haven't dealt with before."
Mickey smirked. "I bet you haven't dealt with someone like me before..." he said in a dirty tone. Jack rolled his eyes.
"Hey, shit-face!" The man said, glaring at Mickey. "You better go back to your toilet if you know what's best for you."
"Oh relax General Patton, it was a joke." Mickey said sarcastically, turning around back to his drink.
The man grabbed Mickey's shoulder and swung him around back to face him, causing Mickey to sneer and boo at the man.
"In case you haven't noticed, there's only one of you..." the recruit said sharply. "And three of us."
"Well, why don't you get some of your friends, and then we'll be on an even playing field." Mickey laughed, turning back to his drink.
The man grabbed Mickey's shoulder again and this time raised his fist, striking Mickey hard across the face. The entire bar fell silent as everyone watched Mickey drop his drink and fall to the ground, knocked out cold before he even knew what hit him.
"What are you doing!" Maria shrieked, looking at the man in complete shock..
It only took a split second for Jack to leap out of his chair and take action. He swung his fist hard at the recruit, catching him off guard and causing him to stumble back in pain. It didn't take long for his two friends to join in and they were soon thrown into the fray, chairs and tables being knocked over as the fight continued.
Jack kicked one of them square in the chest, and turned to face the other. But a sharp pain blew across his face as one of the recruits landed a hard blow across his cheek. He fell to the ground, the inside of his mouth bleeding.
A sharp kick was delivered to his side, followed quickly by one to his chest, and then finally his face. The blows had knocked almost all the wind out of him, and he was on the verge of blacking out. He looked up to see Maria yelling at the men in anger.
"Guys that's enough!" she shouted, trying to get them to stop, but it was to no avail. The men continued to kick and beat Jack, each blow causing more pain through his body. "Guys he's had enough!" she yelled, the men continuing to beat and kick. The pain was overwhelming, he could hardly breathe as more and more blows collided with his side.
A sharp whistle caused everyone to freeze and stop what they were doing, including the three men beating up Jack. He looked up to see not just them, but all the recruits standing straight stiff and all in silence. Jack looked to see a man standing in the middle of the bar, looking at everyone in silent anger. His gaze alone was enough to silence them, as he looked carefully around at all the recruits in the bar.
Not a single person moved, including Maria. They were all staring at the man. He was wearing a military uniform, but this one was different. It had the markings of an officer, and a high ranking one by the looks of it. His uniform and age told Jack that he was definitely not a recruit.
"Outside." the man said sharply. "Now!"
There was a shuffle off feet as every recruit got up out of their chairs and preceded to the exit. Jack watched as the man walked up to him. He had graying hair and pale green eyes. His age was beginning to show, but he could tell that he had influence over the others, the look in his face was enough to tell him that this man had experience.
The officer leaned down and offered him a handkerchief.
"Are you alright son?" the man asked, handing him the handkerchief.
Jack rubbed his head in pain, wiping the blood off his face with the white cloth.
"Been better..." he replied, cracking a weak smile.
The man smiled, shaking his head. He grabbed Jack gently by the arm and helped him to his feet.
The cops came about half an hour later.
But the recruits and Maria were long gone by then, leaving Jack and Mickey sitting at a table, taking care of their injuries. Mickey had a black eye from the punch he had received, as well as a probable concussion. Jack was bleeding in several places, mainly in the head and torso.
The last thing Jack remembered about that night was being shoved into a police cruiser and put into a cell with Mickey for the rest of the night. Then, in the morning, he remembered being brought into a windowless room and being confronted by two police detectives who told him that he had a choice to pick one of two things: two years in prison or service in the armed forces.
The first cop was a heavy-set, barrel-chested man. He was wearing a tailor-made black suit, with its coat hanging from a coat rack in a nearby corner. To those who worked with the cigar-chomping man, he was known simply as "Chief."
Sitting next to him was a skinnier man, with round-lensed glasses, and a dark gray suit; suspenders going over a white dress shirt. He was a paled skinned individual, with skinny fingers, and thin pale lips. He held a thick manila envelope in one of his hands and the other held a halfway gone cigarette to his lips. The lenses of his glasses reflected the light from the table lamp as he leaned back in to a chair in behind the table. He was known to some rather commonly as the "Lieutenant."
The ashtray that sat at the center of the table was a sign of how long the pair had been in the room: filled with ashes, cigar stubs, and cigarette butts. The air was thick with the smell of tobacco and acrid smoke that drifted towards the vents.
The Chief took off Jack's handcuffs and took the envelope from his lieutenant. He then quickly flipped open the top, taking out a wide piece of paper. Leaning in, he placed the paper in front of Jack.
"What's this?" asked Jack.
"An enlistment sign-up." said the Chief.
Jack squinted, shaking his head. "Why would I sign up to go to war? I have no business in those affairs."
The Chief stood up straight again. "Because according to your file, you're from Italy and the recruiters are looking for people who speak the language for the up-coming invasion of Europe."
But I don't know the language, Jack thought.
"It's either that or jail, son. And, if you go now, you'd most likely be back in a year or so. Go to jail and you're looking at a much longer time."
"I mean, your friend has already enlisted."
Fuck. Jack sighed, rubbing his temples as he stared down at the enlistment slip. "Anything's better than jail, right?"
The lieutenant drew a pen from his pocket, clicking the end and handing it over to Jack. Jack hesitantly stared at it for a moment before slowly taking it in his hand and resting the ink tip at the edge of the signature line. He sighed. He then quickly scribbled down his best signature on the line. The lieutenant took the slip and put it back into the envelope, licking the glue and sealing it.
"The lieutenant here will deliver this envelope to the enlistment depot along with your friend's. I told Mr. Jayden and now I'm telling you. You have until noon tomorrow to get ready. At noon, the lieutenant will pick both of you up and drive you to the train station."
The chief opened the door of the room and gestured towards Jack to leave. "Now get out and call a taxi, you and Mr. Jayden need your rest."
Jack stood, kicking back the chair, and marched out of the room. The chain reactions of what he had just done already being put into motion. But, for the moment, he was safe from the mental harm of what was coming. From the cruel basic training he was about to endure to the traumatizing events of the war in Europe.
CHAPTER TWO
Mickey landed uncomfortably upside down in an oak tree, two miles away from his regiment's main objective, Gela.
He was surrounded by the explosive noises of small arms fire and flak guns firing off into the nighttime sky. Mickey lifted his body and quickly unsheathed his combat knife from his boot and cut himself loose. Now it was all in his instincts. He landed hard. Mickey just realized that his head was bleeding. Crouching down behind the tree, Jayden accessed the area; he had landed on a riverbed cradled by a rocky outcropping with slight underbrush and a few dead trees sticking out of the granite rocks.
The ground fire was still intense as the sirens from afar echoed throughout the dark night. Tracers glittered against the sky. Planes and parachutes alike were everywhere, with explosions still rocking the clouds above.