Chapter 98: Victory in Europe 8th May 1945
A few days earlier, off the coast of Okinawa
The Japanese might be being beaten, but they were not going down without a fight. Vicious fighters they were anyway, but when they were being pushed further and further back towards the mainland, their tactics only became more desperate. Kamikaze raids almost felt as if they were on the hour, seaman living in fear of a diving Japanese fighter, knowing that the bomb they were carrying was the plane itself. Many men were lost to such attacks, damage in the millions of dollars to the ships that were hit, some of them reduced to little more than floating hulks that were useful for only target practice. Still they had to fight on though, that was always the deal.
The USS Birmingham was just another one of the ships engaged in the conflict, in a supporting role for the troops seizing Okinawa on the ground. Already that day they'd fended off multiple attacks from an increasingly suicidal Japanese air force, whose fighters held no qualms about giving their own lives in order to destroy others. The seas were on fire, literally in some cases, black smoke pillowing into the air, dead men littering the decks of ships, with some bodies in the water too. The bravery on both sides was quite astounding, especially when the Americans at least, were aware that war in Europe appeared to be coming to an end. The Nazi's were a beaten force according to the latest news from home, only a matter of time before they were forced to surrender. There were even fanciful murmurings that Adolf Hitler was dead, not that any of them actually believed it.
One of the men aboard the light cruiser though, could not be considered to be a brave man. He'd hidden the moment the first wave of attackers came, only emerging from his spot when he heard the Captain approaching, then taking up position out on the deck to make it look as if he'd been engaging the enemy or at the very least instructing the men to. An officer should not have been such a coward, but the officer in question's cowardice was well known amongst the men, if not his fellow officers. Apart from to one, who was his friend that was completely loyal to him without every expressing his opinion on his grit, his lack of courage was just a given thing. It was the sort of man that he was, the demeanour that he gave off… that and the rumours of what happened to him while he was stationed in Northern Ireland. None of the men in his section were with him there, but whispers travelled first, some complete mistruths. Others… others were correct.
Lieutenant Lance Hamilton cowered away during the second attack that morning too and the third, once again hiding when he should have been out inspiring the seaman to defend their ship against the rampant, unmoved Japanese airmen. After the events of the week following his beating at the hands of a certain Vice Air Admiral, he'd managed to keep his commission. That was the benefit of being a wealthy young white man, who had parents that would raise a significant fuss if the public were to discover why he'd been discharged from service. He would never serve near Clint again, but he was allowed to continue in his role as an officer, thousands of miles away. Once his injuries were healed, he transferred over to the Birmingham where he'd served ever since, albeit without ever receiving a promotion. In his own mind, it was his penance for what had happened in Derry, but the truth was much more simple. He wasn't good enough to hold any further responsibility.
Lieutenant Baker transferred over with him to the ship, though the rest of their friends remained stationed elsewhere apart from Lieutenant Commander Reeves. Receiving shore leave back home for a few days once they'd arrived in America, he was killed in a shooting incident at home. Another friend of his mistook him for a turkey that they were trying to shoot, the bullet cracking his spine in half, killing him instantly. Lieutenant Lloyd moved onto another ship, neither Lance nor John Baker hearing from him again. Most likely he was dead too, like so many seamen who'd entered the Pacific to fight the Japanese. For the pair of them to survive so long, through so many different battles, Hamilton and Baker were doing well for themselves.
Once the smoke and the cries of the third attack were over, Lance appearing out on deck as if he'd been there all along, he made his over to Lieutenant Baker. The difference between the men was that Baker did show signs of fight, sweat pouring off of him, clutching onto his gun tightly. He'd been manning one of the machine guns during the last attack, along with a number of men from his section, displaying some sort of leadership quality. Qualities that Lance lacked completely, when he was nothing more than a bumbling moron, left with the task of leading men into battle whilst he watched on from relative safety.
"Hot work, Johnny!" He slapped his friend on the shoulder. "These goddamn wonky eye bastards ain't gettin' the message".
"Nah they are alright, Lancey Boy… they know we're comin' for 'em. That's why they're doin' all this".
"You think?"
"God damn right I do! You don't think our boys wouldn't do this, if this was Virginia?"
Considering the statement for a moment, he could not find a point of disagreement with his friend. They would have defended their home just as fiercely if it came to it, to the point where dying to ensure that others did not claim the land would have been more than acceptable. That was all that the Japanese airmen were doing really, giving their lives to try to force them back further in the Pacific, but ultimately they were failing. Success upon success was falling upon the troops on the ground, despite the horrendous casualties at times. Some of the tactics that the Japanese used were abhorrent if effective, with men coming off the battlefield with various limbs missing at times. They didn't see too much of it from at sea, but when Japanese fighters came into view, they knew of a similar scenario.
"They need to realise they've lost…". Lance commented, as the two walked back towards where he'd been stood earlier. "We're gonna take the whole damn thing!"
"I don't know if it'll come to that". Fairly doing so, Baker disagreed with him. "They'll give up before then but… we just gotta push 'em back further. You know how it is".
"I wanna see the stars and stripes over the head of that fuckin' Emperor! Let's see how high and mighty he is then!"
"He'll bow, Lance, he'll bow".
"He'd die if I had anything to do with it".
The hatred of the Japanese was no different to his hatred of anyone else that wasn't a white, American man like him. As much as the hatred could be more understandable, if it ever truly could be, when it came to them, he thought of nothing of spitting at any prisoners they took. One day a few weeks prior, a captured Japanese officer came aboard, and was promptly beaten to near death by a group of men below decks, when his cell door was carelessly left open. He was found a little way away from the cell, to make it look as if he'd tried to escape, when he'd done nothing of the sort. No one ever came forward to admit to beating him, but it was Lance along with the two or three of his men that did actually like him, that carried out the attack. Not wanting to share the same ship as a Japanese man, all three of them made it quite clear what they thought of the situation. The fact that the officer survived was quite the miracle, considering the damage they'd done to him.
"Baker! Hamilton!"
Looking up towards the bridge, the familiar voice of their Captain in their ears, they saw him eagle-eyed, staring down at them. They weren't really doing anything wrong in the aftermath of the attack, something that Baker was about to make clear to the Captain, but they could have been more helpful to the men who were trying to take casualties down below. Blood wasn't something that either of them dealt with well though.
"Yes, Sir!" They saluted him.
"What the hell are you two doing!?" The Captain shouted at them. "Just taking a walk because you want to!?"
"We're inspecting damage, Sir!" Baker shouted up his reply. "We'll make a full report to you once we've finished!"
"The hell you will! It doesn't need both of you!"
That was true, even if Baker's original statement was not. Assessing any damage to the ship was an important task to carry out, not least when one of the Kamikaze fighters came down very close to the ship, right between their vessel and the one next to it. Superficial damage it most likely was, but any sort of damage needed to be reported to the Captain, to allow him to make decisions on how to proceed. Should there have been worse come of it, a hole under the water line or a destroyed deck, they might have had to flee from the fight. It looked unlikely that it would be the case.
"Hamilton!" Shouting again, the Captain turned his attention to Lance. "Get down below! I want a full list of causalities in the next ten minutes! Understood!?"
"Sir, Yes, Sir!"
"Carry on, Baker!"
He too saluted at the Captain, before the man on the bridge turned his stare on another officer, who he was berating. Unlike the Captain of the Lyman, the Captain in command of the Birmingham, was a much stricter to man. He did not take kindly to officers not fulfilling their duties, believing correctly that the wrong example was being set for the men. Any man caught slacking, Lieutenant Commander or Steward's Mate, would be punished accordingly. It was no secret to those closest to him, that he despised both Lieutenant's Baker and Hamilton. He was aware of the trouble they'd been in previously, thinking of them as nothing much more than what they really were; jumped up country rich boys, trying to be men. Whatever they were, they were both poor, poor officers, that were more likely to get their sections killed than lead them to any sort of glory.
"He's a fuckin' asshole". Lance grumbled, shaking his head. "Guess I'm going below then…".
"You are. Rather you than me… I can't stand it down there…".
Baker was more than happy to inspect damages than he was the sick bay. Sometimes it was a quiet, almost empty place when there were few casualties other than a bruised toe here or there. In the heat of battle though, it was a horrendous place to be, blood sometimes covering the walls, the screams of dying men ringing around it. The medics aboard were good at their jobs, very good in fact, but they could not save everyone. Many a man who went below never resurfaced, some being obvious casualties before they went down, others less so. For the officers, unless they were being treated themselves, then it was not the sort of place that they wished to go on a social call as such. Lance didn't have to go down there too often, but when he did, it was never pleasant.
"Short goddamn straw again! One of these days, I'll get to inspect the ship and you'll be countin' the dead!"
"I'm only gonna be down there if I'm dead!" Baker remarked in return. "Now get, before the Captain sees you and tosses you overboard!"
Although that would have been preferrable than listening to the dying yelps of men condemned to their fates, it wouldn't have been very productive. Heading inside, back along by where he'd hidden during the previous three assaults, Lance was alone, which meant he was also alone with his thoughts. It was rare to be on a ship that was constantly engaged in some sort of action, where the only time alone was during the hours where he slept, not even able to enjoy a meal usually without some sort of disturbance. The men seemed to get more peace than their officers, though that was probably for best, even he could say, when they needed to be rested and duly motivated, to take the fight to the Japanese.
For the first time in a while, his mind allowed to think of Derry, a place that was almost his home for just over a year. One of the strangest times in his life when he reviewed it in his mind, there was only darkness that set in when he did. What should have been a more peaceful, and certainly more positive stay, was tinged by his weakness when he came up against a man with far more power than he. In more than one sense of the word too, but he would never know that the man who beat him within an inch of his life, was actually the illegitimate heir to the throne of the United Kingdom. That would have only made it worse if he did, though in the immediate aftermath of the investigation that was placed into his conduct, he did have to wonder what sway James held. He might have outranked him, but in a different branch of a different country's military. For the British to be able to hold a say on whether he stayed in Derry or not, was most odd.
Ambling down the stairs as if there was no war on at all, he also thought of Erin. Ever since the events of two years prior, he could think of nothing but pure hatred towards her. The same man who was planning to murder her, after exploiting her body, did not think himself able to hold her to any higher contempt, but he'd done so. Resentment was what he held, only because she'd managed to survive him when she shouldn't have. When he was moments away from forcing himself upon her, he could not believe his luck in how weak she was, the fight she put up being futile. For her to then come out as the winner, her life intact with him longer able to attempt to affect it, hurt him a lot. If their paths were to ever cross again, he would kill her, without a shadow of a doubt. The chances of it though were minimal. He would never find himself in Derry again, nor would she ever visit Virginia.
James too, for that matter, he would have liked to have seen dead. The stomping of his feet on the metallic stair covers grew louder when the Pilot entered his thoughts, an even bigger enemy in his mind than Erin was. She might have been able to avoid him, but that was only because of her former lover's efforts to protect her, that nearly cost the American his life. His physical prowess could not be disagreed with, though he'd left Lance pondering for two years on what sort of a man he was. A weak-willed one for certain, when he was willing to do absolutely anything for her when it should have been the other way. Ending his life would be a much harder task, especially when Baker certainly wouldn't get involved, fearing a merciless beating would be endured in the same vein as the prior one that Lance was on the end of. An army would be required to have a chance of beating James in a fight, though once again, geography was a barrier that would stop any further conflict. The two of them would have to live on in his blackened memory, of a time gone by that he would bury for his own sake.
Arriving at the sick bay in quite a foul mood after becoming lost in his thoughts, he took a moment to compose himself outside. As he did, the screams of a man being treated inside, shot out like lightning bolts, infesting the corners of his mind. He could hear one of the medics shouting for the man, Handley, to keep calm, urging him very loudly in fact to do so. The Lieutenant had seen Handley being carried down to the sick bay after the first attack, noticing how the man was missing the left side of his body, arm and leg off, with blood soaking that side along with his face. Staying alive must have taken a lot of resilience, however, judging by the sudden cessation of cries, it appeared that resilience did not last. Another man was lost.
"Doctor Thomas!"
Calling for the lead medic, who'd been treating Handley, there was a nod of recognition from the man whilst he finished up. Giving the time of death along with a couple of instructions to his subordinates, the bloodied medic strode over to the newly arrived Lieutenant, already noticing from a distance at how pale Lance looked. If he were to be sick, it wouldn't have been the first time that he'd done so in the Doctor's presence.
"Lieutenant Ham-".
The sirens went off aboard once more, indicating that the Japanese were back for more. Most likely the Kamikaze fighters again, who were more than willing to keep dying in the name of their country. A chill ran down Lance's spine, in contrast to Doctor Thomas, who merely sighed.
"Just when I thought it might finally be over!"
"They ain't givin' up easy, Doc". Nervously, Lance replied. "The Captain sent me down here for an update on the casualties".
"I somehow don't think he's gonna want that now when we've got incoming!"
"Doc…".
Putting pressure on the Doctor to reveal more, Lance did not move from his spot in the doorway. There were more than likely other men who needed their wounds seeing too, albeit none as critical as Handley was whilst he was still alive, no more screams being let out by any of the other men lying around injured in the sick bay. There were a couple stood up in the corner with slings on, who most likely would be back out in the thick of the action when they had one good arm left each. The Lieutenant didn't dare look any further into the room though, not when there was the potential for a severed arm to just be propped up against a bed.
"Fine…". Breathing out frustratedly, Doctor Thomas began to go through his report. "If you include Handley here, that's six dead this morning. Another four critical. Then we have… ten out of action and another five that we are nearly ready to discharge back into your care".
"Any officers?" Lance enquired.
"Thinking about promotion are you, Lieutenant?" Thomas raised a brow. "Lieutenant Commander Walker was hit in the chest. He's still breathin' but… it ain't pretty".
Walker, one of the more capable officers on the Birmingham was the closest figure to a man like Lieutenant Masterson, the most kind-hearted of the officers on the Lyman. The young Lieutenant did not know him that well, not forming too much of an opinion on him when they spoke rarely, but the men liked Walker, that much he did know. If they were to lose him, which it seemed likely that they would, it would be a devastating blow to morale.
"None of this is pretty, Doc…". Losing his own words, Lance could not help but be drawn to Handley's body. "I tell ye, when I go, I don't wanna be screamin' like him".
"When you go Lieutenant, there'll be a damn procession and the people will be dancing in the street!" Doctor Thomas, teasing him, gave him a slap on the cheek. "Now you get yourself topside, ain't nothin' you can do to help down here".
Doctor Thomas was correct, but topside was not going to be his destination. That was before Lieutenant Hamilton's cowardice was taken into account. No, not one person alive at that very moment in the sickbay, would see the light of day again. Above them, the aft turret was the recipient of a Japanese fighter pilot and his plane, a perfectly executed Kamikaze attack that was as devastating is intended. The frame of the aircraft was not what killed them below though, safe from that three floors down. However, what the pilot hadn't done was jettison the bomb that his aircraft was carrying, the bomb that slipped free, plummeting down three floors, to just a couple of feet away from where Lance was standing.
The two men only had time to look up before fate claimed them.
Tearing through the sickbay, the bomb destroyed anything in its wake, equipment or human beings. Patients and medic alike were ripped asunder by its power, no one in the vicinity surviving such a devastating, close impact detonation. The light cruiser practically shook on the waterline, such was the violence of the action.
Below, they would be scraping pieces of Lieutenant Lance Hamilton off the corridor wall for days, Lieutenant Baker having to carry on without his best friend, surviving the attack above.
In the end, the Yank's plan failed, dying a childless man, exactly what he'd been afraid. To anyone who knew of what he'd done though, except those closest to him, it was not enough to justify his vile cruelty towards Erin, valuing her life so lightly.
Come the end of the fourth day of May, in the year nineteen forty-five, she still had her life.
He did not have his.
There were rumours, rumours that began the day before, spreading through the streets that were suddenly coming alive again.
The war was over. It was going to be official. Years of conflict would come to a close, peace returning to a Europe that once hung by the daintiest of threads, where freedom was only one aerial dual away from being lost to the Nazi war machine. That machine faltered over the years, not able to take the punches it received like the ones it gave out. So many men lost their lives to get the continent back to the prosperous land it once was, to rid it of those who once threatened to dominate and control all of it. Adolf Hitler was dead, Berlin on the brink of collapse. An era of bloodshed was coming to an end, and those who'd suffered because of it could only think to do one thing.
Rejoice.
A Tuesday it was, but no one went to work nor did workplaces expect anyone to turn up. In England, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland, it was the same. All of the hard-working people that fought to keep Britain in the war, were finally allowed some sort of release. There was still hard fighting going on in the Pacific, families still waiting to hear if their loved ones would make it home safely, but there was a palpable sense of relief in the air. The immediate danger of a European collapse was over, though there were still plenty of issues to sort out. Guns might have stopped being fired, yet that did not mean the end of all hostilities. Those thoughts were for another day though. That day was going to celebrated as it should.
As it normally was, the Quinn household became the centre of attention for all family and friends. Throughout the house and into the garden, there were family members dotted around in just about every room. Even some from outside of the normal circle of friends were in attendance, Sister Michael being one. Uncle Colm was there too, although he was strategically seated by the window in the front room, well out of the way although still involved with the family conversations. He'd snared James, Anna and the Nun since the get together began at around nine o'clock, with many others no doubt ready to fall victim to him at some point.
Most eyes were only on one person though. Little David. The child that was the pride and joy of his parents, he was just over a year old and more than aware of the people around him a lot of the time. He was going to be smart just like they were, everyone said it, and no one meant it in any other way than the truth. Apart from Sister Michael perhaps, though her words had sounded frightfully sincere when they were spoken. He was an incredibly cute little boy, radiating the warmth of his mother's smile, along with the occasional cheeky grin that could be attributed to his father. They doted on him so much as parents, albeit having to fight off plenty of the rest of the family who always wanted to spend time with him. Without doing so in words, Orla practically counted him as her own the way she looked after him, though that was to be expected. The boy was named after the fella she once loved, whose own noble death was one of millions on the road to that day's jubilation. She'd give her life for James and Erin's son, just as they would give theirs for Marie.
Rationing hadn't gone away with the rumours, but for a change, no one held back on eating. If they ate like kings and did not eat for days after, none of them cared. All of those dedicated to bringing peace back to the world, deserved one day where they could give in and live like they did before the war again. Food didn't have to be treated as if it wouldn't exist the following day, because the threat to it was over. Every meal missed, every stomach that rumbled when it could not have what it wanted; all of it was worth it in the long term, though it was only with the rumours of the end of the war, did they actually start to believe it.
The Americans were of course a large part in the victory, though in the Quinn household, their impact was somewhat diluted thanks to Lieutenant Lance Hamilton's ministrations. They did not speak of him there or at the cottage, his name being lost to memories that would not be visited unless it was necessary. She did not want to have to be in the same county as that man again, when he so nearly took everything from her, costing her valuable time with the man that she actually loved. They'd more than made up for the time lost though, when they were now the parents of a child, having shown their love for each other in so many ways, on some many different occasions. All of the dreams that were once stored away in dormant minds, were a reality again. They were leading the lives that they wanted, having fought so hard to be able to have them. Nothing more could really be asked for.
With lunch consumed, the majority of the family were out in the garden, waiting for Joe to fetch something out of the Anderson shelter. He'd announced he had a game for people to play, though quite what he was intending was a mystery to all. Not even Anna and all of her smarts could work out what it could have been. The only three left inside were Uncle Colm, Sarah and Shane, the latter two the latest to fall foul of his stories, something about a Portuguese woman from Donegal who was actually an Italian, or something of that ilk. Nobody else decided to stay around to join them when he started, following Joe into the relative unknown instead.
David was receiving so much affection that Erin was starting to worry that he would become aggravated by it, although it seemed sure enough that he was loving it. There was a crowd around her and her son, who she held in her arms, tucking him into her chest tightly. That meant that James was relatively free, in fact stood alone, watching over the scene of his wife and son being bombarded by the family, with a grin across his face. For a moment that was, as he soon found himself with company, Anna sidling up next to him, tapping him on the arm. Turning his head down to the now growing girl, who'd turned nine earlier in the year, he still enjoyed seeing her smile just as much as he did anyone. Excelling at school as always, her attitude to continually strive to better herself as well as those around her, was so very much endearing.
"Everyone loves David". She hummed happily to him, her eyes turning to the baby. "Erin's goin' to be ragin' that they're all lookin' at him and not her".
Just about suppressing the urge to laugh, when deep down he knew there was some truth in it, James curved his lips up as much as he could to emphasise how he saw it to be humorous. After all, she knew her sister too well, well aware that she would no doubt be hoping that a lot of the attention would have been put on her. She'd written some poetry a few days earlier about the struggles of the war, encourage to by her husband at the time, without knowing there would be such an immediate opportunity to share the work. At every point she'd tried during the day though, something else always seemed to get in the way.
"I am sure she will manage. I do not think I have had the chance to mention it today, Anna, but you look rather beautiful".
Anna was yet to reach an age where such a comment would send her into a world of delirium, but she did blush at the compliment all the same. There may have been the slightest of chances that she had a wee childish fancy for her sister's husband, at the same time delighted to have his friendship as well as mentorship. It was silly really, as any sort of love at that age was, but his thoughts were hardly far from the mark. Just like her Sister, he could tell that she would grow up to be a pretty young woman, one that any man would be proud to be with. He'd already made his impact on the world, but if anyone else in the family would follow in his footsteps, the most immediate candidate would be her. She was frankly too smart for her own good at times.
"T-Thank ye, James. Ye know, ye look quite well yerself". She joked back.
"I would like to think so. David does have a habit of waking us up in the middle of the night though, so I am glad that has not affected my image".
"Ach well, now that ye say it…".
Breaking out into laughter, the feeling of being able to have such a healthy relationship with a nine year-old sister in-law was one that James really did enjoy. He'd always thought Anna to be a very special young woman with her evident smarts and as she began to grow older, he could see that they would be firm friends. He was important to her like Marie was, young lives that he would look out for, perhaps nurture where he could. His own son would always now take priority over them, though it would not change the promises he'd made. If Anna was ever in need of him, to talk to or to protect, he would be at her side without question. That was almost part of the agreement when he married her older sister. The family were a package deal in that regard.
"I… I wanted to say thank you to ye James". Anna started, shuffling her feet while looking at the ground.
"You just did?" Replying with an eyebrow raised, he tilted his head down a little more.
"No! No! I mean… for what ye've done like… when ye were a pilot and… and by makin' Erin happy. Yer a really good fella, James and I… I just wanted ye to know that".
He was touched, genuinely touched, by her kind comment. If there was not a family full of people around them, he might have even shed a tear.
Across the battleground of his mind, his time in service to the country was still a sour spot, the necessary acts of defending the country's interests running up against the lives he'd taken in order to make it back home. For the victories he'd fought for, for the ground gained against the Italians at the time, he could look back on fondly, but not every memory was a good one. Anna wasn't to know that though, worries that a thirty five year-old should not have imparted on them, let alone a nine year-old. He could not dispute how he made Erin happy though, when they were married with a young son. That was perhaps the highlight of the war for him, finally finding himself with her in his muscular arms again, their love re-connected. One thing he could never apologise nor criticise himself for, was loving her.
"Thank you, Anna, I… I am not sure I deserve such praise from you, but I bask in it now that you have bestowed it upon me".
When she did not reply for a minute, he wondered whether he'd gone a little too far with his self-laceration, opening his mouth to apologise. What he'd forgotten was whilst she was tremendously smart, Anna hid a devilish sense of humour that accompanied it. With a friendship as easy-going as theirs was, she could quite easily tread lines that others could not.
"That was so English, James". Shaking her head, Anna almost could not believe it. "I've never heard anythin' so English… ever!"
"May I remind you, that I am English". He chuckled. "That may explain why my words seem to float over the Irish Sea".
"Don't remind me!"
Pretending to be like a version of Michelle that hadn't been seen in a long time, he could not hold his bellyful of laughter a second time. Finding herself giggling along too, Anna was soon engulfed in his arms when he leant forward to hug her, an additional way of paying his thanks for her lovely words. When the war appeared to be coming to an end, he knew she was probably not going to be the only person in Derry who would thank him for what he'd done. Some thought the scar on his face was a wound sustained for the protection of freedom, James never correcting anyone when that was not entirely the case. For his own freedom he'd been slashed across the face by John-Paul O'Reilly, not the collective. His family were amongst those he'd thought of since the moment he woke up that morning, as they most certainly would not be welcoming in the end of the war. The Englishman had not seen much of them since the fateful day in his office months ago, although he always hoped that they'd come to some sort of peace like the Donnelly's had. David's family weren't present at the Quinn's that afternoon but were involved in little David's life too. The child named after their son, almost kept the memory of him alive.
"AH-HA!"
Joe's shout from inside the shed caught the ears of most in the garden, an audience turning to him as he stepped out of it, walking back up the garden. Gerry's head was in his hands when he saw what was in Joe's, correctly guessing in seconds what the game was going to be, not having to have to ask to discover it.
"Da!" Mary shouted. "What are ye doin' with that old rope! I told ye to throw that out in thirty-seven!?"
"It's good rope… ye don't throw away good rope!"
Transfixed on it in Joe's hands for a moment, James' mind did what it always did to him; attacked him with memories that were long buried. Going anywhere near rope was something he tried to avoid. After nearly killing himself by hanging, on Christmas Eve of three Christmases ago, seeing it triggered the sickening emotions of that day, into consuming him again. No one else would have seen it, when the flash across his eyes lasted for only a second or two, but in that moment, he was completely lost in times gone by. He was stronger now for that day, the reason why his mind did not dwell any more on it than those couple of seconds, becoming a better man since hitting what was virtual rock bottom. The past could never be outran, but overtime, he was hopeful that the worst of times would fade from his mind. That was the hope, anyway.
"There's no boats to moor here, Joe". Martin quipped. "I didn't think ye were a sailor, anyway".
"And I didn't think ye we're an eejit".
His ire on a man outside of his family for a change, Martin furrowed his brows, only to be punched in the arm by his wife. Deirdre wouldn't have him acting like a soppy drip around Joe, the punch a reminder to him to not take anything the man said to heart. He soon relented in the knowledge that he would not hear the end of it at home if he moaned.
"Tug o' war!"
"NO!" Raising her voice again, Mary was having none of it. "I'm not havin' a tug o' war in the back garden! Someone could get hurt!"
"It'll be fine love!"
"She's right Joe…". Gerry, foolishly trying to interject, soon realised his mistake.
"Stay out of it, you! Ye'll be about as useful for this as Sarah was at that Quiz the other week!"
Rarely speaking ill of his daughters, Joe could not help but do so after the quiz disaster. He'd won many a church quiz when paired even with just his brother Colm, but Sarah's habit of shouting out the answers, led to disqualification and disaster. To make it worse, Gerry and Shane, operating as a two man team, won it. That really pissed Joe off, still to that day, even though he'd all but forgiven his daughter for her dreadful team play.
"James, yer one team!" He said to the Englishman, before turning his attention to everyone else. "Right Clint and Martin yer with me… and you… prick".
"Would that be me, Joe?"
Gerry asked, not that he had to. He would always be a prick in his father in-law's eyes, a fact that he could not change nor ever escape from. Scowling back at the southerner in response, Joe did not give him the rare opportunity of getting an answer.
"I'm comin' with you, Granda!" Orla announced, trotting over to him, leaving Marie in the care of Mary.
"Do I have anyone else on my team?"
Having to ask when the other side was filling up, James was beginning to think they were trying to humiliate him. Four men and Orla on one side of the rope, and him on the other, was hardly going to be a fair battle at all. That was Joe's intention too, when James was by far the most muscular of anyone in that garden. Three against one when he was the one, would not be enough in the older man's mind, not when his back was nowhere what it was, Martin was untested and Gerry was a useless shite. Clint and Orla would probably have to do a lot of the work, but that was about the only chance he thought they had against James. Perhaps he was overestimating his strength. Then again, the same man opposite once stood firm through a session on the torture rack and still lived to smile at the end of it.
One thing that James would never be though, was alone.
"Of course, ye do!" Michelle shouted first, dropping him a smirk. "Come on Mammy".
Deirdre couldn't help but get involved, not when there was a chance of watching her husband getting dragged down to the ground. Tug of war might have been a very juvenile game, but the opportunity to see Martin in the dirt appealed more than anything. The two of them were just as quick to join his end of the rope as Anna was, though her involvement in the game was not going to be allowed at all.
"Anna, no!" Mary warned. "Yer too young to be doin' somethin' like that… and Da, yer old enough to know better!"
"Ach come on, Mammy!" Erin scoffed, as she rocked her son. "Anna's fine… she'll have a cracker time, so she will!"
"That settles it!" Joe jumped in before his daughter could overrule him, if he hated the thought of more members on the opposing side. "Come on Anna!"
That worry soon turned into pure fear though, when a loud clearing of a throat took place. Looking to his right, he saw Sister Michael striding forward too. She wasn't exactly a flake of a woman by any means, the expression across her face being that of absolute bloodlust almost. Suddenly to Joe, it seemed as if they odds were unfair, but to some extent, he was being hoist by his own petard. Trying to back James into a disadvantage, the wee English fella was now suddenly holding the cards against his team. The thought of calling Shane out crossed his mind, Colm too, but the latter would be regaling stories so thoroughly to the former, that they would have to wait until the next war for them to both be ready.
"I'll be yer anchor Mr Maguire". The nun announced taking the end of the rope from him. "Let's give these lot a grand kicking!"
As she wrapped the rope around her waist, Joe wasn't the only one who seemed to realise the enormity of the task they had ahead of them. Gerry was equally concerned that they were more than up against it, Sister Michael an almost unmovable object at the back of the line opposite them. For all of the enthusiasm of Orla, Clint and Martin, there was very little belief from either of them, that they would run out the victors.
Having to officiate as referee, Joe called out to announce that they were ready to pull, but almost immediately he was jolted forward. They were in right trouble from the get go, the strength of the five opposite being incredible. Anna wasn't exactly contributing much of the muscle, but between them, Michelle, Deirdre and Sister Michael were contributing well to drag Orla and the men down to the turf. That was before James was even factored, the Englishman barely pulling on the rope to begin with, seeing his team doing well without him. He did of course need to put his back into it for the final effort to bring the others down, toying with the five opposite before he did eventually pull.
When he did, the result was quite disastrous.
At the front, Orla stumbled over, Gerry having absolutely nowhere to go when he began to slide forward, tripping over onto the grass. He then found Martin landing on him a second later, their chances of taking victory over, with Clint soon joining them on the deck to make it into quite the heap, Gerry squashed at the bottom of it. The only one of the team not to fall down was Joe, left with his hands on hips above them, scowling down into the pile of bodies. Orla was quickly up on her feet, having rolled out of the way, the only one to escape her Granda's anger when he rounded on his useless team mates.
"What the hell were you's playin' at! Clint yer a young man!"
Holding his hands up, part apology, part surrender, the American fella had learnt more than enough from Michelle to know that arguing with Joe was a terrible idea. Martin wasn't going to escape criticism either, though he too knew not to complain.
"I thought better of you, Martin… shockin'!"
The best, or worst, depending on which way it was seen, was saved till last. The man at the very bottom of the pile, still trying to pick his way out of it, Gerry was going to get the tattering of all tattering's for their failure. It wasn't his fault at all when they were beaten by the better team, who were all stood shaking hands celebrating, other than Sister Michael who simply walked back to where she'd been stood previously as if nothing happened. Gloating in their victory to a point, incensed Joe even further.
"AND YOU! Ye great tool… yer so useless, Gerry!" He berated him, attention being drawn to them. "James and Erin's wain could put in more of a fight than that!"
"That's a wee bit of an exaggeration, don't ye think, Joe". Gerry offered, as he raised himself to his feet.
"It's not enough, is what it is! Ye cost us a victory there ye Southern shite!"
"Da!"
Mary had just about had enough of the rounding on her husband, nothing out of the ordinary but completely unnecessary when it wasn't Gerry's fault they'd lost. If anything, though no one would tell him, Joe being a worse anchor than Sister Michael was a contributing factor. Twenty years earlier, he might have been able to give a better account of himself, but Joe was not a young man anymore, the bones creaking when the rope started to shift in his hands.
"I can't believe we've lived through a whole war and yer still here at the end of it". Head shaking, Joe did not want to look Gerry in the eye. "Why don't you just go!?"
"Joe, we've had this conversation twenty ti-".
"EVERYONE COME IN, QUICK!"
Having his bacon saved by Sarah, when he would have been in trouble, starting a full blown argument with his father in-law, Gerry sighed in relief. When he calmed down later on, he would forget about it no doubt, but in the moment, he wanted to argue back to defend himself. Every set of eyes in the garden, except little David's, went to her, stood hanging out of the back door of the house, evidently having important news to share.
"That Churchill fella's talkin' on the radio in a minute, so he is!"
"Oh aye, we best go inside. Come on everyone!"
Gathering the troops almost, Mary began to lead all of them in from the garden, to take up their positions in the living room. She would make sure to save a space for her eldest and her son, who would have to take priority when it came to comfort. Anna quickly followed behind her Mammy along with Michelle and Clint, everyone else including a rattled Joe filing in behind. Right at the back, James waited, as his wife did too, wanting to have a moment with their son before they listened to what was going to be said by the Prime Minister. Oddly enough, a man who knew more about James than even his wife did.
Tilting their now sleeping son's head forward a little, Erin bumped her shoulder into her husband, as his hands came to stroke their son's arms as he slept. He was such a beautiful little boy, reminding them of themselves when they looked at him, a sight that neither would ever grow tired of.
"I love you". He whispered, pressing a kiss to his child's head. "You are not going to see war, David. This is over now but you will not know it. You are free, my son".
Erin didn't know how she was still in any condition to stand, melting apart at her wee English fella's choice of words as he spoke to their son. Whispered statements of such love and devotion were nothing new from him, but at that moment, as peace began to seep back into lives that were without it for so long, the impact was far greater. Everything was just how it should have been; love, in the end, triumphed over hate.
"And I love you too". He tilted his head back to her, moving forward until the breaths met in the small chasm between them. "My wife… my gorgeous, Erin".
"My handsome fella". Breathily, she replied.
James couldn't get any closer without squashing their son into her, but his lips covered hers tenderly, no affection spared. He'd wanted to kiss her since the second they'd last done so before they left the cottage that morning. No, that was a lie. He almost always wanted to kiss her, to mutter in her ear about how perfect she was to him, about how she was his life, along with their son. The twist of fate that saw his mother move to the continent, sending him to live with the rest of the family so that he was not alone in London, turned out to be the best decision that Kathy ever made. Without meeting Erin, the Englishman did have to wonder whether he would have ever known love as strong as he found with her. In a city where many women tried to catch his eye, she was the only one that ever blinded him.
"Will you two quit ridin' each other there!" Michelle's voice projected out from behind them, causing them to pull away from each other. "For the baby's sake… and ye know… the radio, ye doses!"
"We should go". He chuckled. "Later?"
"Later".
Already looking forward to kissing her again, James instead put an arm around his wife's shoulders, as she carried their son in with them to take their seats on the sofa, Mary's reservation holding firm. Gathered around the little radio in the front room, a house full of faces waited in anticipation. From Sister Michael and Colm in the corner, all the way over to Martin and Deirdre on the other side, all of them wanted to hear the confirmation that Churchill was surely about to give. That the years of hard work, of blood, sweat and tears, were coming to an end. The course of the world might have been altered perhaps forever because of it, but they all still had each other.
With Erin one side, their son held between them, and Orla on the other, supported by James through what he knew was tough for her to listen to, when her David hadn't returned home all those years ago, their ears were soon the recipients of the calm, yet passion-stoking words of the Prime Minister.
"Yesterday morning at 2.41am at General Eisenhower's headquarters, General Jodl, the representative of the German high command and of Grand Admiral Donitz, the designated head of the German state, signed the act of unconditional surrender of all German land, sea and air forces in Europe to the Allied expeditionary force, and simultaneously to the Soviet high command.
General Bedell Smith and General Francois Sevez signed the document on behalf of the supreme commander of the Allied expeditionary force, and General Susloparov signed on behalf of the Russian high command.
Today this agreement will be ratified and confirmed at Berlin, where Air Chief Marshal Tedder, deputy supreme commander of the Allied expeditionary force, and General de Lattre de Tassigny will sign on behalf of General Eisenhower; General Zhukov will sign on behalf of the Soviet high command. The German representatives will be Field Marshal Keitel, chief of the high command, and the commanders-in-chief of the German army, navy and air forces.
Our dear Channel Islands will be free tomorrow. Hostilities will end officially at one minute after midnight tonight, Tuesday, the 8th of May, but in the interests of saving lives the ceasefire began yesterday to be sounded all along the fronts.
The Germans are still in places resisting the Russian troops, but should they continue to do so after midnight they will, of course, divest themselves of the protection of the laws of war and will be attacked from all quarters by the Allied troops.
It is not surprising that on such long fronts and in the existing disorder of the enemy the orders of the German high command should not in every case have been obeyed.
This does not, in our opinion, constitute any reason for withholding from the nation the facts communicated to us by General Eisenhower of the unconditional surrender already signed at Rheims, nor should it prevent us from celebrating today and tomorrow, Wednesday, as Victory in Europe Days. His Majesty the King will broadcast to the nation and Empire at nine o'clock tonight.
The German war is therefore at an end. After years of intense preparation Germany hurled herself on Poland at the beginning of September, 1939, and in pursuance of our guarantee to Poland and in common action with the French Republic, Great Britain, the British Empire and Commonwealth of Nations declared war against this foul aggression.
After gallant France had been struck down, we from this island and from our united empire maintained the struggle single-handed for a whole year until we were joined by the military might of Soviet Russia, and later by the overwhelming power and resources of the United States of America.
Finally, almost the whole world was combined against the evil-doers who are now prostrate before us. Gratitude to our splendid Allies goes forth from all our hearts.
We may allow ourselves a brief period of rejoicing, but let us not forget for a moment the toils and efforts that lie ahead. Japan, with all her treachery and greed, remains unsubdued. The injuries she has inflicted upon Great Britain, the United States and other countries, and her detestable cruelties call for justice and retribution.
We must now devote all our strength and resources to the completion of our tasks both at home and abroad. Long live the cause of freedom! God save the King!"
As his father was mentioned triumphantly by Churchill, it really did sink in for James Maguire, that it was all over. Years of war were finally done, the deaths stopping in the days that followed, apart from out in the Pacific, but with any luck, the war there would conclude soon enough too. For their immediate safety though, there was no longer a Nazi war machine for them to worry about on their doorstep, the thought of invasion not existing as a daunting prospect at all. Even when the great victories of the last year were reported in the papers, it was hard to believe that it would all end in victory until Churchill finally announced that it had. So much graft was put in to ensure the survival of the country by all present in the room, but perhaps none more so than him. Even the modest Englishman, could see it that way when he so often thought of the contribution of others before his own.
Although the story of his heroics would never be known to anyone outside of those who already knew, and the airmen that were still alive that once served at his command, behind the wall of self-doubt and loathing that he often raised, he knew the difference he'd made. In the early days of the conflict, where the thought of winning even the most minor victory was scarcely believable, the Nazi's and their allies only feared two things. Rightly so, the determination of the RAF over the skies of the Channel, the brave few giving so much for the many, giving them a test too stern. One that frightened them readily. Their other fear was him though, the young Captain and his squadron, that lit up the skies of the Mediterranean, their own high explosive playground. You could only hope you were sheltered safely when the sound of distant humming engines, surrounded by the hulks of metal and fabric, filled the ears, with the sight of the stringbags across the waterline one out of nightmare for the enemy. For anyone opposing that squadron, defeat was a taste they would have to swallow back hard.
For every battle over the North Sea and tank division destroyed though, there was a David or a Kathy. Not only those he was close to, but the men under his command who perished to on the night of the Taranto raid, a memory that was both triumph and tragedy to him. There was Giovanna too, the brave agent who gave her life in the bold attempt to give him back his freedom, dying for a man she barely knew, but cared for more than he could have ever known. Death and destruction that would stay with him forever, along with memories such as the massacre that he still to that day fought a battle with himself over, the blame being assigned between him and Kurt in an ever-changing cycle. He would live with those hauntings forever, but already with Erin's love and understanding, he was learning to lead a memorable life with those imperfections embedded within them.
Surrounded by those that he loved, a son of his own creation with his beloved, the two snuggled together with the boy listening to the cheers of the family as Churchill's speech ended, he'd reached the zenith of his own inner peace.
Life would still continue to be difficult, of that he was certain, but with the Nazi threat extinguished, the horizon appeared ever brighter.
They'd survived. From the jaws of defeat five years or so prior, victory was snatched.
A new leaf was turned over.
"Is he…".
Erin was whispering, not wanting to wake her son up when it appeared he may have finally drifted off into slumber. It was just after nine o'clock, a tired David succumbing to his need for rest after a good hour or more of his parents trying to ensure that he did. Together as always when they did it, affording one guaranteed family moment a day when they could stand around his little cot, she was holding James' hand on top of the wooden surface, eyes flickering up to him in the candlelight. With love as strong as theirs, contact made everything more bearable, instead of trying to fight the urge not to reach out and hold each other.
"He is…". James replied just as quietly. "I was beginning to think we would be here all night…".
"I wouldn't have minded".
"Neither would I".
There were no lies told when they spoke to each other, because that was the absolute truth. They would do anything for their little boy, anything at all, whether it took five seconds or five hours. Loving him too much to not dote on him so, David Maguire would never be neglected when his parents were the people that they were. The aspiring poet and the war hero gentlemen; he was quite the lucky young man, not that he knew it yet.
"We have some unfinished business from earlier, I seem to recall…".
Reminding her of the kiss that they'd shared in her parents' garden, James watched as Erin feigned a look of innocence. There was no need for it when their infant son was a reminder that there was nothing for them to be shy about anymore, but still she did, to entice him more than anything else. Pretending to be so innocent was just a little game in her mind, to allow him to take the perceived innocence from her again.
"We can't be leavin' business unfinished can we?" She took a step closer to him, her hands resting on his chest, mentally undressing him. "I can't wait".
Her voice was excitable, wild almost. His grin back at hearing that tone, almost took her apart there and then. Only James though, her adoring husband, could find a second way to do so.
With an adorable squeak, that was hushed more than usual because of their child being asleep next to them, he bent down and lifted her, carrying her over his shoulder. A trick he'd learnt many years before, one that Shane could appreciate as a fireman. It just about undid his wife, whose cheeks were burning with the thoughts of what they might get up to, finally having a night to themselves without any other distractions or a war to worry over. She was not going to complain if this was how every night proceeded now that there was peace…
Until of course, peace was shattered. Not around the continent again, but just in that room, as they were prepared for a night of love and lust.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
"FOR GOD'S SAKE!" Erin groaned loudly. "Looks like we will be waitin' after all…".
Letting her down from his shoulders, James walked back to the cot with his wife, the two of them once again preparing to settle their little one, back to the world of rest that he was supposed to be in.
"Not for too long, I hope".
James liked to think he was being reasonable in suggesting they resume their activities later, but two hours after being interrupted, they were instead sat side by side in front of their son's cot, Erin asleep on his shoulder as he snored softly into her hair.
The joys of parenthood were not lost on them.