Brotherhood Of War: The Lieutenants Part 8

With Private Loczowcza marching behind him, he took- the salute of the Service Corps Feldwebel guarding the gangplank and marched up the gangplank to the ship. An officer directed him to the captain's cabin.

The captain's name was Kramer. He looked like a German.

He spoke German.

"Do you speak English?" MacMillan asked.

"Yes, Herr Hauptsturmfiihrer," the captain said. "I speak English." If he was surprised to be addressed by a German officer in English, he didn't show it."There will shortly be two trucks on the dock," MacMillan said. "I want you to pick them up and put them in your hold."

The captain replied in German. MacMillan had no idea what he said.

"He said why should he do that, Mac," Loczowcza translated.

"Because I will shoot you right where you sit if you don't," MacMillan said. He unholstered the Luger, but held it at his side.

"Under those circ.u.mstances, I don't have much choice, do I?" the captain replied. He wasn't fl.u.s.tered.

"None," MacMillan said.

"If the German authorities learn that I am loading, or have loaded the trucks, would I be in danger?"

"From me, Captain," MacMillan said.

"I suppose you have considered that this, in effect, is an act of piracy, punishable under international law? Wherever we dock next?"

"If the Germans catch us now, we're all dead, right here," MacMillan replied.

"I was about to say British," the captain said. "But you're American, aren't you?"

"Yes," MacMillan said. "I'm an American."

"And to the victor go the spoils?"

"Spoils? You mean loot? You're welcome to whatever is on the trucks."

"Go get your trucks," the captain said.

The Jose Harrez sailed at four the next morning. It was to proceed via the Suez Ca.n.a.l for Dar es Salaam, Capetown, and Buenos Aires. The trucks were unloaded during the day and dropped over the side after nightfall. The SS and Wehrmacht uniforms went over the side when a launch flying the flag of the Royal Navy came out to the Harrez off Port Said.

Neither MacMillan nor the captain ever mentioned the contents of the crates, even though MacMillan knew they had been opened, and even though he and the captain had become rather friendly during the seven-day voyage from Odessa.

As the launch pulled alongside the Harrez, Captain Kramer handed MacMillan an envelope.

"It's all I can spare from the ship's funds without questions being asked," he said.

"Thank you," MacMillan said. It was obviously money, but he didn't count it. Me just jammed it in his trousers pocket. His attention was on the crew of the launch. They were in whites. Short white pants, white knee socks, starched white shirts, with officer's shoulder boards on the shirts.

MacMillan, wearing a woolen olive-drab shirt, OD pants, and combat boots, saluted the moment the Limey officer stepped onto the deck of the Harrez.

"Sir, Technical Sergeant R. J. MacMillan, United States Army, reporting with a party of twenty-two," MacMillan said.

"I beg your pardon?" the Limey said. He did not return the salute.

"But n.o.body seems to know about you." The colonel was an old soldier. He knew an old soldier when he saw one. There was a SNAFU someplace, but that didn't help matters.

WAR DEPT WASH DC.

20 APR 1945.

US EMBa.s.sY CAIRO EGYPT FOR MILAITACHE.

REF YOUR TWX 49765 9APR~5:.

(I) WITH EXCEPTION MACMILLAN, PERSONNEL LISTED SUBJECT.

TWX AUTHORIZED PRIORITY SHIPMENT VIA MILITARY AIR TO ZONE OF INTERIOR. ALL PROVISIONS LIBERA TED PRISONERS OF WAR APPLY. NOTIFY WAR DEPT DEPUTY CHIEF OF STAFF PERSONNEL BYPRIORITY RADIO HOUR AND DATE OFDEPARTURE AND ETA ZIRECEIVING STATION.

(2) NO RECORD -EXISTS OF POW TECHNICAL SERGEANT MACMILLAN, RUDOLPH GEORGE ASN 12 279_66. PENDING SEARCH OF OTHER FILES AND INVESTIGATlON BY COUNTERINTELLIGENCE CORPS PERSONNEL, YOU ARE DIRECTED TO DETAIN MACMILLAN. POSSIBILITY EXISTS HE IS GERMAN DESERTER.

FOR THE CHIEF OF STAFF EDWARD W. WATERSON THE'ADJUTANTGENERAL.

(Six) Cairo, Egypt 21 April 1945 The military attache at the U:S. Emba.s.sy, Cairo, was an Air Corps full bird, an old one. He returned MacMillan's salute casually and handed him a message form. MacMillan was still wearing the tunic in which he had been captured.

"I don't know what to think of this, MacMillan," he said.

"I'll be a sonofab.i.t.c.h," MacMillan said.

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do, Sergeant," the military attache said. "Five minutes after your plane leaves."

"What's that, sir?" MacMillan asked. He was riot unduly upset. He was an old soldier; he was used to f.u.c.k-ups. He was p.i.s.sed, but not disturbed. He didn't think he was about to be shot by the U. S. Army as a German spy.

The military _attache handed him a message form.

FROM MILATI'ACHE USEMB CAIRO.

FOR WAR DEPARTMENT W ASHDC.

ATTN DEPUTY CHIEF OF STAFF PERSONNEL,.

REFERENNCE YOUR TWX 10APR45 RE TWENTY-THREE LIBERATED POWS. REGRET INFORM YOU ALL PERSONNEL MY BASIC TWX DE.

PART CAIRO BY MILAIR PRIORITY AlA 0700 HOURS 21APR45 FOR ZONE OF INTEJUOR. DESTINATION FORT DEVENS Ma.s.s. ETA 1800 22 APR45.

BRUCE C. BLEVIIT COLONEL, AIR CORPS MILITARY ATTACHE.

"Thank you, Colonel," MacMillan said.

"If you're a German spy, Sergeant, I'm Hermann Goring," the colonel said.

Two agents of the Counterintelligence Corps met the C-54 which had come from Cairo, via Casablanca and the Azores, to Logan Field in Boston. They were both Jewish. They rather conspicuously carried snub-nosed .38 caliber Colt revolvers in small holsters attached to their trouser belts.

They came on the plane before any pa.s.sengers were allowed to debark.

"Which one of you is Tech Sergeant Macmillan?"? one of them asked.

"1 am," MacMillan called.

They came to where he was sitting. One of them got in the aisle ahead of MacMillan; the other positioned himself so that MacMillan would be between them in the aisle.

"If you'll come with us, please, Technical Sergeant MacMillan," the one in front said.

"Jesus, Mac," Loczowcza said, "he's got a worse accent than Fritz the Feldwebel."

"You will kindly keep to your own business," the CIC agent said. "This does not concern you."

MacMillan got out of his seat and started to walk down the aisle.

"Achtung!" the CIC agent behind MacMillan suddenly shouted. MacMillan turned around very slowly, at first, confused, and then realized that the CIC agent was tryjng to "catch" him obeying a command in German, and thus "proving" he was a German spy.

'Achtung!' yourself, Humphrey Bogart!" he said, laughing, not angry.

The CIC agent, fl.u.s.tered, angry, suddenly drew his revolver.

"Put the cuffs on him!" he ordered.

"Jewboy," Loczowcza said, firmly, not a shout, "you better put that thing away before, Sergeant Mac makes you eat it. Or before I personally stick it up your, a.s.s."

The CIC agent spun to face Loczowcza. Loczowcza found himself facing a pistol. He slapped the CIC agent's hand, knocking the pistol out of the way; and the revolver fired. The sound inside the aircraft's enclosed fuselage was loud enough to be painful.

"Oh, s.h.i.t!" someone shouted, almost a scream. "I've been shot!"

Loczowcza leaped from his seat and knocked the CIC agent down, and then pinned him to the aisle floor. The other CIC agent, standing in the, middle of the aisle, held his pistol in both hands and aimed it at first one and then another of the pa.s.sengers, many of whom were getting to their feet.

"At ease!" MacMillan's voice boomed. "At G.o.dd.a.m.n ease, G.o.dd.a.m.nit!"

There was silence.

"Let him up, Polack," MacMillan ordered. Loczowcza backed away from the downed CIC agent.

"Everything's going to be all right," "MacMillan said. "Just everybody take it easy." He turned to the CIC agent wielding the pistol. He put his hands out to be handcuffed.

(Seven) Fort Devens, Ma.s.s.

22 April 1945 The general's aide-de-camp, a young first lieutenant in-pinks and greens, opened the door to the general's office and nodded at MacMillan.

"The general will see you now, MacMillan," he said.

MacMillan, attired in brand-new ODs, their packing creases still visible, with brand-new low quarters on his feet and his Ike jacket sleeves bare of insignia, marchinq into the general's office. He stopped three feet from the general's desk.

"Sir," he snapped, as his hand rose in salute, "Technical Sergeant MacMillan reporting to the commanding general as orgered."

"Stand. at ease," the major general, a plump, ruddy-faced man in his early fifties, said, returning the salute. That was a reflex, a conditioned response, as automatic as was MacMillan's instant crisp shifting of position from attention to parade rest. No matter what a general says to you, you don't slouch. When a general gives you "at ease" you go to "parade rest."

The commanding general of Fort Devens, Ma.s.s., looked at MacMillan as if he didn't know where to begin.

"Welcome home, MacMillan," the general said, finally. "I don't suppose anyone has said that to you here, have they?"

"Thank you, sir. No, sir, they haven't."

"If the incredibly stupid behavior of those two clowns from CIC didn't want to make you weep, if it wasn't for the trooper with the .38 slug in his leg, this whole mess could be funny," the general said.

"Sir, may the sergeant ask how Private Latier is?" MacMillan said.

"Very well. I checked on him right after I sent for you. I thought you'd want to know."

"Thank you, sir."

"Well, we've finally got this mess straightened out," the general said. MacMillan, still peering into s.p.a.ce six inches over the general's head, stiff as a board, said nothing.

"You don't seem surprised," the general said.

"Sir, the sergeant knew that it would be straightened out in good time." "You're not curious what happened?"

"Sir, it doesn't matter."

"If you're going to be an officer, MacMillan" the general said, with a smile. "Correction: Now that you are an officer, you're going to have to learn the difference between 'at ease and 'parade rest.'"

MacMillan's hands, which had been crossed in the small of his back, palms open, fingers stiff and together, fell awkwardly to his side. He made an effort to stand less at attention. His eyes looked at the general, and then snapped back to where they had been directed, six inches over the general's head.

"Ed," the general said to his aide-de-camp, "would you ask the sergeant to get Lieutenant MacMillan and myself a cup of coffee? And under the circ.u.mstances, I think that perhaps we might like to have a little character in the coffee. Sit down, Lieutenant MacMillan. On the couch."

MacMillan, half afraid this was some kind of incredibly detailed nightmare, walked stiffly to the general's couch, and sat down. A tech sergeant, crisply uniformed, obviously the general's sergeant, who just as obviously had been standing ready with the tray with the coffee pitcher and the cups and saucers and the Old Bartlesville 1OO-Proof Sour Mash Kentucky Bourbon, bent over the coffee table in front of the couch, lowered the tray, and winked at MacMillan.

"Perhaps the lieutenant," the tech sergeant said, "would like his character straight-up." He handed MacMillan a shot gla.s.s. Mac tossed it down. He felt the liquor b.u.m his throat. This was no dream.

"As well as I have been able to piece this thing together, MacMillan," the general said, walking to the couch and sitting down beside MacMillan, "on 20 September 1944, acting on the recommendation of your battalion commander, the commanding general of the 82nd Airborne Division directly commissioned you as a second lieutenant."

"I don't remember anything about that, General," MacMillan said. "Colonel Vandervoort said I was in command, but I don't remember "nothing about a commission."

"Obviously, you misunderstood your colonel," the general said. "When were you captured?"

"On the twenty first," MacMillan said. He looked at the general with embarra.s.sment, even shame in his eyes. "We were on the far side of the ca.n.a.l. We were supporting the 504th. We were out of bazooka ammo. We had one clip for the BAR. We were down to four guys, and two of them was bad wounded. General, there was more krauts than we had ammo!" He looked very close to tears.

The general snapped his fingers, then gestured "bring me" with his fingers. His aide-de-camp went to his desk, picked up a sheet of paper, and handed it to the general. The general put his gla.s.ses on. He began to read: "Second Lieutenant Rudolph George MacMillan, 0-589866, then commanding reconnaissance platoon, 508th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 82nd Airborn Division, then engaged against German forces in the area known as Groesbeel Heights, near Nijmegen, the Netherlands, suffered the loss of eighty percent of his command while leading them to effect a join-up with the 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment.

"Despite his own wounds, Lieutenant MacMillan personally took over operation of a rocket launcher, and ignoring a murderous hail of small arms, mortar, and artillery fire, personally destroyed five German tanks. His action prevented the enemy from forcing a breech in the ranks of the 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment, and consequently saved many American lives.

"Again ignoring his wounds, and without regard to his personal safety, Lieutenant MacMillan then personally carried two of his men through a murderous hail of enemy fire to medical facilities, during which activity he was again wounded. In order to make an attempt to save the lives of other members of his platoon, he returned a third time to his forward position.