The Homecoming (19 page)

The scene switched. He was coming in for the beach landing in Holland, the uneasy feeling when he cut the engines and the plane glided in silence just inches above the sand. Followed by the wrenching, crunching sound of grinding metal as
Mama’s Kitchen
tore into the beach, the roar of water washing over the starboard wing, the feeling they might start cartwheeling and break apart any second.

Now he was peeking in Mr. Beekman’s window, watching the German soldier beating on the poor old man. A moment later he was sitting on top of that same soldier, pulling his own knife out of his back. Then with tears in his eyes, he was hitting Mr. Beekman. He could actually feel Beekman’s face give way beneath his knuckles. How could he have done such things?

“Major?”

These were the images of war. These were the things men do when forced to fight for liberty and freedom. There wasn’t anything swell about it.

“Excuse me, Major.”

Now Shawn felt the tapping on his shoulder. He looked up. It was Lieutenant Winston. The next thing he heard was an eruption of laughter followed by applause. An announcer’s voice proclaimed, “Isn’t she something, folks?”

Where was he?

“We’re on in just a minute, sir. Are you okay?”

Shawn inhaled deeply and stood up. “Fine. I’m ready.” He looked down at his speech.

“Bette Davis and that comedian surprised everyone with an encore,” said Winston. “We’re on. I’ll go out. Just wait for my cue. I’ll make it real obvious.”

Shawn followed the lieutenant to the edge of the curtain. Bette Davis shouted some War Bond slogan into the microphone, then walked off toward the opposite side, turning and waving as the crowd cheered. The band kicked in with some transition music, and out walked Lieutenant Winston, facing the crowd like he had been born in showbiz. No script or notes.

He walked right up to the mike and said, “Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman. I’m Lieutenant James Winston, and I’m here this afternoon to introduce a very special guest.” He looked down at the soldiers in the first several rows. “How many of you guys have seen combat yet? Anyone?” No one raised a hand. “I’m sure when the time comes, you’ll do your country proud.” The crowd applauded. “I have the privilege of traveling with a real-life war hero. Backstage is a man who has not only seen combat but been in the thick of things many times.”

Looking up to the crowd, he said, “How many of you have watched our brave boys flying those big bombers on the newsreels?” Almost everyone raised their hands, thousands clapped to voice their answer. “Well, our special guest this afternoon was a pilot on one of those bombers. He’s flown eighteen missions into enemy territory, taking the war to Hitler and the Nazis for you and me. He’s seen the things you and I have watched in the safety of our theaters up close and firsthand . . . and lived to tell the tale. But just barely.”

The crowd grew very quiet. “On his last mission, his plane got all shot up, but not before they’d dropped all their bombs and shot down several enemy planes. Two of his crew were killed, two wounded. One engine was smoking, the other completely dead. They had to pull out of formation; the plane that had served them so well just could not keep up anymore. Usually, this spells the end for any bomber crew. They either get shot down and killed or captured as POWs . . . if they’re lucky.”

Winston allowed a moment of silence to linger. “But not Major Collins. Single-handedly, he flew his damaged bomber safely out of harm’s way, avoiding enemy planes, then crash-landed it deep within enemy territory. He guided his crew out of the plane, fought in hand-to-hand combat with a Nazi patrol, stole a boat, and led the rest of his crew safely across the English Channel. And he did all this in a single day.” The crowd started to applaud. “Please join me in welcoming Major Shawn Collins of the United States Army Air Corps, a candidate for the highest military honor our nation bestows— the Medal of Honor.”

The applause was deafening. People were standing on their feet. Lieutenant Winston motioned for Shawn to come out, and Shawn obeyed.

He was shaking as he stood next to Winston, who quickly backed out of the way, leaving Shawn alone at the microphone. Shawn looked around, up and down, back and forth, trying to catch each area of the crowd with a glance. He repeated the first several lines in his head as the noise from the crowd finally subsided and people began to take their seats.

“I don’t know what to say,” he began. “Please understand, I don’t feel like a hero. To me, I was just doing my duty.” The crowd cheered and clapped. Shawn tried to get back to his prepared speech. “All the men I served with were heroes, a really swell bunch of guys. All doing their duty for God and country. You would be proud of every single one of them.” Some light applause. “But they can’t fight this war alone. Every one of us has to do our part. We’re in this thing together.”

It all sounded so hollow and unreal, and what followed was just more of the same. He paused as he looked down at the soldiers directly in front of him. None of these guys knew what they were getting into. He couldn’t fill their heads with a string of empty slogans and clichés.

“You guys here in the front,” Shawn said. “I do believe when the time comes you will do your part. You know why? Because you love this country and you believe in what we’re fighting for.” He looked up into the stands. “I know you folks care just as much, and if you could, many of you would be right there, fighting the Nazis with us overseas. You’re probably worried sick about your sons, and brothers, and uncles, and—some of you kids—your dads. I got a little boy at home who was worried sick about me, and praying every night.”

The crowd got very quiet again. “We don’t know how long it will take to win this war. I hope it’s soon. But we will prevail. We have to, because justice is on our side. And I believe God is on our side. We’re fighting an enemy that hates freedom and wants to take our freedom away. Wherever they go, they kill and crush and destroy anything that stands in their way. Now you can’t be over there fighting the Nazis or the Japanese with us. That’s our job. And our boys overseas are doing their job every day. Just like these boys down here will do when their time comes.” Shawn saw all the soldiers in front of him nodding their heads in agreement.

“But I didn’t realize until I came home a little while ago just how much you folks here at home are doing. All the sacrifices you’re making with the rationing and going without so many things for us. So that we can have the things we need to fight this war. And believe it or not . . . buying War Bonds is part of that fight. The money you give goes to buying us the guns and ammo and bombers and bombs we need to take this war to Hitler and Tojo. You keep giving . . . as much as you can spare, and our boys will keep giving . . . even their lives if they have to.”

He was done.

He stepped back from the mike. Every single man, woman, and child in the stadium instantly rose to their feet, cheering and clapping louder than they had all afternoon. Lieutenant Winston walked back up to the microphone and shouted, “Didn’t I tell ya? What a guy. Thank you, Major Collins, for serving your country so well.”

The band began to play as the applause continued. Winston led Shawn off the stage. Shawn noticed every eye backstage was glued on him: the female dancers, the men in tuxedos and top hats. Even the movie stars.

Lieutenant Winston loudly whispered, “I hope you can remember everything you just said. I think we should go with that from now on.” The band continued to play as the emcee wrapped things up with a few more patriotic thoughts.

Backstage, Shawn walked over to a chair where he laid his overcoat. Reporters rushed the platform steps, flashing their cameras over and over again, yelling out his name, firing off a string of questions. As he turned from the cameras, he was stunned to see Hedy Lamarr and Bette Davis standing right in front of him. Behind them a half dozen dancers still in their costumes.

Miss Lamarr reached out her hand and took hold of Shawn’s, then said, “Major, I just want you to know . . . it’s an honor to share the stage with you. Thank you for all you’ve done for our country, and for what you just said.” Miss Davis patted him on the shoulder and smiled.

Suddenly, more camera flashes.

“Thank you,” Shawn said. “I don’t know what to say . . . I love your movies, both of you.” They smiled and walked away, and several reporters followed after them.

“I might need some help getting you out of here,” said Lieutenant Winston. He started to put his overcoat on.

Shawn did the same. As the lieutenant whipped the coat around his shoulders, a piece of white folded paper fell out of the pocket.

When it landed, Shawn noticed something written on it.

His name.

Twenty-seven

Lieutenant Winston quickly reached down and snatched the paper. He looked at Shawn as he straightened up. Shawn was furious. Now wasn’t the time to confront this, but he walked right up to him and whispered, “Get me out of here . . . now.”

“Yes, sir, Major.”

Shawn walked to the rear edge of the platform. The stairs were still crowded with reporters and fans. Some actually held out programs and pens, asking for his autograph. Winston came up behind him and whispered, “How about you just sign a few, then I’ll pull you away?”

Shawn looked at their faces, so full of enthusiasm. It felt bizarre, but he reached out and began signing his name, over and over again. Each time he did, more papers were thrust in his face.

“Thank you, Major.”

“We’re so proud of you.”

“A real hero.”

“Your parents must be so proud.”

Just then, Winston came up and said loudly, “Sorry, folks, duty calls. Gotta get Major Collins on to his next stop. Sorry.” He gently pushed Shawn forward, and Shawn feigned reluctance as he gave back the last signed program of the day. Winston walked past him, clearing the way, and Shawn followed right behind.

A few minutes later they were in the car. Shawn waited until they drove away from the ball field. “No messages, eh, Lieutenant?”

“I didn’t say that, sir. I said nothing that can’t wait.”

“I thought you were talking about messages for you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So that’s how it’s going to be? You’re mincing words, Lieutenant. In the future, I’ll get my own messages, is that clear?”

“But Major—”

“That’s not a suggestion. Now hand it over.”

“I think you should wait till we get to the hotel, sir.”

“I think you better give me that message right now.”

Winston hesitated.

“Lieutenant!”

“Sir, I’ve read the message, I know what it says.”

“But I don’t.”

“Let me pull over.”

“Why?”

“So you don’t punch me while I’m driving, and we crash the car.”

After Shawn had read the note, he did have to get out of the car to keep himself from smacking Lieutenant Winston. They had pulled onto a neighborhood street. Shawn looked up at a woman rocking a baby on a porch and smiled.

Lieutenant Winston yelled through the open door. “I’m sorry, Major. I really am, but I’m just doing what Colonel Simmons would have wanted.”

Shawn bent over and yelled back through the window, as quietly as he could, “The colonel would have wanted you to keep an urgent personal message from me? That’s what you’re saying?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, sir. At least until after the rally. I was going to give it to you as soon as we got back to the hotel. I promise.”

“Lieutenant, my father has been lying in a hospital and my family has been trying to reach me, since who knows when.”

“Exactly. And look how upset you are.”

“I’m upset because of what you did.”

“Sir, can you really imagine doing what you just did back there and saying what you just said if I’d given you this note before the rally?”

Shawn stood up so he wouldn’t have to see Winston’s face, but he knew he was right.

Winston continued. “What difference would it make if you found out about this an hour ago or a few minutes ago? There’s nothing you could have done differently.”

“I could have called.”

“I thought you said you did call home but no one answered.”

That was true. “All right,” Shawn said as he got back in the car.

“You’re not going to hit me?”

“Let’s just get back so I can call. I’m going to need to make arrangements to get back to Philly right away.”

Lieutenant Winston did not immediately reply. They drove in silence for several minutes. Shawn saw the Hotel Kenmore come into view.

“Sir,” Winston began, “may I suggest you call Colonel Simmons first before you call home?”

“Why, Lieutenant?”

“Because I can’t see him granting that request. In fact, I know he won’t.”

“What request?”

“He won’t let you go home.”

Shawn asked the hotel operator to try one more time. He’d been calling his father’s house for over an hour. He was glad to have some time alone in his room to cool down.

Lieutenant Winston had been right about Colonel Simmons. It had been a very short conversation. Shawn made his appeal and was immediately shot down. Simmons reminded him that his orders at this moment were no less binding than when his CO in England sent him out to bomb a factory. It didn’t matter what Shawn thought about the difference. He’d pointed out that his father was not dead. He had a broken leg and a concussion. He was in good hands at a decent hospital and Shawn had a capable young woman looking after his son.

End of discussion.

The operator came back. “I’m sorry, Major. Still no answer.” Shawn got an idea. “Thank you, but listen . . . I’ve got a five-dollar bill here with your name on it, if you can solve a problem for me.”

“Really? What can I do?”

He gave her Mrs. Fortini’s information and asked if she could somehow get ahold of her. Five minutes went by. Shawn couldn’t stop pacing. Finally, the phone rang.

“Major, this is the operator. I have a Miss Townsend on the line. She says she’s at the woman’s house you asked me to reach.”

“Thank you so much. I wasn’t kidding about the money.”