The Homecoming (9 page)

“Here I come,” he said. The dizziness was gone, but he took short steps, just to be safe. “Just one more boxful and then we’re done. Who was that on the telephone?”

“My dad. He said he was just going to a meeting with a colonel. But he promised he’d be home tonight.”

“Then I’m sure he will,” Collins said. He wondered what this so-called good news was that the colonel had in mind. From what he remembered, the army wasn’t in the business of passing out good news.

Thirteen

“Colonel Simmons’s office is just around the next bend, sir.”

Shawn followed Corporal Miller’s double-quick pace, still trying to comprehend the enormity of the Pentagon. It wasn’t as fancy as Union Station but nicer than any military facility he’d ever seen. They walked through a maze of hallways that seemed to go on forever, passing door after door, department after department. Each step went deeper into the complex, through even wider corridors that led to what looked like separate buildings, built inside the main structure. “How do you find anything in this place?” Shawn asked.

“They got this thing down to a system, sir,” Miller replied. “Think of it like five little pentagons, each one built within the other. They call ’em rings, connected together by ten corridors, like spokes in a wheel.”

That didn’t help. “Just don’t lose me,” Shawn said.

“I do that, Captain, and my life is over. Colonel Simmons said you’re my only project all day. Here we are. Colonel said he only needs about twenty minutes. I’ll make myself scarce and be back to pick you up in plenty of time.”

They walked through a tall brown door into a living-room-sized office area, a row of straight chairs lined against one wall, a secretary’s desk in the center. A gray-haired woman about fifty years old smiled pleasantly as they stepped inside. She stood up. “Corporal Miller, you’re back. Is this our guest of honor?”

“Sure is, Miss Hart. Captain Shawn Collins.” Miller looked at his watch. “Two o’clock sharp.”

She held out her hand. “Captain Collins, it’s an honor to meet you. I’m Abigail Hart, Colonel Simmons’s secretary.”

Shawn shook her hand. An honor? he thought. “Very nice to meet you,” he said.

“Can I get you some coffee?”

“That’d be great.”

“How do you take it?”

“Just a little cream, if you have it.”

“I’ll just tell the colonel you’re here.” She sat down and pushed a button on the bottom of her telephone. “Colonel, Captain Collins is here . . . I will, sir.” She looked up at Shawn. “He said go right in. I’ll bring the coffee in just a moment.”

“And I’ll be back in twenty,” Miller said as he turned toward the hallway.

“Thank you, Corporal,” said Shawn. “I really mean it. That was an experience I’ll never forget.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

Shawn walked up to the closed door on the right side of Miss Hart’s desk, took a deep breath, and went in. Covering the back wall were three large War Bond posters, big as life, the kind you’d see hanging in a storefront window. On the right wall, a framed black-and-white photo of FDR. In the center of the room behind a wide gun-metal desk sat the colonel, head down, writing something. He instantly looked up, smiled, and stood. Shawn stood at attention and saluted.

Colonel Simmons returned the salute then held out his hand. “At ease, Captain Collins, it’s an honor to meet you.” They shook hands. “Please, have a seat.” The colonel was taller than Shawn, with broad shoulders, dark hair, slightly graying on the sides. He smiled as if they were good friends.

None of this made any sense to Shawn.
I’m at the Pentagon,
driven here in a general’s staff car. A full-blown colonel has
just said he is honored to meet me
. “Colonel, if I may, sir. I don’t understand.”

“What do you mean, Captain?”

“This VIP treatment I’m getting. I don’t . . . get it.”

“Then it’s time someone explained things to you. That’s partly why you’re here. When was the last time you spoke with any crew members from your bomber?”

“Not since I left England. Have you heard from them? Everyone all right?”

“They’re all doing fine, Captain, still in England. But they’ve been doing a lot of talking since then. In fact, they’ve all submitted detailed reports about your last mission to Bremen. They think pretty highly of you, to put it mildly.”

“Best crew I ever had, sir. It was especially hard losing Bosco and Hastings on that last one. I left England in such a hurry. If there’s any way I could get their home addresses, I’d like to send letters to their family.”

“I’ll see that you get them.”

“Any word on how Hank Anderson is doing?”

“Let me see here.” He looked down at the file open on his desk, shuffled a few papers to the side. “He’s healing up nicely in a hospital near London. Well, enough to turn in his own report about the mission. I’ve been reading them carefully. So have a lot of people. You’ve become something of a legend back at your base, really throughout Bomber Command.”

“What?” Shawn asked. “Why?”

“Captain . . . well, let me correct that . . . it’s
Major
Collins now. Congratulations, you’ve been approved for a promotion.”

“Really?” Shawn tried to sound excited. But he knew this meant the army had no intention of letting him go.

“There’s more. We are recommending you for the Medal of Honor, Major. What you did on that last mission was nothing short of extraordinary.”

Shawn could hardly believe his ears. “Sir, I was just trying to get us all home in one piece.”

“You did that, Major, and a whole lot more. I don’t think you understand. We’ve never had a bomber shot down like yours, crash-land in enemy territory, and then have the captain get himself and his entire crew safely across the English Channel in a single day. Most of our crews don’t even survive what you went through, and those who do for the most part wind up getting killed or captured by the Germans in a matter of days. Those who do escape often take weeks or even months to make it back to England.”

It had never once crossed Shawn’s mind that he had done anything heroic, certainly nothing that deserved consideration for the Medal of Honor.

“And the way you dispatched that German officer in Holland?” the colonel continued. “Saved the lives of your entire crew, as well as the father and son who helped you escape. Unfortunately, for the father’s sake, we’re going to leave the details of that part off the record. But the whole plan you came up with, and the execution of that plan? That was some brilliant soldiering, Major. I had to fight to keep you in the States. Several generals in Bomber Command wanted you back right away, to be part of their staff.”

There was a brief knock on the door. Miss Hart came in and served them coffee. Shawn thanked her and took a sip. His hand was trembling. The Medal of Honor. It didn’t seem right. All he’d thought about the entire mission was getting home to Elizabeth and Patrick.

“Major,” the Colonel continued, “at the very least you’ll get the Distinguished Service Cross, our second-highest medal. But I feel pretty certain from what I’ve read that they’re gonna give you the big one—perhaps put on by the president himself— once we go through all the formalities and approval procedures.”

The president? Shawn thought. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He could tell the colonel had more to say. “Sir, I am very grateful for your kind words, but I really don’t . . . I don’t know how to respond. I don’t think I did anything heroic. And to be honest, I’m not really looking for anything else at this point in my military career. Certainly nothing like this. I don’t know if anyone mentioned this to you, but I actually put in a request to be permanently discharged.”

“I know that, Major. I read your request. I’m very sorry to hear about your wife. A terrible loss. And if this were a peacetime situation, we’d probably grant it. But we’re still in the thick of it, Major. The war’s at a critical stage. Every week bombers are still crossing the Channel. Men are still dying. We got thousands of men right now, making their way north in Italy. We’re still months away from the big invasion of Europe. We just can’t let you go right now. You’re far too valuable.”

“But how, sir? If I may speak freely . . . I’m just a pilot. And from what I’ve heard, you can’t even send me back on missions into Germany anymore. They say when you get shot down and escape, they take you off combat duty.”

“You’re correct, Major. The concern is, you get shot down again and captured, under torture you might give out critical intel about how you escaped the first time.”

“So, what can I do then?”

“That’s the best part, Major. I am putting you on a dream assignment. You are a bona fide war hero. As such, you get to serve your country in a totally different way.”

“Doing what, sir?”

“Helping us raise millions of dollars to fund the war effort.”

Shawn couldn’t believe it. He’d had a feeling that’s where this was going.

“You heard of the War Bond rallies we’ve been doing here, right?”

“A little, sir, but not much. I see signs all over the place saying ‘Buy War Bonds’ like the ones on your wall.”

“Well, some of the biggest names in Hollywood have signed on for an East Coast tour. You’ll be joining with them, traveling to twenty major cities by train. Boston, New York, your hometown of Philadelphia.”

This was starting to sound like a nightmare.

The colonel continued, looking out his window now, a gleam in his eye. “This thing is going to be huge. We’re going to raise more money than anything we’ve done so far. We got Greer Garson, Hedy Lamarr, even Bette Davis signed on to this, and a whole bunch of others.” He turned back to Shawn. “Can you imagine, Major? You are being assigned to work alongside some of the most beautiful actresses in Hollywood. No bullets, no bombs . . . just beautiful women everywhere you look.”

This meant nothing to Shawn. “And do what, sir? What could I possibly do?”

“Major, it’s like this. We’ve been doing these bond rallies now a couple of years, even with the Hollywood types. More and more of them are getting involved. Their agents are even calling me now, asking to let them sign on. Does great things for their image. But there’s the rub. They draw a huge crowd, but regular people don’t trust ’em. Everyone else is on rations and struggling to get by. These stars are rich and famous. People can’t relate. Sure, they want to see them in person, but that’s all. Once we started having guys like you—legitimate war heroes—get up after the stars draw the crowds . . . the people loved it! And boom—the money starts pouring in. It’s a perfect combo. And Major, from what I’ve read of your story, you’ll be a big hit with the crowds.”

It sounded like some sick exploitation scheme. And Shawn was being ordered to help it succeed. “Sir, I’m really uncomfortable with this.”

“What part?”

“All of it, sir. I don’t like any of it. I’m no movie star. I wouldn’t even know what to say. I joined up to fly bombers and fight Germans, not this.”

“Major, I’m not sure I like your tone.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but you did ask. All I want is to go home and grieve in private and take care of my son.”

“That’s just not possible, Major Collins. We all have to do our part. Your part
was
to fly bombers and fight Germans. Now your part’s changed. My part is to raise money so we can fight this war. I don’t know if you’ve ever given a thought about where the money comes from to buy all those bombs and planes you and your buddies used. It’s costing us millions of dollars every week to finance this war. Where do you think the money comes from for all this?”

“You’re right, sir. I’ve never thought about the money.”

“It comes from the good people of this country buying war bonds, Major. The Japs attacked us by surprise, if you recall. We didn’t have a big military machine before that, and no money in the budget to pay for one. Believe it or not, Major, I know what I’m talking about. I ran a large marketing firm in New York City before this. This War Bond tour—combining Hollywood stars with real-life war heroes—it’s going to buy us a whole lot more planes, and tanks, and ships . . . you get the idea.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Shawn said, a sigh escaping involuntarily.

“C’mon, Major, you’re going to have the time of your life here. I can think of a million fellas in Europe right now would give their right arm to be in your place.”

How Shawn wished any one of them would. “When’s all this going to take place, sir? Do you know how long I’ll be gone?”

He handed Shawn a folder. “All the details are in there. You can read it on the train on your way home.”

“Is that all, sir?”

“For now, Major. But we’ll be in touch, and members of my staff will be with you every step of the way.”

“Thank you, sir.” Shawn stood up.

“You are dismissed, Major.” They exchanged salutes. As Shawn walked out the door, the colonel said, “Major, you better prepare yourself for some big changes. I’m getting ready to issue a press release about you to the local radio stations and newspapers in Philly. I know what happens after this. You’ll be as big as Jimmy Stewart or Clark Gable, least in your neck of the woods.”

That’s just great, Shawn thought. “Yes, sir” was all he said and closed the door. He tried to smile sincerely as he greeted Miss Hart and Corporal Miller, who was all ready to escort him back to Union Station.

He realized what the colonel had said was true . . . most men would be jumping out of their skin to receive a promotion, the Medal of Honor, public acclaim, and a chance to travel up and down the country with beautiful Hollywood actresses.

I don’t want any of this, thought Shawn as he followed Miller down the Pentagon hallway.
How am I going to explain
this to Patrick?

Fourteen

“Enjoy your trip to Washington, sir?”

Shawn looked up into the smiling face of the same Pullman porter who’d helped him as he exited the train at Union Station. He was sitting in the dining car, eating a fairly tasty pork chop. “DC was amazing. You were right, the fanciest buildings I’ve ever seen.”

“Told you. I’m from North Carolina, but I got kin live in DC. See ’em every chance I get.”