Ordinary Heroes Read Online Free PDF Page B

thing, man. You don't want people to think you're the wrong kind of Jew. Is that too plain?"
    "Of course not." In truth, I received the Colonel's remark with the usual clotted feelings references to my heritage inevitably provoked. My parents were Socialists who disparaged religious practice. Thus for me, the principal meaning of being a Jew was as something people reliably held against me, a barrier to overcome. I had labored my whole life to believe in a land of equals where everyone deserved to be greeted by only one label--American.
    The Army did not always appear to see it that way. I was a week into basic training before I found out that the 'H' on my dog tags meant 'Hebrew,' which irritated me no end since the Italians and Irish were not branded with an 'I.' But the armed forces were awash in bias. The enlisted men could not talk to one another without epithets. Spic, Polack, dago, Mick, cracker, hick, Okie, mackerel-snapper. Everybody got it. Not to mention the coloreds and the Orientals, whom the Army preferred not even to let in. The JAG Department's officers, however, were primarily well-bred Episcopalians and Presbyterians with excellent manners who did not engage in crud e i nsults. Colonel Maples had gone out of his way to make clear he harbored no prejudice, once saying to me that when we got to Berlin, he planned to march up to the Reichstag with the word 'Jude' written on his helmet. But his remark now was a reminder that my colleagues' silence about my ancestry did not mean any of them had forgotten it.
    A few days later, the Colonel again asked to see me.
    "Perhaps you need a break from these courts-martial day in and day out," he said. "Quite a grind, isn't it?"
    Given what the soldiers at the front put up with, I would never have taken the liberty to complain, but the Colonel was right. There was not much about my daily activities that would lift the spirits, sending boys who'd come here to risk their lives for their country to a military prison instead. But the Colonel had a plan to give all of us a breather. Eisley would switch places for a couple of weeks with Major Haggerty, the Deputy Staff Judge Advocate, who had been reviewing convictions and providing legal advice as the law member on one of the panels. As for me, I was to conduct a Rule 35 investigation, looking into the potential court-martial of an officer.
    "There's a bit of a problem on the General staff. The Brits have a word: lerfuffle.' Lord, I miss the Brits. The way they speak the language! Fellows made me howl several times a day. But that's what there is, a kerfuffle. I assume you've heard of Roland Teedle." General Teedle was a virtual legend, often said to be Patton's favorite among the brigadier generals. His i8th Armored Division had been at the forefront of the charge across France. "Teedle's gotten himself into a state of high dudgeon about some OSS major who's been operating on his flank. How much do you know about the OSS, Dubin?"
    Not much more than I'd read in the paper. "Spies and commandos," I said.
    "That's about right," said the Colonel. "And certainly true of this particular fellow. Major Robert Martin. Sort of an expatriate. Fought in Spain for the Republicans. Was living in Paris when the Nazis overran it. OSS recruited him, apparently, and he's done quite well. He's been on the Continent since sometime in 1942. Ran an Operational Group behind German lines--a collection of Allied spies and French resistance forces who sabotaged Nazi operations. After D-Day, he and his people were placed under Teedle's command. They derailed supply trains, ambushed German scouts, gave the Nazis fits while the i8th was bearing down on them."
    I said that Martin sounded brave.
    "Damn brave," said Maples. "No doubt of that. A hero, frankly. He's won the Distinguished Service Cross. And the Silver Star twice. And that doesn't count the ribbons de Gaulle has pinned on his chest."
    "Jesus," I said before I could think.
    The Colonel nodded