Northwest Africa, spring 1942
Danny, somewhat short of stature, jittery and quick-moving, with ruddy cheeks and closely-cropped hair, came from a farming community near Elyria, Ohio. He maintained a constant stream of nervous chatter, complaining about the weather, their driver and his vehicle. His youthful exuberance at times, Jack thought, could be refreshing albeit wearying.
Because of his aptitude in telegraphy, he was plucked out of basic training and sent to O.S.S. His expertise gave him military importance, which was recognized by Bill Donovan. Continue reading “Farewell My Country, Ch 32”
The old Kresty prison, a foreboding five story structure consisting of two buildings in a cross shape, occupied an entire city block. Its solemn reddish-brown brick walls bespoke the sadness of those who languished and perished there. On the prison compound, rising above its walls, was the scalloped white-capped apse of the Alexander Nevsky cathedral that rose in defiance of the godless activities within the prison. Continue reading “Farewell My Country, Ch 8”
Jack’s pulse quickened every time he saw the big ships at dockside…like leviathans resting before their next great ocean-going voyages. He watched as the diminishing waves slapped against the barnacle-laden piers, and he welcomed the clean pervasive smell of creosote from the harbor timbers. He moved cautiously among the crane operators and stevedores handling cargo. This was the world where he belonged, where real men made real things happen. Here he found excitement and contentment.
His assigned freighter, the Danish Prince, built before WWI was loading wooden crates with stenciled names like John Deere and Fordson tractors plus bales of cotton and pallets of canned beef and pork products. Continue reading “Farewell My Country, Ch 7”