"Lieutenant, Your Cap's on Backward!"

I was an Army lawyer with almost two years of military service in Germany behind me, soon to be heading home. After thirty months in the Judge Advocate General's Corps, I would shortly begin my career as a civilian attorney in Memphis, Tennessee.

George Callup, nephew of the famous founder of the Gallup Public Opinion Poll, was fresh from the States. He was the new public information officer for the Army VII Corps. Now a second lieutenant in the Army, a few months previously George had been in the advertising business in New York City. His military assignment was to be in charge of our corps newspaper, The Jayhawk.

"After what happened last week," I said, "I don’t think I want to go skiing."

George protested. "That was just a fluke." That’s not likely to happen again. Besides, you can’t spend your last New Year’s Eve in Germany playing liar’s dice at the officer’s club!"

George wanted us to spend our New Year’s holiday skiing in Garmisch where there was an American Army recreational center at which a friend of his was stationed.

"What happened last week," was that while skiing with my friend, Jerry Hall, a civilian court reporter from Boston, Jerry fell and fractured his left leg in two places. We had been on the Nebelhorn, near Orberstdorf. Having been snow bound in a mountaintop hotel for three days and then having to get painfully injured Jerry off the mountain, into a hospital, and from the hospital back to Kelley Barracks had been a difficult and irksome experience.

"Anyway, I’ve been to Garmisch," I said.

George persevered. "You haven’t been skiing there. That’s where they held the 1936 Winter Olympic games," he reminded me. "It’s probably the best ski resort in Europe. You can’t go back to the States without having skied Garmisch, especially since we’re so close!" Then he played a trump. "Anyway, you’ve got a car, and I haven’t had time to get one. If you won’t go, I won’t be able to go, either."

We went.

Soaring, high alpine mountains surround the picturesque towns of Garmisch and neighboring Partenkirchen. The highest mountain in Germany, the Zugspitze, is nearby and the more accessible Kreuzeck is even closer. We skied the latter and stopped for lunch at the Höllentalklamm Hütte, a cheery hiking hut, ski lodge and restaurant on the summit, listening to the sparkling music of a zither, when in walked two very attractive young ladies in ski togs. The restaurant was crowded but a table became available across the room. We paused and watched as the athletic, enthusiastic newcomers, chatting and laughing, made their way to the empty chairs. From the moment of their entrance, the two good-looking female skiers were the topic of our discussion.

"Those girls are Americans," said George. "We ought to go over to their table and introduce ourselves."

"No, George," I corrected. "They are clearly German."

"How can you tell that?"

"It’s an acquired talent." I explained.

Enlarging upon the point, I opined, "After you’ve been over here for a while you’ll learn to notice certain significant characteristics."

"Like what?" asked George.

I assumed a knowledgeable attitude. "Like their shoes, their hair styles, the cut of their clothes, the way the move their hands when they talk, their posture. You can tell a lot about what language they speak by just watching them, even if you’re too far away to hear. See how rosy their cheeks are?" I queried. "You see that a lot in German girls."

"I think their cheeks are rosy because they’ve been out in the snow," said George.

I ignored his unenlightened comment.

"Notice how animated they are when they talk," I observed. "That’s also typically German, although, conceivably, it might be French, or even Italian."

"I still think they’re Americans." George remained firm, yet curious, willing to listen.

"When you’ve been here as long as I have, George, you’ll be able to make a determination of female nationality and ancestry with more accuracy," I rejoined, reasonably reminding him of my senior status in this particular area of expertise.

"I think they’re speaking English," George rejoined.

This dialogue went on for some time until, abruptly, the subjects of our scrutiny, apparently having finished their lunch, paid their check, gathered their belongings and left the dinning room.

I moved quickly.

"Pay the check, George. I’ll pay you back later. While you’re doing that I’ll intercept them outside before they can put on their skis."

Outdoors, at the ski rack, I approached the young ladies. Affecting an attitude of amiability, I said, "Guten Tag. Wie geht’s Ihnen?"

They looked at me curiously. Then, one of the young ladies replied, but not in German.

"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" I asked uncertainly.

Again, there was a reply, but I did not recognize the language.

"Sprechen Sie English?" I persisted. "Verstehen Sie die Frage nicht?"

Then George appeared. "Have you figured it out?" he asked. "Are they Germans?"

"I don’t know," I replied. "They are speaking some language I have never heard before."

Next I tried my college French, with the same unsuccessful result.

"I speak Spanish," said George. "Maybe they’re from Spain."

"I don’t think so. But give it a try."

From the young ladies we heard more of the same mysterious speech.

We didn’t realize it, but the young ladies could understand everything we said. We incorrectly assumed that English was foreign to them. Then, suddenly, to my surprise, one of them said, in unmistakable American English, "We’re speaking Swedish. We go to school in Sweden."

"Really? Is that so?" Was all I could say.

She continued. "But we didn’t come down here to meet Americans. We’re in Europe to meet Europeans. So, why don’t you two guys buzz off?"

George moved in from the flank. "No offense," he said. "We noticed you in the restaurant and were debating your nationality. My friend here thought you were Germans, but I said you were Americans, so, I win the bet."

"What bet?" asked one of the Swedish students.

Thinking quickly, George lied, "A beer, we bet a beer."

In a flash the game plan became apparent to me. "That’s right," I said. "We have to buy you a beer!"

I could tell they didn’t believe us, but they were softening.

They exchanged a sort of "What the hell" look, and one said, "Well, maybe, but not now. We want to ski."

"Sure, so do we." We responded obligingly and seized the initiative. "But we can’t renege on the bet. We’ll meet you back here at four and buy you both a beer."

They communicated by a glance, in some mysterious code that, I have observed, is understood by women of all nationalities.

"O. K., make it four-thirty and we’ll meet you; but, for just one beer."

We accepted, suspecting the final qualification would not likely be binding. ... 

"You have ‘top-secret’ security clearance, do you not?"

"Yes, sir," I responded.

Colonel O’Connor continued. "Sit down," he said. "We need for you to handle a very serious situation that has come up in Straubing. You may want to take some notes."

I sat. He handed me a yellow pad.

"Since Mansfield Kaserne is so close to the Czech border, we have some intelligence operatives who use it as a base for going in and out of the Soviet zones of Eastern Europe. One of our people has been in contact with a Czech scientist, a nuclear physicist, for several months and has been trying to arrange for him to defect to the West. The deal was finally put together last week, and three nights ago the scientist, his wife and seven year old daughter were smuggled across the border and taken to Mansfield Kaserne where they were lodged in a house on the base. We thought they would be plenty safe there since they were surrounded by the entire 6^th Armored Cavalry. They were to spend one night in the Kaserne, then flown to Frankfurt, and from Frankfurt to the States."

Colonel O’Connor sighed. "A major problem has developed," he said, "and this is where you come in."

I waited for him to proceed.

"On the one night this Czech family was under our protection, a soldier – he must have been drunk -- slipped into the house where they were staying, found the little girl’s room, and tried to sexually molest her. She screamed and he escaped through a window. I don’t think she was really hurt – just frightened."

"We’ve got the guy who did it. He dropped his cap in the little girl’s room and his cap had his service number written inside. He has no alibi and was not in his barracks when the incident occurred."

"The commanding general wants this soldier court-martialed and the intelligence people want this family out of here, like right now! It would be a lot simpler just to throw the accused in the slammer and forget him, but we can’t do that. If he is to be punished he has got to be tried and if he’s going to be tried we have to keep the Czech family here until they testify. The accused has a right to be confronted by the witnesses who testify against him."

Colonel O’Connor concluded his introductory remarks. "So, here’s what I want you to do."

I was fascinated. I sat, pencil poised. I hadn’t needed to take notes.

"Get to Straubing as fast as you can. I’ll arrange for you to have an airplane. I don’t know yet who the others on the trial team will be. It won’t be difficult to find a Law officer with top-secret clearance, but a court reporter and defense counsel with high enough security may be a problem. We can get interim clearance for them if we have to."

It was obvious Colonel O’Connor had cleared the decks for action. His concentration was focused and things were moving fast.

"O. K., here’s the file. When you get to Straubing, get the trial set up as expeditiously as possible. The regimental commander up there is waiting for you. You will get full cooperation."

The file was sealed and stamped "TOP SECRET" in big red letters.

"I’ll handle all the rest of the legal paper work from here. Maybe I should send Lieutenant Hamm up with you, as defense counsel, so there won’t be any delay on that end. I’ll just have to work out the security problem."

I wasn’t sure, as Colonel O’Connor considered the defense assignment and security, whether he was talking to me or to himself.

"Very well, Colonel," I said. "I’m on my way. Anything else?"

"Yes. There is one more thing. This whole trial will have to be secure. You will have to arrange for the necessary military police and keep the courtroom locked. The identity of these Czech people, and the fact that they are here, must not be revealed." ...  

***                                                  

Here is another recollection having to do with my first days in the Army and the origin of the book title.  It comes from page 26:

Seated at my desk one day in October 1953, I was surprised when a major I had not previously met appeared in my office and said,

"Lieutenant Thomason, General Gavin wants to see you."

My first thought was that the major was joking. Then, I saw that he wore the two star insignia of a major general’s aide. There was only one major general at VII Corps headquarters, the corps commander, General James M. Gavin.

"Really," I said, flustered, "Does General Gavin really want to see me?"

"That’s what he told me." The major replied calmly.

"Come with me. I’ll take you upstairs to his office."

Major General James M. Gavin was the legendary World War II commander of America’s first paratroop division, the 82^nd Airborne, named the All-America division because its soldiers came from every state and known by its double "A" shoulder patch. Gavin was one of the most famous combat generals of World War II. Probably the most famous paratrooper, he was known as "Jumpin’ Jim" because of many heroic combat jumps he made with American paratroopers.

The 82^nd had been reactivated in 1941 under the command of General Omar Bradley. When Bradley was promoted, General Matthew B. Ridgeway took command; Gavin was assistant division commander. After participating in the invasion of North Africa, America’s first World War II engagement with the German Army, the 82^nd made combat jumps in Sicily and at Anzio in Italy. After that Ridgeway was promoted and Gavin became division commander. At age thirty-eight, Gavin was the youngest American Army major general since the Civil War promotion of Major General George Custer.

Born in New York City on March 22, 1907 and raised in Pennsylvania coal mining country, Gavin enlisted in the Army as a private at age seventeen. He had not completed high school. Because of obvious leadership potential he earned an appointment to the United States Military Academy at West Point, from which he graduated in 1929. Upon graduation he was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the Infantry, then, in 1941, qualified as a paratrooper. An outspoken advocate of airborne parachute attack, he wrote several books on the subject and shared in the development of the Army plans for tactical use of airborne troops.

Gavin lead American troops into Naples, Italy, in October, 1943, the first major European city to be liberated from Nazi control during World War II.

On D-Day, June 6, 1944 the main objective of the 82^nd was to secure the roads and bridges behind Utah Beach, one of the principal attack points where American assault troops stormed the beaches. Gavin jumped with his men, 6,000 assault paratroopers and 4,000 glider borne combat infantrymen, behind enemy lines, to secure the essential area. As the D-Day invasion began, Gavin’s division was the first to capture a French town, Sainte-Mere-Eglise. After D-Day, the 82^nd remained in combat until July 8, thirty-three days without relief. During that period, no ground gained by the division was ever relinquished.

Gavin and the 82^nd Airborne made its fourth successful combat jump in the Netherlands at Nijmegen, a leap-frog assault behind the German lines and later contributed to the rescue of the Americans surrounded at Bastogne in the Battle of the Bulge. When the war ended, Gavin was engaged in planning the airborne assault on the German capital, Berlin. Still in the vanguard, the 82^nd met the Russian Army at the Elbe River not far from Berlin, and became the first American division to occupy that city.

By the end of World War II General Gavin was entitled to wear forty awards and decorations, including the Distinguished Service Cross for heroism in action at Bittoria, Italy, in July 1943 and an oak leaf cluster for his DSC for heroism in action at Le Motey, France in June 1944. He received the Silver Star for gallantry in action in September, 1944, near Mook, Holland. He was also awarded the Distinguished Service Medal, an oak leaf cluster to his Silver Star, the Bronze Star Medal and a Purple Heart.

Gavin was promoted to the three star rank of lieutenant general in 1955. After retirement from the Army, he was appointed by President Kennedy as Ambassador to France. He died on 23 February 1990, aged 82, and is buried at the United States Military Academy Cemetery, at West Point, New York.

I followed the major to the second floor of our building. Rarely before had I visited this sanctified area of high command. We entered the reception room outside General Gavin’s office where I was invited to have a seat. Nervously, I awaited the impending interview.

In a few minutes a secretary came out of the office and said,

"The general will see you now." ...