CHAPTER FOUR COME OUT FIGHTING
CHAPTER
FOUR
Come Out Fighting
Lee had given up hope of ever joining the war when the miracle order finally came down to deploy. Uncle Sam had become desperate enough to use all the troops at his disposal, even the Negro ones.
Lee whooped and yelled, celebrating with the rest of them. Green George brought in the moonshine he’d been making behind the swamp, which tasted better than any swamp-grown moonshine had a right to taste, and the whole company got falling-down drunk.
It was finally happening. Lee’s first thought was to write and tell Cora, but that was one letter he would not write.
After all those months of silence, she’d written at last, and it was a bullet to the gut.
He read her letter so many times that he memorized it, and he remembered snippets throughout the day, like glass shards against his heart.
Dear Lee, she had written, a bad start. Not My Darling or Beloved or My Dearest. Dear Lee could have been anyone.
First of all, I need you to know that I still love you and I always will, she had written, and he knew he didn’t want to read the rest.
He walked past the latrines, out of camp, and sat down on a muddy tree stump, bracing himself. I’m grateful for every letter you’ve sent me and I’m sorry that I’ve been too much of a coward to write you back.
‘Don’t do this,’ he said aloud, as if Cora could hear him through the printed words, as if he could stop what she had already decided, written and sent.
I have done something, and I hope you will be able to forgive me. He felt sick.
When you left, I was angry and hurt and I stopped believing in us. I worried our love was all in my head because I didn’t
understand how you could have left if you loved me. So, I did something. Or let myself be talked into doing something.
I’m sorry I doubted you, but even though I was confused, I always loved you. I still love you. Lee, I don’t know how to say this. I guess that’s why it’s taken me so long to write this letter.
I married Roscoe. I know you’ll find that hard to understand. I don’t half understand it myself. It was rushed and foolish and I want to blame Benny but, really, I have only myself to blame. I’m so, so sorry. I still love you more than I can say.
I know everything’s a mess and it’s my fault. I’ve been dreading telling you. It’s why I haven’t written. I haven’t known how to say it. I still don’t. I’m afraid I’m doing this all wrong.
I’m sorry, Lee. Please forgive me. When the war is over, we’ll figure out a way forward. I love you. I will always love you.
She was right that he couldn’t understand her running to Roscoe, marrying Roscoe, after keeping him a secret for nearly a year. With one letter, his whole world had been spun around and flung into the sea, and he couldn’t find his way to the surface.
That she still loved him made it worse. It was exactly what he feared. Even though she loved him, he wasn’t enough for her as he was. Joining the army was supposed to fix that and instead it had been the end of them.
Lee wrote back telling her to give up Roscoe and give him another chance, that no one would love her like he did, but he burned the letters instead of sending them. He had no right to her. She’d made her choice, and even though he was still achingly in love, he had to leave her be.
He wrote to Uncle Drew that he’d be shipping out and tore up Cora’s letter after months of reading it, as if that would stop the throbbing in his chest. On the train to New York, he sat with George Green, nicknamed Green George because he was young and inexperienced.
He’d lied about his age to get in, but he knew whiskey better than men twice his age.
‘It’s because my grandfather taught me, and he was the best whiskey-maker in the world,’ he explained on the train.
When Lee laughed, he doubled down, saying, ‘He taught Jack Daniel everything he knows.’
The train ride to New York took three days, and on that first day Green George told Lee all about his grandfather, Nearest Green, and how he came to teach Jack Daniel, and how Jack Daniel’s whiskey was really Nearest Green’s recipe.
Lee wanted to know why Green George didn’t start his own business if he could make whiskey like that.
‘My grandfather used to say you should know what you’re good at and know what you’re not good at. I couldn’t run a business to save my life. I’d be broke bankrupt in a month.’
By the time the train pulled into New York two days later, Lee and Green George had their whole business planned out. They’d be partners fifty-fifty. Lee would run the show, and all Green George had to do was share his whiskey-making secrets.
In New York they boarded a ship bound for England and spent weeks fine-tuning their plans.
They’d call it Green’s Whiskey, which was only fair since the whole business would be built on a Green family recipe.
All the way from England to France, Green George kept saying, ‘The trick is the charcoal,’ and then he’d walk Lee through the steps again, like reciting a prayer.
In France, there was some kind of major operation in the works because the army was gathering troops like crazy, but the gathering took months.
And while they waited for whatever was coming, Green George and Lee ironed out which grains to use – barley and rye would need longer aging but corn they could sell right away – and Lee planned the marketing and distribution. They’d start slow and build.
‘This is gonna work,’ they kept telling each other, refining their plans a little more every day.
Lee couldn’t stop thinking about Cora, wondering if she’d take him back if he told her about the business, showed her he could be somebody folks respected.
He kept having to shut those thoughts down and remind himself it was too late.
She was married, for God’s sake, and had been for two whole years as he made a fool of himself gushing on about what all he felt for her in letter after letter.
He should have taken the hint when she didn’t write back.
It didn’t matter that he still thought of her as his girl: she was Roscoe’s wife.
And it made sense, really, if he thought about it.
Roscoe’d had a hard time just like Lee, with no father or mother, worse maybe, since his folks abandoned him by choice.
But Roscoe didn’t fall apart, lashing out at the world until he got in trouble with the law, needing Uncle Drew to rescue him and set him on the right path. He’d managed by himself.
Lee admired him for that, and Momma North and the church ladies did too, smiling whenever he came around. With Lee, they held their handbags tighter. Choosing Roscoe meant Cora wouldn’t have to lie and hide. He was better for her. Lee knew that. He just couldn’t get his heart to agree.
If the steady stream of troops entering France wasn’t enough evidence that something big was coming, having General Patton show up took away any doubt. All talk of the whiskey business died when he came to camp, and even thoughts of Cora only simmered in the back of Lee’s mind.
The day after the general came, Lieutenant Colonel Bates confirmed they’d been assigned to Patton’s Third Army, which was positioning itself for a major counter-offensive through the Ardennes Forest.
Patton wasn’t an especially tall man, but he walked among the troops with the stature of a half-giant after his victories in North Africa and Sicily.
When he got to the area where the 761st were camped, Bates called the men to attention.
General Patton looked them over and told them to stand at ease: he had something to say.
‘Men,’ he began, letting his eyes roam over the battalion, ‘you’re the first Negro tankers to ever fight in the American Army.’
Lee stood a little straighter against the weight of that responsibility.
‘I would never have asked for you if you weren’t good. I have nothing but the best in my army.’
Lee couldn’t forget the years it had taken to get there, or that Patton had been against Negros in the army, but he took the general’s words as an invitation to write a new story over old pain.
‘I don’t care what color you are,’ Patton continued, ‘as long as you go up there and kill those Kraut sons of bitches!’
The men cheered at that. They were more than ready to be let loose on the enemy.
‘Everyone has their eyes on you and is expecting great things from you. Most of all, your race is looking forward to your success.’ His gaze fell on Lee, and it was like he was speaking right to him. ‘Don’t let them down and, damn you, don’t let me down!’
The Black Panthers cheered and Lee cheered along with them. They would go out there and fight for themselves, for the folks back home, for the future. If all eyes were on them, the Black Panthers were ready to put on the show of their lives and come out fighting.