Part Three of TWCBC.


For decades, Dirk Callahan’s family had had something to do with time.

His great-great-great-great-ancestor, Dirk was told, had been an avid collector of sundials. He had been obsessed with time, adding up all the hours until he died.

His other great-great-great-ancestor had devised the world’s earliest working model of the mechanical clock and his grandfather had been one of the most successful clock makers around until he died. Dirk’s father had taken over the family business and now Dirk, at age ten, was already mending watches and helping his father at the shop.

Dirk was a nice, quiet lad, a typical boy next door who minded his own business and didn’t speak to anybody unless spoken to. He got good grades in school and was a fast boy on the track. But the thing that Dirk loved the most? Clocks and watches. Every day after school Dirk would rush back to his father’s clock and watch shop and learnt everything he could digest. He learnt how to fix clocks when they broke, learnt why they broke down, learnt how to take care of them; he soon became as proficient a clock and watch mender as his father.

Watch mending and clock making were just becoming hobbies for Dirk’s father, however. Slowly, as he taught Dirk everything he knew about his art he was also handing the business over to his son. He himself was preparing for a career in the Navy. Europe was bristling with rivalry and tension and America was sure to join the war – after all, Americans loved a good old bloody armed conflict, and they had never lost one – and Dirk’s father, being a true blue American, wanted to make sure he was in the thick of it when it started.

At 41 years old, Jed Callahan was no spring chicken. But he was in remarkable physical shape. Basic training was no match for a man who had spent his life splitting firewood and bending metal. Jed was accepted and became Lieutenant Callahan. Soon he became Captain.

To this very day, if you are old enough, people still ask what you were doing and where you were on the First of September 1939. Dirk Callahan was working on a gold pocket watch with intricate designs and a “J.B.C.” engraved on the back in his father’s workshop. The watch had stopped ticking. When he heard the announcement over the radio he dropped the watch onto the workbench and rushed to the house, right behind the shop. His mother had been doing the dishes, which now lay on the floor in pieces.

His father, however, had an entirely different reaction. When the news crackled over the radio he jumped out of his bunk and yelled in his best drill Sergeant voice that it was here, it was here, it’s here, and we’re going to be joining them any moment now! His Lieutenant groaned and turned over in his bunk, and his aide did not move at all. Nevertheless, it had been what Jed was waiting for. Excitedly he threw on his uniform and rushed off to inform his commander.

The last leave that Jed Callahan ever took was on the 7th of November 1941.

Every time he came home he had the most amazing stories to tell. Dirk and his mother heard what they could on the radio, but Jed got the real thing from his Lieutenant, whose brother was a Briton and fighting in Europe. Dirk and his mother heard story after story – breathtaking escapes, heart-stopping battles, remarkable raids. Jed Callahan had a knack for storytelling; sometimes it was nigh impossible to tell if the tales were real or not. If he didn’t join the navy he could have become a professional storyteller.

There were stories of the Battle of France, of Britain, of North Africa. Jed left on the 11th of November, promising his wife and son that he would be back soon with another story.

He didn’t keep his promise.

***

9 December 1941

Mrs Diana Callahan

The secretary of war desires me to express his deep regret that your husband, Jedadiah B. Callahan, has…

***

She was inconsolable.

Dirk tried all he could to help her, even taking a few days off work which had since consumed him as he tried to drown his sorrow. But his mother refused to be consoled. She locked herself in her room and it was Dirk who had to attend the funeral and be given the American flag by the solemn Navy Lieutenant after the casket was lowered into the ground along with dozens of others. The Navy men who had served under his father shook Dirk’s hand, muttered their condolences and marched off with stiff, straight backs, trying not to betray their emotions.

Jed Callahan had been visiting the U.S.S. Arizona on the 7th of December 1941. It had been an informal visit, Jed wanting to present one of his protégés who had been posted to the Arizona with one of his most beautiful watches. Legend had it that a few moments before the ship was bombed, the watch suddenly stopped ticking.

Jed left the shop to Dirk along with the second love of his life – his golden, wondrously designed pocket watch. It was the best watch Jed had ever made. And through its five year life, it had never once stopped working.

Dirk brought it along to the recruitment station. He brought it along to Fort Bragg, carried it in his pocket at all times, and it was still in his pocket on his very first jump. It was with him when he received his jump wings, when he made his first visit back home after a year, when he prepared to go into his first combat jump. The date was July 9, 1943.

Dirk was now affectionately known to his platoon as “The Little Sergeant”, because Sergeants at fifteen were not at all usual. He had won respect from many of the men for his quiet, undemanding manner. He never expected from the men things he couldn’t do. Plus, he was a great watch mender and never hesitated to repair any watch for a dollar.

The Little Sergeant and his Pocket Watch were inseparable. Peter Sanders, who bore the proud label of Company Scrounger, remarked that stealing Colonel Gavin’s helmet was easier than Stealing Dirk’s Pocket Watch. To prove his point he broke into Regimental HQ, stole Gavin’s helmet, and wore it through the rest of the war.

The Little Sergeant was jump master for his plane on the 9th of July. The winds that night were something terrible and the little plane was blown about everywhere. Dirk struggled up as the red light came on. He opened his mouth to ask them to hook up, but just then the plane bucked and he was thrown out into the darkness. The men watched silently.

“The poor young chap,” they whispered among themselves before standing up, hooking up, checking their equipment and jumping out of the plane into the darkness, just as the plane’s engine caught fire.

Quite amazingly, The Little Sergeant was still alive. He had managed to pull his chute just in time and landed in a tree, which cushioned his fall. Dirk Callahan’s clock was still ticking. The first thing he did was to check his pocket watch. It was still working. Relieved, he proceeded to get himself out of the chute, hacking it off with his jump knife.

Someone stepped on a twig. He spun around and said “George!” softly, warily.

“Marshall.” A shadowy figure stepped into the sliver of moonlight. Corporal Sanders, wearing Jumpin’ Jim Gavin’s helmet, allowed himself a bit of a smile – it looked like his Sergeant’s lucky star was still shining brightly. Dirk grinned, took a step towards him and

Rat a tat a tat a tat! Bang, bang, bang!

Dirk collapsed, unconscious. Sanders had been hit too, but he could still walk. Or at least, he forced himself to believe he could still walk. He had to walk. He picked his Sergeant, heaved him over a shoulder and began to jog until they were safely away from the machine gunner.

Sanders waited until a medic came along before going off to rejoin the fight.

***

The Little Sergeant had been badly wounded, but amazingly enough, he was not dead. It was a miracle. The bullets had missed most of his major organs and the one bullet that had headed for the heart had been deflected – by his precious, favourite golden pocket watch. And the most amazing thing was that the watch was of such good quality and placed at such an angle that it hadn’t been dented at all. It hadn’t stopped ticking. The doctors began to call it the Miracle of the Golden Watch.

Even though the bullets had missed his heart, Dirk was still in a terrible shape. He was evacuated, and was still unconscious when his unit got back from Italy, having done extremely well. He was unconscious when James Gavin was promoted to assistant division commander and Brigadier General and the 505th got a new C.O. He was unconscious when Operation Overlord training began, and he was still sleeping on D-Day.

When Dirk woke up on the 7th of July 1944 only a few original men in his platoon remained. The rest had been killed – their bodies littering the battlefields of Italy and Normandy – or transferred. Dirk himself found a home in his new outfit, the Third Battalion of the 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment. He was immediately put back into training, using his legs which had grown week over the months in bed. The pocket watch was given back to him, and he cradled it dearly before putting it back in his front pocket, barely stopping himself from kissing it.

The original soldiers, having also been transferred, were delighted that the Little Sergeant was well and alive again. Not that he was a little Sergeant anymore, however. Recruits now referred to him as ‘sir’ – his old friends called him the Little Big Lieutenant.

Corporal Sanders too was no longer Corporal Sanders. In Sicily he had won the DSC for bravery, in Normandy he had received a battlefield commission and he was now Captain Sanders, in charge of the Company. And he still wore Colonel – now Major General and commander of the 82nd – Gavin’s helmet.

The 17th of September was a beautiful day. The jump and the landings were perfect. The 82nd assembled in an instant, just like during practice. They attacked Grave Bridge and advanced all the way to Nijmegen, just like it was supposed to be. And that was when the trouble started. Nijmegen was defended, it seemed, by the whole German army. Time after time they attacked. Time after time they were repulsed. As Captain Sanders remarked to Lieutenant Callahan, “I’ll separate that watch from you before we ever take Nijmegen”, to which Dirk replied, “That you will,” took out the watch and gave it to Peter for a few seconds.

On the 20th of September they tried out General Gavin’s most audacious plan yet – cross the Waal River in boats in broad daylight. Everybody thought that Gavin was going crazy. Gavin knew a lot of men would die, but he also knew it was the only way to do it.

Before the battle, the Little Big Lieutenant amazed everybody by pulling out his golden pocket watch, fingering it lovingly for a few seconds before tossing it onto the muddy bank. “I won’t be needing this anymore,” he said quietly, sadly.

Peter Sanders shook him, hard. “You’ll survive,” he said, almost angrily. “Don’t talk like that. Don’t give up hope. You’ll live.”

But Dirk didn’t say anything, he merely jumped into the boat and started to paddle.

It was a terrible battle. Peter had to watch, helplessly, as his men were mowed down, one by one, falling like puppets whose strings had been cut. Their lives had certainly been cut – cut short. None of the men deserved to die. Peter could only cursed and continue to paddle. They scrambled up the opposite bank, their numbers greatly diminished, but they took the bridge. They took it.

But the Little Big Lieutenant was not there.

They found him on the bank, eyes wide open, mouth set in a crooked smile. The bullet had hit him in the heart, where his golden pocket watch, had it been there, could have saved him, like it had done last time. The watch was found on the other side of the bank, its face in the mud, dirty for the first time in its eight year life.

When they picked it up, they found that it had stopped ticking.