Cold War

Both of J.B.’s sisters had been invited to a bridal shower hosted by Patty’s maid-of-honour in Ann Arbor. The event finished at 4 pm, and J.B. picked his sisters and Patty up to take them to dinner at his mom’s. The plan was for him to drive Patty home afterwards. 

By the way the girls were chatting and laughing, J.B. gathered that the event had been a success. Settling into the back seat, Barb asked, “Do you have many more showers, Patty?” 

“Just two, one next week and one the week after. Then it will be the Big Week itself.” Patty sounded jubilant.

“It feels just like the build-up to D-Day,” J.B. groused under his breath as he turned the key in the ignition.

Patty leaned forward to switch on the car radio. She turned the dial until she found music she liked and then twisted around to talk to Barb over the back of the seat. They were talking fashion and J.B. tuned them out. The music on the radio had given way to the news. “…General Lucius D Clay arrived in Washington this morning for consultations with President Truman and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Meanwhile, in Berlin, the situation remains tense, with major pro-Communist demonstrations in the eastern Sector of the city. The American Commandant, Colonel Howley, warned—”

Patty turned the dial in search of music again.

“I was listening to that,” J.B. snapped, annoyed. The situation in Berlin interested him. He hoped the Allies weren’t going to just back down. His father was outraged over the Soviet annexation of much of Poland and kept saying it was time to teach Stalin a lesson. 

“Oh, sorry, honey,” Patty replied, and deftly changed the subject by asking, “Don’t you want to stop and pick up some flowers for your mom?” 

J.B. liked the thought, but his wallet was getting awfully thin these days. “Naw, we don’t have time,” he told Patty and kept driving. He supposed everything would be OK once he started working, but the wedding and all these pre-wedding events were financially and emotionally draining. J.B. was tired of smiling at everyone, giving a thousand people the same resume of his future job while listening to inane chatter and girls giggling. He wanted to get on with his life.

Just after six, they pulled into the drive of his parents’ home. J.B. knew Patty disliked the entire neighbourhood because all the houses looked like trailers and sat on identical little plots of land. She’d be in a hurry to leave tonight — and probably the rest of their lives, too. He sighed in anticipation of lifelong tension between Patty and his parents as he flung the car door open to get out.

His brother Stan burst out of the front door and jumped off the porch without using the steps. “J.B.! You’ve got a telegram!”

“What?”

“A telegram! It was delivered while you were in Ann Arbor!” Stan shoved it at him.

It was addressed to Captain J.B. Baronowsky, Jr. and J.B..’s heart started pounding. He ripped it open only vaguely aware of Stan, Patty and his mother watching him.

CAPT J B BARONOWSKY JR. TO REPORT ASAP BUT NOT NLT 0800 FRIDAY 23 JULY AT SELFRIDGE AFB FOR IMMEDIATE AND INDEFINITE OVERSEAS DEPLOYMENT STOP ADJ GEN USAF.

“What the f—” he cut himself off just before he offended his mom and Patty. “They can’t do this to me!” he protested as he read the text again and again. Yet even as he protested, he knew they could and had done it to him.

“What is it, J.B.?” Patty asked.

“What does it say?” Stan echoed.

“Jesus Christ!” J.B. swore, and his mother reproached him sharply.

“Mom! You don’t understand! These are orders to report to Selfridge Air Force Base by 8 am tomorrow morning.”

“For your reserve duty? I thought you couldn’t be called up until—”

“They can call me up anytime they please! And it’s not reserve duty — it’s an overseas deployment.”

Exclamations of disbelief erupted on all sides. Patty snatched the telegram out of his hand to read it for herself. As soon as she’d absorbed the text, she started protesting hysterically. “This can’t be! It’s insane! That’s less than 24 hours away! And what do they mean by ‘overseas’ and ‘indefinite’? There has to be some mistake!” Patty’s tone rose in key and volume with each sentence. “You have to call someone and get things straightened out!” she ordered her fiancée. “If you explain to them about our wedding —”

J.B. cut her off. “The Air Force couldn’t care less about my wedding or my job! If they want Capt. Baronowsky back in uniform and flying some gosh-darn airplane, then nothing else matters to them.”

“But you can’t possibly go!” Patty wailed.

“You want me to be in jail on our wedding day?” J.B. shot back at her, then turned away, clenching and unclenching his fists. 

“I’m gonna call my dad,” Patty declared. “I’m sure he’ll know some way to get you out of this.” She ran up the steps and into the Baronowsky house, brushing past J.B.’s mother.

But Patty’s call didn’t change anything. Her Dad said he’d “see what he could do”, but nothing could be done before 8 am tomorrow. With Patty getting increasingly hysterical and venting her anger on everyone else, Barb agreed to take her home in J.B.’s car so J.B. would have time to pack. His dad insisted he was well enough to drive him to Selfridge AFB although it meant getting up at 4 am and leaving the house before dawn. 

J.B.’s mom spent most of the night ironing his uniform shirts and trousers and then got up at 3 to make a batch of chocolate chip cookies that she wrapped in aluminium foil. In the eerie artificial light of the kitchen, J.B. hugged her goodbye while his father backed the car out of the garage. His mother was teary-eyed. “I don’t see how they can just yank you out of the middle of your life and send you overseas when there’s not even a war on. It just doesn’t seem right,” she complained.

“That’s the army way, Mom,” J.B. told her with resignation. “Duty comes first. Things are pretty tense in Europe, and my guess is we’re deploying a couple of bomber squadrons to England to remind the Reds we can hit them if we want. I’ll send a cable as soon as I know for sure, but meanwhile, don’t worry too much. This is just sabre-rattling. No one is going to be shooting at me.”