Four Years from Home Read online

  It was pathetic, actually. He was a little shit that I tortured relentlessly. I was just trying to make him a man. I felt sorry for his parents; they were the ones who would suffer. So I made up some bullcrap about his being a hero, about how everyone looked up to him, about how proud his country was of his sacrifice and how proud his family must be of him, despite their overwhelming grief.

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Whatever,

  It is with the deepest regrets that I must inform you that your blah, blah, blah…

  Light from behind me pierced the quiet, and the memory, having once again done its job of making me stink with sweat, was gone. I heard voices — the French woman was yelling something, and then other voices — the Nazis had found us.

  Three sharp reports of gunfire. A scream — they’d shot the woman! Shot her dead. I knew the cruel bastards were laughing at her as she fell, without even turning to look. Nazi bastards… I leapt from the tracks and found the safety of the woods and winter darkness. If I only had Betty with me I would have found a spot to wait for them in ambush. Killing them wouldn’t help the dead French woman but at least they wouldn’t be laughing any more.

  The darkness of the woods was not quite complete, and I could see footprints in the snow, footprints all over the place as if a squad had come through not too long ago. They were not the prints of an orderly patrol though. They circled and backtracked and circled again, as if searching for something. I was near the place where the Nazis had captured me. It wouldn’t be long before Betty and I would be reunited and she would have something to say to those Germans trailing me. The rushing water was to my right, the Germans somewhere behind, and the trestle had to be nearby.

  A few more steps and I saw the massive, glistening bridge above me, blocking most of the moonlight. I felt unexpectedly cold and afraid. Something was wrong. Something was behind me, around me, encircling me. Something was out there stalking me. Not just the Nazis. I could feel it — something different, dark and powerful, something that could see me through the opaque night, something I knew I couldn’t hide from. I had to reach Betty before it reached me, so I plunged forward, angling slightly away from the water to where I had hidden my service revolver.

  That tree — the one with the rock at its base; it was there. In my haste to hide Betty before I was captured, I had lifted that rock, scooped out some of the dirt underneath and dropped her in — not the best solution, but I hadn’t had much time. I mentally prepared myself — Betty would be dirty and probably as cranky as a woman scorned. And she would undoubtedly complain when I fired off a few rounds into the skulls of the Nazis trailing me, but I would make it up to her later, when I got back to camp, with a nice, warm gun oil rubdown. For the moment, the priority had to be survival. I dropped to my knees, lifted the frozen rock with one hand, reaching under it with the other.

  I have never for a minute believed that I would die peacefully in my warm bed with my loving family around me mourning my loss, saying how much they would miss me. I just can’t see myself nodding off quietly and with my last breath telling them something stupid like “it’s okay” or lying about how I’ve lived a long and fulfilling life, and how I’ll miss them all and be waiting for them in heaven. Not me. I have always known that my end would come bitterly in the cold, lonely darkness of some nameless battlefield with Betty at my side, fighting to the end.

  But all that I pulled from underneath that rock was a handful of cold, Ohio countryside and an envelope with a letter inside. Moonlight broke through the tree cover. The letter was from the United States Army and it was addressed to Harry. This was all wrong. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

  I got up and ran, scrambling up the hillside to the bridge. They would never think to find me up there. Only a man with a death wish would be out on that bridge in those conditions. I stopped halfway across the river. The distant wind was holding its breath. The approaching crunch of footsteps had ceased. We were playing sniper and I didn’t want to give away my position. I knew I could outlast them, so I crouched low and waited. But in the oppressive quiet, the darkness melted in a glistening pool of moonlight around me and compelled me to pull the letter from its protective sheaf and read it.

  Dear Mr. Ryan:

  It is with the deepest regrets that I write to you this day. This is a task that is the most difficult of my duties as a commanding officer but know that I undertake it with the utmost respect and pride to honor your brother, Sergeant Thomas Ryan, who served both God and country, and who made the ultimate sacrifice of himself on the field of battle as a guardian of our way of life.

  Sergeant Ryan listed only you as his next of kin, so you are the sole recipient of this unfortunate news, but please share this with any whom his life touched as he has touched ours. Sergeant Ryan, or “Saunders” as his squad called him after the Vic Morrow TV character in Combat!, was a fierce warrior in battle, a consummate leader and motivator, and a good friend. I was his lieutenant but believe me when I say that I always looked to him for wisdom and understanding when making my combat decisions, and I state without shame that your brother was the better leader and better soldier.

  We were on a routine recon of the delta last week when the platoon came under heavy mortar fire. After the initial seconds of confusion, Tom quickly got us spread out and under cover, but it was clear that we were pinned down and it was only a matter of time before the VC blew us to bits. I radioed in for air support but the gunships were ten minutes out. We were dead men and we all knew it. All of us except Tom… He grabbed two satchel charges and a Claymore and started to circle the hill. His last words were, “Give me two minutes and let loose with all you’ve got. When you hear the charges go off, send in the cavalry. If you don’t hear the explosion, you’ll know I didn’t make it.” Before he disappeared into the bush, he turned and smiled, “Oh, and tell that brother of mine, it’s okay.” I will never forget that smile. He was at peace with himself and unafraid of anything, knowing his death was near.

  That was the last time we ever saw Sergeant Thomas Ryan. We waited exactly two minutes and opened fire. We heard screaming and a loud explosion and the mortars stopped. When we got to the VC position, we found it totally destroyed. I regret to inform you that there was nothing left of your brother to send home for burial. He must have carried the explosives into the enemy position and blown himself up along with them.

  This act of heroism saved the lives of a dozen men, but it took from us the bravest man I’ll ever know. Words cannot serve to express the loss I feel and the loss you must feel at his passing. His courage will forever be a part of us.

  With deepest regrets,

  Francis D. Hughes, Lieutenant 2nd Army

  I had finally found it and it had finally found me. I was such an idiot. All this time I had been running from and searching for the same thing. All this time, and it was as plain as the piece of paper I held in my hand. They call it the debt that all must pay, but everyone is afraid to pay up because no one knows what happens next. But I didn’t care what happened next. I was ready. It was my time and I wasn’t afraid. It was all so simple. Harry was dead and I had killed him, and now he was about to kill me and I deserved it. All the misdeeds, all the missteps, every blunder of my life’s stupid existence had led me to this moment at this spot, and I was ready. No more mistakes, no more hurting people — all I had to do was just die. Even I could do that.

  Chapter 14

  “This hearing is hereby reconvened and called to order in the matter of the State of Pennsylvania versus Thomas Ryan, Judge Patrick Jones, presiding. All rise.”

  “Please be seated. Gentlemen, I am hoping we can wrap this up today if both sides are ready for their final statements. Mr. Jeffreys, are you prepared with the State’s summation?”

  “Yes, your Honor. Thank you.

  “This matter began in the winter of 1967. Thomas Ryan’s Selective Service status was changed from a 1-S educational deferment to 1-A draft-eligible base
d on his no longer attending a college or university on a full-time basis. He was immediately drafted into the U.S. Army and ordered to report for his physical and induction. The investigation into his status was apparently prompted by a letter from one Kelly Erickson, his former classmate at M.I.T. The letter also contains allegations of theft of property not relevant to the matter at hand, but we have obtained a copy and submitted it as evidence.”

  “I’m not surprised. She hated me.”

  “Mr. Ryan, please. We have patiently listened to your long and somewhat unusual testimony. You have had your turn, now it is the state attorney’s.”

  “I’m sorry, your Honor. It’s just that I don’t really blame her for hating me. I was a real jerk and I deserved it.”

  “I’m sure you did. Please continue, Mr. Jeffreys.”

  “Thank you, your Honor. According to the Selective Service Investigator’s written testimony, Mr. Ryan’s initial response to the induction letter was to request a reclassification to 4-F based on a doctor’s report showing he had a disqualifying high blood pressure condition. Unfortunately for Mr. Ryan, the doctor in question was under investigation by the district attorney and known to the service as one with a publicly expressed anti-war sentiment and a penchant for submitting reports alleging service-disqualifying conditions that were overturned almost without exception upon further examination by Army doctors. They rejected his request pending their own examination.

  “Mr. Ryan then submitted documentation from an organization called the Church of the People of Peace and Non-Violence showing that he had converted to their religion and was therefore entitled to the status of conscientious objector. What Mr. Ryan did not know was that this fringe organization had lost its tax-exempt status the previous year for, and I quote from the IRS ruling, ‘providing no discernible religious benefit other than draft evasion and no service other than the distribution of illegal drugs.’ So, not only was this claim rejected, but also, by regulation, it precluded his claiming membership in any similar organization for the purposes of avoiding induction.”

  “And I never got my hundred bucks back.”

  “You were a draft dodger, Mr. Ryan. Plain and simple. Just not a very good one.”

  “Hey, I did my part. I served in the Big WWII, protecting ungrateful cowards like you.”

  “Your Honor, this, this act is all part of Mr. Ryan’s dodge. It is he who is the coward and it is he who took the extraordinary steps to evade service in Vietnam, the steps that ultimately lead to the untimely death of his brother, Harry. Unfortunately, we cannot charge Mr. Ryan with criminal murder, but it was his cold, calculating mind, his total awareness of his dire predicament, and his manipulation of his brother that resulted in this situation, and the state believes that trial should therefore proceed.”

  “And I have sworn testimony from an expert witness, a psychiatrist, whose opinion it is that my client, Thomas Ryan, is legally incompetent and therefore incapable of standing trial.”

  “I appreciate your trying to help your client, Canby, but the state has its own psychiatrists who think that he is perfectly sane.”

  “There will be order in this court or this hearing will end unfavorably for all concerned. Mr. Canby, it is your responsibility to keep yourself and your client in line. Any further outburst from either of you will be considered contempt of this court for which I will hold you responsible.”

  “I am sorry, your Honor.”

  “And Mr. Jeffreys, as the representative of the State of Pennsylvania, you have a duty to present the evidence in a fair and honest manner and an obligation to refrain from making allegations that are helpful to no one. Now continue.”

  “I apologize, your Honor, but the facts of the case are that, after months of obvious delaying tactics, Mr. Ryan had run out of options and was ordered to report for his physical and induction in August 1968. The official records show that Thomas Ryan reported, was examined and found fit, and inducted into the U.S. Army. His initial orders took him to Fort Benning, Georgia, where he received basic training. He was then reassigned to Vietnam where he served his tour of duty with the Second Army. During that time, he rose to the rank of master sergeant, having been decorated twice. He reenlisted for a second tour and specifically requested assignment to Vietnam. He again distinguished himself during this second tour and, as we know, was killed in action several weeks before Christmas 1972, posthumously receiving the Congressional Medal of Honor.

  “The only problem is that it was not Thomas Ryan who had fought and died so honorably for his country. It was his brother Harry. We have medical and dental records from their childhood and the records obtained from the induction physical proving this. These were all submitted previously to the court. Put simply, for reasons the state believes were related to Thomas Ryan’s attempt to avoid military service, and relying on a strong family resemblance and switched identifications to trick the authorities, Thomas Ryan took Harry’s place at Kenyon and Harry Ryan took Tom’s place in Vietnam.”

  “So the state’s case is that Mr. Ryan is competent to stand trial for draft evasion?”

  “Yes, your Honor, and we intend to seek the maximum five year sentence.”

  “I should have picked evens.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Ryan, did you wish to make a further statement before I cite you for contempt of court?”

  “My only mistake was in choosing odds. I should have picked evens. The outcome of ‘1, 2, 3 Shoot’ totally depends on your choice of odds or evens at the outset. The rest is all psyching out your opponent, and with Harry, evens is the only way to go.”

  “Mr. Canby, I see by your standing up that you have something to add to your client’s outburst?”

  “Your Honor, if my client wishes to make a further statement explaining the reason why he and his brother switched places, I would ask the court to listen to him in the interest of making a fair and impartial judgment on his ability to stand trial. At this point, what harm can it do?”

  “I object, your Honor. Mr. Ryan has had his opportunity to speak.”

  “This is a hearing, not a trial, Mr. Jeffreys, a most unusual hearing, and that allows me some latitude. And Mr. Canby may be correct. It is my responsibility to determine Mr. Ryan’s fitness to stand trial and that determination should include all the available facts.”

  “I have not finished my summation, your Honor.”

  “I understand that, Mr. Jeffreys, and you will have the opportunity to continue once we have had this little digression. Mr. Ryan, why were you and Harry playing ‘1, 2, 3 Shoot?’”

  “The day he was leaving, Harry told me he was skipping college and going into the army. He wanted to fight in Vietnam. College wasn’t important to him — he was only doing it to make Mom and Dad happy. But helping his country and the people fighting and dying over there? That was important. That was something he had to do. He knew it would break their hearts — after all he’d bailed on his promise to become a priest, and now he was bailing on his promise to go to college.

  “He asked me not to say anything. He would just go away, off to war, lose touch and come back in four years. All so apparently innocent — that was Harry’s usual modus operandi. Did he think I was stupid? I knew exactly what he was up to. It was so obvious. He was taking one last shot at the title. He couldn’t beat me at anything fair and square so he was pulling an end-around. The little weasel knew I’d never win against a war hero. And he was right — when Mom and Dad found out, and you know they would, they’d crown him king of the Ryans, and upon the triumphant return of the prodigal son, all would be forgiven, and I would be done… finished… another of history’s deposed monarchs. So I did the only thing I could do — I challenged him to best out of three. If I won, he had to go to college and spend four miserable years from home at Loser U. I would go into the Army. Those were my terms. Simple. Obviously, I lost. I should have picked evens.”

  “Your Honor, if I may continue?”

  “Yes, Mr. Jeffreys, please do.�
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  “Your Honor, in addition to the account Mr. Ryan has just shared with us, he has at various points during the multiple psychological interviews given at least three distinct versions of why he and his brother switched places. But they all come down to the same bottom line: Thomas Ryan illegally evaded the draft and lived undercover as Harry Ryan for four years. And he was mere months away from successfully carrying out his plan when it all fell apart just before Christmas. It is our belief that he panicked, realizing that there could now be no switching back. Tom Ryan could not come home from the war any more than Harry Ryan could come home from school. Tom was officially deceased and Harry was in fact deceased.

  “The convenient news for Tom was that he was the only next of kin listed on his brother’s enlistment papers. He was, therefore, the only one notified of his “official” death. That made it easier to conceal. The complication was that Harry was still in that picture as a soon-to-be returning college student so Tom had to remove him from the picture. That was when he arranged his mysterious disappearance from Kenyon. He faked Harry’s suicide, then went home to his family as if nothing had happened. He even manipulated his siblings into “coercing” him into going back to Kenyon when that was his plan all along. He intended to return to the college, pick up his girlfriend, and leave the country. He was going to start a new life.”