PART THREE THE PENTAGON , WASHINGTON , DC
JUNE 8 , 1944
Chapter 5 A Problem
Inside the Pentagon , the year-and-a-half old, five-sided building
that was the largest office building in the world, another group
fought the war in a different manner. The sounds were those of
typewriters, not machine guns; and the room was full of desks,
not trenches.
The secretaries served their country by typing the words: “We
regret to inform you . . . killed in action . . . heroic service . . . ”
These men and women were writing messages that would
sadden mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters
all around the country.
Typing the same words again and again was sometimes boring.
When Lucy Freemont placed a sheet of paper on the growing
pile of finished work on her desk, the name “ RYAN ” did not
disturb her routine. She had started typing a second sheet before
— —
a second vvord “ IOWA ” reminded her of something, and she
frowned.
Lucy wasn’t bored as she went through her pile, looking for a
message that she had typed more than an hour ago. Then she
looked through the files to check again. The other workers
watched her as she rose quickly from her desk and hurried from
the room.
The news passed quickly from Lucy Freemont to her
lieutenant to his captain. All were disturbed by what she had
discovered. Lucy was back in her office when Captain John
—
McRa < -twenty-eight , Peoria, Illinois took the news to his
superior officer.
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i
H
— —
Colonel Wilson forty-seven, Atlanta, Georgia was in a war
room. The walls were covered with maps of Normandy, and the
maps had pins in them showing American positions. Wilson was
pouring a cup of coffee when Captain McRae approached him.
“ Colonel ,” the captain said, “ we’ve just learned something you
should know about.”
Wilson saw the three sheets of paper that the captain was
holding. “ Well, what is it , Captain? ”
“ You should read it yourself, sir.”
The captain handed him two of the sheets of paper. Wilson
glanced at them and saw that the words “ RYAN ” and “ IOWA”
were on both of them. He sat down at his desk as the captain
spoke again .
“ These two men died in Normandy,” McRae began. “ One at
Omaha Beach, the other at Utah Beach .”
“ I can see that,” Wilson said, reading the death messages.
“ Thomas Ryan. Peter Ryan. Brothers?”
“ Yes, sir. And this m a n . . . ” He handed Wilson a third sheet of
paper. “ . . . This man was killed last week in New Guinea.”
“Daniel Ryan,” the colonel said. The word “ IOWA ” appeared
again. “ Oh G o d . . . Brothers? Three brothers, all killed in
action ?”
“ Yes, sir. And I’ve just learned that this afternoon their mother
will be receiving all three messages.”
The colonel’s face became pale. “ Oh, God,” he said, almost
—
shouting. The room was quiet . Everyone the other officers, the
—
secretaries had stopped working when they heard him.
“ There’s a fourth brother in Normandy, sir.”
Wilson frowned. “ I don’t see a fourth death message . . . ”
—
“ No, at least not yet, sir. The fourth brother, James he’s the
—
youngest, sir parachuted in with the 101st Airborne the night
before the landing.”
“Well, where is he now? ”
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“ We don’t know, sir . Somewhere in Normandy, we assume ” .
“ Is he alive? ” Wilson asked.
“ We don’t know that, either, sir.”
Wilson covered his eyes with his hand, leaning on his elbow.
His team around him couldn’t tell whether he was thinking or
praying, but they gave him the respectful silence he required.
After a moment he shouted, “ Get back to work.” He stood up,
nodding to McRae, and ordered , “ Come with me.”
As the colonel and captain in Washington, DC, left the war room,
a black government car was on its way to the Ryan farmhouse in
Iowa . In the window of the house a flag with four blue stars —
—
one for every member of the family in the military was proudly
displayed.
— —
Margaret Ryan sixty was alone on the farm . When she
heard the approaching car, she stepped onto the porch. Seeing
the car approach her house made her uncomfortable, but the lane
was shared by four farms. They might not stop here.
But they did. As the three men got out of the car, she fell
against a post of the porch, holding it tightly. She began to cry,
—
knowing that she had lost one of her boys never imagining that
this terrible news could be much, much worse.
At the same time, in the Pentagon, the Army Chief of Staff,
General Marshall, was meeting with Colonel Wilson, Captain
McRae, and the general’s assistant, Colonel Louis Dye. They were
standing at a large table reading the files on the Ryan brothers.
— —
General Marshall sixty-four threw the files on the table
and demanded , “ How did we let this happen , after the Sullivans? ”
McRae responded, “ Originally, all four of them were in the
same company, but we separated them after the Sullivans .”
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The five Sullivan brothers of Waterloo, Iowa , had all served on
n
the same ship, which was bombed off Guadalcanal in November
1942 . The tragedy had made the public extremely angry.
“Sir,” Colonel Dye offered, “ the army doesn’t officially
separate or protect brothers. The Navy made that rule, and
besides, these Ryans weren’t serving together . . . ”
“ Would you like to be the one who informs the War
Department Office of Public Relations of this ? ” Marshall
shouted.
“ No,” Dye admitted.
“Do we have any contact with the fourth brother . . . what’s
the boy’s name? ” Marshall asked.
“James,” Wilson said. “ No, sir. He was dropped with the
paratroopers about twenty-five kilometers from the coast— near
Neuville.”
“ And that’s behind German lines, isn’t it? ”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ We can’t be sure, sir,” Dye added. “ The first reports said the
101st got separated. They were dropped in the wrong places all
over Normandy. We had a high casualty rate, too. Ryan may not
even have survived the jump. Even if he did, he was probably
killed in action .”
Marshall said nothing; his face was serious. He moved to his
desk and called his secretary. “ Captain Newsome, bring me the
Bixby file, please.”
“ Yes, General,” a female voice replied.
“ Private Ryan could be anywhere, sir,” Dye started again. “ If
we send a squad through German territory, we’ll be sending out
death messages to all of their mothers.”
Marshall shook his head and sighed. Captain Florence
Newsome, his personal secretary, entered and handed him a file.
He thanked her, and she left.
The general moved slowly to his desk, sat down, and withdrew
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an old sheet of paper. “ I have a letter here, written some time ago,
to a Mrs. Bixby in Boston.” He put on his reading glasses.
‘“Dear Mrs. Bixby,’ ” he read . ‘“ I have been shown in the tiles
of the War Department a statement that you are the mother of
five sons who have died honorably on the field of batde. My
words can’t take away the grief of such a loss. But I feel I must
write to offer you the thanks of the Republic they have died to
save.’ ”
Marshall put the piece of paper on top of the file on his desk.
But he wasn’t finished.
‘“ I pray that our Heavenly Father may lessen your sadness,’ ”
he continued from memory, “ ‘and leave you only the wonderful
memory of your sons and the pride that you should have in such
a great gift to your country. ” He paused and then continued,
5
“ And it’s signed: ‘Yours very sincerely and respectfully, Abraham
Lincoln .’ ”
The captain and the colonel glanced at each other. This letter
had been written in a different war—over a hundred years ago —
but they were not surprised at how strongly the general felt.
Marshall’s eyes were determined as he said, “ If that boy is alive,
we’re going to send somebody to find him and get him out of
there.”
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