Читать книгу Stationed For Good ... In Moscow - Vladimir JD McMillin - Страница 6

James Myron McMillin, Jr. was born in a military family in February 1927 in the capitol of the United States, Washington, D.C. His father, James Myron Sr. was a career officer in the U.S. Army, graduate of West Point Academy. A year after James’ birth, his mother Everett had another child, his sister Patricia. It was a close family.

Discipline was a priority in the family but they had plenty of fun together as well. James remembered when he was four years old his dad taught him to play tennis, followed by basketball and then golf. That was the favorite game in the family. Every Sunday after church, everybody was on the golf course. They were disappointed when the weather didn’t cooperate for their Sunday game.

As McMillin Sr. was in the Army, the family was constantly on the move. James Jr.—everybody in his family called him Jimmy—started elementary school in Washington, continued in San Francisco, then San Diego, Honolulu, and the last year of high school in Boulder, Colorado. Their favorite move was to Honolulu. When his dad received his appointment there in 1939, the whole family was excited about it. At that time Hawaii wasn’t a state but it had the largest American military base. It was a big privilege for those in the military to serve there.

“The weather there is perfect almost all year,” Jimmy told his parents nearly every day when he found out they were moving to Pearl Harbor. “We can play golf every day and the weather won’t interfere with our game.” His young heart couldn’t imagine anything more disruptive than that.

At the end of 1941, James Sr. was made Colonel. He and Everett listened to the news on the radio with concern. The situation in the world was ugly with war in Europe; the Germans occupied almost half of the continent and were now close to the Russian capitol. America was in coalition with England and Russia, and was sending food and ammunition to their partners. But there was also Japan, who had close ties with Nazi Germany, and who wanted to control the whole of East Asia. Japanese troops already controlled almost every country in the region. Col. McMillin heard on the radio that President Roosevelt had appealed to the Emperor of Japan for peace. There was no reply.

Col. McMillin thought that probably war was imminent, but his gut feeling was that Japan, inspired by German success, would attack; but when and where would it happen?

Early in the morning on Sunday, December 7, 1941, the Japanese attack force, six carriers with 423 planes, approached Hawaii. At 6:00 a.m. the first attack wave of 183 Japanese planes took off from carriers 200 miles away from Pearl Harbor and headed for the Americans’ Pacific fleet.

Later Col. McMillin found out that if not for the mistake of one officer, whom he knew well, thousands of lives of American soldiers could have been saved. This officer disregarded reports that Japanese bombers were on their way to Pearl Harbor. He thought for sure that they were American B-17s coming from the U.S. coast.

At 7:00 a.m. the McMillin family was awakened by an enormous blast.

“What was that?” asked Jimmy. “An earthquake?”

“I don’t think so,” Col. McMillin said. “I think we’ve been attacked.”

The blasts continued one after another.

“All of you should immediately move to the shelter,” McMillin Sr. said with a commanding voice. All the barracks had basements that doubled as bomb shelters. “We cannot lose a second or we’ll be killed.”

After he helped them move into the basement, he jumped in his jeep and by 7:30 a.m. was at the Pearl Harbor command.

The building was in chaos. The attack was a complete surprise to everyone. Bombs, hundreds of them, were targeted at airfields and battleships. The attack lasted for almost three hours. The Americans lost 2,335 servicemen and 63 civilians in the three-hour attack. The majority of men lost were aboard the Battleship USS Arizona; a 1,760-pound air bomb penetrated the forward magazine, causing catastrophic explosions. The Japanese lost about thirty planes.

The McMillins were as shocked as everybody else by these events. Patricia, who was thirteen, cried for hours. Jimmy sat motionlessly. His mom wrote in a letter to her sister that she saw grey hairs on her fourteen-year-old son’s head.

James McMillin Sr. came home that day only for a minute to tell his family that they should pack their things right away. The military command had decided to evacuate the civilians from Pearl Harbor.

“The bus is already waiting for you,” he said. “You will go to the other side of the island. There is a little airport there. The plane will take you to San Francisco. You will stay there for a while. I will be here until the next orders. Good-bye and remember I love you all.”

The family was reunited only after the end of the war. Col. McMillin fought against Japan on many of different islands of the Pacific Ocean. He spent most of the time in the Philippines, where he was wounded. After his injury, he came back to the United States and rejoined his family. In 1944 the family moved from San Francisco to Boulder, Colorado, where Jimmy graduated from high school and started college.

McMillin Sr. didn’t stay in Boulder long. He was soon appointed a commanding officer of the Huntsville arsenal. Jimmy enjoyed his last year in high school. He was on the football team, and they won almost all their games. Jimmy beat the school’s record for scoring touchdowns. He was also pretty good in basketball, putting the ball through the hoop consistently. He became the team’s top scorer.

During the break between the football and basketball seasons, Jimmy was approached by the chief coach of the track and field team. “Hey, you’re fast. Our track team needs someone like you to fill the gap in mid-distance running—the 400-yard dash, 800, and the mile. Do you want to try?”

In sports, as in education, Jimmy was ready to try anything. He joined the track and field team and beat the school record in both the 400 and 800-yard dashes. He also won several competitions in Colorado. The coach told him that he would try to get Jimmy a scholarship at the local college. Jimmy was grateful, but he had a different path in mind—he wanted to serve in the army, like his dad. When Dad came home from the war, his jacket was covered with medals he’d been awarded for heroic deeds. Jimmy wanted to be a hero, too. When his senior year was almost over, he had a long conversation with his father about what he would do in the future.

“They want to give me a scholarship in track and field,” Jimmy told his dad. “But I don’t want to use it. I want to do what you’re doing, and I want to go to West Point. I’ll enter college in the fall, but couple of months later I will be drafted and that’s when I want to take my entrance exams for West Point.”

McMillin Sr. proudly approved his son’s decision.

Jimmy passed most of the exams but failed his physical. The doctors explained to him that he had high blood pressure; he should go and serve in the regular army for two years and then come back and be tested again.

“Sorry, but it’s the law,” said one of the doctors. “I’m pretty sure that in two years there will be no problems with your health. People mature in the army.”

But Jimmy’s high blood pressure was genetic. His dad had been lucky. When he entered West Point, his blood pressure hadn’t been checked. He was considered physically fit to serve in the army. Jimmy was a healthy boy, never complained about his health. He didn’t know about high blood pressure. He thought everything was fine with his health. That’s what his dad thought too. Medicine took a big step forward after the war but those advances weren’t timely enough to help Jimmy.

He was upset about his rejection of admission to West Point, but what could he do? He was ready to continue his life as a soldier. Jimmy spent several months going to a special school at a base in West Virginia where he learned cryptography. He was bright, and graduated from that school with the highest grades. He made the rank of Sergeant in the U.S. Army. His first posting was on a special mission to the U.S. Embassy in Moscow, where he was to talk with the Pentagon and all the U.S. Embassies throughout the world in a restricted language that was so sophisticated that no foreign secret services could decipher it. During his training period he was tested and examined so many times that his supervisors were confident in his trustworthiness. Before leaving for Moscow, General Andrew Bolling told him, “Son, we are relying on you, and we’re sure that you’ll never let your country down.”

Despite his academic and athletic achievements, there was a gap in Jimmy’s education. During all those years in high school, the months in college, and then Army school, Jimmy never had time for dates. He never had a girlfriend. He dedicated all his time to studies and sports. He lived in a warm and loving atmosphere at home that satisfied his need for love and security, and fostered his shy personality. He didn’t think much about dating. In Moscow, he told his roommate in American House that in America he’d never met a girl whom he really liked.

“Or they were afraid of me, or maybe I was too shy to approach them,” he said to his friend, “but I never went out with any of them.”

His spirits were low by the time he arrived in Moscow. On the flight to the Russian capitol he read some information about the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics—the country where he would be stationed for the next two years. He knew that after World War II, relations between his country and the USSR had become tense. After defeating the Germans, the Soviets put Communist regimes in power all over Eastern Europe. U.S. strategy now was to stop Russians from spreading their military power to the rest of the European continent. Jimmy also read about Soviet concentration camps that were no better than German concentration camps. Millions of Russians who thought differently than their govern-ment were sent to camps in the Arctic of Siberia where the winters lasted ten months. He found the information frightening.

“Well, I’ll live with other Americans in Moscow,” he thought, “and I’ll try to have no contact with the Commies.”

James and several other servicemen were met at the airport by American officials. They were then put on a bus that brought them to their final destination—American House, in downtown Moscow.

He was shown his room, which was on the second floor, had two beds and its own bathroom. It had a window that overlooked the Moscow River. It was September and the weather was perfect—about sixty degrees every day and sunshine. Jimmy got acquainted with his roommate Paul Beatley, a big guy who stood about six foot two inches and was a State Department employee at the U.S. Embassy. Both of them loved sports and came from military families; something clicked between them.

“I’ll show you the ropes of working here,” Paul said to Jimmy. He came to Moscow several months earlier than Jimmy and considered himself to be experienced in Russian ways. “Tonight you’ll have several phone calls from Russian girls. They already know you’re here.”

“How?”

“I can’t answer your question. I just know from experience. The first day I came here I got four calls from these girls. They’ll ask you for a date. Be careful about that. Of course you can date anybody you want and nobody will forbid you to do it. Our superiors don’t care, but remember, and I’m pretty sure about this, these girls are all working for the Soviet Secret Service. They’re friendly and they’re beautiful, but after the dance parties it’s better to leave them behind.”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” said Jimmy. “I don’t drink or dance, and I’m not even sure I want to join you.”

Paul continued, “You should come. There is always dancing, drinking, and whatever you want to do after that. But don’t talk about your job. The girls want you to be drunk so they can find out all the secrets that you know. You don’t want to do that. Last month, a couple of our guys were sent home for being too close to the girls. Their careers were destroyed because of it. These girls are so sneaky. You’ll see them all next Friday and Saturday at our weekend parties. They’re fun, you’ll like them.”

Jimmy listened carefully but he knew that he wouldn’t be the one who would be seduced by a Russian spy. Although he was still a virgin, he wasn’t ready to jump in bed with the first girl he met. That was what he thought.

Jimmy’s superiors gave him a couple of days to get used to his new life in this absolutely different world. After his conversation with Paul, Jimmy didn’t have any intention of going to those notorious dancing parties. He didn’t want to be connected with any of the Russian girls. So on Friday he went to bed early, woke up on Saturday morning and started out on a sightseeing tour of Moscow. The weather was intoxicating—sunshine and almost no clouds in the sky. Downtown Moscow seemed like a fairy tale—the Kremlin, Red Square, Saint Basil Cathedral.

“When were all these buildings built?” Jimmy wondered. “Probably a long time ago. I’ve never seen anything like this before in my life.”

A tour guide told them about Russian history, and in English, but Jimmy didn’t listen to a word. He was so impressed by the view, he wanted to get off the bus and take in this strange world slowly, on foot. But he didn’t dare ask the bus driver to stop. He was confused. He’d read so many nasty things about Russia, from the cruelty of tsars to the communist dictatorship. In front of him were beautiful streets with outstanding architecture. Maybe his friends could explain it.

When the bus returned to American House, it was already lunch time. Paul was sitting in their room with another guy who extended a friendly handshake and introduced himself as Alex Timm.

“Hey, why you didn’t come to the party yesterday?” asked Paul. “We had great time. Everybody was so funny. Alex got drunk and danced alone. Nobody wanted to get near him. The Russian girls were excellent. Almost half of them disappeared in the middle of the party with our guys. But there are some real dancers there. There was one couple that looked like they could be professionals—they danced without stopping. By the end of the party, they were sweating like hell. They’ve been together before but I never saw them dance so well.”

Paul turned to Alex and said, “Did you see John Biconish and that Russian girl Galina? They are some of the best dancers. You probably don’t remember anything; you were so drunk. Jimmy, you should come along and see with your own eyes what goes on there. You don’t have to drink or even dance. You’ve got to get out and have some fun, man, or you’ll go crazy. I know I will. This country is nuts. I can’t figure out how people live here. Maybe Alex can tell us more about Russia. He’s been here two years already.”

“You will never, ever understand the Russians,” said Alex. “Don’t even think about it. For me, the best way to forget what’s going on in the outside world is a full glass of vodka. You can buy it pretty cheap in the embassy store.”

Paul nodded in agreement and shot Jimmy a glance.

“These Russians are sure bearing down on their propaganda,” Alex continued. “They fear another war is in the immediate future. The paper said the government doesn’t want diplomatic relations with the American government but with people of America. Was it Hitler who said that if you tell people a lie long enough eventually they will start to believe it? That’s what the Russians are doing now. They’re drumming into the Russians’ heads how bad the Americans are, and soon these people will start believing it. It’s a sad state of affairs.”

Jimmy had listened to Alex respectfully, but in silence. He didn’t want to argue about politics when he had just arrived in the country. He valued his friends but he already had doubts about the propaganda they had been taught about their new host country. After his tour experience in the city the day before, Jimmy had one only question for the other men—how could these boring, uneducated people build so many beautiful churches and palaces? But he didn’t dare ask them.

In the evening Paul found Jimmy and said, “Let’s go. Let’s have some fun.”

Jimmy sighed but followed his friend to the big hall. It was full of smoke and the smell of alcohol. He almost choked. The music was loud, everybody was smiling, and Jimmy saw the girls that Paul talked about. Some of them were gracious, good looking, and dressed very nicely. Jimmy went to the corner so that he could see the dance floor. He truly loved music and admired dancing, but he had never danced himself.

The dance floor was crowded. Jimmy saw the couple Paul was talking about. They danced beautifully. The guy wore glasses and was skinny and tall. The girl was gorgeous—also thin, blonde, so flexible … and indeed they danced together the whole night. Jimmy could see that they were in love with each other. The more he watched them, the more they remind him of his favorite dancers, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.

By the end of the night, he’d stood in the corner for several hours, and to his surprise, he found that he genuinely enjoyed the party. When he went back with Paul he told him, “You know, you were right. It is fun there. I’m looking forward to next weekend.”

“I told you, old boy,” Paul said. “Maybe you’ll find a girl for yourself there. They’re easy and no obligations.”

Every weekend Jimmy was there, watching the dancing, and even having an occasional drink. But he hadn’t become acquainted with a single Russian girl yet. He was drawn to only one of them—Galina who always danced with John.

She was different from the other girls. She never hit on other guys; she behaved respectfully. Nobody could say a bad word about her.

Jimmy wrote letters home almost every day. He wrote his parents about these parties, what he liked and what he disliked about them, about Moscow and the Russian people. He was grateful that his parents seemed to understand him. In their letters back to him—his mom and dad wrote separately—Jimmy could see how carefully they were reading them. They discussed every topic that he raised. He wrote them once that most of the Americans in Moscow thought that if you didn’t continually bitch about the place, you were a Communist. “I have no intention of getting into a rut like many of them, getting drunk every night and carrying on,” he wrote.

His dad wrote back, “Jimmy, you should have your own opinion on what is happening in this world and not just flounder in the water.”

In one of his letters to his mom, he sent a picture of downtown Moscow. She was really impressed and responded to him right away.

Jimmy was quick to answer her letter. “Mom,” he wrote, “you mentioned in your letter about how surprised you were at the architecture and modernity of the buildings here. Some of the apartment houses really look nice on the outside, but you ought to see the inside—they’re a sight. I never told you this before, but the average Russian is lucky to have two rooms for his family in a five or six room apartment with one shared toilet and bathtub. That is lucky. They’re really crowded together. ”