Mike Johnson
World War II is a story told most often through the eyes of national leaders, generals and, occasionally, infantrymen. Warrior Priest underscores why that cauldron continues to stir imaginations and curiosity by conveying the war’s global impact in ways rarely told. Here are woven together memorably the lives of a young priest turned airborne chaplain, a Cracow student turned Polish lancer, an aircraft carrier fireman, two young women partisans in Warsaw and a French village, and a small town girl who follows a volunteer flyer to England where she first treats the wounded in a London hospital and then joins the U.S. Army nurse corps.
Meticulously researched, Warrior Priest’s characters interact with real-life people in historically authentic locales and situations and in an accurate chronology from 1939 through 1946.
From a quiet, small town in 1930s Ohio to a Vatican-run seminary…
From a Polish lancer charging German invaders to a U.S. airborne chaplain jumping into the night…
From a London hospital during the Blitz to a church basement in battered Warsaw…
From the harrowing streets of the ghetto to heroic river crossings…
From the heaving deck of an imperiled aircraft carrier to a memorable walk down a church aisle…
From invasion beaches to evacuation hospital tents…
From an occupied French village to the Nazis’ only death camp in France…
Warrior Priest pulls the reader into and through the cauldron of World War II by weaving together the lives of everyday people in unforgettable ways.
From the 1960s onward, first as a soldier, Mike Johnson combined strong interests in military history with extensive travel. He journeyed often to the Korean DMZ, visited Nazi death camps and walked the streets of towns and villages once occupied by the Wehrmacht. Johnson is an alumnus of Ohio University, Marshall Law at Cleveland State University and Stanford University’s Graduate School of Business and has worked for three global companies. He is working on a second historical novel.
The small plane was piloted by an American, Lieutenant Calvin Wardell. Jack sat beside Wardell, Thaddeus and Walt behind them. In the air, Thaddeus said, “Father, please tell me about your work with the Indians.”
Jack swung his head sideways and spoke loudly, above the din of the engine and roaring of the wind, “There’s not much to say, Captain. They live on a large reservation in southern Arizona. Each week I drive to one of their communities to say Mass, hear confessions, visit the sick and infirm. They are good people, and I count them as friends.”
Captain Metz smiled. “Today, Father, perhaps we Poles are like your Indians. You fly to our reservation. You say Mass. Perhaps speak with some of our men. Some of us were lancers and rode horses like your Indians.”
Jack chuckled. “The Polish Indians of the steppes. Actually, Captain, very few Indians ride horses today. But if your fellow Poles are men of moral strength and character, then the comparison is very appropriate.”
“You can judge for yourself,” Thaddeus smiled. “I will say only that we have some excellent horsemen who have learned to jump out of airplanes and who are eager to liberate our homeland.”
###
Walt drove north, maneuvering the jeep briskly on the river road. When he found the Poles, they already had rigged a cable with pulleys across the Rhine. No chaplain, Jack mused, but engineers they have – good ones. Soldiers were inflating and preparing the first rafts. Jack and Walt exited the jeep.
“Where is Captain Metz?” Jack asked a soldier, hoping he understood English.
“Metz?” the soldier replied.
“Thaddeus Metz,” Jack said slowly, hoping his American accent wasn’t rendering useless his careful enunciation.
A second Pole heard Jack and stepped forward. “Father Brecker?” It was Jerzy, one of the cow pen soldiers Jack had met back at the Poles’ camp on Easter.
Jack dispensed with a salute and took Jerzy’s hand. “Good to see you again, Jerzy,” Jack smiled. “You remember Captain Hunter.” Walt reached out for Jerzy’s hand and they shook.
“Come this way,” Jerzy said in Polish and gesturing effectively. “I will take you to Captain Metz.”
Seconds later, Captains Metz, Brecker and Hunter were exchanging heart-felt handshakes. “It is so good to see you, Father,” said Thaddeus. “I am most surprised.”
Jack chuckled heartily, his rich bass voice pleasing to the ear. “The last time you came looking for me. This time I thought I would come looking for you.” Thaddeus laughed. Jack continued. “I heard what you are doing tonight. I now know more about river crossings than I care to. I thought you and your men might like another blessing.”
Thaddeus nodded. “Yes, of course. Thank you. Let me gather the men. We must do it quietly. We are trying to make no noise.”
“I understand,” said Jack.
Thaddeus, Jerzy and Stephan brought the men together with General Sosabowski. All were surprised and pleased to see Jack. Knowing the need for quiet, they crowded tightly around him. Walt stayed on the outside perimeter of the group, reflecting. I might remember nights like this – and the Easter Mass – longer than any firefight.
“Will you please translate?” Jack asked Thaddeus.
“Yes, of course.”
“Dear Lord, these brave men are about to undertake their own special crusade. To help release their homeland from the unjust grip of the Nazis and return it to free Poles. Please be with them.” Silently, Jack elevated his right arm and made a sweeping sign of the cross. “Amen.”
“Amen” came a whispered chorus, which included Walt.
“Thank you very much,” Thaddeus said. “First Easter, now tonight. We are twice blessed by your presence, and we will remember you always.”
Thaddeus and Jack shook hands warmly.
“I would like to go with you,” Jack said softly.
Walt’s left eyebrow shot up in surprise and alarm.
