Heart of Devotion. N.J. Perez

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      Heart of Devotion

      Letters From Across the Line

      N.J. Perez

      Copyright © 2020 N.J. Perez

      All rights reserved

      First Edition

      NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

      320 Broad Street

      Red Bank, NJ 07701

      First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2020

      ISBN 978-1-64801-267-9 (Paperback)

      ISBN 978-1-64801-268-6 (Digital)

      Printed in the United States of America

      Table of Contents

       Chapter 1

       Chapter 2

       Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

      Dedicated to my two little distractions, my grandchildren Carson and Ava;

      they make life beautiful and are the inspiration to reach great heights.

      Preface

      The following novel is a product of factual accounts, as informed by the actual letters sent by and to soldiers across the world in battles during World War II, together with conjecture of probable occurrences, and summarized by the truthful outcomes of the most prominent lives involved.

      No matter which side the soldiers fought for, their devotion and promise of love and family was the one constant theme enabling them to keep their heads held high amidst the bullets, the bombs, and the absolute insanity of warfare.

      Their stories are both fascinating and quite troubling at the same time, and it is the author’s intention to give each one of their life’s dignity and honor, but above all, to highlight the true consequences of a world which refuses to find peace and common ground. Some governments and regimes may endure, while others fall…but in either case, their citizens always pay the very steep, and sometimes ultimate, price for any conflicts, which cannot be resolved without battle.

      Acknowledgments

      Special recognition for translations to:

      Michael Beck

      Natalya Hendricks

      Noriko Roberson

      Shinko Chihara

      Sakuramoto Futoshi

      Chieko Ueno

      Prologue

      The great second world war, World War II, would ultimately bring death to millions across the globe, and for those who survived, catastrophic change and discomfort. Not a single soul anywhere on our planet was left untouched in some way. Governments have reasons for war and ideals: human rights issues or resources are at the top of that list. Almost always, just before war breaks out, two or more countries had tried negotiating and finding a peaceful resolution to their conflicts.

      However, it is the madmen who become dictators who live by a different set of rules altogether. Almost always, they will not communicate with the other side because their intention is to ultimately control and destroy a way of life that they forsake. Whether it be Hitler, Mussolini, Castro, or a Japanese emperor, it does not matter—they all wanted control and prestige at the cost of the citizens beneath their rule. Whether it be for their own financial benefit, or because of a paranoid delusional personality, or hatred for God and man…nobody can ever tell with certainty.

      One would think that in our day and age, the days when the world is on the edge of a new catastrophe might be a product of our past when knowledge was not so certain, and the workings of governments and officials were not as well-publicized. But the truth is that media is a powerful thing and can influence a population in wayward and inaccurate beliefs, should it be given freedom to destroy truth. When our leaders decide what we should hear and what we should not, and when propaganda becomes the objective, whoever has the most money and influence gets to decide what we are told, then you can believe one thing with certainty—we are once again at a time when we do not know who to believe no matter how much we think we do.

      Chapter 1

      I tossed and turned for the last several hours before finally deciding I had better just get up and out of bed altogether.

      Sunlight streamed through my window, and I heard the bluebirds chirping gracefully by the sycamore tree outside my window. Putting on my slippers, I did not like to make much noise in case Mother or Father were still asleep. Father worked so hard, and I knew he needed all the rest he could get.

      “Corda, are you up?” my momma asked, peeking her head through the doorway to my bedroom.

      “I should say so,” I whispered. “Is Father still asleep?”

      “Yes. Will you help me with breakfast this morning? I want to make it extraspecial for him since he has had such a rough week.”

      “Of course.”

      We lived in a nice ranch house just outside of downtown Dallas. My dad worked at the steel mill in the assembly line which produced the various necessities for our armed forces abroad. With the war in full swing, strong and able-bodied men were hard to come by, and those who were still at home were in high demand but were being much overworked.

      All we ever heard about lately was about war and the Allied war efforts, along with the Axis terrors. Being sixteen, many of my male friends in school were worried. We girls made sure to pull together to build them up and to bring them a sense of security and love within our community. It’s the least we could do considering the sacrifices many of them would be called to make, and as our very way of life was at stake, along with practically any sense of hope for the entire world.

      After dressing, I came into the kitchen and pulled the eggs out of the refrigerator, since I knew Momma would want to start making my father’s favorite—pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Momma came in behind me and took the frying pan from the cupboard and placed it on the stove. “Are you going to have time to get to Sunday school?”

      “Yes, Momma.” I broke four eggs and began to whisk them in a bowl. Momma came beside me, added some fresh milk, and then began sifting flour into the mixture as I continued to combine the ingredients.

      “You know, that boy Beck from the band seems very sweet on you all of a sudden. I’ve been watching him when you play at the neighborhood services and fairs, and he always seems to be smiling and watching you singing.”

      I couldn’t help but blush. “He’s all right, Momma. I like him, and he’s nice enough, but you know I just don’t think he’s the right one for me just presently.”

      My momma gave me a stern glare, as if a foreboding—as if she knew, despite my efforts to the contrary. I suddenly heard a door closing, and I recognized it must be Father stirring. Momma began ladling the mixture into the hot pan as I retrieved a second large pan and heated it on the stove beside her. “Remember not to make it too hot, otherwise the