1945

Maxwell relaxed after his tirade. "Paul, it gets worse. You want me to discipline those guys and I'll do it, only it'll just be an ass-chewing and nothing more. They know they deserve to lose their stripes, but it'll be their word against yours as to what they said, and you know they'll both lie like rugs. When I'm through chewing on them, they'll go back to their ugly friends and laugh at you because they got away with fucking with you."

Maxwell stood and paced the little room. "Look, I dislike those two clowns as much as the next guy, but they're veterans, NCOs, and heroes with Bronze Stars, even though they'll steal anything that ain't nailed down."

Maxwell told him that the two men had been ambushed by some Germans and had to shoot their way out, thus getting their medals. In his opinion, they had been looting a farmhouse when the Germans caught them, which made their fighting their way out something less than heroic.

Damn, thought Paul. He had really screwed up.

"It gets worse, Paul. They've got more than enough points to be discharged. So, in a couple of months, maybe sooner, they'll be home screwing their women and their sheep, and newcomers like you'll be here trying to run an occupation army. Who knows, maybe I'll be away from here too."

Morrell seized on the comment. "And that's the point, Captain, we are still an army, not a mob. Those guys are destroying what we came here to liberate."

Maxwell laughed harshly. "Liberate? Let me tell you something, Lieutenant; we liberated Belgium and France, but not Germany. This fucking country we conquered with a lot of our friends getting killed or wounded in the process, and there's a helluva lot of difference."

"To the victor belong the spoils?"

"Exactly."

"But what about our orders to maintain discipline and protect the people?"

The question amused Maxwell. "Things don't always work out like they were intended, now do they? Take Ike's nonfraternization order, for instance. Did anyone really think they could keep a couple of million horny GIs away from German pussy when the kraut chicks will give you anything you want for some cigarettes, or chocolate, or even a meal? Hell, the Russians are raping them wholesale and we're willing to pay for it. That makes us the good guys."

Grudgingly Paul agreed. That particular order truly was nonsense.

"And, Lieutenant, I am also supposed to employ Germans to run this area and get their local economy going again. Only orders say I can't use anyone who was a Nazi. Now tell me, just who the hell does that leave in a country where even the little krauts became Nazis before they could walk and wore swastikas on their diapers? Communists, that's who, and the brass'd kill me if I used commies to run the joint. At any rate, there aren't too many commies left after Herr Hitler got through with them, so I work with what I got, and that's what you're going to do as well."

"I see the problem," said Paul softly.

"Yeah, and we might as well settle down and enjoy it while it lasts. And might I ask just where the hell were you last night?" Maxwell said with a sneer.

Paul flushed. "At the gasthaus celebrating the Japanese surrender," he said sheepishly. There was no way he could lie about it. The captain had been there as well. It was where he had gotten this morning's headache, which was starting to come back. Shit.

"Yeah, and Herr Gasthaus-meister, or whatever the flick his name is, probably was a good little Nazi just a few weeks ago. Now he's doing his smiling best to get rich and get the U.S. army drunk and laid, and that makes him one of the good guys too."

"Okay, you've made your point, Captain. Now what do you think I should do?"

"Take some aspirin for your hangover and let me think. Now get out of here."

After Morrell had left, Maxwell's clerk told him that Major Lewis had come in the rear door and gone upstairs. Maxwell nodded, went upstairs, and found the major sitting on the edge of the bed in the largest of the bedrooms. One of the two dark-haired frauleins they'd brought back from the gasthaus the night before was still sleeping, while the other sat in front of the dresser and combed her hair. Both were naked. The sleeping one snored slightly. He couldn't recall just which one he'd fucked and seemed to recall they were sisters. He was slightly concerned that they looked so much younger than they had last night.

The major looked extremely somber, and that worried Maxwell. "What's the problem, Bob?" Maxwell asked.

Lewis pulled a bottle of schnapps from a drawer and took a long swallow. "Tell me first about young Lieutenant Morrell. What's his problem?" Maxwell quickly filled him in on the situation.

"The problem is," Maxwell went on, "that those two idiots are gonna tell everyone they made a fool out of him, and it'll be difficult for him to regain control of the troops. He barely had it in the first place."

Major Lewis took another swallow. It was apparent to Maxwell that the major wanted to get drunk and do it right now. Why? Maxwell wondered.