1945

Lewis belched. "Then ship him out. Put him on the levy to Japan."

Maxwell blinked in surprise. As a prelude to invading Japan, the army had begun sending individuals off to the Pacific. It was rumored that full units would follow. People with a lot of combat experience in the European theater would be returned home to civilian life, while others with less experience would either be retained in Germany or used in the invasion of the home islands of Japan. Orders had come down asking units to "volunteer" individuals, which meant that everyone was taking the opportunity to get rid of oddballs, troublemakers, and incompetents.

Maxwell shook his head in confusion. "Bob, the Japanese just surrendered, didn't they? I thought the levy was going to be canceled?"

Major Lewis looked at the naked woman at the dresser. She had completed combing her hair and was now picking at the remains of some C rations, ignoring them both. "I have bad news for you, my friend. The Japanese may have just unsurrendered."

"Bullshit!" Maxwell sagged into a chair in disbelief.

"It's the truth. Seems there's been some kind of a coup or revolution over there, and the crazy people are back in charge. The invasion is on, at least until the next revolution, and the levy is not likely to be canceled anytime soon. So get Morrell out of here while you still have the chance. Send him off to fight the Japs with our blessing."

Maxwell nodded assent. It was an easy decision to make and would solve a lot of problems. If only he could get rid of Nevins and Wiles just as easily. At least, he consoled himself, they'd be shipped out somewhere soon enough.

Too bad for Lieutenant Morrell, though. He genuinely hoped nothing happened to the young man. Despite being naive about some things, Morrell was a pretty good kid. On the other hand, Maxwell had a life to live in Germany for the foreseeable future.

God, Maxwell thought, let it be in Germany and not invading Japan. He reached for the schnapps and patted the sleeping woman on her bottom. She moaned slightly but didn't move. Maybe people would get their heads out of their asses and end this thing for good. Maybe the war would end a second time before Lieutenant Morrell even got there. But, what the hell, he had his own life to lead.

CHAPTER 2

Nothing in the first six decades of his life had indicated that Harry Truman of Independence, Missouri, would ever become president of the United States and one of the most powerful men in the world. Born in 1884, he'd seen combat as an artillery captain in World War I, served as a county judge, and, to the astonishment of many, was elected to the U.S. Senate in 1934. He'd stayed there, accruing seniority and serving his nation honestly, anonymously, and well. In 1944, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt had surprised everyone and tapped him to be his vice-presidential running mate.

Although a high honor, the office under FDR was a thankless one. Roosevelt ignored his vice president once the election was done. Roosevelt considered it his constitutional obligation to have a vice president, but nothing said he was required to actually use one. One of Roosevelt's earlier vice presidents, John Nance Garner, had referred to the job as not being worth a pitcher of "warm piss." The word piss had later been changed to spit in an attempt to sanitize history. Roosevelt could accept this comment, but not Garner's temerity in trying to unseat Roosevelt as president. Garner had been dumped from the ticket, and it had brought about the 1940 pairing of Roosevelt with Henry Wallace. When Wallace's infatuation with Joseph Stalin and all things politically far left, if not Communist, became known, he too became unacceptable.

Enter Harry Truman, who was loyal, hardworking, honest, American, and not likely to lust after FDR's job. For the eighty-odd days he had served as vice president, Truman had been content to accept the honor of the office as a reward for long years of faithful service to his country and the Democratic Party. He considered it a pleasant prelude to a comfortable retirement.

On April 12, 1945, Roosevelt unexpectedly died of a massive stroke in Warm Springs, Georgia, and Harry Truman, the dapper little man with the often snappish temper, had become president of the United States.