1945

Ruger finished a bottle and threw it angrily into the darkness, where it landed with a dull thud. "That's what I hate about being here. All the people who were in the army are getting out and getting all the good jobs and all the good women. Thank God I got a good woman waiting for me, at least that's one thing I won't have to worry about. But by the time we get discharged, there won't be shit left in the way of jobs, and the Depression will come back in all its ugliness."

Marcelli handed Ruger a fresh bottle. "Some people say that the economy won't go belly-up. They say there's so much pent-up demand for goods that a boom economy will last a long time. I read an article about that in a Collier's I found," Marcelli added brightly.

"So, how you gonna solve the problem, Captain?" Paul asked.

"Real estate," Ruger answered quickly. "Nobody's built any houses in years, and there isn't that much room left to build in the cities, and, besides, most city houses are small and cramped. People who have money are going to want something better than the little homes their parents had and will be moving out into the countryside. Hell, a lot of them are still living with their parents in those little houses. I'm going to buy vacant land and build houses on it."

Paul wondered how that ambition jibed with his earlier statement that the economy would go to hell, but decided not to pursue it with the inebriated captain. However, he was intrigued by the comment that no homes had been built since the war started. No cars had been made, so it made sense that other aspects of the economy had frozen in place as well. If so, it meant that a lot of people did indeed have a lot of money to spend. Large plots of vacant land outside of the city might be a good idea for an investment. All he had to do was get home and get his hands on some money. He had a college degree, liberal arts, and it was time to put it to use.

"I just want a job, any job," muttered Lieutenant Bergen. "My dad had a farm in Kansas and lost it all."

Ruger raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were from New York?"

"I am now. We moved there and lived with relatives and tried to find work. There wasn't much there either."

Paul thought of his almost privileged background. At times his parents had been worried about money, but they had never been destitute. He had seen people begging in the streets and sifting through other people's trash for thrown-away treasures, but, even during the worst of times, he had never thought it could happen to him. Now he was beginning to realize just how fortunate he'd been and just how much he had taken it for granted.

Weaver's comments about Sinatra and his being skinny might have been about the Depression as well. He'd known of a lot of guys who'd failed their preinduction physicals simply because they weren't healthy enough to be soldiers. There was nothing apparently wrong with them, but years of poor eating had damaged them physically. He wondered if they would live shorter lives as a result. He laughed. Hell, they might live a lot longer than he would. After all, the Japs weren't shooting at them.

"Here's to MacArthur." Bergen raised his beer and slopped some onto his chest. "Shit," he said, and wiped it off awkwardly.

"Fuck MacArthur," Marcelli snarled. "If he'd done this right, we wouldn't be here. We'd have won already. He's dead and good riddance."

Captain Ruger coughed and fumbled for a cigarette. "You think Bradley'll do better?"

"Couldn't do worse," Marcelli answered.

Paul wondered about that as well. He knew of Bradley from his reputation in Europe and felt they'd gotten a top-notch man to replace MacArthur. Bradley would do a good, solid job and not place his men in unnecessary jeopardy. But, of course, much of what occured would depend on the Japanese, who had, so far, proven damned uncooperative.

They talked and drank until they ran out of beer. Then they sent Lieutenant Bergen- he was the junior officer present as well as the most sober- back for more, which they polished off. Finally it was time to return to their tents and the luxury of sleeping on cots instead of the ground. They would wallow in the ability to sleep in until the headaches that were going to occur from their drinking wore off. The MP guards around the camp would protect them from any Jap snipers or infiltrators. All they had to do was rest and build up their strength for the next round of fighting.

As Paul staggered into his tent and stripped down to his Skivvies, he wondered just what life would be like when he got back home. He wondered what Debbie's reaction would be when he finally got back to her. In a way, he felt guilty. It'd been a while since he'd had the time and the opportunity to even think of her, much less write her. Their mail hadn't caught up with them so he didn't know if she had written lately or not. He closed his eyes and conjured up a vision of her face. She seemed to smile at him and then he was asleep.

CHAPTER 50

ARIAKE BAY, KYUSHU