[…continued from Wednesday]

“Sir?”

Colonel Brick stuck a cigarette in his mouth and was fumbling with a box of matches. “Yeah, kid?”

“I don’t want to die.”

Brick dropped the matchbox, scattering matches all over the floor. “Jesus, kid. You should’a thought about that back in my office.”

“I know—I’m sorry. I want to help us win, but—I guess I don’t know what I can do if I’m dead. Here.”

Brick had picked a match off the floor and successfully lit the end of his cigarette. He shook the match out, took a deep pull and said, “It’s very simple,” shooting smoke out the corner of his mouth. “As you know, the Germans are on our doorstep. Well, France’s—but it’ll be ours soon enough. Best reports we have say there’s no stopping them. In fact, we think they may have the bomb.”

“The bomb?”

“The atomic bomb. A single one could wipe out an entire city. New York, say, or Paris.” Brick took another drag on the cigarette. “But we might be able to knock them for a loop—turn the tide of the war—if we can thin out their forces and split them down the middle.”

“Where do I come in?”

“I’m getting there. We need them to think we’re going to do the opposite of what we’re actually going to do. If we make them think we’re attacking from the north and south, they move troops there. Then we come straight up the middle when their line is thinned out. Make the push right for Berlin. Trap one army against the North Atlantic coast, the other against the Mediterranean. Divide and conquer.

“You, Captain Hansfelter—a young officer rising quickly up the ranks, have the misfortune of being in an airplane which crashes into the ocean. A huge shame, especially because you’re carrying the plans for the Allies’ major offensive against the Axis in Europe. You wash up in German territory. They find your body, discover the plans for invasion, seal everything up nice and tidy so it looks like they respect the dead, and turn you back over to us. We bury you with full military honors befitting a Captain, wait for them to react, attack. The trick is getting them to fall for it, but we think that’s just about foolproof.”

Brick continued smoking while Anson thought about his part. The brevet Captain said, “you needed a body; you asked me?”

“Bingo.”

Anson swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said. “I’m ready. As long as you can guarantee my death won’t be for nothing.”

“Cross my heart.”

Brick left for a few moments and returned with an orderly. She was an older woman with a taut face, wearing the white uniform of a nurse. Anson couldn’t tell if she was military or civilian, or even if she knew what was happening.

“Go ahead and lay down,” said Brick. He added, in a more serious tone, “You may never know how much this means, over the long run. But you’re providing a valuable service. Your country thanks you.”

The nurse rolled up one sleeve and slid the needle into a vein. The boy shut his eyes. As disturbing as it was to watch someone die, Brick found that he couldn’t look away until the body stopped breathing. After timing thirty seconds on her watch, the nurse checked the boy’s wrist, then his neck. She made eye contact with Brick and nodded once, then turned and left without saying a word.

Brick pulled hard on his cigarette until it almost burned his fingers. He dropped it on the concrete floor and crushed it under a heavy boot. Before he turned to leave, he heard commotion through the door. A frantic knock was followed by, “Colonel Brick!”

When he opened the door, it looked like his men were holding a party. There were cheers; someone had produced cigars and were passing them around. Brick was more startled than irritated. “Yes, what is it, Sergeant?”

“We won!”

“What?”

“The krauts surrendered—just now. The fighting’s over.” The sergeant accepted a cigar from another enlisted man. Brick pushed past them both. On his way out of the radio shack he grabbed the files for Captain Hansfelter and Private Anson.

When he reached his desk he punched the button on his radio again. The Lieutenant took longer than usual getting to Brick’s office, and he arrived with a big smile.

“I guess you heard the news, sir?”

“Yes. Lieutenant, there’s a dead man in the back room wearing a captain’s uniform.” Monroe, being Colonel Brick’s aide, was privy to the situation. The nature of what had transpired dawned on him, and the excitement of victory left. “A bit of a mix-up. See that he’s fitted back into the other uniform that’s in the room.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s a shame the Private died in this morning’s bombing. So close to victory.”

“Indeed, a shame,” replied the Lieutenant. “If you’ll excuse me—“

“One more thing, Monroe.” Brick picked up Captain Hansfelter’s file off the desk. “See that this is burned, would you?”

“Certainly, sir.”

After the Lieutenant left, Brick opened a drawer and pulled out his own personal humidor. He carefully sliced off the end of one of the more expensive cubans. It was a fine cigar—one of his favorites—and with the end of the conflict in Europe, it was a fine time to be smoking one. But today it just didn’t taste the same.