He turned to Wiles. "I think you and your little pal have gone too far. I regret this, but I am going to see Captain Maxwell."

Wiles and Nevins looked at each other, then burst out laughing. "Sure," said Wiles, "you go see the captain. You just do that."

Morrell turned and, in a rage, his headache and hangover forgotten, almost ran the half mile to where Captain Maxwell had set up shop.

Captain Maxwell had commandeered an old two-story farmhouse that had escaped the ravages of both the German retreat and the American advance. Like so many places in Germany outside the major cities, the area in which they were camped looked as if nothing had changed in it for a hundred years. Whenever he saw Maxwell's ornate headquarters, Morrell was reminded of the story of Hansel and Gretel.

Maxwell's clerk looked uncomfortable at Morrell's request, but told him the captain would be downstairs in a minute. Morrell nodded and went into the living room, which served as the captain's office. Maxwell, a stocky National Guard officer about thirty years old, arrived and waved him to a chair. Morrell briefly explained the situation regarding the grenade-tossing and the two NCOs' drunken insubordination. The captain lit a cigarette and stared at the ceiling.

"Dammit," Maxwell finally said.

"Captain?"

"Lieutenant, how long you been with us?"

"About three months. Just before the Nazis finally surrendered."

Maxwell leaned forward. "That's right, just before the war ended. That means you came in on the ass end of a lot of fighting those boys had been going through for more than a year. You even replaced an officer who, while not particularly smart, was fairly well liked. So, how much combat did you see?"