"Miss Monroe, you're not only beautiful, but your cooking is incredible," I said, wiping the last of the empty can off my boot. The food had done its job—I no longer felt like my stomach was about to eat itself.
"I never expected Mr. Carter to be such a charmer," Monroe replied, though she clearly enjoyed the compliment.
"Well, with you at my side, Miss Monroe, anything on the plate tastes superb," I teased.
She laughed, her eyes sparkling in the lantern light.
"Is that so funny, my dear Miss Monroe?" I chuckled, raising a mock-offended brow.
"No, no," she waved her hand, still giggling. "Your words simply remind me of something else."
"Really? May I be so lucky as to hear about this 'something else'?" I asked, feigning polite curiosity. A handsome reporter's private thoughts always piqued my interest.
Monroe blushed and looked away, coyly covering her smile. "That's a secret—for now. Maybe I'll tell you later, if the mood strikes me."
I shrugged. If she wasn't going to share, I wouldn't press her. Instead, I reminded myself that I still had to explain my views on Hitler—otherwise I might risked being grilled by Allied command tomorrow. And the longer I stayed here, the more trouble I might get into. Most importantly, I didn't want to be alone with such a beautiful woman any longer than necessary—my resolve might crumble.
"Miss Monroe, it's getting late, and who knows what orders I might have waiting for me tomorrow? Let's keep our conversation brief—if that's all right with you."
By now, whenever Monroe talked shop, she was all business. She nodded in eager agreement.
"Mr. Carter is right."
"Earlier, Miss Monroe, you asked me how I viewed Hitler. I'd better say it plainly—before rumors circulate and Allied command starts questioning me." I inhaled deeply and met her steady gaze. The intensity in her eyes made me think: this woman's passion for her work was extraordinary. Still, the thought of the fallout filled me with dread—even if it was praise.
"In the eyes of many ordinary Germans, Hitler was once seen as their 'savior.' You could say he answered the desperate longing of a people sucked into economic collapse and stripped of national pride. The Treaty of Versailles imposed unbearable burdens on Germany—millions of families sank into poverty, resentment simmered everywhere. When Hitler rose to power, he did promise to 'restore Germany,' and his early economic measures gave people a glimmer of hope. Those Germans who'd endured the humiliation of defeat saw him as the man who would lead them back to glory. At that moment, that wasn't an uncommon viewpoint."
I paused long enough to gauge her reaction, then continued more quietly: "But you have to understand that this 'savior' image was only rooted in the German public's urgent desire for better living conditions. Once he turned his attention away from domestic recovery and toward external conquest—pouring everything into rearming, provoking wars, persecuting anyone who didn't fit his ideal—his totalitarian core revealed itself. By using military triumphs to boost morale and seize short-term gains, he ultimately steered Germany into an even greater abyss. He incited hatred, pushed war to horrifying extremes, and left behind tens of millions of dead and indelible, unspeakable suffering."
I let her take this in, watching her expression flicker between thoughtfulness and unease. Then I said firmly, "So from the German civilian perspective, Hitler was briefly a 'symbol of hope.' But from the vantage point of history—and from the standpoint of basic human conscience—he is beyond question a 'mass murderer and architect of genocide.' He stood at the very pinnacle of power, making decisions that led directly to war and the extermination of countless innocent lives. That is why he remains one of the deepest wounds in human history. For the entire world—well, maybe we should exclude those fervent supporters in Germany for a moment—Hitler personified tyranny, hatred, and genocide. He helped unleash a catastrophe on civilization. Perhaps he was once viewed as a 'hero' by some Germans, but to humanity as a whole, he is a reviled criminal and the greatest tyrant of modern times."
When I finished, Monroe's gaze on me had changed. I couldn't pinpoint exactly why, but I sensed it. Still, she looked doubtful and asked, "Did you come up with this yourself, or did someone tell you?"
I laughed softly. "Miss Monroe, do you really think these ideas sprang from someone else's mouth? I've thought about this on my own."
"Good heavens," she said, a bit breathless. "It's astonishing. I'll bet if Allied command knew you held such views on Hitler, they'd promote you straight to general!"
Her excitement seemed genuine. In this war-torn world, who would expect a low-ranking officer to display such political insight—so clearly, concisely, and comprehensively? Usually, these sorts of opinions flowed from high-ranking strategists, not a lieutenant like me. Anyone who heard that might well think more highly of me.
She studied me again, shaking her head in wonder. "I really didn't expect you, the honorable Mr. Carter, to be so exceptional. The more time I spend with you, the more I'm impressed by your wisdom."
Now she called me "the honorable Mr. Carter"—a change in respect that made my chest swell just a little. Clearly, she thought far more of me than she ever had before.
"Miss Monroe, if you'd like to know more about me, perhaps we could start dating," I said with a crooked grin. "Then we could spend more time together, and you'd discover all there is to know about me. Wouldn't you agree?"
As a normal man, teasing a beautiful, gracious woman was part of the course—so long as you already knew her and she didn't disapprove. Otherwise, charging blindly at a stranger could have you branded a scoundrel.
Monroe surprised me by responding with a playful laugh: "Mr. Carter, you may be wonderful—but can two brief meetings and your comments today really win my favor?"
"Oh? Then I've still got a chance?" I laughed. To be honest, I wasn't quite sure what to say to her.
She rolled her eyes, smiling wickedly. "You'd better do well, Mr. Carter. I might very well choose you from all the other candidates."
Of course—why would a woman this lovely be without suitors? But it was getting late, and I still had to sleep before whatever came tomorrow. I stood and bid her good night.
Back in my quarters, I lay staring at the ceiling, wide awake. I tried to figure out precisely when Germany would surrender—it must be sometime in March or April of 1945, but I couldn't be certain. Counting on my fingers, I estimated just a few more months of fighting. I silently prayed that if God spared me, the next engagements might not involve me directly. I held onto that hope, however slim it might be.
Suddenly, a harsh alarm blared through Carentan. Pistols and rifles cracked like thunder in the night sky.
"Air raid! Air raid!"
Chaos erupted. No one expected the Germans to strike Carentan now. From the distance came the growl of Panther tanks rolling in—German armor attacking the Allied positions!
"Damn it!" I cursed, still in my shirt, the cold metal of my Tommy Gun burning my palm as I tossed myself off the cot. War always came like a thief in the night; we were mere puppets to its capricious whims.
Without another thought, I grabbed my helmet and sprinted outside, determined to hold the line—no matter how sudden or brutal the enemy's assault might be.