I feel like it’s Berlin, 1939. Life is quiet, but uneasy. We still go down to the restaurant district, but the crowds are no longer celebrating, as when Warsaw fell in September. Our Jew problem has disappeared; they’re all in ghettos. Chamberlain’s still PM in England, France is just sitting and watching behind their impregnable Maginot Line, daring us to attack.
We wonder what will be the next move. Nothing to stop us. Yet, we are uneasy.
P.S. 1945, six years later our cities, not just Berlin, but all our cities, are wastelands and rubble, millions of our young men dead, as well as millions of our citizens, all for a few men who believed they had the natural law right to goose-step their beliefs and their new management systems to rule us.
In the beginning their promises were so tantalizing.
Instead, six Americans in a broken-down tank parked on a crossroads, instead of fleeing for their lives, and as a thousand of our men tried to go past them to get home, those six men, with a totally different sense of mission, killed hundreds of our young boys before dying themselves.
What kind of animal are they?
The world has always been asking what kind of animal are the Americans.
