Mid-summer bathed the sprawling military compound outside Rome with mature temperatures as its rays filtered through a haze of dust that seemed to settle into every crevice of the temporary structures. Inside the sweltering administrative building, oscillating fans circled overhead, stirring papers on metal desks. The technical sergeant’s uniform hung loose to breathe with them as he stood at attention and complained with accumulating frustration to the captain of the maintenance company, “The War Department is sending home fathers and replacing them with fresh faced enlistees.” He extended a weathered hand towards the open window behind them where the maintenance yard was seen stretched in its orderly rows with corrugated roofs shimmering in the heat, he continued, “Morale is suffering. Work orders are slow to completion.”
The Captain looked up from a stack of requisition forms, his reading glasses perched focus from the bridge of his nose. Around them the staff section bore the makeshift quality of wartime efficiency with maps tacked to plywood walls, filing cabinets that had seen better days, and a perpetually percolating coffee pot. Removing his glasses and massaging his brows, the captain, by standing emphasized, “We are a linchpin for the 51st Carrier Squadron’s efforts to return men and equipment to peacetime through the Ciampino Airport.” His normally emotionless