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"When the Lights Go On Again All Over the World."

by Bennie Benjamin, Sol Marcus and Eddie Seiler, 1942

"There is nothing noble about war, son. War only brings death, pain and destruction."

Robert Hogan gazed into his father's eyes and saw wisdom and truth. But his father's words confused him and so, while he thought of a reply, he turned his model plane over and over in his hands. "But Dad, you taught us that sometimes we have to fight. We need to protect those who can't protect themselves," he said as he blew a bit of dust off the wing of the Sopwith. Robert had followed the war news since the break-out of hostilities in 1914. Only seven at the time, he did not understand what precipitated the war, or why everyone was still fighting. He only knew that the maps, the newsreels, and the stories about the courageous aces fighting it out over the skies of Europe fascinated him. Now eleven, he still couldn't truly understand the reasons for the fighting. But he did understand that millions of young men went to their deaths; perhaps needlessly, and that the politicians and generals contributed to the slaughter of a generation. Despite this, his interest didn't wane.

His father ran his fingers through his hair. He paced around his son's bedroom for a few moments, gazing at the maps on the wall, and the models his talented offspring had built from scratch. Turning, he faced Robert, and folded his arms around his chest, a habit that Robert had picked up, and that he unconsciously copied before ordering around his younger siblings. "Sit down, son."

Robert sat and looked at his father expectedly.

"Your mother and I did teach you that. The strong need to protect the weak. The old, the sick. The young. Women. Children. Civilians. Never forget that. Sadly, sometimes you have to fight back. But before you ever resort to violence; always make sure that it is absolutely necessary. Violence begets violence. And two wrongs don't make a right."

"I'll remember, Dad."

His father smiled. "That's my boy." He reached over and tousled Robert's hair, provoking the look. The look showed up more frequently now-a-days and it made the elder Hogan feel bittersweet. His eldest was growing up, and physical affection between the two of them was now a hit and miss situation.

May 1945.

Colonel Robert Hogan wiped away the moisture in his eyes as he stood at the guardrail of the ship sailing from Southampton to New York. On board were almost a thousand GI's; the complement was made up of troops rotating home, medical evacuees, redeployments, and liberated POW's.

"You were right, Dad. There's nothing noble about war." Once again, Hogan ruminated upon the deaths he had caused. Civilian casualties from his bombing raids, the destruction of German industry in sabotage operations that caused the deaths of innocent factory workers, and what he now considered the cold-blooded killing of several enemies at Stalag 13, still bothered him. As the wind picked up, he removed his crush cap. Looking up at the sky, he thought about his parents' reaction to the news that he would soon be leaving the United States to fight with Britain against Germany.

"They've already tried reasoning with these people. You've seen the newsreels. I'm an officer; I have a duty to protect the innocent."

"That's the army talking, Robert." His mother, her heart already breaking, turned away, and began puttering around the stove.

"No. That's you and Dad talking." Robert walked over to the stove, and put his arms around his mother in an effort to console her. "I have to do it. You know that. And I'll bet you we'll be involved in this sooner or later. Better me than some married guy with children. They have to be stopped. Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire."

"I've seen too much." Hogan turned away from the rail, and made his way back into the crowded interior of the ship. But I did what was right. It was necessary. But now that it's over, I still don't feel good about it. I could have done more. I should have done more. Taking a seat, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he recognized the signs of stress overwhelming his system. "Why now?" He was about to get up and go find his men; he thought only the other POW's under his command could sympathize with his guilt and confliction.

"You all right, sir?"

Hogan looked up at the steward standing over him.

"Yes, I'm fine." He smiled at the young man.

"Can I get you anything, sir? Tea? Something to eat?" The steward knew that the man in front of him was a former POW, and that he had commanded a group of prisoners at a camp in Germany. The signs were all there, although the current batch traveling stateside had not lost as much weight as others he had seen. But the colonel looked upset. It was the duty of the stewards to help care for the liberated officers on this ship, and this steward was determined to do his job.

"No, thank you," Hogan replied. His eager benefactor appeared to be in his late teens; he would have been a mere child when the war broke out. Hogan sought out the boy's nametag. "How old are you, Sterling?" he asked.

"Seventeen, sir. My parents signed the papers. This is only my second cruise, sir."

Hogan nodded. "I bet your parents are proud of you."

"They didn't want to sign the papers at first. But I finished school early. I was ahead a grade. And I wanted to get into the war before it was over." The steward puffed up proudly. "Now that the Krauts surrendered, maybe I'll get to go fight the Japs and…" Seeing Hogan's face, he stopped talking for a moment, and stepped back. "I'm sorry, sir. Did I say something wrong?"

"Sit down." Hogan pointed to the vacant chair next to him. The steward hesitated. "It's okay. At ease."

Slowly the steward took the seat as he glanced around the area. They were in a room designated for officers, and many were milling about; others were resting or playing cards. It was crowded, but they all recognized the need for privacy, and a small amount of space was left between the former POW and the others. It was like a protective bubble surrounded the colonel.

Hands folded neatly in his lap, and seated in a ramrod straight position, the young steward waited with expectation for what the colonel had to say.

"There is nothing noble about war, Sterling. War only brings death, pain and destruction."

"Yes, sir. Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Hogan nodded.

"You must have seen a lot. Before you got shot down, that is. We had to go to war. My father told me the Nazi's were evil. And the Japs, they attacked us."

"You remind me of someone. Not afraid to speak your mind, are you?" Hogan's chuckled and his spirits lifted a bit. "You are right on both counts, Sterling. But there's a lot of collateral damage. And sometimes the good guys cause it." Hogan leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. "I suspect-no-I hope there will be some soul-searching after all of this is over."

"But, I know what the Nazi's did. And the Japs, as well. I mean sometimes the killing and destruction can't be helped."

"What you heard is true," Hogan answered soberly. "I hope those responsible pay for what they did. But I doubt they all will. No matter what, it won't bring all those people back."

"No, sir. It won't."

"I'd like to think that we all did what was necessary and what we thought was right at the time. History will be the judge, I suppose," Hogan answered. "And we have to make sure it never happens again. Sterling, I really hope you don't end up in the Pacific. I think those who have never been in combat have some kind of idealized version in their heads. You do your job, but it can dehumanize you. Some men are never the same. I've witnessed it. And seeing the enemy as something less than human, or a lesser being than yourself, can send you off on a really bad journey."

"Like the ones that built those camps, or tortured the POW's in the Pacific," Sterling stated quietly.

Yeah, well there are Americans who see others as less than human, Hogan thought to himself. But he wasn't about to discuss the morality of interning Japanese-Americans or the injustice of Jim Crow. "Yes, you're right." Hogan stood up, and placed his cap back on his head. "I have to go check on my men. I need to make sure they're not causing trouble." Hogan smiled, as he wondered what Carter, Olsen, Garlotti, and the rest were up to. As for Kinch, Baker and several others, they were unfortunately back where they had started; segregated away from the rest of the soldiers. All demands by Hogan to have them bunk with the liberated prisoners were met with an obstinate refusal and unwillingness on the part of the ship's staff to buck the rules, even if they disagreed with them. Outraged former POW's from Stalag 13 put up a fuss, but their protests were quickly squelched by the affected soldiers themselves, who didn't want any strife to mar the journey back to the states. Hogan was aware that their friends were sneaking down into the colored area to visit. Hogan did so as well. He had already started the letters expressing his disgust at the situation, although he wondered if he should take the advice his father would give him, and allow a cooling-off period before writing and sending them out. No. Hogan loved and admired his father, but in this case, he preferred to let the anger out on paper and send the letters out before he changed his mind. It might cost him a promotion, but at this point, he didn't care.

Sterling stood up and saluted. "Thank you, sir. I'll remember our conversation, and your advice."

Hogan returned the salute. "Thank you, Sterling. And good luck." Hogan held out his hand.

The steward reciprocated and was astonished to feel a fairly strong grip.

"And remember, your generation will eventually have control of the reins. Hopefully, like I said, they'll make sure this never happens again."

"Yes, sir."

After the steward left to care for other passengers, Hogan realized that his talk with the young sailor had somehow pushed the melancholy out of his soul. He figured the respite was temporary, but for now, he was grateful to feel somewhat like his normal self. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, and continued with the letter he had started back in London.

I did what I had to do, Dad. Some of it I regret. Some of what I did was necessary, and I even questioned some orders. I couldn't save everyone, but I did what I thought was right. Just like the rest of my men. And I think I made a difference.

"Even here on this ship." Hogan, believing that he had given the young steward something to think about, nodded in satisfaction.

I pray that this war is truly the war to end all wars, Dad. I just hope we don't screw up the peace.

The End.

This is the last chapter. Thank you all for reading and reviewing.

Notes: I am assuming that Hogan either joined the Eagle Squadron or just basically left the states to fight with the British. (risking a loss of citizenship) According to canon, he had been attached to the RAF at one point.

In a memoir excerpt written by a Tuskegee airman who was taken prisoner, he recalled how he was not segregated in his particular POW camp, but as soon as he started to board the ship heading back to the states, he was told to go to another section of the ship.