Free Spoils of Victory by John A. Connell

huge influx of soldiers on leave.
    It was eight P.M. , and Garmisch had begun changing into its second skin. The extreme contrasts of life in this town had struck Mason on the first day of his arrival, and this evening was no exception. During the day the streets filled up with German civilians and ex-soldiers and the less-fortunate displaced persons, all seeking ways to survive. They shuffled through the snow in threadbare clothes, with gaunt faces, bartering possessions for food or taking long treks up into the mountains to gather wood for their fires. At night, the town’s other half emerged: army GIs and military government officials in their dress uniforms escorting young German ladies. And it was the first time Mason had seen wealthy Germans flaunting their furs, jewels, and tuxedos. The rules were different in Garmisch, at least for Germans of sufficient wealth, whether old money or new and nefarious: no curfews, private luxury vehicles, zero restrictions on gathering at restaurants and bars. Just one big demented family.
    A sign on a single-story building advertised the Blue Parrot with alternating neon lights that created the illusion of a parrot raising its wing and downing a mug of beer. Unfortunately, the middle gesture looked like it was giving a Nazi salute—an unintentional send-up of Hitler by the Americans who had converted the former German beer hall into a bar/eatery for U.S. army and military government personnel.
    Mason shook his head at the irony. He crossed the street and entered the establishment. The bar’s namesake came from the film
Casablanca
, but the interior looked more like Geppetto’s workshop from
Pinocchio
, with the additions of American flags, Coca-Cola and iconic beer signs, and framed photographs of FDR, Truman, and Eisenhower.
    Mason nabbed the last spot at the bar and ordered a beer. While he waited for the barman to bring his order, he scanned the crowd. Every stripe and bar of every rank was represented. He recognized some of the locally stationed army and MG personnel, but themajority consisted, as always, of American servicemen and women from all over the American occupation zone.
    Mason usually shunned crowded places. Noisy restaurants and cocktail parties bored him. He liked being alone, but seeing Laura at the station had left him feeling empty, and he needed to fill the void. He looked at the other women and wondered if he’d ever meet someone who could knock him over like Laura did. Lust would push him into the arms of another woman, but once that fire was extinguished he’d move on.
    His beer arrived, and as he sipped the liquid, his attention turned to the male patrons. Which of the men he saw having a good time took bribes to look the other way or greased the wheels or even participated in large-scale black marketeering? Was it the captain in the transportation regiment sitting at a table with two young women? He had access to trucks and trains to transport or divert goods. Was it the major in the MG financial offices in Munich dancing with a girl half his age? That department not only dealt with payroll and funds for government rebuilding projects, but also oversaw the collection of retrieved caches of Nazi-stolen artwork and gold that on too many occasions ended up missing. Then there was the captain of the prison that held suspected Nazi officials and industrialists. It was rumored that for the right price, papers would suddenly appear exonerating wealthy prisoners of all wrongdoing. And when the captain ran out of legitimate prisoners who could pay, he had other moneyed victims arrested on bogus charges, forcing the families to pay for their freedom. Rumor had it, of course . . .
    There were many good men and women in the service who believed in what they were doing, performed their duty, and did it well, despite the seemingly impossible weight of bureaucracy and the rivalries between the army and military government. But the