September 3, 1939 – Bridgeport, Connecticut

Neville Chamberlain's frantic bids for 'peace for our time' have failed. After the German army invaded Poland at dawn on September the first, an ultimatum was issued to the German leader, Adolph Hitler. The forty-eight hours the German army was given to withdraw have slowly ticked away, and with them have gone the last hours of peace.

Britain's declaration of war was read out earlier today and France's declaration of war followed soon after. Members of the British Commonwealth have pledged their support and many have issued their own declarations of war. More are expected at any time.

Here at home, President Roosevelt is calling for a special session of Congress. It is expected that the Neutrality Act will be invoked, stopping all shipments of munitions and war materials into countries at war.

Sitting quietly in his parents' home in Connecticut, Robert Hogan reached out to snap the radio off. The news from Europe had been getting progressively worse over the months as Hitler had threatened peace again and again. At first everyone had thought it would end with Czechoslovakia; it was a small price to pay for peace. But it had quickly become clear to all but the most naïve that Hitler would stop at nothing but war. Still, everyone had hoped that war might be averted in the eleventh hour.

Now that the eleventh hour had passed, Hogan found himself wondering whether Roosevelt commit them to fighting or whether he would rest assured that the United States was safe, surrounded by its oceans. It appeared as though he would leave the old powers of Europe to fight their own battles.

Even though he was alone, Hogan found himself with the need to talk to someone, to verbally state the thoughts that were tumbling wildly inside his mind. "So, it's finally come to war. And we won't get in on the show until fate comes knocking at our door," he mused angrily, getting up to pace back and forth across the room.

"Listen!" he said to himself. "It sounds almost as though I want for us to fight. I've been in the military since I was eighteen; I know as well as anyone else that we haven't been preparing for war. I know that we're not ready to fight. I know that any sane person doesn't want for us to fight."

He sighed and sank back down into the chair again, resting his hands on his knees. "But, unfortunately, I also know that we can't just pretend there's nothing happening in Europe. I know that eventually we're going to have to fight and we're not going to be getting ready by ignoring this!" he finished angrily, balling his hands into fists.

He stood up, ready to start pacing again, when he heard the screen door bang shut. Someone had come home. He wasn't sure who it was and froze, watching for someone to come into the living room. He knew that they couldn't have failed to hear his angry tirade through the open window.

"Robbie?" It was his younger sister. "Is that you?" she called in confusion. He hadn't told anyone that he was coming home; of course she would be confused.

"Yeah," he yelled back. "It's me, Vicki."

"What are you doing here?" she asked delightedly, flying around the corner. "Do Mom and Dad know you're home?" she demanded.

"Nope," Hogan answered, opening his arms for a hug. "I managed to wrangle a weekend pass and thought I'd come down and surprise you all."

"Boy, are you ever going to get it when Mom and Dad get home from the market!" Vicki declared, sinking into her oldest brother's arms. She pulled away to get a better look at him. "You know that Mom likes cooking a feast for you when you come home."

Hogan patted his stomach. "Trust me, I know. Too many more feasts and I'll have to requisition new uniforms," he laughed.

"So, Lieutenant-Colonel Hogan," she said, pulling herself up to attention, "how goes the war?" It was a long-standing joke between the two of them, stretching back to when Hogan had first entered West Point. Suddenly, with the turn of events, the joke wasn't funny at all. Even the memory of a pudgy five-year-old girl solemnly saluting a wiry eighteen-year-old cadet couldn't lighten the sudden significance.

"Vicki," Hogan said seriously, taking her shoulders in his hands, "it's real. The news was just on the radio. Britain and France are both in, but Roosevelt is invoking the damned Neutrality Act with a special session of Congress. We're taking the cowards' way out of this."

Vicki stepped away from her brother, eyes sweeping up and down his uniform. "You sound almost like you want us to go to war, Robbie," she said disapprovingly. Her eyes had grown icy and her voice was cold.

"Of course I don't want to go to war!" Hogan burst, starting to pace again. "I know that you're way too young to remember the last war, but I remember it. I don't remember all of it, but I remember bits and pieces." He lapsed into silence for a moment, thinking.

"Mr. Johnson down the street," he started brokenly, "he went to France. Before he went, he always used to have time for us boys; he was like another one of us. No matter how busy he was, he would always make time. Then he went to war. When he came back, he was missing a leg. That's what we could see. But he was missing more than that, much more than that."

"What do you mean?" Vicki asked hesitantly. She knew Mr. Johnson, a quiet man who kept to himself and walked with a limp. But she didn't know his story; people didn't talk about the war much.

"He was different," Hogan explained. "He didn't have time for us anymore. He didn't want to be around us and would go out of his way to avoid us. It was like he went away one person and came back as someone else. War has more casualties than just the ones who don't live."

"And if it does come to war, you'll fight." It wasn't a question, but rather a statement. Vicki knew that he would fight. One did not join the army in peace to desert it during war.

Although an answer wasn't really necessary, Hogan responded anyway. "Of course I'll fight," he said. "I'm a soldier."

"And the others?" she asked, referring to their brothers.

Hogan shrugged. He had never been able to speak for his younger brothers. They had never understood his unwavering devotion to the army. They didn't share his sense of duty; one that carried him above and beyond what was expected.

"People die in wars," she stated softly, turning away from Hogan.

"Yeah, Vicki," Hogan replied, turning her back to face him. "I know."

"You still think we've got to fight?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah," Hogan told her. "I do."