Shadows of War tells the story of World War II as few Americans know it. In the mid-1930s a high school history teacher inspires a student to look beyond his small hometown. He becomes a Foreign Service officer, and they then anchor a World War II story that provides perspectives little known to Americans. A Romanian princess cares for more than 3,000 orphans and rescues more than 1,000 downed American flyers - and tussles with the SS to keep the POWs from their control at considerable risk to herself. On air raids over Romania, American crews must fly 1,200 miles - on creatively named planes such as Wingo-Wango and Jersey Bounce - at just 50 feet off the "deck" to launch attacks on the stoutly defended oil refineries at Ploesti. In Singapore and Malaysia a mild-mannered father of seven becomes a resistance leader after the Japanese invasion, and four gutsy nuns who serve as nurses try to stay a step ahead of the brutal conquerors. Shadows of War By Mike Johnson AuthorHouse Copyright © 2010 Mike Johnson All right reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4520-9434-2 Chapter One "Where was he killed?" "In Belleau Wood," Marie Hughes replied softly after a slight pause, eyes downcast. "He was with the Fourth Marine Brigade. They were attached to the Army's Second Infantry Division. They stopped the Germans on the road to Paris. We lost almost ten thousand men in that battle. Nearly two thousand killed, the rest wounded. Marines and soldiers." She sighed deeply. "The battle lasted nearly three weeks." In fact, that crucial battle raged from June 6-26, 1918. It earned the Marines the sobriquet Devil Dogs. A battlefield report transmitted on June 26 read: "Woods now U.S. Marine Corps entirely." "Do you know how?" Joe Barton asked in a near whisper. "Not really. But knowing what I know about World War One and Belleau Wood, probably machine gun fire. At close range. Perhaps by rifle or shrapnel from a mortar. Not likely by falling bombs. Airplane pilots tossed down the occasional bomb, but they mostly fired machine guns and flew reconnaissance. To take Belleau Wood our Marines had to charge across a wheat field. There was no cover and the Germans cut loose with machine guns." Her head shook. "It was sheer incompetence by senior officers." Marie Hughes knew plenty about World War I. She also knew much about all the wars in which Americans had fought, died and been maimed. Miss Hughes taught American history at Shelby High School from which she graduated in 1908. That was 25 years before her conversation with Joe Barton that was taking place in early November 1933. In between, she had earned a bachelor's degree at Ohio Wesleyan University in Delaware and then returned to Shelby to begin a teaching career that would end 47 years later when she retired in 1960. Afterward she substitute taught for several more years before dying in 1974 at age 83. Joe was a strapping 17-year-old who stood six feet tall and weighed 185 pounds made hard through a daily exercise regimen that included 200 push-ups and 50 chin-ups. He wasn't Hollywood handsome, but two facial flaws lent his countenance a certain magnetism. One was a half-dollar size birthmark between his right eyebrow and temple. The other was an inch and a half-long jagged scar below his right sideburn. The latter was courtesy of a fall against a row of red bricks bordering a flower garden in a neighbor's backyard. Said bricks met Joe's face during a rousing game of neighborhood football. "Were you engaged?" Joe asked. "Yes. He was my fiancé." "How did you learn about it? His death, I mean." "From his mother." Miss Hughes sighed again. "I haven't talked about it much. Actually, hardly at all, just with my mother." Her eyes were gazing past Joe's left shoulder as though peering back through the years, 15 of them. "Why are you telling me?" "A good question, Joe. The answer is I'm not sure," Miss Hughes replied, lips pursing and redirecting her eyes toward Joe's. "Sometimes I just get to reflecting. Armistice Day is next week. November eleventh. And maybe because you are fond of history. And maybe too because I sense you have a spirit of adventure. Somehow I see your future taking you far from Shelby." She was right about Joe's zest for history. From early childhood he had been lugging armloads of histories and biographies from stately, columned Marvin Memorial Library on North Gamble Street to his home on East Main Street. Benjamin Franklin. Daniel Boone. General Mad Anthony Wayne. Blackjack Pershing. They all had accompanied Joe on the half-mile trek from the former mansion of one of Shelby's earliest families turned library. A smile creased Joe's face. "I've never been outside of Ohio." Miss Hughes was Joe's favorite teacher. She was a whisper of a woman, barely five feet tall. Petite, her weight barely nudged the scales to 100 pounds. Miss Hughes dressed smartly. She favored navy blue and black dresses, usually accented by a single strand o