Walter Mosca felt a surge of excitement, along with an indescribable loneliness that accompanied the journey home. He remembered the scattered ruins outside Paris and the familiar milestones by the roadside. This was the final leg of his journey; he couldn't wait to reach his destination: the heart of Europe reduced to rubble, a destroyed city he thought he would never see again. The milestones leading to Germany seemed more familiar to him than those leading to his homeland. The train raced forward, swaying back and forth. It was a military transport heading to Frankfurt's defense zone for rotation, but half of the passengers in this carriage were civilian employees recruited from the United States. Mosca touched his silk tie and smiled slightly. He felt somewhat out of place; if he sat at the other end of the carriage with American soldiers, he would feel more comfortable. He thought that the more than twenty employees traveling with him probably shared the same feeling.