Alan Chin - The Lonely War by Alan Chin

Author:Alan Chin [Chin, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22 May 27th, 1942

0100 hours

Andrew strolled through the camp gates kicking a stone as

he went. He kicked it three or four feet up the path, ambled to it, and kicked it again, repeating, repeating. His thoughts still lolled in Tottori's quilts. He knew he would never go hungry as long as Tottori was commandant, and he would have no problems from the guards—they would treat him with respect, at least to his face.

And he would always regret what he had gained and what he had lost. His losses seemed immense—the camaraderie of the Pilgrim's crew, Mitchell's friendship, the joy of sharing a coconut with his unit. He was an outcast henceforth.

Other prisoners tramped about as if sleepwalking, moving fast or slow, forcing their way through the night, mangy as stray dogs. They were restless but without impatience, without happiness or sadness, without curiosity, moving from here to there, alone in a crowd where they were never and always by themselves.

Dream-like, someone stepped into Andrew's path to block his way. Andrew stopped and gazed into the shadowy face of Lieutenant Fowler.

"I saw you and that degenerate march to the

commandant's quarters. Are you the new camp stoolie or are you letting the head Jappo bugger your arse in exchange for food? You've been in camp only two days, and you've already sold your soul."

Andrew's mind struggled to engage this new obstacle. He saw the hatred embedded in those colorless eyes. It was pointless to defend himself. This was the first salvo in a battle that would involve everyone. Regrets were equally useless. He had made his decision, and there was no turning back.

All the same, his anger swelled, choking him. He was not angry at Fowler, but at his situation, angry at his lack of control within the chaos.

"You're the louse who clings to the conquerors' pubic hairs. Shameless. One thing about selling out, there is always a reckoning. You'll pay, and I'll see to it that you pay dearly."

Andrew understood Fowler meant to destroy him, and it would be all too easy. His destruction would feed the hate that raged in Fowler's heart. But he realized his destruction— his death—was the cleanest solution to this quagmire. Fowler's hatred could very well be his only ally.

His fury evaporated. He even grinned.

"I've already paid, thank you very much," he said, then stepped around Fowler and hurried towards the hospital. * * * * Andrew climbed the hospital stairs two at a time. Clifford waited by Mitchell's bed while Hudson and Stokes stood in the shadows.

Clifford took Andrew in his arms. "A-a-a-are you alright? D-d-did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine. How's our patient?"

"H-h-h-his pulse is fast, and his temperature is normal, which is bad. W-w-we'll start as soon as Grady brings some water. I-I-I asked your friends to help."

Hudson shuffled up and laid a hand on Andrew's shoulder. "Don't know how you managed to get this serum, but God love you both. I asked Nash to help, him being a pharmacist's mate, but he's scared shitless, so fuck him.

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