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front of the line carrying twelve five-gallon cans once used to
hold fuel. They ladled out one cup of rice gruel and one cup of
tea to each man in line. Andrew stared at the mush cans and
counted how many men stood between him and the food,
worrying there would be nothing left by the time he got there.
"Doggone," Grady groaned. "Tomorrow we have to get
here faster. This waitin' kills me."
Forty minutes crawled by before they neared the mush
pots. Andrew paid close attention to exactly how large a
portion each man in front of him received, and as he held up
his mess-cans, he insured he and Grady received the same
measure of both gruel and tea.
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The Lonely War
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They raced to the shady side of Hut 29 and joined Hudson
and Stokes, who were sitting on the ground with their backs
against the wall. They set their mess-cans down so they could
eat with one hand while fanning flies away with the other.
Andrew squatted on his haunches, native style, while he
ate.
"How do you keep your balance sittin' like that?" Grady
asked.
"You should try it. It's comfortable, and it keeps your butt
from getting dirty."
"No way. You look like a monkey sitting on a branch."
The tasteless food brought no complaints. Grady used his
spoon to pick a few weevils out of his, but Andrew didn't
bother. Bugs were protein, and he needed all he could get.
The food lifted his mood. It felt splendid to have something
in his belly to temporarily stop the gnawing hunger pangs. He
relished the taste of the weak tea, and the rice gruel brought
back memories of childhood summers at the monastery.
He noticed that Hudson had altered the way he ate.
Aboard ship, he would devour mountains of fried potatoes,
slabs of roast beef, bowls of stew, stacks of bread with tasty
butter, and wash it all down with mugs of coffee thick with
cream and sweet with sugar. He would eat so fast he never
tasted any of it, wolfing it down until he was ready to burst.
But after a month of near-starvation, he had learned to
nibble small amounts of rice at a time, munching it into a
paste to extract every iota of flavor, rolling it on his tongue
and sucking it into the sides of his cheek, holding it there for
a moment before swallowing. Making it last. Yes, Andrew
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The Lonely War
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thought, rice tastes like ambrosia if you take your time and
tease your belly.
Hudson leaned towards him. "Rookie, I've been talking to
some of the limeys. They say a man can't make it on his own,
can't live on the four ounces of rice a day they dole out.
You've got to form units and pull together to scavenge more
food. You need at least three men, one to forage for anything
edible, one to guard and cook what you've already scrounged,
and one spare for when somebody gets sick. If nobody's sick,
then two forage."
"Makes sense, but what's there to scavenge?"
"There are ways to make money and ways to buy things
like eggs and coconuts and bananas. What you can't buy you
filch."
"You mean steal?"
"I mean a simple redistribution of wealth is all. Don't look
at me like that. This is dog-eat-dog. How about it, rookie
you, me and Stokes?"
"And Grady?"
"Sure, but he's got to pull his weight."
Grady chuckled, "I can pull my weight. I've got lots of
filchin' experience."
"Alright!" Hudson said. "The four musketeers. All for one
and ... however the hell that goes. We start scouting the
camp right after breakfast. Stokes, you're our supply officer."
Stokes sat staring at the dirt with a sorrowful expression.
Andrew nudged Hudson. "What's with him?"
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The Lonely War
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"Aw, he's all depressed thinking his girl will run off with the
next sailor that comes along. I told you bums women were no
good."
"Hud," Stokes growled, "I hear another word against my
girl and someone's gonna pay."
"Hold your milk, boy. I didn't mean any disrespect. Pull
yourself together and tell us what supplies we need."
Stokes finished his last smidgen of gruel and rolled his
eyes upward.
"Any kind of food, an electric hotplate, a pot, skillet, knife,
soap, razor and blades, hairbrush, tobacco and papers, and
anything we can sell or barter watches, rings, lighters,
clothes."
"And toothbrushes," Andrew said.
"We're starving to death, and you're worried about your
teeth?" Hudson sneered.
"Hud, the Chinese invented toothbrushes. We know the
importance of keeping our mouths clean. Trust me, if you
want to walk out of here with teeth, use a toothbrush. You
don't even need to brush them all, only the ones you want to
keep."
Hudson snorted. "Okay, put 'em on the list."
Grady shook his head. "That's a ton of filchin'."
Hudson nodded. "That's why you can't survive alone. But if
the limeys can form units, so can we."
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