Ken's War (22 page)

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Care for a toothpick?” He held out a finely
carved Japanese toothpick for Ken.

“Thanks.”

“How much do you appreciate what today’s
ceremony was about, son?”

“Dad tricked those guys who were stealing
medical supplies.”

Topker flicked his toothpick from one side of
his mouth to the other and said, “He streamlined the paperwork for
requisitioning, tracking and transporting supplies, and made it
less cumbersome and, this is the beauty of it, harder to camouflage
unauthorized movement of supplies. With fewer opportunities to play
havoc with the MRP system, the perpetrators’ activities become
transparent. Without an ocean of falsified papers, their purposeful
discrepancies were harder to camouflage.” He spoke happily, in
detail, his words rolling along like marbles on a sidewalk. Then he
added, “You don’t know who’s swimming naked until the tide goes
out.”

Topker continued. “Then he performed a
classic sting maneuver. Kohanski and Bellany were the ringleaders
of the gang that had been stealing medical supplies. Their crimes
caused the prolongation of illnesses and pain, not to mention the
deaths of soldiers injured in the field. I cannot think of villains
more heinous than traitors to our great country.” Trying to get
comfortable for a nap, Topker rearranged himself in the seat.
“Captain Paderson is a hero,” he said, “a real soldier. The kind
who saves lives.”

“I know.”

Only a few parts of the lieutenant colonel’s
version of the investigation were difficult to follow, with its
mishmash of warehouse lingo and tides. Ken understood enough,
though. To be honest, he’d figured his dad would slog along with
Operation Valiant until his transfer came through, or until the war
ended, whichever came first. Ken was relieved to have been wrong,
and ashamed to have lacked faith in his father.

Remembering a morning in the bamboo grove
when Sikung had drawn the soreness out of his healing wrist, Ken
squeezed the mended fracture as hard as he could, but no soreness
remained. His bones had healed as strong as new. Maybe Sikung could
have healed Paderson’s left hand, the one he’d injured when he’d
decked David Marshall’s dad a couple years ago. Ken couldn’t even
offer to introduce his dad to the
chi gung
master and healer
now. He felt he’d failed his father. Sikung’s gift didn’t strike
Ken as miraculous. No, the miracle was that people healed on their
own, in their own time.

Ken squeezed past Topker’s legs and sat in
the seat next to his father.

“What’s in that box?” Ken asked. The package
in Paderson’s lap was wrapped in handmade Japanese paper and tied
with twine.

“It’s yours, if you like it,” Paderson
said.

After removing the twine and laying it aside,
Ken removed the paper without tearing it, and found a cellophane
packet filled with dried tealeaves. He inserted two hard green
curls into his mouth. A sweetish tannic flavor of sunshine, and of
things green juiced up his mouth as the tealeaves softened. He held
the open end of the packet toward his father. Paderson looked into
the packet, reached in, and placed a dried leaf on his tongue. He
rested his head against the seatback, interlaced his fingers on his
lap, and closed his eyes.

“I thought you didn’t like green tea,
Dad.”

Paderson raised his eyebrows jauntily, but
kept his eyes shut.

The pilot’s sonorous voice came over the
intercom to announce the plane’s ground speed and ETA to Hong Kong.
He informed the passengers that they were flying over the East
China Sea, that a tailwind was pushing them along, and visibility
was exceptionally good. He didn’t anticipate any turbulence for the
remainder of the flight.

Ken settled into the purring of the engines,
the sun warming the cabin, the blue sea sparkling below. He sat
quiet and content beside his dad.

The End

About the
Author

B.K. (Beth) Fowler isn’t going to bore you
with that stuff about where she was born and how many cats she has
(two).

She went to high school in Carlisle,
Pennsylvania, home of the U.S. Army War College, and "army brats"
were her pals. Like the protagonist in
Ken’s War,
she was
uprooted from Yankee soil to live in the Far East where culture
shock was a daily adventure. Although
Ken’s War
isn’t based
on Fowler’s life, nuances and insights gathered while living abroad
give her novel richness young adults and older readers appreciate.
Over 400 of her articles and short stories have been published.
Oxford University Press published two anthologies of her
stories.

Facebook:
www.facebook.com/kenswar

Website:
http://writershelper.wordpress.com

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