~ Heroes ~
The base commander’s voice reverberated through Camp Zama’s public address system and across the airstrip. Sea breezes played in banners emblazoned with USARJ and USARPAC, and a flock of pigeons, their wings catching the sun, rose like a diamond-studded net over Okinawa sugarcane fields.
Lieutenant Colonel Topker and other officers sat behind the dais. They murmured appreciatively and applauded when the base commander ended his speech, and introduced the four-star general who’d flown in for the ceremony.
The four-star spoke in confusing, although complimentary, metaphors about honor and duty. The general reminded everyone that wars were won thanks to the concerted efforts of support staff, as well as those of combat troops. He sat down and Topker came forward and began recapping for everyone what Paderson had done to merit recognition.
A man, arriving late for the ceremony, pinched the creases of his newly-pressed slacks between his fingers, and sat next to Ken. The private first class removed his hat to smooth down his hair, fragrant from a recent shampooing.
“Whoa! Wizard, what happened?”
“I clean up pretty well, if I say so myself.”
Together they watched what was happening up front.
“Your dad has what every father hopes for,” Wizard said.
“Yeah, he’s been itching to get reassigned stateside ever since we landed.”
“I was referring to you, Ken. I’m talking about you. I know it was difficult, but I’m damn delighted you told him the truth.”
On that morning a few months ago, after the MPs had arrested Bellamy, Kohanski and Abernathy, and after the Watanabes had left the house, Paderson drank slow cups of coffee while Ken confessed to stealing goods from the warehouse and selling them to pay for chi gung lessons. Private First Class Abernathy might look like a candidate for Section 8, Ken had pointed out to his father, but he’s not a crook. He’s a loyal soldier and a good guy. Paderson looked at Ken oddly and nodded thoughtfully in agreement. “I couldn’t let Dad think you were stealing junk from the warehouse and you get a dishonorable discharge,” Ken told Wizard. “We’re buddies. Buddies stick together.”
“Someday you’ll be glad you ‘fessed up, partner.”
“I’m glad today. Here’s some money to repay you for the mask. I’ll repay the rest to you somehow.”
Wizard clasped Ken’s hand in his hands. “You keep this money and repay me in a lump sum next time I see you.”
Wizard wouldn’t let go until Ken said, “OK.”
“Shhh. Listen.”
“The Soldiers Medal,” Topker said into the microphone, “is for heroism by those serving with the U.S. Army in any capacity that involves the voluntary risk of life under conditions other than those with an opposing armed force.”
“Risk of life?” Ken echoed uncertainly.
Wizard nodded.
The officers standing in a semi-circle behind the dais, and everyone in the audience watched as the four-star general stood and pinned the Soldiers Medal to Paderson’s chest. Paderson delivered a hasty salute to the general and to the other officers. He scanned the audience’s faces. Finding Ken, he saluted sharply. Ken stood and returned the salute, renewing the crowd’s cheers and applause.
From his seat in the plane, Ken watched the archipelago that had been his home slide under them. When the airplane reached altitude and leveled out, Topker got out of his seat beside Captain Paderson, and lumbered down the aisle. Ken gripped the arms of the plane seat. Topker probably knew of Ken’s crime and was coming to explain to him the exact nature of the punishment he and his dad had devised especially for him. Topker squeezed into the seat beside Ken.
“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