Fortunes of War Read Online Free PDF Page B

to the patio in Cassidy’s yard with Truax and Garcia and Layfield, with Sweet Sabrina serving cold beer to boys not yet twenty-one while Bob Cassidy pretended not to notice, someone tuning the radio to the station called “The Peak” because it played all the top hits.
    Just one day…that wouldn’t be asking too much. A hot day, in the high eighties or low nineties, so the sweat on your skin would evaporate as fast as it appeared, a hot, high, dry day, with that Colorado sun warming your face and a faint scent of juniper in the air and the shady side of Pikes Peak purple in the afternoon.
    Jiro missed those days.
    He missed those people. Or most of them, anyway. He certainly didn’t miss Major Tarleton, the physics professor, whose two uncles had died in the western Pacific, “fighting the Japs.” That was the way he’d phrased it, wasn’t it, while staring at Jiro as if he had personally ordered the attack on Pearl Harbor? There had been others, too, officers and enlisted, who went out of their way to let him know they didn’t appreciate the fact that a Japanese soldier was training at the U.S. Air Force Academy.
    Tarleton had been more than prejudiced—he had tried to ruin Jiro’s academic career, gave him a failing grade for quiz after quiz, even though every answer was correct. Afraid, alone, Jiro endured in silence. Then Tarleton accused him of cheating on an exam. An ice-cold Bob Cassidy called the young cadet into his office, grilled him until he had it all.
    The following Monday morning, Tarleton was gone, and Jiro heard no more about the alleged honor code violation.
    Cassidy was like that. He would risk everything to save one scared kid.
    Jiro Kimura took another drag at the beer and stared with unseeing eyes at the snowcapped cone of Fuji.
    Maybe what he missed was America.
    He wiped the tears from his eyes.
    They had never asked who his father was, what he did, how much money he had. Not once. They took him for who he was, what he was. And they made him one of them.
    Cassidy was a colonel now, the Air Force liaison officer at the U.S. embassy in Tokyo. He was still trim, still grinned, although maybe not as readily as he used to when Sweet Sabrina was alive.
    He worked too hard now. Jiro was sure of that. Good colonels work a lot more than captains, and Cassidy was a good one. In fact, he was one of the best.
    Back then some of the guys had called him “Hopalong” behind his back. Or “Butch.” They had to explain the references to Jiro. He never did understand exactly how nicknames were derived or bestowed, although he did acquire the American taste for them. Still, for him, Cassidy was always Cassidy.
    Or Bob. How American! “Use my first name. That shows that you like me.”
    Jiro was in the bedroom changing clothes when he heard the knock on the door and the sounds of Shizuko greeting Cassidy.
    â€œOh, Colonel, so good to see you.” Shizuko’s English was not so good, but Cassidy had never had too much trouble understanding it.
    â€œHave you heard the news? About the emperor?” Cassidy’s voice was hard, very concerned.
    â€œWhat news?” He could hear the worry in Shizuko’s voice.
    â€œHe was assassinated. They just announced it.”
    Shizuko said something that Jiro didn’t hear, then several seconds later he heard the sound of the television announcer.
    He quickly finished dressing and hurried into the living room. It was a small room, about a third the size of the one Cassidy used to have in Colorado Springs. Jiro shook his head, annoyed that that irrelevant thought should distract him at a time like this.
    He said hello to Cassidy, who gave a tiny bow while remaining intent on the television.
    â€œSit, Colonel. Bob. Please.”
    Cassidy knew some Japanese, apparently enough to follow the television announcer without too much difficulty.
    Shizuko hid her face in her hands.
    â€œPerhaps