The Lonely War Read Online Free PDF

study the lieutenant, obviously trying to gauge whether or not the man would stand behind his threat.
    “If we weren’t at war, you’d already be rotting in a cell. We’re your last chance to turn things around. Now get the hell out of here and report to Chief Ogden for a job assignment in the engine room, and tell him to send me Seaman Stokes.”
    Mitchell read Stokes’s service record until the sailor ambled into the room and sat at the table. He noted that Stokes had a strong physique without seeming athletic. The same color of red hair that covered his head also covered his arms and the back of his hands. He was twenty years old and had a friendly, likeable demeanor, and he looked at Mitchell without displaying any degree of challenge or evasion. A skilled helmsman, his low-key personality would fit in seamlessly. No problem here, Mitchell thought. He read another page and felt a surge of excitement hit him like an electric jolt.
    “Says here you had cooking experience in civilian life.”
    “Not really, sir. I worked a sheep ranch up around Steamboat Springs. Whenever we sheared the sheep, I helped out cookin’ because we had so many extra hands. That only lasted a few weeks every year, and I only grilled mutton and baked beans and such. It wasn’t real cookin’.”
    “Your fitness report indicates you’re a competent helmsman, but we desperately need a cook. How about it?”
    Stokes gathered his dignity around him like a blanket and said, “No, thank you, sir.”  His tone made it clear that no amount of persuasion would change his mind.
    “I could order you to strike for cook,” Mitchell said, using a taste more authority in his voice.
    “Sir, it is my understanding that men who’ve had a venereal disease can’t work in the galley.”
    “True, but your medical record is spotless. According to this, you’re clean as a whistle.”
    “Yes, sir. But the first liberty I get, I’ll go ashore and chase down every two-bit whore in town. I’ll come back with syphilis, the clap, crabs, chancres, and even leprosy if that’s what it takes to keep me out of the galley.”
    “Alright, sailor. You’ve made your point.”
    Following Stokes’s interview, Andrew entered the room and sat, looking sharp in his new dungaree pants and denim shirt. An easy smile creased his lips and his eyes shone. Mitchell felt genuine warmth in Andrew’s smile.
    “You’re quite an enigma,” Mitchell said. “Nineteen years old, have a French accent, are Chinese-American, and I’m guessing you’re a Buddhist monk on active duty aboard a warship. Help me fit all these pieces together.”
    Andrew’s smile widened. “It’s simple, sir. My father works for Standard Oil, who does business throughout Asia. He was based in Saigon, where he met my mother. I was born a short time later. I was six when she died, and Father put me in a boarding school run by Buddhist monks. I also attended a French high school for my formal education, which was where I learned to speak English with a French accent. There was one monk, Master Jung-Wei, who encouraged me to walk the spiritual path. I was planning to do that, but in forty-one the Japanese began their offensive into Indochina. My father was called back to America and he took me with him.”
    “You’re a monk?”
    “Never took the vows. I don’t really consider myself a Buddhist. I follow the Dharma, but I’m simply a man trying to live a moral life, which means I’m sober, celibate, never lie or cheat, and I bring no harm to any creature.”
    “Admirable, but considering we are at war, how can you work aboard a warship and not harm others?”
    “Sir, I joined the Navy because that was my father’s wish, and we Asians have no choice but to obey their family elders. He said I have a duty to his country even though I don’t consider myself an American. I know a little about Chinese medicine, so I had hoped to train as a medic. I requested a transfer to the medical corps, but it