Fiends of the Rising Sun Read Online Free Page A
curls. "I even got my hair cut."
"It suits you."
"What about the moustache?"
"Moustache?" The priest looked closer and noticed a few wisps of downy hair gathered on the soldier's upper lip. "Ah, yes, I see, very impressive."
Martinez shrugged. "I only started growing it a few days ago, but I think it makes me look older, don't you?"
"Definitely. You could be twenty."
Martinez's shoulders slumped a little. "Father, I am twenty."
"Ah! Well, I've never been very good at guessing anyone's age," the priest bluffed, adjusting his silver rimmed spectacles. "My eyesight leaves something to be desired, as well, if I'm being honest."
"Ah, who am I trying to kid?" the young soldier asked. "I'm still a baby face kid, like I've always been. My pop was the same. The Hawaiian women are gonna know I've never-" Martinez stopped, remembering who he was talking to. "Sorry, father, I didn't mean to... sorry."
"Don't worry, Juan. I may not be wise but I know a little of the world." The priest smiled. "I'm sure you'll be a hit with the ladies, but be careful, okay?"
Martinez grinned, his boyish enthusiasm resurfacing. "I've got two guides to show me around Honolulu, what could possibly go wrong?"
"Well, that depends. Who are your guides?"
"Buntz and Wierzbowski," the young soldier said, pointing at a pair of impatient soldiers waiting for him. One was overweight, with thinning hair and a cheesy moustache. Father Kelly had no trouble recognising the surly, self-serving slob, even at this distance. The other man was tall, sinewy and lean of face, with a stance that suggested he was itching for a fight. The priest had yet to encounter Wierzbowski, but it was only a matter of time. With a name like that he had to be of Polish descent and almost certainly a Catholic. Lapsed or otherwise, Wierzbowski would soon be in need of Father Kelly's services. Martinez waved to them before bidding the priest farewell. "I'll see you at mass tomorrow, father."
"Juan, the letter to your sister?"
Martinez blushed and handed over the envelope. "Selma will kill me if I don't write. Thanks for posting it, father."
The priest nodded, muttering a prayer under his breath for the safe return of Private Juan Martinez as the young soldier ran to join his brothers in arms. Father Kelly had heard Oahu was a vibrant and exciting island, with all manner of temptations on offer to unwary visitors. With Buntz and Wierzbowski as his guides, Martinez was going to need all the help he could get to make it back on board ship in time for tomorrow's sailing to the Philippines.
Hitori couldn't believe it when he stepped from the plane in Tokyo and found his oldest friend in the world waiting on the tarmac.
"Shiro? What on earth are you doing here?"
Suzuki's face split into a smile, softening his hooded eyes and cruel mouth. "Waiting for you, of course!" The two men embraced, clapping each other on the back and laughing at being reunited. They had grown up in the same neighbourhood, attended the same military academy and been given their postings to Manchuria on the same day. Their lives had diverged thereafter, Hitori becoming a rising star in the imperial army while Suzuki worked his way more steadily up through the ranks. Perhaps it was Hitori's samurai ancestry that made him stand out, drawing the attention of powerful men like General Tojo.
Whatever the reason, Hitori had found himself making less of an effort to keep in touch with his old friend as the years went by. He had no wish to make Suzuki lose face by flaunting his promotions at the lower ranked officer. Now they were together again, Hitori realised how much he had missed his friend. Life in the army was tough enough, without forsaking those who'd been close to you and experienced the same horrors of the battlefield.
"It's good to see you," Hitori said, and he meant it.
"You too," Suzuki agreed.
"So, what are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you. I'm to deliver you to the general as a matter of
"It suits you."
"What about the moustache?"
"Moustache?" The priest looked closer and noticed a few wisps of downy hair gathered on the soldier's upper lip. "Ah, yes, I see, very impressive."
Martinez shrugged. "I only started growing it a few days ago, but I think it makes me look older, don't you?"
"Definitely. You could be twenty."
Martinez's shoulders slumped a little. "Father, I am twenty."
"Ah! Well, I've never been very good at guessing anyone's age," the priest bluffed, adjusting his silver rimmed spectacles. "My eyesight leaves something to be desired, as well, if I'm being honest."
"Ah, who am I trying to kid?" the young soldier asked. "I'm still a baby face kid, like I've always been. My pop was the same. The Hawaiian women are gonna know I've never-" Martinez stopped, remembering who he was talking to. "Sorry, father, I didn't mean to... sorry."
"Don't worry, Juan. I may not be wise but I know a little of the world." The priest smiled. "I'm sure you'll be a hit with the ladies, but be careful, okay?"
Martinez grinned, his boyish enthusiasm resurfacing. "I've got two guides to show me around Honolulu, what could possibly go wrong?"
"Well, that depends. Who are your guides?"
"Buntz and Wierzbowski," the young soldier said, pointing at a pair of impatient soldiers waiting for him. One was overweight, with thinning hair and a cheesy moustache. Father Kelly had no trouble recognising the surly, self-serving slob, even at this distance. The other man was tall, sinewy and lean of face, with a stance that suggested he was itching for a fight. The priest had yet to encounter Wierzbowski, but it was only a matter of time. With a name like that he had to be of Polish descent and almost certainly a Catholic. Lapsed or otherwise, Wierzbowski would soon be in need of Father Kelly's services. Martinez waved to them before bidding the priest farewell. "I'll see you at mass tomorrow, father."
"Juan, the letter to your sister?"
Martinez blushed and handed over the envelope. "Selma will kill me if I don't write. Thanks for posting it, father."
The priest nodded, muttering a prayer under his breath for the safe return of Private Juan Martinez as the young soldier ran to join his brothers in arms. Father Kelly had heard Oahu was a vibrant and exciting island, with all manner of temptations on offer to unwary visitors. With Buntz and Wierzbowski as his guides, Martinez was going to need all the help he could get to make it back on board ship in time for tomorrow's sailing to the Philippines.
Hitori couldn't believe it when he stepped from the plane in Tokyo and found his oldest friend in the world waiting on the tarmac.
"Shiro? What on earth are you doing here?"
Suzuki's face split into a smile, softening his hooded eyes and cruel mouth. "Waiting for you, of course!" The two men embraced, clapping each other on the back and laughing at being reunited. They had grown up in the same neighbourhood, attended the same military academy and been given their postings to Manchuria on the same day. Their lives had diverged thereafter, Hitori becoming a rising star in the imperial army while Suzuki worked his way more steadily up through the ranks. Perhaps it was Hitori's samurai ancestry that made him stand out, drawing the attention of powerful men like General Tojo.
Whatever the reason, Hitori had found himself making less of an effort to keep in touch with his old friend as the years went by. He had no wish to make Suzuki lose face by flaunting his promotions at the lower ranked officer. Now they were together again, Hitori realised how much he had missed his friend. Life in the army was tough enough, without forsaking those who'd been close to you and experienced the same horrors of the battlefield.
"It's good to see you," Hitori said, and he meant it.
"You too," Suzuki agreed.
"So, what are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you. I'm to deliver you to the general as a matter of
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