October 4, 1940
Giovanni Benedetto smoked a cigarette, squinting at the chaos sprawled across Hong Kong's eastern waterfront. Transport ships, anchored as far as the eye could see, in blocks of four. Chinese junks sailed through the lanes between the ships, their shouting crews screaming for right of way, frantically tacking to stay between the buoys, and simultaneously hocking everything from booze and writing paper to live chickens to the doughboys on the ships. From Benedetto's perch atop a dockside warehouse, it was an amazing sight, like watching some weird hybrid of the Chinatown he'd visited in Manhattan and the Venice his grandfather had always talked about when he was tipsy and the green roaring hell he'd known since joining the Army.
"Only in America, Angelo."
Angle tipped up his cap and slitted open an eye. "We're in Hong Kong, Johnny."
Benedetto waved his arm over the bay. "That is China? No! I tell you, that's America down there."
Angle chuckled. "Seems like everywhere is America these days." He pulled the cap back over his eyes and took another sip of rice wine. "Jesus, Ah wonder how happy these guys'll be when we move into China."
"That's a rumor, Angelo."
Angle sighed and shifted uneasily. "Ah don't know. Ah just don't know. Ah mean, we're supposed to be here to stop the Japanese moving south of Nanjing, right? Something like that? But we keep gettin issued Cantonese phrasebooks. And somebody down on the dock saw a crate get dropped, and when it busted open it was full of Chinese money. I don't know, Johnny."
Benedetto shrugged. "Roosevelt, he is sly. I won't guess before I know."
"Good advice, soldier. Wake me when China Sally's shop opens." Angle settled in, putting both arms behind his head.
A tremendous crash sounded behind them. The two men turned around, to see two doughboys scrambling onto the roof, each clutching a knapsack. One was a blond guy with a hard look in his eye. The other was a huge black-haired guy who looked too old and even harder, way too hard for the corporal's stripes on his arm. He grinned and tossed Benedetto and Angle a salute, a grin the scar on his face made pretty grotesque.
Angle blinked and shifted uneasily. "You got some chickens there, fellas, Ah'll swap ya for this wine."
The big guy grinned again and shook his head. The two men ran south across the warehouse roofs, their knapsacks shifting in a way that made Angle uncomfortable. He turned to Benedetto.
"Those fellas were a bit off. Thievin off some poor Chinaman, likely."
Benedetto squinted. "Those sacks were full of paper, I think."
Angle nodded. "Ah think you're right." He stood and stretched. "That roof they're on- don't that lead em down by China Sally's?"
Benedetto nodded. "I think so."
Angle grinned and rolled up his sleeves, showing off his new tattoo. "Well, hell- let's go kill two birds with one stone."
Giovanni Benedetto smoked a cigarette, squinting at the chaos sprawled across Hong Kong's eastern waterfront. Transport ships, anchored as far as the eye could see, in blocks of four. Chinese junks sailed through the lanes between the ships, their shouting crews screaming for right of way, frantically tacking to stay between the buoys, and simultaneously hocking everything from booze and writing paper to live chickens to the doughboys on the ships. From Benedetto's perch atop a dockside warehouse, it was an amazing sight, like watching some weird hybrid of the Chinatown he'd visited in Manhattan and the Venice his grandfather had always talked about when he was tipsy and the green roaring hell he'd known since joining the Army.
"Only in America, Angelo."
Angle tipped up his cap and slitted open an eye. "We're in Hong Kong, Johnny."
Benedetto waved his arm over the bay. "That is China? No! I tell you, that's America down there."
Angle chuckled. "Seems like everywhere is America these days." He pulled the cap back over his eyes and took another sip of rice wine. "Jesus, Ah wonder how happy these guys'll be when we move into China."
"That's a rumor, Angelo."
Angle sighed and shifted uneasily. "Ah don't know. Ah just don't know. Ah mean, we're supposed to be here to stop the Japanese moving south of Nanjing, right? Something like that? But we keep gettin issued Cantonese phrasebooks. And somebody down on the dock saw a crate get dropped, and when it busted open it was full of Chinese money. I don't know, Johnny."
Benedetto shrugged. "Roosevelt, he is sly. I won't guess before I know."
"Good advice, soldier. Wake me when China Sally's shop opens." Angle settled in, putting both arms behind his head.
A tremendous crash sounded behind them. The two men turned around, to see two doughboys scrambling onto the roof, each clutching a knapsack. One was a blond guy with a hard look in his eye. The other was a huge black-haired guy who looked too old and even harder, way too hard for the corporal's stripes on his arm. He grinned and tossed Benedetto and Angle a salute, a grin the scar on his face made pretty grotesque.
Angle blinked and shifted uneasily. "You got some chickens there, fellas, Ah'll swap ya for this wine."
The big guy grinned again and shook his head. The two men ran south across the warehouse roofs, their knapsacks shifting in a way that made Angle uncomfortable. He turned to Benedetto.
"Those fellas were a bit off. Thievin off some poor Chinaman, likely."
Benedetto squinted. "Those sacks were full of paper, I think."
Angle nodded. "Ah think you're right." He stood and stretched. "That roof they're on- don't that lead em down by China Sally's?"
Benedetto nodded. "I think so."
Angle grinned and rolled up his sleeves, showing off his new tattoo. "Well, hell- let's go kill two birds with one stone."
