“No clue, Jones,” Charlie responded, taking a bite from his own small pile of half cooked rice. “We aint dead, so I don’t think its poison. It just tastes like it.”
“I don’t think Thompson cooked it long enough,” Jones pressed.
“I never said I was a cook,” Thompson retorted. “Nor did I say you had to eat it.”
“Is it supposed to be crunchy?” Drake chimed in.
“You know what…”
Drake continued on like he didn’t hear Thompson’s protests. “You know, I had some good rice with some of this amazing spicy sauce when we were on the island. I don’t know if it was chicken or cat they had in it, but I’ll be damned if it wasn’t delicious enough to not care. Washed it down with some sort of liquor a fella kept buying me when he realized I was a soldier. I wanted to go back when this was over…”
No one spoke. No one wanted to think of Taiwan at the moment. Or what was left of it, at least. Most had only heard horror stories from others in passing. There were only a handful who had been with Charlie on the Island before “Operation Dragonclaw” as they found out it had been called. The number had been higher, but of those who made it off Taiwan to regroup into a counter offensive, so few remained.
“If I ever have to eat rice after this, I’ll eat a bullet instead,” Thompson said after awhile to no one in particular. He scooped a spoonful of clumpy rice into his mouth, and leaned his head back against the wall.
“I used to love Chinese food,” Charlie said when no one else spoke. “The family and I would go to this place called Crazy Buffet in town, and it was the biggest Chinese Buffet we had ever been to. They had about eight different types of rice...I never knew there were that many different types, you know?”
A couple men snorted. Drake just shook his head, sullenly chewing a mouthful of rice.
“We would make a big ‘to do’ about it. First was church, and after, we would all load up and go down to the buffett. They have a giant buddha when you first walk in, and the walkway is decorated with this Wooden stand that had them little lantern thingies hanging from it. Usually, a nice old Chinese gal would ask how many people in the party, and how old the kids are. All that usual restaurant jazz. However, we became such regulars that after a time she knew us. She would light up, and talk with us about her family, and ask us about how we were doing while she walked us back to our favorite spot in the back room.”
“I’m not big into the stories about old women,” Jones laughed. “Got anything younger?”
Charlie smiled, and ignored the quip as he continued.
“They had a long table filled with dozens of different chickens. General Tsao, Kung Pow, and Mala Chicken...and the sauces were so damned thick and flavorful, that I always had enough left over to drag my rangoon through at the end of each plate.
The kids would always be grossed out by the crawfish, sitting up there, staring at everyone, and they would pretend to shriek every time I pretended to put on or two of em on their plates...”
Charlie gave a sad chuckle and then fell silent, head drooping. The men around him were startled to hear a soft sob come from him. Jones pulled out a rag and offered it to Charlie. When Charlie wiped away the tears, it wiped away a layer of dirt and grime that had built up since that morning.
“They always say that the ethnic food always tastes better in the land that its from...more authentic flavors, they say...” Charlie said softly as he regained a bit of his composure. He stared through the still pooling tears at his own small container of rice. “But I hate it... I hate Chinese food...the stuff here…it all tastes like shit.”
Silence once again fell over the small shanty, and Charlie sighed. He knew every man there had just started thinking of home, and he had not meant to distract them. He was attempting to think of something else to say to snap them back to the tasks at hand when Thompson stood up. After dusting himself off, he held his hand out to Charlie to help him up.
“I wouldn’t mind trying some American Chinese food, Lieutenant,” he said. “What do you say after we finish this tour, you treat us to it?”
Charlie saw a new determination had replaced the fatigue and fear on the faces of the men as they stood, ready to get moving again. He smiled, and patted Thompson on the shoulder.
“It would be my pleasure, Sergeant.” He smiled. “If we can stomach to try it when the time comes.”
The others chuckled and murmured in agreement. They looked out of the crumbled shell of a building that they had taken cover in for their meal. Charlie squinted out at the remains of the city that lay ahead that they still had to get through. Beyond the rubble that he could see, there were miles more awaiting them with misery and malice. After scanning every potential nest in the closest vicinity, Charlie waved the men out of the building. They had miles to go before they could get back into somewhat friendly territory, and there was no guarantee how long it would be friendly territory.
