Free The Caprices by Sabina Murray Page A

clean battle lines; you could be at an Aussie checkpoint, continue on and find yourself face to face with the Japanese, only to fight your way through to the Dutch. They were on a checkerboard and at this point in the game, Burns wasn’t sure whose square they were sitting on. Since their platoon had just been decimated, the area appeared to be under Japanese control. It was probably a good idea to move on and to move on soon.
    “That’s not a plan and I’m not a gambling man,” Francino said to Burns.
    “Then what are you? You’re not much of a soldier.”
    Francino had responded with silence.
    “I saved your life back there.” Burns lifted his shoulders. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be on your way back from New Guinea to Little Guinea.”
    Francino laughed. “I think I owe my life to the Japanese.”
    “To the Japs?”
    “Yes,” said Francino. “For missing.”
    Burns shouldered his rifle and spat. He nodded to Francino and Francino obliged. He walked over to their prisoner and shook him. The man woke up and struggled to his feet.
    “We’re moving,” Francino said, then smiled to himself. He could have sworn that there was a flicker of recognition in the Jap’s eyes, a resentment that betrayed an ego, someone not beaten down by fear. The man scuttled to his feet. Francino cut the rope on his wrists.
    “He does anything, I’m holding you personally responsible,” said Burns.
    Francino looked at their prisoner. His eyes were watery, rimmed with yellow crust. “He’s almost dead,” said Francino.
    Francino tried to stay alert, but his mind wandered and sometimes the sound of snapping twigs seemed too normal to pull out the usual register of noises. Maybe Burns was right. Maybe he was a bad soldier. Maybe he was too aware of what he was risking to be a good soldier. He kept thinking of Corporal Shedelsky after the bullet got him right above his left ear. Shedelsky had survived, but Francino found him late one afternoon wandering around in nothing but a pair of socks. Shedelsky had an umbrella, borrowed from a startled native who was watching with a nervous smile. Francino pictured himself dancing off a ship in his socks, his umbrella dangling, his sister and motherwaiting open-mouthed. Head injuries scared Francino almost more than dying.
    They’d taken the prisoner the day before. Francino’s rifle had been propped against a tree and Burns was off attending to his fourth bodily function of the last hour. Despite his iron side, Burns lacked Francino’s iron stomach. Francino was watching the progression of a column of ants along the jungle floor. He found himself naming them, starting with Cole and then Lescault. The ants were unaware of Francino. He gently placed a rock in the middle of their path, and they quickly circumvented it, with no thought to the cause of their detour. Francino leaned back from his squat into a sitting position. His socks were damp and he thought he should take them off and let his feet breathe for a while. He began to untangle his laces and had one of his boots half off when he heard Burns’s low, frightened voice.
    “Jesus,” Burns said.
    Francino looked up quickly. A Japanese soldier was standing no more than six feet from where he sat. His rifle was closer to the Japanese soldier than it was to him. Burns raised his rifle to the man’s head.
    “What are you doing?” said Francino.
    Burns ignored him.
    “What are you doing?” Francino repeated.
    “Francino, I came here to kill some Japs.”
    “He’s not armed.”
    The soldier slowly turned around. He looked to Burns, raising his hands in surrender.
    “He’s surrendering,” said Francino.
    “No, the Japs don’t surrender. He’s rigged.”
    “Rigged?”
    “He’s got a grenade or something. He’s gonna blow himself up and us too.”
    Francino had managed to take his boot off at this point, and was now standing. He took a good look at the soldier, who wasvery thin and looked to be in his early