That’s where I’ve been staying this past week. Hot and cold running crocodiles, ants bigger than small mice, lots of rocks…hmmm…am I missing anything?”
“Sounds charming,” said Cascaes.
“Actually, it isn’t that bad,” said Mackey. “There are a few small cabins and a large building for the fish right on the lake. Two generators actually work, and they run the pumps and plumbing for the fish tanks. We use them at night for electricity, but we also have kerosene lamps. It gets a little buggy around dusk, but the Canuks we bought the place from were kind enough to leave us insecticide bombs that we use almost every other night. Sleeping may be a little tight.”
Mackey looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Hey, you hittin’ that?” he asked, meaning Julia.
Cascaes smiled. “Hey, man, I don’t kiss and tell.”
“But if you did tell?” asked Mackey, who had met Julia at the same time as Cascaes and also found her to be drop-dead gorgeous.
“If I did tell, I’d tell you that she is everything you could possibly imagine,” Cascaes said with a big smile.
“Uh, oh,” said Mackey. “This doesn’t sound like a guy getting laid. You are in love , my man?”
“Big time,” said Cascaes.
“Holy shit,” said Mackey. “I’m gonna’ have to pick a fight with the Chinese just to keep you focused.”
Cascaes laughed. “What about you? You getting laid?”
“Shit,” said Mackey dramatically, “It’s been so long for me, the last woman I was inside of was the Statue of Liberty.”
***
Shen Xun-jun stood at the head of the parade ground inside the aid station. He was not one to make sarcastic comments or jokes. Mr. Shen was an immensely intimidating figure, far beyond what would be expected of his five foot six and one hundred twenty pound stature. The man was perhaps sixty, but with his tight oriental complexion, looked younger. His face was a permanent scowl, and when he put his hands on his hips and stood with his stiff posture, people walked on eggshells around him. He didn’t speak, really—it was more of a bark. He would shout short orders at the men that worked for him, who in turn would snap salutes and run to do whatever he had instructed. Their obvious fear of Shen Xun-jun was contagious. When Shen Xun-jun snapped at them in Chinese, they would in turn scream orders in French to the PAC soldiers, who complied immediately. The African soldiers figured if these Chinese officers were afraid of him, there must be a reason. And there was.
Shen Xun-jun did not wear the uniform of a Chinese “shao jiang,” —equivalent to an American major general—although that is what he was. He wore the khaki style reminiscent of the Japanese uniforms of early World War Two, right down the balloon pants and leggings. It bore no markings, other than a small red star on the short billed khaki cap. The same was true of his nine officers, who ranged in rank from sergeant major (liu ji shi guan) to colonel (shang xiao).
While none of the officers wore rank insignias, the PAC soldiers addressed Shen Xun-jun as “shao jiang” and the rest of the officers as “xiao.” While xiao was a shortened form of several different ranks mixed into one, (shang xiao, zhong xiao, shao xiao) the PAC soldiers couldn’t keep them straight and lumped the officer’s ranks together. The Chinese, who had no respect for the PAC soldiers, could have cared less what they called them as long as they did as they were told.
Shen Xun-jun had started his army career twenty years earlier, and half way through his career had ended up in Army Intelligence. Now a special officer in the CELD (Central External Liaison Department), he had been given the assignment of putting together a force of Congolese rebels large enough to take down the current regime. With only nine officers and endless amounts of cash, food and weapons, Shen Xun-jun had exceeded the CELD’s expectations. While they had anticipated a minimum of
“Sounds charming,” said Cascaes.
“Actually, it isn’t that bad,” said Mackey. “There are a few small cabins and a large building for the fish right on the lake. Two generators actually work, and they run the pumps and plumbing for the fish tanks. We use them at night for electricity, but we also have kerosene lamps. It gets a little buggy around dusk, but the Canuks we bought the place from were kind enough to leave us insecticide bombs that we use almost every other night. Sleeping may be a little tight.”
Mackey looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Hey, you hittin’ that?” he asked, meaning Julia.
Cascaes smiled. “Hey, man, I don’t kiss and tell.”
“But if you did tell?” asked Mackey, who had met Julia at the same time as Cascaes and also found her to be drop-dead gorgeous.
“If I did tell, I’d tell you that she is everything you could possibly imagine,” Cascaes said with a big smile.
“Uh, oh,” said Mackey. “This doesn’t sound like a guy getting laid. You are in love , my man?”
“Big time,” said Cascaes.
“Holy shit,” said Mackey. “I’m gonna’ have to pick a fight with the Chinese just to keep you focused.”
Cascaes laughed. “What about you? You getting laid?”
“Shit,” said Mackey dramatically, “It’s been so long for me, the last woman I was inside of was the Statue of Liberty.”
***
Shen Xun-jun stood at the head of the parade ground inside the aid station. He was not one to make sarcastic comments or jokes. Mr. Shen was an immensely intimidating figure, far beyond what would be expected of his five foot six and one hundred twenty pound stature. The man was perhaps sixty, but with his tight oriental complexion, looked younger. His face was a permanent scowl, and when he put his hands on his hips and stood with his stiff posture, people walked on eggshells around him. He didn’t speak, really—it was more of a bark. He would shout short orders at the men that worked for him, who in turn would snap salutes and run to do whatever he had instructed. Their obvious fear of Shen Xun-jun was contagious. When Shen Xun-jun snapped at them in Chinese, they would in turn scream orders in French to the PAC soldiers, who complied immediately. The African soldiers figured if these Chinese officers were afraid of him, there must be a reason. And there was.
Shen Xun-jun did not wear the uniform of a Chinese “shao jiang,” —equivalent to an American major general—although that is what he was. He wore the khaki style reminiscent of the Japanese uniforms of early World War Two, right down the balloon pants and leggings. It bore no markings, other than a small red star on the short billed khaki cap. The same was true of his nine officers, who ranged in rank from sergeant major (liu ji shi guan) to colonel (shang xiao).
While none of the officers wore rank insignias, the PAC soldiers addressed Shen Xun-jun as “shao jiang” and the rest of the officers as “xiao.” While xiao was a shortened form of several different ranks mixed into one, (shang xiao, zhong xiao, shao xiao) the PAC soldiers couldn’t keep them straight and lumped the officer’s ranks together. The Chinese, who had no respect for the PAC soldiers, could have cared less what they called them as long as they did as they were told.
Shen Xun-jun had started his army career twenty years earlier, and half way through his career had ended up in Army Intelligence. Now a special officer in the CELD (Central External Liaison Department), he had been given the assignment of putting together a force of Congolese rebels large enough to take down the current regime. With only nine officers and endless amounts of cash, food and weapons, Shen Xun-jun had exceeded the CELD’s expectations. While they had anticipated a minimum of
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