"My ma's dead. She died when I was three. Got no brothers or sisters. My pa brought me up. He's a bum, but he taught me a lot about life. Number one, poverty's a sickness. Number two, money's everything. Number three, it doesn't matter how you get it as long as you get it."
"You know, I've never thought much about money. I suppose in the service — well, there's always a monthly pay check, there's always a certain standard of living, so money doesn't mean much."
"How much does your father make?"
"I don't know exactly. I suppose around six hundred pounds a year."
"Jesus. That's only twenty-four hundred bucks. Why, I make thirteen hundred as a corporal myself. I sure as hell wouldn't work for that nothing dough."
"Perhaps it's different in the States. But in England you can get by quite well. Of course our car is quite old, but that doesn't matter, and at the end of your service you get a pension."
"How much?"
"Half your pay approximately."
"That seems to me to be nothing. Can't understand why people go in the service. Guess because they're failures as people."
The King saw Peter Marlowe stiffen slightly. "Of course," he added quickly, "that doesn't apply in England. I was talking about the States."
"The service is a good life for a man. Enough money — an exciting life in all parts of the world. Social life's good. Then, well, an officer always has a great deal of prestige." Peter Marlowe added almost apologetically, "You know, tradition and all that."
"You going to stay in after the war?"
"Of course."
"Seems to me," the King said, picking at his teeth with a little thread of bark, "that it's too easy. There's no excitement or future in taking orders from guys who are mostly bums. That's the way it looks to me. And hell, you don't get paid nothing. Why Pete, you should take a look at the States.
There's nothing like it in the world. No place. Every man for himself and every man's as good as the next guy. And all you have to do is figure an angle and be better than the next guy. Now that's excitement."
"I don't think I'd fit in. Somehow I know I'm not a moneymaker. I'm better off doing what I was born to do."
"That's nonsense. Just because your old man's in the service —"
"Goes back to 1720. Father to son. That's a lot of tradition to try to fight."
The King grunted. "That's quite a time!" Then he added, "I only know about my dad and his dad. Before that - nothing. Least, my folks were supposed to have come over from the old country in the '80's."
"From England?"
"Hell no. I think Germany. Or maybe Middle Europe. Who the hell cares?
I'm an American and that's all that counts."
"Marlowes are in the service and that's that!"
"Hell no. It's up to you. Look. Take you now. You're in the chips 'cause you're using your brains. You'd be a great businessman if you wanted to.
You can talk like a Wog, right? I need your brains. I'm paying for the brains
— now don't get on your goddam high horse. That's American style. You pay for brains. It's got nothing to do with us being buddies. Nothing. If I didn't pay, then I'd be a bum."
"That's wrong. You don't have to be paid to help a bit."
"You sure as hell need an education. I'd like to get you in the States and put you on the road. With your phony Limey accent you'd knock the broads dead. You'd clean up. We'll put you in ladies' underwear."
"Holy God." Peter smiled with him, but the smile was tinged with horror. "I could no more try to sell something than fly."
"You can fly."
"I meant without a plane."
"Sure. I was making a joke."
The King glanced at his watch. "Times goes slow when you're waiting."
"I sometimes think we'll never get out of this stinking hole."
"Eh, Uncle Sam's got the Nips on the run. Won't take long. Even if it does, what the hell? We've got it made, buddy. That's all that counts."
The King looked at his watch. "We'd better take a powder."
"What?"
"Get going."
"Oh!" Peter Marlowe got up. "Lead on, Macduff!" he said happily.
"Huh?"
"Just a saying."It means 'Let's take a powder.'"
Happy now that they were friends once more, they started into the jungle.
Crossing the road was easy. Now that they had passed the area patrolled by the roving guard, they followed a short path and were within quarter of a mile of the wire. The King led, calm and confident. Only the clouds of fireflies and mosquitoes made their progress unpleasant
"Jesus. The bugs are bad."
"Yes. If I had my way I'd fry them all," Peter Marlowe whispered back.
Then they saw the bayonet pointing at them, and stopped dead in their tracks.
The Japanese was sitting leaning against a tree, and his eyes were fixed on them, a frightening grin stretching his face, and the bayonet was held propped on his knees.
Their thoughts were the same. Christ! Utram Road! I'm dead. Kill!
The King was the first to react. He leaped at the guard and tore the bayoneted rifle away, rolled as he twisted aside, then got to his feet, the rifle butt high to smash it into the man's face. Peter Marlowe was diving for the guard's throat. A sixth sense warned him and his clutching hands avoided the throat and he slammed into the tree.
"Get away from him!" Peter Marlowe sprang to his feet and grabbed the King and pulled him out of the way.
The guard had not moved. The same wide-eyed malevolent grin was on his face.
"What the hell?" the King gasped, panicked, the rifle still held high above his head.
"Get away! For Christ's sake hurry!" Peter Marlowe jerked the rifle out of the King's hands and threw it beside the dead Japanese. Then the King saw the snake in the man's lap.
"Jesus," he croaked as he went forward to take a closer look.
Peter Marlowe caught him frantically. "Get away! Run, for God's sake!"
He took to his heels, away from the trees, carelessly crashing through the undergrowth. The King raced after him, and only when they had reached the clearing did they stop.
"You gone crazy?" The King winced, his breathing torturing him. "It was only a goddam snake!"
"That was a flying snake," Peter Marlowe wheezed. "They live in trees.
Instant death, old man. They climb the trees, then flatten their bodies and sort of spiral down to earth and fall on their victims. There was one in his lap and one under him. There was sure to be more 'cause they're always in nests."
"Jesus!"
"Actually, old man, we ought to be grateful to those bloody things," Peter Marlowe said, trying to slow his breathing. "That Jap was still warm. He hadn't been dead more than a couple of minutes. He would've caught us if he hadn't been bitten. And we should thank God for our quarrel. It gave the snakes time. We'll never be closer to pranging! To death! Never!"
"I don't ever want to see a goddam Jap with a goddam bayonet pointing at me in the middle of the goddam night again. C'mon. Better get away from here."