Salmonella Men on Planet Porno

Commuter Army

“Huh. Now they’re recruiting day soldiers for the army! I wonder when that started?”

An ad in the Galibian People’s Daily made me sit up that morning.

“Conscription makes the government unpopular. But there aren’t enough volunteers. So, as a last resort, they’ve started placing recruitment ads in the newspapers. ‘Commuters Welcome,’ it says here.”

The current Galibian government seized power following a successful coup last year. Now, they’re bending over backwards to win public support.

“Really? That must attract a lot of people,” said my wife as she buttered some toast. “There are a lot of jobless homeowners nowadays, aren’t there. Even the unemployed have their own homes these days. So if they can commute from home instead of staying in the barracks, I should think a lot of people would be interested in signing up. I mean, instead of getting posted to the front, they can go home every night, can’t they.”

“People get sent to the front, not posted.” I took a gulp of coffee. “But yes, it would be easy to commute to the front from here. It’s only ninety minutes by train.”

“An hour on the fast train.”

Galibia is currently embroiled in a border conflict with its neighbour, the People’s Republic of Gabat. The dispute revolves around a small Galibian town called Gayan, at the end of the railway line.

“What kind of terms are they offering?” asked my wife. She can’t read a word of Galibian.

“Pretty good ones,” I replied, glancing through the ad. “The basic salary is 120,000 Galibian dollars. Then there’s an outfit allowance of 25,000 dollars, paid on signing up. Pay rises and bonuses are given twice a year when winning the war, once when losing. There’s also 5,000 dollars in ‘fight money’ for each battle you take part in. They even give prizes for fighting spirit. Sickness benefits and health insurance are covered. Well, that goes without saying. There’s no unemployment insurance, of course. I mean, what would everyone do if the war ended?! Oh and look. They even pay travel expenses. In full. Lunch is provided. Hey! And you get two days off per week! Even paid holidays. Part-timers welcome, it says.”

“Goodness!” My wife sighed, her eyes growing steadily wider. “So you could get much more than you do now. What qualifications would you need?”

“Hold on! You’re not asking me to sign up, are you?!” I said with a laugh. I looked back at the ad. “All ages welcome, no experience required, it says. Oh. Applicants with a driving licence get priority treatment. Other particulars to be arranged by personal interview. In other words, the more qualifications you have, the more pay you get.”

“Well, I’m sure you’d do very well there, honey. After all, you’re an expert on guns, aren’t you.”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” I said, forcing a smile. “But if they’re recruiting so many soldiers, they’re sure to need more guns, aren’t they. Then the Army Ministry will order more from our company. So rather than actually going to war myself, it would be much easier to wait here for those orders, wouldn’t it.”

“Well, yes, I suppose that would be easier. For you.” A familiar look came over my wife’s face. I braced myself for the usual onslaught. “Thankfully, things are cheap here, so we can just get by on your salary, plus the overseas allowance.”

By “things are cheap,” what she really meant was that there weren’t any luxury goods for her to buy.

The customary moans were now imminent – when could we go home, when could we have children without worrying, and so on. I quickly left the table.

“Right. I’m off to work.”

“Work” is actually a five-minute walk away. From our one-room rented apartment, along the main road, to the office building that houses the Galibian Branch of Sanko Industries. I’m the Branch Manager. My staff consists of a single secretary, a local man called Purasarto.

As I walked in, Purasarto came up to me with a memo. “I’ve just had a call from the Army Ministry,” he said. “It’s about the five hundred rifles we delivered recently. They say they don’t work properly.”

I stopped dead in front of my desk. “What, all five hundred?”

“It seems so. But they only realized they were faulty when they tried to use them at Gayan. As a result, we’re losing the war.”

“Oh my God.” I slumped down at the desk and put my head in my hands. “So the General must be pretty mad, then?”

“Hopping! He wants to see you right away.”

I got up with a groan from the chair I’d just occupied. “There’s nothing for it. I’ll go now.”

“Er…” Purasarto added nervously. “There’s something else.”

“What?”

“I want to quit. They’ve been advertising for day soldiers in the newspaper, and I’d like to apply.”

“Well, I can understand that. You’ve got your own home, and three children to feed. I’m sure you could do with the money. But you can’t leave just like that. I’m sorry. What, I suppose it’s the idea of commuting that attracts you, is it?”

“Yes. And the pay would be much higher than what I’m getting here.”

“But if you go to war, you might die. Have you thought of that?”

“I have,” Purasarto answered with a smile. “But we all have to die some time.”

The Galibians’ lack of concern for human life was rather worrying.

“You can’t quit now. Wait till I find a replacement.”

If most Galibian men were signing up as day soldiers, only the women would be left. So maybe I could hire a beautiful young female secretary next, I thought as I left the office.

I hopped into one of those tricycle-taxis, like the ones found all over Southeast Asia. Just three blocks along the main road stood the Galibian Army Ministry. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I showed my pass at Reception and went through to the General’s office. He was bellowing into the telephone, his face resembling some kind of mad fiend. When he saw me, he replaced the receiver neatly and stood up, ready to sink his teeth in.

“Thanks to your rifles, three battalions have been wiped out! What are you going to do about it?! Give us our money back!”

“Calm down, please!” I called out in desperation. “I’m sure those rifles were checked most rigorously before being shipped out. What exactly is wrong with them?”

“What isn’t wrong with them?!” the General yelled, spitting everywhere. “We’ve only had them three days, and now they jam after the first shot. So they can’t be fired consecutively. You know what that means? We use them when charging the enemy. So we fire the first shot, then rush at them. But the second shot won’t fire. It’s a bloody massacre! How do you intend to account for this? If I don’t get good service from you, I’m going to complain to your government. We might even declare war!”

“Please don’t joke. If you do that, my company will go bankrupt and I’ll be out on the street,” I shrieked. “Anyway, could you show me one of these faulty rifles?”

“Here’s one. It’s just come back from Gayan.” The General plucked a rifle from his desk and angrily tossed it towards me.

I dismantled the rifle and carefully examined the faulty part. “Ah. Well, this will be easy to repair,” I said with some relief. “The screw in the trigger spring axle has come loose. That means that, even though gas is released when the first shot is fired, the bolt doesn’t return automatically. All we have to do is tighten the screw.”

“So that screw was loose on all five hundred rifles?” the General asked, rather more calmly.

“Yes, I’m really sorry. You’ll have to recall all five hundred.”

“IMPOSSIBLE!!!” the General roared once more. “We’re at war, for God’s sake! Those rifles are being used in fighting as we speak! Call it what you like! If we can’t shoot consecutively, we’ll lose the war!”

“So, well, what do you want me to do about it?” I asked timidly.

“Go to Gayan,” the General replied, with a look of menace. “Wait at the battle zone, and when a rifle stops working, repair it on the spot!”

A shiver went through me. “I’m J-J-Japanese! I can’t go to a w-war zone. If I did, I’d be a combatant – I’d be taking part in the war!”

The General pursed his lips. “You’re already taking part in the war, aren’t you? You’re supplying weapons to our country. What bigger part could you be taking?”

“But what if I get hit by a bullet and die?” I whined. “You’d have forced a Japanese citizen to die in a war. It could spark an in ternational crisis.”

“Our governments would hush it up. Don’t worry. We’ll send your remains home.”

“Remains?! That’s what I’m worried about!!”

“Oh? You mean you’re scared of war?” The General stared me in the face, as if surprised. “Haven’t the Japanese always been war animals, even after the last one ended? I thought you were always ready to give up your lives for your Emperor, or your company, with your famous kamikaze spirit!” He sighed. “Well, never mind. If that’s the way you feel, we’ll order our guns from another company in future. They’ll be more expensive, but that can’t be helped. Then we’ll lodge a formal protest with the Japanese government and, depending on the answer, we’ll declare war.”

“W-w-wait a minute! I’m only a company employee. I can’t just go doing as I please. I’ll telephone Head Office in Tokyo and see what they say.” Surely Head Office wouldn’t make me go to the war zone!

“By all means,” answered the General with an air of smugness. “Of course, they’ll tell you to go to the war zone.” He laughed. “Actually, I just called them myself.”

“What?!”

“They said that if the fault can be repaired on the spot, we can enlist you in our army and send you to the front on a daily basis, as a commuting conscript.” The General nodded approvingly. “Your superior gave the OK.”

“The bastard!” I held my head. “It’s jealousy. That’s what it is. He fancies my wife and envies me because of her. It’s a trick to get his hands on my wife!”

The General smiled. “No. I’m afraid the order came from your President.”

An order from the President? What could I do?

My shoulders sank. “Even so, there’s no need for me to join your army, is there?” I asked, expecting the worst.

He pulled a stern face. “What do you mean? You can’t go wandering around the battle zone in civilian clothes. It’s bad for discipline. You’ll be drafted to the Third Platoon of the Second Infantry Battalion. You start tomorrow. Report to Position 23 in the suburbs of Gayan at nine o’clock sharp.”

“You mean… it’s already been decided?” I groaned pathetically.

“Come on, don’t look so disappointed,” he said, suddenly changing his expression to an amiable smile. “After all, you’ll get paid, won’t you? And since you’re a rifle expert, you’ll get a special allowance as well.”

“You’re going to pay me?” I blinked. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Actually, my wife was just talking about that this morning.”

“Your wife? What about her?”

“No, well… I mean…” I was wavering. “Well, anyway, I’ll have to check it with her… You know…”

“Oh, come now!” The General sounded confident again. “When she hears how much you’re getting, she’ll be pushing you out of the door!”

She probably will, I thought. She’d led such a pampered life that she was completely oblivious to the horrors of war.

“I’ll have your things ready by this evening – ID tag, uniform, equipment, all that. Come back later,” he said casually, then returned to the telephone. “Get me General Staff Headquarters,” he barked. “Is that you, Colonel? Well, the rifle business is sorted. One of their chaps will join the Second Infantry Battalion tomorrow. He’ll be reporting to the front every day. Oh, and about those women for the officers. There’ll be six of them coming on the fast train at 19.00 hours tonight. What’s that? You don’t need that many? Oh, go on. You can have four or five to yourself!”

I left the room in utter devastation, the General’s laughter still ringing out behind me. Try as I might, I couldn’t see any way out of it. Of course, I could just quit my job. But I didn’t have the guts to do that. Because, if anything, being out of a job scared me even more than going to war.

On my return to the office, I found Purasarto talking to a local woman in the reception lounge. She was fair of skin and voluptuous of body, a woman of striking beauty.

Purasarto stood and introduced her. “Sir. This lady has come about the vacancy. She’s an acquaintance of mine, actually. She comes from a good family, and has just graduated from university.” He must have been desperate to leave – he’d already found his own replacement!

The woman also stood, and introduced herself with a warm, winsome smile. The demon of amorous adventure began to stir within me. But I patted him down and shook my head. This was no time to be getting amorous with any secretary.

“There is no vacancy,” I said, then sat at my desk and picked up the phone. “This is not the time for that.”

Purasarto shrugged. The woman struck a coquettish pose. “What a pity,” she said. “I would love to have worked here.”

“I would love to have had you, believe me,” I replied with total sincerity.

I dialled Head Office in Tokyo. It was the Department Manager, my boss, who answered.

“Well, hello there!” he said, laughing.

“This is no laughing matter!” I countered. “It’s not my fault those rifles are defective! So why do I have to go to the front to repair them? More to the point, why weren’t they checked properly before being shipped out?” I knew it was useless saying anything now. But I just had to have my halfpennyworth.

“Apparently, there was an oversight at the factory,” he replied nonchalantly. “It seems they let some part-timers do the final assembly.”

“In that case, send an engineer from the factory! Let him go to the war zone! That’s what anybody else would do!”

“Yes, maybe. But I’m afraid it’s not possible. We’re understaffed as it is, you see. And anyway, if we sent someone from here, he wouldn’t arrive in time. All the Branch Offices send their staff out for simple repairs, after all.”

“If I go to the war zone, there won’t be anyone left in the Branch Office!”

“That’s too bad. The Army Ministry is our biggest client there. The others can wait.”

“What if I get hit and die?”

“I’ve already had a word with the President. You’ll get special danger money, don’t worry.” He sounded as if he expected me to thank him. “And if the worst should come to the worst, you’ve nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of everything.” By which he presumably meant my wife. “In return, if you do a good job, I’ll recommend you for Head of Sales when you’re next transferred.”

I gave up. I’d only earn myself a bad name in the company if I kept complaining – especially when they were offering so much.

“The army say they’ll pay me too. What should I do?”

“Hmm. I’d just take it, if I were you. We’ll keep sending your pay every month, anyway. You’ll be getting two salaries, but, well… Considering the danger you’ll be in, it sounds fair. Of course, you’ll be under the command of the army until you get all five hundred rifles fixed, however long that takes. That’s the agreement between us and the Galibian Army Ministry. And I expect you to honour it. All right? From now on, you’re to take orders from them.” Suddenly his voice changed to one of gentle coaxing. “After all, it is for the sake of the company. OK?”

“I suppose I have no choice.” I put the phone down in resignation.

I gave Purasarto his back pay and dismissed him. Then I locked the office door. I had no way of knowing when I’d return, or indeed if I’d ever return again. My only consolation was the double salary, and the promise of promotion. But what use would they be if I died?

I returned to the Army Ministry, where I completed the procedure for signing up. I was given my outfit allowance and travel expenses, my uniform and equipment, and directions to Position 23, where I was to report the following day. It was on a hill in the suburbs of Gayan.

“There are two big bodhi trees at the bottom of the hill,” explained the issuing officer. “A hundred yards west of them, you’ll find the time recorder. Here’s your time card. Don’t lose it. Got that? Don’t be late. Otherwise you’ll be penalized. All right?”

I left the Army Ministry and took a taxi to the railway station. There, I bought a forces discount season ticket, checked the timetable, and finally went home to our apartment.

“It’s turned out just as you said this morning. I’ve got to commute to the battle zone from tomorrow onwards.”

I explained the whole story to my wife.

When she heard the details, her eyes glistened with excitement – as I’d expected. “My! You’ll get two salaries! And promotion to Head of Sales when we go home!”

“Unless I die first.”

“Of course you won’t die, honey! All you’re doing is repairing rifles, isn’t it?”

“There’ll be bullets flying all over the place.”

“So just avoid them, then!”

She was completely and utterly unconcerned. I tried to explain the awful realities of war, but soon gave up. Because I didn’t even understand them myself.

“Well, I’d better get your things ready for tomorrow,” said my wife, in exactly the same tone as when I went on a business trip. She started picking over the uniform and equipment I’d been given. “Gosh, is this your identification tag?” she mused. “Wow. And hey, what’s this?”

“Don’t touch that!” I yelled. “It’s a hand grenade!”

In her surprise and panic, she hurled the grenade to the far corner of the room, ran to the opposite corner and buried her head in her arms. After a moment, she turned around with a sheepish look. “Oh. Was it a dud?”

She obviously thought it would explode if you just threw it.

She glared at me as I laughed heartily. “Honey! How could you bring such a dangerous thing home?!”

“What can I do?! They don’t have lockers in the battle zone! I have to bring it all back with me every day. The other soldiers take their guns home, you know. Some of them even have bazookas! That’s right. The other day, a child was playing around with a machine gun her father had brought home, and ended up massacring six people!”

My wife stood speechless for a moment. Suddenly, she slapped the table with her hand. “Oh yes! You’ll need a packed lunch, won’t you.”

“Meals are supplied.”

She laughed. “What? Proper meals? I doubt it, honey!”

Of course she was right. Galibian food tastes like horse feed. One of the country’s most renowned restaurants is quite near my office. But I can never quite bring myself to eat there, and always go home for lunch instead. It stood to reason that the food dished up at the front would be even worse.

My wife pulled out a recipe feature she’d found in a woman’s magazine: “One Hundred Tasty Picnic Lunches”. “Let’s see,” she said as she leafed through it. “I’ve got some chicken. Shall I fry it?”

That night, we were due for some “marital activity”. Normally, once we start, we’re at it for about an hour and twenty minutes. But I didn’t want to tire myself out for my first duty the next day. So, as soon as we’d finished dinner, I jumped straight into bed and went to sleep. Well, after all. It would be a shame to die because I’d had too much sex the night before and couldn’t run away quickly enough.

My wife shook me awake at just past seven the next morning. “You’d better get up, honey,” she said. “You don’t want to be late at the front.”

“You’re right,” I said, hurrying out of bed.

She’d prepared a stupendous breakfast of deep-fried prawns in breadcrumbs, bacon and eggs with pancakes, vegetable juice and coffee with milk.

“It’s to give you energy,” she explained with a smile. What did she have to be so happy about? “Do your best to win that prize for fighting spirit, won’t you!” she added, as if she were sending her child off to the school sports day.

I read the morning paper over breakfast. The ‘War News’ column had taken on particular significance now – seeing as my life depended on it. Things didn’t look good. The Galibian army was in retreat. I read the ‘War Zone Weather Report’: mostly fair, with a southerly wind. ‘Yesterday’s Casualties’: 18 infantry, 1 petty officer. ‘Places To Avoid Today – Fierce Fighting Expected’: Position 16, Position 19, Position 23. I felt sick.

While I was still immersed in the newspaper, I suddenly noticed the time. The fast train would be leaving soon. I got up in a panic, hurriedly donned my uniform, and fastened my helmet onto my back.

“Don’t forget anything, honey. What about your lunch box? And your hand grenade?”

“In my bag.”

“Handkerchief? Wallet?”

“Wallet? I shouldn’t think I’ll need money. All right, I’ll take it anyway.”

“Come straight home when you’ve finished, honey. No dropping in anywhere!”

“Am I likely to?!”

I left the apartment, seen off by my wife’s smiling farewell. In the main street, now bathed in morning sunlight, Galibians were making their way towards the station in streams. They must be commuter soldiers too, I thought. I joined them as they walked along. I suddenly had the strange feeling that I’d lost my identity. All the others were carrying guns; I was the only one holding nothing. What was I doing here? Why was I going to the front? My mind started to wander. Then I came to my senses with a start.

I’d forgotten my toolbox! How could I repair those rifles without a screwdriver? I did an about-turn and started running.

“Oy! Where are you going?”

“You’ll miss the train!”

“You’ll be late!”

I ignored the warnings of the others as I passed them, and just kept running until I reached our apartment. There, I picked up my toolbox before dashing out again and re-entering the main street. The stream of commuter soldiers was now a mere trickle.

By the time I reached the station, my fast train to Gayan had already left. The next departure was at 07.50. I would arrive in Gayan an hour after that. I’d have to run to Position 23 in only ten minutes to reach it by nine o’clock.

The platform was full of soldiers waiting for the next fast train. When it finally arrived, it was packed to the rafters. The doors opened and we all piled in.

“It’s the same every morning. That’s the worst thing about it,” said a little man standing by the opposite door inside the train. His face became wedged in my chest as the crowd behind me surged forwards. “We’re all exhausted by the time we get to the front. They ought to let us go flexi-time. Especially as it’s war.”

“I disagree,” said another soldier with bulbous eyes who was standing beside us. “It’s having to get there during the rush-hour that makes it like proper commuting! After all, we’re not like them namby-pamby part-timers or night workers. You should be proud of that!” A funny thing to be proud of, I thought.

“What position are you going to?” the little man asked me. “Position 23,” I answered in broken Galibian. “It’s a bit far, so I’m worried about being late.”

The little man opened his eyes wide. “You’ll never get there by nine!” he exclaimed. “That’s right on the front! Everyone on this train works at the rear!”

The man with bulbous eyes had been eyeing me suspiciously. Suddenly, he called out to the others. “Hey! This one’s not Galibian! He talks funny!”

The soldiers around us started to grow restless.

“A spy!”

“Yeah! Like that KCIA rat the other day!”

“Get him!”

“I’m not a spy! I’m Japanese!” I shouted in sheer panic.

“Why are you wearing our uniform then?”

“He must be a spy!”

“I’ve come to fix your rifles,” I explained falteringly. “I work for the company that makes your rifles!”

“Eh? So you’re the one that sold us all those duds?!”

They started getting boisterous again.

“I nearly had it yesterday!” The man with bulbous eyes lifted his rifle above his head and started badgering me. “This thing only fires once! I was nearly done for!”

“A lot of men have died!”

“What are you going to do about it?!”

“The bastard! Let’s kill him!”

“It’s not my fault! The company made a mistake!” I cried. “You’ve got to believe me!”

“Oy, you lot! Pack it in! You’re upsetting the other passengers!” yelled a man a little way down the train, craning his neck over the throng. I assumed he must be an officer. “And leave that man alone! We know all about him.”

The man with bulbous eyes reluctantly released his grip on my lapels and moved away, cursing. “All right then. Fix this rifle now!”

“I can’t do it in a moving train. And anyway, I’m not on duty yet.”

“Huh! As if it’s none of your concern!”

Having aroused so much hostility, I shrank into a corner. The train passed through some paddy fields before at last pulling into Gayan Station. On the platform was another mêlée of soldiers, evidently waiting to go home. They were squatting and sprawled all over the platform in utter exhaustion. Some were wounded.

“That’s the night shift,” explained the little man. “Actually, they get better pay. I wanted to be on the night shift, but as luck would have it, I’m night-blind.”

We parted just before the ticket gate.

“Well, let’s do our best to stay alive,” I said. “I’m not interested in the pros and cons of the war. I’m just going to look after Number One.”

“Yes. That’s the best way.”

As I left the station, I could already see the black smoke of battle rising silently behind a hill on the far side of town. Muffled sounds of gunfire and shelling could be heard in the distance. I was going to be late anyway, but I had no idea what the penalty would be. So I ran through the little town – a virtual ruin due to repeated shelling – and sped towards the hill as fast as I could.

Panting, I raced up the slope of the hill. When I reached the top, I was presented with a sight that took my breath away. The entire landscape stretched out in front of me was one vast battlefield. Virtually the whole area – from the tops of the hills in the foreground to the mountains in the middle distance – was occupied by troops of the People’s Republic of Gabat. The fighting was taking place in lowland woods and forests that spread out to right and left of the foreground. Troops from both sides were locked in battle like the teeth of two combs. Minor skirmishes here and there broke up the shape of the combs, as each side tested the other’s endurance. Both Galibia and Gabat are poor countries, and they only appeared to have two or three tanks each. What’s more, being such precious commodities, these tanks weren’t taken too far forwards, but were being kept in the rear on both sides. The offensive was being maintained by the more expendable infantry.

I tried to forget my fear as I raced down the hill, towards what I thought was Position 23. But when I got there, the time recorder was nowhere to be seen.

“Er, I’m sorry to bother you,” I said to a pair of soldiers who were operating a bazooka in a crater. “Do you know a place near here where there are two big bodhi trees?”

“They were right here till a minute ago,” answered the one who had the barrel of the bazooka on his shoulder. “But they were blown up by a shell just now. This is the crater it left.”

“This area used to be the rearguard,” said the other soldier. “Now we’re retreating so fast, it’ll soon be the front line!”

I really hoped it wasn’t just because the rifles were faulty. I poked my head out of the crater and looked over to the west. A hundred yards away, I could see the burnt-out wreckage of a truck, with the time recorder in its shadow.

“There it is!”

I ran towards the truck, keeping my body low, as bullets skimmed and whizzed past my helmet from all directions.

Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!!…

I heard a ghastly whining sound as a shell hurtled towards me. Suddenly there was a dazzling flash of light, and a deafening roar as the shell exploded. I was thrown into the air and hurled onto the ground. When I eventually lifted my mud-caked face, I could see no trace of the wrecked truck, nor of the time recorder.

“My God! No time recorder!” If I’d arrived just moments earlier, I’d have been blown to bits along with it.

I looked at my watch. It was 09.13. There was no denying it – I was late. But now there was nothing to prove it. I felt slightly relieved. Now I could say there’d been no time recorder, and might even get away without a penalty.

That last shell had sparked off a salvo of firing, and shells were falling all around me. I ran to take shelter in a nearby wood. There, scores of soldiers were crouching amid dense undergrowth at the foot of the trees.

“Er, excuse me,” I said, approaching one who wore the stripes of a platoon leader. “Could you tell me where the Third Platoon of the Second Infantry Battalion is? I’ve been seconded to them, you see.”

“Ha! You’re late,” he replied with a smile. “We’re in the same Battalion. The Third Platoon was ordered to attack first thing this morning. They’ve just been wiped out.”

“W-wiped out?” I stood speechless for a moment. Then I quickly shook my head. “It’s not because I’m late that I survived. I’m a non-combatant. I work for a Japanese company, and I’ve just come to fix the rifles.”

“Oh, it’s you, is it? The chap who’s come to fix the rifles? In that case, you’re in the right place.” He pointed to a pile of rifles lying in the undergrowth. “They’re the ones that went wrong last night and this morning. Fix them immediately. I’m transferring you to our Platoon as from now. I’ll inform HQ of the change later.”

“All right.”

I immediately opened my toolbox and started repairing the rifles. No bullets or shells would penetrate these woods. I was safe here.

An orderly came with instructions from General Staff Headquarters. The Platoon Leader and all the men were to leave the wood immediately and charge the enemy. I was left alone in the wood, where I continued my work.

Things didn’t go well. It took me the whole morning just to fix four rifles. As soon as I’d fixed one, it was immediately taken off by a soldier. Other soldiers, meanwhile, kept bringing more faulty rifles back in with them. And so, the pile of rifles next to me just kept growing higher.

Noon approached. I was beginning to feel hungry, and decided it was time to open my lunch box. Just then, a platoon of soldiers came into the wood. They passed beside me, chatting noisily. One of them, tall and bearded, followed a little behind the rest. He stopped and stood in front of me.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“What do you think? I’m having my lunch,” I replied, removing the lid from the box.

“Really. Lucky you. Bring your own lunch, do you. Looks good, that.” He swallowed with a gulp. “Army catering’s shite. We can’t fight on that. You got a fag, then?”

I took a pack of cigarettes from my top pocket and passed it to him.

“I haven’t seen this brand before,” he said. “Hold on. These are Galibian cigarettes!”

I looked up in surprise.

The bearded soldier took a step backwards. “You – you’re Galibian!”

I leapt up with a yell and started to run. I’d been so immersed in my work that I hadn’t noticed. The Galibian army had retreated and I was now surrounded by the enemy.

“Stop!” he called out behind me. “Stop, or I’ll fire!”

My legs turned to jelly. I raised my arms and turned around. The Gabati soldier had picked one of the rifles from the pile and was pointing it at me.

“Let me go. I’m a non-combatant!”

The bearded Gabati shook his head. “No. I’m going to shoot you.”

“Sh-shoot me?” I said, shaking with fear. “I don’t want to die! Can’t you just take me prisoner?”

“We’d have nothing to feed you with. There’s no food. So we’ve been ordered to take no prisoners. All Galibians are to be shot!” He checked that the rifle was loaded before aiming the barrel at me once more.

“Say your prayers, mate!”

“Don’t shoot me!” I cried. “I’ll give you my lunch box!”

The bearded Gabati looked down at the lunch box and thought for a moment. Then he shook his head again. “No, no. My superior officer is a right greedy bastard. If he knew I’d let an enemy get away for such a tasty looking lunch box…” He shuddered. “He’d have me shot.”

“I’ve got a wife waiting at home,” I pleaded. “I don’t want to die!”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt,” the bearded Gabati said apologetically. “I’ll shoot you straight through the heart. I’ve got a good aim.”

“Really?” I had an idea. I took a fountain pen from my breast pocket and placed it on my shoulder. “Show me. Shoot the cap off this pen.”

“All right.” He aimed the rifle at the pen and blew the cap off as if it were nothing.

I took the hand grenade out of my bag and pulled the pin.

“What are you doing?!”

“Running away!” I turned my back on him and fled.

“Shit!” I heard the bearded Gabati cursing behind me. “Bloody thing doesn’t work! The bugger’s tricked me!”

As I’d expected, the rifle had jammed after the first shot.

I turned and hurled the grenade. Then I continued to run for dear life through the wood. My feet hardly touched the ground.

Douff.

There was a dull explosion, and the bearded Gabati’s voice could be heard no more. As I continued to run, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He wasn’t all that bad. He probably had a wife and children, too. If only he’d accepted my offer of the lunch box, he would still be alive.

As I emerged from the wood, I could see no sign of friend or foe. Abandoned vehicles and trucks, empty ammunition boxes and other remnants were scattered all over the plain as far as the eye could see. I assumed that both sides had withdrawn from the front line to have their lunch. It was a lunchtime ceasefire.

I made my way back to the foot of the hill I’d raced down that morning. There, men from the catering corps were dishing out lunch, and soldiers were grouped together around large soup pots. I’d blown up my lunch box with the hand grenade, so I had no option but to join them, however disgusting the food might be. I joined a queue of soldiers lining up for their rations.

As luck would have it, the soldier in front of me was the little man I’d met on the train.

“Hey! So you survived?” he said by way of a greeting.

“Yeah, just. I was about to be shot by a Gabati just now.” I explained the whole story to the little man.

“I had a similar experience myself, once,” he replied. “It was just after I’d signed up. I was queuing up for my lunch, just like we are now. But when I looked around me, I didn’t recognize any of the other blokes. I thought I’d gone back to my own lot, but they were actually the enemy. I was going to eat lunch with the Gabatis! When I realized that, I could hardly stand upright. I actually wet myself. Oh dear. Why did I have to tell you that?”

“What happened, anyway?”

“Well, I knew the game would be up if I ran for it. So I collected my ration as normal, then I gulped it down as fast as I could and slipped away quietly.”

After eating a tasteless lunch, we had to listen to instructions from our officers. Army officers and company presidents have that much in common – they keep wanting to make speeches.

An officer sporting a colonel’s stripes stood on a low mound and started spouting forth. “As you all know, there’s going to be some serious fighting in this area tomorrow,” he said. “But as soon as that was announced, a lot of you wanted to claim your paid leave tomorrow. Shame on you!” His face turned a shade of beetroot. “What do you think war is all about?! Have you never given a thought for your country? Bloody home-loving rabble!”

I felt rather deflated. He was no better than some ogre of an office superior, shouting at his staff for refusing to work overtime. My respect for army officers plummeted.

“No one will be allowed paid leave tomorrow. You’ll all be charging the enemy. And I hope you all die in the process. Hahahahaha!” In his raging fury, the Colonel started to look slightly deranged.

The afternoon’s fighting was about to start. I sought out the officer who was now my superior and gave him a piece of my mind.

“Platoon Leader! Why did you evacuate like that without telling me? I was surrounded by the enemy and almost got killed!”

“Oh. Awfully sorry. No need to be so angry!” He smiled and patted me on the shoulder. “To make up for it, you can work here this afternoon if you like. It’s safe. Look. There’s already a pile of faulty rifles waiting for you.”

“I’ve lost my tools.”

“I’ll order some more from HQ.”

“And you’re sure this won’t be the front line next?”

“We won’t retreat any more than this. I shouldn’t think.”

I worked all afternoon with the new tools, but only managed to repair six rifles. It looked as if I’d be commuting to the front for some time yet. The war itself had been going on for more than four months now, with no sign of ending. Both sides had refused offers of support from the superpowers, while the United Nations, faced with appeals from both sides, couldn’t decide which stance to adopt. There were more pressing matters for it to be concerned with, anyway. Safe to say that such minor conflicts between neighbouring mini-states, like family feuds, were simply ignored. Whatever the case, this conflict looked likely to continue for several months to come.

It was nearly time to go home, so I started putting my tools away. The Platoon Leader appeared again, smiling as usual. “You were late this morning, weren’t you,” he said. “So I’m going to invoke the penalty clause.”

I looked at him in dismay. “P-penalty clause?”

“You’ll be on sentry duty tonight.”

“What?! You can’t make me do that!” I rammed the screwdriver into the ground. “That’s a combatant’s job!”

He made a hand gesture as if to placate me. “Calm down. Sentry duty’s easy. All you have to do is carry on working here, then go over to check the ammo that’s hidden behind that rock once every hour. There’s not much fighting round here at night. The enemy won’t try to steal the ammo, either.”

“How do you know that?!”

“Because the Gabatis all have vitamin A deficiency. They’re all night-blind.” He nodded. “You’ll be relieved at two in the morning. You can sleep at General Staff Headquarters after that. And don’t forget – you’ll get paid time and a half for night work.”

“I’d rather go home. My wife will be worried.”

“I’ll explain it to her on the telephone. And anyway, look how few rifles you’ve repaired!” Gradually, his tone had changed to that of someone mollifying a child. He wasn’t at all like army officers in the old war films. His behaviour was quite odd, in fact, considering we were supposed to be superior and subordinate.

I decided to test him out. “And what if I refuse your order?”

“Refuse? Would you?” He kept his smile, but lowered his voice in a menacing way. “Look, I know all about you. Your company ordered you to come under our command. So you should look on me as one of your company’s directors. Do you want me to send them a performance assessment?”

“I understand,” I replied with a sigh. “I’ll stand guard.”

“Ha! No need to stand. Just sit down and get on with your work.” Suddenly his relaxed, light-hearted tone had returned. He gave me a patronizing smile. “I’ll make sure you get your dinner,” he said, then started humming to himself as he walked away.

I got up and had a stretch. The sound of gunfire was far off now, and there were few soldiers to be seen. An evening breeze wafted over the area. The slope of the hill was soon awash with the glow of sunset. Soldiers passed me in twos and threes on their way home, chatting cheerfully. Their faces bore expressions of relief that the day’s work was over. In their minds, they were already back home.

I squatted down again, and got back to work repairing the rifles. I was getting used to it now, and could carry on working even in the gathering gloom. After finishing the next rifle, I carried it with me to check the ammunition that was hidden behind a rock some three hundred yards away. The ammunition had been carefully placed in six different piles, with several boxes to each pile. Everything was in order.

Far to the east, over in the paddy field area, fighting between the night troops was already starting up. I could hear the sound of shelling, gunfire, screams, and the rest. Just as in the daytime, it seemed to be a war of minor skirmishes between combat units, a kind of guerrilla warfare in and around the forests. Exploding shells lit up the darkening sky, silhouetting the slopes of hills in the distance.

At last the sun sank below the horizon. I stopped working and stretched myself out on the side of the hill. The moon appeared in the night sky, casting light over the whole area. A breeze blew over from the direction of the mountains occupied by the Gabatis. As I waited for my night rations, I took out a cigarette and lit up. It was already past eight o’clock; dinner should have arrived long ago. I started to wonder if the Platoon Leader had forgotten to order it.

Then I heard my wife’s voice.

“Where are you, honey?”

I got up. “Over here,” I called.

My wife, carrying a basket over her arm, was struggling down the hill towards me.

“What are you doing here?”

She squatted down beside me. “They said you were doing the night shift, so I’ve brought your dinner.”

The Platoon Leader had actually telephoned her.

“That’s good of you. How did you know where to find me? Did you come by train?”

“That’s right.” She laid a plastic sheet on the ground and started to arrange the food from the basket on it. “I thought I’d join you, so I’ve brought enough for both of us. And some wine.”

“That’s grand!”

We started eating on a slope near the foot of the hill.

“It’s nice and cool here, isn’t it. Where’s the fighting now?” she asked.

“Over there. Can you see the gunfire? And there’s a forest burning over there.”

“Really? Isn’t that beautiful. Oh, I can hear screaming. Has someone just died?”

“Probably. Could I have some wine?”

“Here you are, honey. By the way, how did your work go today?”

“Well. Not so bad.” I didn’t tell her I’d nearly been killed. I’m the type who prefers not to take work home.

“Wow. These fish goujons are fantastic,” I said. “And I haven’t had konjak noodles for a long time. Hey! You’ve dropped some pork skin over there.”

“Funny. I didn’t bring any pork skin.”

I picked it up from the ground. It wasn’t pork skin – it was a human ear. The ear of some poor wretch who’d been blown apart by a shell. I quickly hurled it into the distance.

After finishing a whole bottle of wine, I was feeling rather tipsy. I stood up lazily, rifle in hand.

“Where are you going, honey?” asked my wife.

“Time to check the ammo,” I said as I set off towards the rock. “Back in a minute.”

“Mind how you go!”

That’s what she always said when I left the house. But here, there were no cars to run me over, no roadworks or manholes to fall into. There was no danger overhead or under foot. Of course, I had to be careful about the enemy. But I wasn’t worried, as I’d been told the enemy wouldn’t come at night. With that comforting thought in mind, I reached the rock in good spirits. Then something hit me really hard on the back of the head. I saw a dazzling display of fireworks dancing at the back of my eyeballs before I lost consciousness.

When I came to, I found myself tied to one of the ammunition boxes, bound with something that felt like wire. A man was laying fuses to each of the six piles of ammunition, connecting them all to a detonator he’d placed about a hundred yards away. He was obviously a saboteur from the Gabati army. He was planning to blow up all the ammunition, and me with it. I was going to shout out for help. But I stopped myself in time. If I called out now, my wife would come. Then the man would capture her too, and we’d both be blown up together. She didn’t deserve that.

Even so, I didn’t want to die. The man came towards me, so I decided to plead for my life. “Help me! Please! I don’t want to die! I’m a non-combatant. I’m just here to repair rifles. Don’t kill me!!”

“Sorry. I can’t let you go,” said the man. In the moonlight, I could see him clearly now – a goofy-looking, weasel-faced man with glasses. “You won’t suffer. It’ll be over in a split second.”

“No, but really, I’m not a soldier at all. I’m Japanese!” I urinated with such force that my trousers swelled up like a balloon. “I’m a Japanese company employee. I’m just a day soldier!”

“You mean – you’re Japanese too?!” He spoke in Japanese as he came towards me. “I work for a pharmaceuticals company that makes explosives,” he whispered in my ear. Then he grinned and nodded. “But that’s OK. I’m just a day soldier, too.”