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Corean Dawn excerpt (Page 7)
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‘What a subservient bastard they think they have serving us,’ thought the out¬wardly smiling commodore, inwardly seething at Tubert's misplaced inappropriate allegiance. ‘How to pull him over to our side?’
“Bit different than what I was used to when I sailed with you,” said Tubert to Jewell, joining his old friend. He devoured the heavy food, sipping a cup of beer.
Shufeldt had Havana cigars from his private stock handed out to the red-faced, hard-drinking Corean guests. Tubert rose from the table, his stomach heaving, and rushed from the mess and up the stairs, just in time to heave the grease-laden American food over the side of the ship.
“You never were much for ship’s food,” said Theodore Jewell, behind him, handing the gasping man a cup of rum. “Ah, Timothy, it’s good to have you back. Here, sip this, it will settle your stomach.”
“Thanks, commander,” said Tubert, breathing deeply, feeling the sensation of the alco¬hol moving into his stomach. “One of the things I’ve never missed is Western food.”
“You’ll get used to it,” said Jewell, “I want you to come back to your own kind, Timothy. So does the commodore. You are owed however much time it takes and so much more. Your knowl¬edge of this land could make you a fortune in the days to come.”
“Not if the knowledge would be used to carve Chaoshien into concession pieces like foreign powers have done in China,” said Tubert. “This is my home, Theodore, and these people are my own kind. I'm earning a fortune just for being here.”
“I meant what I said, Timothy,” said Jewell, seating himself, motioning to a space next to the Westerner who had grown into a man even more abstract than the boy he had once saved from flogging, but was unable to save from being abandoned on these shores, so many years before. “You’re a man now. I could find a place in the fleet for you.”
“And how is the American Asiatic Fleet? How's Lieutenant McKee?”
“Hugh was killed by a Corean spear during the charge of The Citadel, Timothy.”
“Lieutenant McKee dead?" Said Tubert, stunned, his face tautening, jaw dropping, feeling as though the memory of an old friend and benefactor had just been plucked from his soul.
“Killed on Kangwha. I was on the Bund at Shanghai when his flag covered coffin went to the wharf, other boats with guards of honor, the crowd and cortege with his shipmates and with representatives from every European country. Men-of-war from all foreign warships in Shanghai sailed down the harbor to the old Pacific Mail Steamship Company's Line. His body now rests back in Kentucky. McNamara and I think Hayden are still out here with the fleet. You'll see them when the treaty is signed. And your old friend Cooky is still cooking dishes for admirals and diplomats from Yokohama port.”
The immense Westerner missed the look of hatred flash in the eyes of Coreanized former shipmate at the mere mention of the perverted and abusive Navy cook.
“I'll have incense burned. I will have McKee mourned. Be good to see Hayden and Mac again.”
“We’re down to six ships, though we’ve never been more than eight,” said the lieutenant com¬mander. “The flag ship is usually a modern cruiser, but most of the
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