Bright Sword: The Flowers of War

Chapter 171 Who can withstand such a test?

In July in Los Angeles, the sun beats down on the gray-brown wooden bungalows.

A middle-aged man in his forties sat on a faded rocking chair on a porch. One of them rubbed his left knee with his calloused fingers, where a shrapnel wound still remained, and it would ache faintly on rainy days.

His gaze swept across the withered lawn in front of the door, where his wife was wiping the sweat from her forehead with a patched sheet hanging on the clothesline.

In the neighboring courtyard, another middle-aged man, about the same age as him, was repairing the leaky eaves.

His 20-year-old son had just been drafted into the army last month, and yesterday's newspaper was spread out next to his toolbox, with a picture of the Spanish Civil War on the front page.

As he bent down to pick up the hammer, the brass bell hanging on the doorframe suddenly rang. It was his daughter returning from her night shift at the cannery. The girl's uniform was stained with tomato juice, and she was clutching a crumpled pay bag in her hand.

The man sitting in the rocking chair suddenly coughed violently. It was a lung disease he had contracted in the trenches during World War I, and it had never truly healed all these years. Hearing his violent coughing, his wife, who was hanging clothes to dry, quickly rushed into the house and soon came out with a bottle of medicine and a glass of water, placing them beside him. "Hodl, take your medicine first."

“I won’t take it.” The man named Hoddle looked at the medicine in his wife’s hand with disgust. “I’ve been taking this stuff for years and it has no effect at all. Now I feel like throwing up just from the smell of it.”

Seeing her husband's stubborn expression, the wife looked helpless. Just as she was about to try to persuade him again, a voice rang out beside them: "But at least it can save your life, can't it?"

"Shit...who said I rely on it to save my life?" The middle-aged man turned his head angrily, only to see a tall, smiling man with a full head of silver hair. At that moment, his expression changed from anger to surprise, and finally to delight.

"Oh... God,"

Hoddle disregarded everything else, stood up, strode towards the newcomer, gave him a tight hug, and then scrutinized him for a while, shaking his head in shock: "Fell Lancaster, you're still alive?"

"Nonsense, I wouldn't die even if you all died," Fell retorted irritably.

Hoddle turned to the man next door who was repairing his house and shouted, "Hey...Frant, what are you doing repairing your house, you bastard? Come down here... and see who's here."

“I’m not blind, I can see it…” the man named Flanders replied, and began to climb down the ladder.

Although he was complaining, he was quick to act and soon ran over from next door to give Full a big hug.

"Damn it, you bastard, we haven't been in touch for over ten years, how come you suddenly show up?"

Fell shrugged. "I was missing you guys, and a guy recently contacted me, so I found you all."

"who is it?"

“Look…this is him.” Fell pulled a photo out of his pocket and handed it to the two of them.

"My God... it was that bastard John."

The two exclaimed in unison. In the photo, John was sitting lazily on the roof of an unusually tall tank, looking at them with a smile.

"Damn it, when did this guy join the Nazis, and he's even wearing the rank of major?"

"Also, what model is that tank he's standing on? I've never seen it before."

The two started discussing it back and forth.

"Alright... what's wrong with you two?"

"Frew just arrived, and you two didn't even invite him in? Standing at the door asking all sorts of questions, what are you trying to do?" Hoddle's wife was the first to react, snapping at the two men. "Oh...right, right...come on...let's go have a few drinks. Valerie, go buy some groceries, tonight we old buddies are getting together for a drink."

That evening, the three comrades sat together and drank heartily. They reminisced about their old comrades, cursed the Germans, and even criticized the state of the world today.

"Damn world, we're all starving! What the hell is this government doing?" Hoddle coughed as he angrily cursed the government.

Seeing Hoddle coughing from time to time, Forl and Frant looked at him with concern.

"Hodl, why isn't your illness getting better?" Forl asked, frowning.

“It’s an old problem, don’t worry about it. I think it will go to hell with me,” Hoddle said nonchalantly.

“This disease can be cured.” His wife hesitated for a moment before saying, “It’s just that the doctors at the hospital said that a new drug has been invented, I think it’s called penicillin. If we can use this drug to treat it, there is a high chance that it will cure Hoddle’s cough. But this drug is too expensive, and we simply can’t afford it.”

"Too expensive...how expensive?" asked Fell.

"How expensive? Five hundred dollars for one injection!" Hoddle was furious at the mention of this.

“My son and daughter both work in a car factory, earning only fifty dollars a month. But one injection of this drug costs them almost a year’s salary. These ruthless monsters will go to hell sooner or later.”

Everyone fell silent. Since the Great Depression, countless people have lost their jobs and become homeless, wandering around aimlessly. Even those who managed to keep their jobs saw their quality of life plummet.

Capitalists are not so kind; they would rather pour milk into the river than give the poor even a drop.

It's already difficult enough for Hoddle's son and daughter to find jobs.

Fol glanced at his two old buddies and suddenly said, "Hodl, Flander, do you want to find a job?"

"Work?" The two exchanged a surprised glance.

Hoddle asked, puzzled, "You can introduce us to jobs? What kind of jobs?"

Fell smiled faintly: "What else can we do? Of course, it's our old profession."

"You mean you want us to go to war?" The two men frowned simultaneously. They had participated in the Meuse-Argonne Offensive, a campaign that was like a meat grinder, and they knew the cruelty of war.

"Nonsense," Fell said bluntly. Otherwise, why would the boss pay you two hundred dollars a month?

"Two hundred US dollars a month?" The two were both taken aback. Such a salary was definitely a high salary at this time.

"But what about my illness?" Hoddle hesitated.

“Perfect timing.” Forl smiled slightly: “John said in the telegram that his boss happens to have a large quantity of penicillin. If you go there, you can get it for free.”

John also said that everyone who goes will receive a resettlement allowance of two hundred dollars.

"Shet..."

The two cursed in unison, "Damn capitalist, is this what you're trying to lure us into?!"
Who can withstand such a test?

(End of this chapter)