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end of the field, concentrating on shooting practice. Two recruits from our section are helping to set up targets.
    I list the names and ages of the nine workers on the blank piece of paper attached to the clipboard. Dividing us into three groups, I balance the younger boys with the older ones. Although it seems like I’m ordering them around, the others don’t mind. They see that my plan is fair.
    When it’s my group’s turn to take a break, I pick up the clipboard and flip through the rest of its contents—several forms that haven’t been completed, an unfinished budget report with a lot of math mistakes, and six unopened letters. Why would such important paperwork go untouched like this? Is the sergeant too busy to read his mail?
    I walk over to U-Tha-Din, who’s dozing in the shade. As I watch his face, the jowls shaking with each snore, the truth dawns—I’ll bet the man can’t read.
    U-Tha-Din stirs and sits up. “What is it?”
    “Do you want me to read these letters to you, sir?”
    He looks at me suspiciously, but I keep my expression blank. “Good idea,” he says. “My eyes get—er—tired from the sunshine. Another boy used to help me, but he’s gone now.”
    “What happened to him?” I can’t help asking.
    “The captain sent him to the front lines.”
    I slit open the first envelope, noticing Tai and the other boy in our group watching. “Find something useful to do!” U-Tha-Din snaps, and they back off.
    The first letter is from Yangon’s military headquarters. It’s a commendation about the negotiations U-Tha-Din arranged with the neighboring farmer.
Major Wang-De visited the camp and noted your leadership abilities. We have decided to raise your salary accordingly.
    U-Tha-Din is grinning. “You’re a good reader, Chiko,” he says. “That requires a thank-you note; put it in a ‘reply required’ pile.”
    The other letters are also from Yangon. One is the most interesting. It seems that our platoon’s trained soldiers might be called out earlier than expected. They’re needed to push back a “fierce tribal onslaught in the jungle.” I think of Bindu’s good-natured round face; we’re always happy when he’s assigned to train or guard us. How much longer will he be with us in the camp?
    “They’re making a big fuss over nothing,” the sergeant scoffs. “Don’t say anything to the other boys. No use worrying about things that might not happen. Is that it?”
    “Yes, sir. Four of these require replies.”
    “That will take some time. It would be good if you did paperwork with me every now and then during the morning work sessions.”
    Extra time off from hard labor! What a gift Father gave when he taught me so well! I can only hope he’s earned some special privileges, too. Wherever he is.
    Suddenly a new thought hits me, and I can hardly breathe. Maybe I can use this assignment to find out about Father—to know for certain that he’s alive! I might even be able to discover where he is and send Mother the news.
    I hand the sergeant the clipboard and envelopes. “Here you go, sir,” I say, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice.

19
    The jeep careens down the hill in the evenings every other week or so. I’m grateful that the captain has to oversee other platoons so he can’t stay for long, but I don’t dread his visits as much as I used to. Each time he comes, he hands Win Min a pile of letters and papers. “For the sergeant,” he says.
    The sergeant catches my eye as he gets the mail. The size of this new stack promises me hours of escape from hard work. U-Tha-Din hands over the letters I’ve written, and the captain tosses the replies into the back of his jeep. Then he
    walks to where we’re waiting in formation. I steady myself, waiting for more special attention.
    But to my surprise, he ignores Tai and me altogether. Instead he addresses our entire platoon, with that fatherly smile fixed on his face. “I have a treat for you. We are going to watch