Before Captain Ishida Hisashi could say anything to the barfighter, a fellow doctor, Matt, intervened, but he'd done it at the wrong time, wrong situation. What Jack had done had too many implications, and consequences. Without facing the vet, he said to him: "He beat a boy up, Matt-san. He give him concussion."

Then, returning the conversation to Jack, he stepped forward, unafraid and with conviction, "I do not care what you think. We bring supplies and medical aid. The American commander give us jurisdiction." Normally, Hisashi had to search hard for the English words; he'd barely passed his English lessons, and most English words he knew were still medical terms and stock phrases, as he needed to attend seminars and tend to foreign patients on occasion back before he was forced by his forebears to take up the sword. This time around, it sort of fell into place.

He had more to say, but it all felt like wasted breath. His 'personal guards' flanking him had tensed up, as if expecting trouble. One of them had rested his hand on his pistol. He instead turned to look at the crowd that remained. As if like a jury, some of them were nodding their heads slightly, or pointing a hidden finger. It was obvious that Jack wasn't liked in some circles. "Witnesses everywhere. If I want, I take them. But I make it easy for you."

"Half rations for you tomorrow, to pay for medical supplies you waste." Hisashi said off-handedly, expecting his words to be final; normally, it was, "Next time it will be one week half rations."

"And Joe-san!" The medical officer, as if having dismissed the case instantly, shouted to the barkeeper who was at the far end of the makeshift bar, "You are late in your delivery of alcohol! We need alcohol for sterilisation!" The barkeeper shouted back in meek acknowledgement before doing a crab walk and fumbling with some other crate underneath the counter, probably the alcohol he was supposed to deliver to the medical tent. With that, Hisashi turned and took his leave, taking notes on his forearm mounted computer.

"Ungrateful brat!" The young Private First Class Ichiro had spat at Jack viciously in Japanese. His voice was charged with bitterness; it should be, considering what the Japanese peacekeepers had sacrificed to get to the refugee centre.

"Ichiro! Let's go." Hisashi ordered similarly in his native language. Before long, the peacekeepers left the bar after they'd picked up their new patient. The medical officer had many other things to tend to. For one thing, Tanya and her sister had missed their scheduled monthly medical examination, and for another, he had a wounded American soldier to pay a house call to. Not to mention, he would have to inform the ration distribution centre at the marketplace about Jack's half-ration plan tomorrow.