Stories from the Great War: A Time of Change
Chapter content (revised version) © November 21, 2006 by dragonwrangler (This chapter has been posted elsewhere but has been revised slightly to fit the longer story it is now a part of.)
Warnings- WIP, OCs, slightly AU, hurt/comfort, shonen-ai (two men kissing and a few embraces- not much more than that), story has no beta and prologue is in a narrative style I've not used before (I'm sure there are grammar issues- feel free to point them out.) Spelling of character names are from the booklet in the US DVD's and from Wikipedia (and I'm a slow updater.)
Spoilers- None, pre-series
Author notes- This is the first in a series of stories covering Kambei and Shichiroji's time together during the war and is dedicated to LauraZel for her constant support and feeding of these stories (and the occasional kick for more.) I happened to see her piece "Itsumo Futari De" not too long after being introduced to Samurai 7 and wanted to know what had happened before the scene depicted in the picture. The next day this series of stories started running through my head and they haven't stopped since!
Disclaimer-This story fragment is a non-commercial work of fiction based on the anime/manga Samurai 7. Original copyright of Samurai 7 belongs to Akira Kurosawa, Shinobu Hashimoto, Hideo Oguni, MICO, GDH, GONZO. Absolutely no monetary gain has been made with this work and was written for my entertainment and for the entertainment of anyone who wishes to read it
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Stories from the Great War: A Time of Change
"The Way of the Samurai is in desperateness. Ten men or more cannot kill such a man. Common sense will not accomplish great things. Simply become insane and desperate." Lord Naoshige, as quoted in "The Hagakura"
Prologue- Chance Meeting
Time has no meaning in battle. Reality does not exist in battle. In a battle all that can be moves within the circle of ones senses and the world beyond becomes nothing more than a dream.
Shichiroji surges through the battle, his spear flowing like water through his hands, the triple tines flashing through the golden walls of light filtering across the battlefield before slicing into the dark shadows of metal and flesh that surround him. He does not feel the impact of the spear on these objects, they yield to the tines as easily as the light, and he is beyond them before he can even acknowledges their presence.
His course sifts as a pathway leading to the attacking Crimson Spider that is slaughtering his comrades' opens up. Shichiroji does not think about his actions, does not think about the impossibility of what he is about to attempt- for Shichiroji is samurai and he simply follows where fate is leading him as he drives his spear against the ground and vaults into the sky.
The spear flashes once again, this time cutting through the heavy wires and circuitry at the neck of the Spider. For a moment, Shichiroji's feet find purchase on a metal shoulder guard of the mechanical samurai before he returns to the air, severing the joints and connections of the Spider as the world spins around him. The Spider attempts to attack him but cannot, the gun it carries is of no use in close combat and the huge sword in its hand is unable to catch Shichiroji. With a twist of his body, Shichiroji lands on the edge of the Spider's blade and uses the momentum of the sword's swing to propel him back into flight, allowing him to drive his spear deep into the chest of the Spider.
Pushing himself off the Spider while pulling his spear free, Shichiroji falls backwards, flying gracefully through the air before finally landing lightly on the ground; and he stops for the first time since the battle started to watch the Spider crash to the earth.
However, he cannot watch for long and is back in motion once again as the light shifts inevitably towards the night.
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Exhaustion and sorrow eventually brings Shichiroji to a halt and all he can do now is sit with his back against a tree and watch as a mist begins to rise; a layer of white that shifts like lost spirits around the medics moving across the ruined ground. Shichiroji's eyes follow the medics without thought, watching as they identify the dead for removal and assist those who have survived; and the silence of the dead is louder in Shichiroji's ears than the occasional cries of the wounded.
He is drawn to their movements, a sign that life still exists, as the day bleeds away into the ever-growing darkness, leaving behind the layer of mist that slowly covers what lies before him.
Still, he knows what lies beneath the blanketing mist. Mangled bodies, torn earth stained red and black, shattered swords and machines and men. He knows and will always remember for he is the one who has survived.
And he wonders briefly what purpose there is in that.
He has survived before but this battle had not been like those earlier ones- this time there had been no honor in the enemy's attack; they had simply attacked with the single purpose of annihilating every living thing before them.
And Shichiroji's mind was struggling with the aftermath of that attack as he stared at the still remains of his comrades that lay scattered about on the slowly cooling ground.
Eventually, a new movement at the edge of sight captures his attention. A figure, barely visible in the growing darkness, is moving like a wraith across the battlefield. Unlike the remaining medics, who shift quickly back and forth between one spot and another, noisily calling out for supplies as they continue to move further and further away, this man moves slowly but purposefully through the mist. As the man approaches, Shichiroji glimpses details of the man's uniform in the occasional flashes from the medic's spots and soon recognizes the officer.
The man's scabbard gives him away.
A samurai's weapon is as unique as the person it belongs to and though Shichiroji is unable to see the hilt of the man's sword, the slivery glint from the metal end of the scabbard- revealing a unique hook shape at the base- identifies the man as Shimada Kambei.
Shichiroji has never had the opportunity to meet the older samurai and only spotted him once during the battle- as the man leading the vanguard- but even now his movements have the same deliberate intent as they did before. Captivated by the man as he walks, Shichiroji finds himself unable and unwilling to look away.
A spot of dull blackness above Kambei's temple, running back into the man's long hair, soon draws Shichiroji's eye. At first, Shichiroji assumes it is simply mud or dirt but, as the man begins to pass the tree Shichiroji leans against and is caught by a beam of light passing over the battlefield, he can see now it is actually dried blood.
"You should have someone look at that, Kambei-sama." Shichiroji says unexpectedly into the darkness that follows the light.
Kambei takes a few more steps then stops and turns towards him; and even though Shichiroji is unable to make out his expression in the thickening mists, he knows the man is not surprised by his presence. For a moment, Shichiroji is the focus of Kambei's full attention, and then that attention slides away as Kambei shifts to watch the medics as they continue to move methodically across the battlefield.
"It can wait." Kambei finally replies as if dragging the words out of a forgotten place, his low voice muted by the mist.
A burst of irritation flares through Shichiroji at Kambei's answer- overriding his sense of protocol- and it brings him to his feet. "No it can't." Pointing down at the spot he has just vacated, Shichiroji commands, "Sit down and at least let me clean that up if you don't have enough sense to have one of the medics look at it."
Kambei faces him once again and Shichiroji is suddenly very aware to whom he is speaking. However, there is something in Kambei's tone of voice that Shichiroji recognizes, and he finds himself unwilling to let the older samurai simply walk away. Shichiroji stands his ground and is surprised when Kambei silently complies to his request.
As Kambei settles against the tree, Shichiroji takes several steps into the mist, easily finding the first aid kit one of the medics left as they passed him. Kneeling before Kambei, Shichiroji sets the kit down and removes his gloves; gently exploring the man's wound with his fingers. He feels a cut several centimeters long running up into Kambei's scalp, the blood that has flowed from the wound fusing the hair around it into a thick, sticky mat.
Pulling what he needs from the kit, identifying the items by touch and smell, Shichiroji carefully begins cleaning and disinfecting the cut. But, as he tilts Kambei's head back slightly, Shichiroji is aware of how stiffly the man is holding himself. Using one hand to keep long, limp strands of hair out of the way, he carefully soaks the wound and wonders about the fate of the other samurai that had been in the vanguard. But his mind immediately shies away from that thought, afraid of where it will lead.
His mind also shies away from the sudden realization he may be treating a dead man.
As he tries to regain the numb calm that held him moments ago, trying not to think about Kambei's possible fate for losing so many men, Shichiroji is startled when the older samurai inquires in a quiet voice, "You are Shichiroji?"
Afraid to look away from what he is doing, though he is practically working blind, Shichiroji gathers himself and manages to answer evenly, "Yes, I am." As he opens a second sterilized pad to clean some more of the dried blood away, he adds curiously, "How did you figure that out?"
Jumping slightly when he hears a scraping sound, Shichiroji realizes Kambei has just picked up his spear, the three tines somehow managing to glitter slightly in the darkness. "There are not many samurai who carry such a weapon as this." As he holds the spear, Kambei continues thoughtfully, "There are also not many samurai who have the piloting skills you are said to possess."
Shichiroji finds himself raising an eyebrow, wondering how Kambei came across that information- and why he was mentioning it. It wasn't as if his flying skills were of any use in a ground offensive. "What, are you're looking for a pilot?"
"Yes. As many as I can find." Kambei answers as he carefully sets the spear down. An almost inaudible sigh slips from Kambei before he says as if speaking to himself, "We can no longer fight this war on the ground. Too many samurai have traded their bodies for machines, tilting the scales toward those who command the heights. If we do not adapt to these new conditions, we will lose everything."
Shichiroji does not miss the tremor in Kambei's voice as it slowly trails off.
Settling back on his heels, he attempts to read Kambei's expression but the dark is now deep enough that he can only see shapes, not details. A quick glance over his shoulder confirms what his ears have told him, the medics have moved on, taking the lights with them, and they are the only ones who remain. Turning back, Shichiroji cannot be sure if Kambei is looking in his direction.
The silence stretches for a moment and Shichiroji hears Kambei's tension growing in each ragged breath the man takes. Carefully, hoping to keep the wounded man talking, Shichiroji comments, "Not what I expected to hear from someone in command."
"Why?" Kambei eventually asks.
Shichiroji takes the offered opening even as a deep concern sparks in his chest. He suspects the wound he is treating is not the one that has truly injured Kambei. An aura of defeat and loss is radiating from the older samurai but Shichiroji is uncertain how to help since he has yet to deal with those same emotions within himself.
And he is aware he is trying to distract himself as much as he is Kambei.
Speaking slowly as he forms his thoughts, watching Kambei's silhouette for any reactions to help guide him, Shichiroji says, "You are talking about a huge shift in resources. An aerial force will require more materials and manpower per unit than a ground force does. It would also take time to train up the force, leaving the ground units more vulnerable through attrition." Shichiroji combs the fingers of his right hand nervously through his loose, dirty hair. "And you are not going to find the pilots you need until you've shifted through all the chaff and that will take time."
Kambei's response is slow and tentative. "What I am proposing would require no more than what mechanical samurai needs."
Frowning at Kambei's hesitation, Shichiroji comments, "How? Flying fortresses and battleships require a few hundred to maintain and run."
Shichiroji hears Kambei shift to lean forward as he says, "I was not referring to fortresses but a small strike force, highly mobile, that would be able to move in and out of a combat area."
"What good would that do? A small ship would not be able to carry weapons powerful enough to do any significant damage." Shichiroji asks.
"If they are able to pull some of an attack force away from the ground units, I would consider it effective." Kambei answers quietly, turning his head as if losing interest in the conversation.
Scowling now, sensing Kambei drifting away and afraid to be left alone in the darkness, Shichiroji states in a voice more harsh than he intends, "You mean to send them up as bait."
He can just see Kambei shake his head. "No. Two samurai per ship, one piloting, one attacking."
"You're mad." Shichiroji comments softly as he mentally grabs his fear and returns to the task of cleaning Kambei's wound.
Shichiroji feels Kambei stiffen beneath his fingers. "You do not believe it to be feasible?" Kambei asks, a shiver running through him as he allows Shichiroji to shift his head.
Sensing Kambei's eyes on him as he remembers what he had done to the Crimson Spider, and the blank stares of those who had fallen before he could stop it, Shichiroji answers reluctantly, "Anything is possible."
Kambei begins to tremble openly as Shichiroji finishes cleaning the wound. The older samurai's breathing is shallow as the silence drags on and Shichiroji is not startled this time when Kambei abruptly asks in a tight voice, "Why were you sitting here?"
Shichiroji settles back on his heels. With elaborate care he closes the kit and sets it aside, and answers even as a stabbing pain rushes through his chest and chokes his voice. "Watching over my comrades in the same way they watched over me in the battle."
As he says the words and hears the sudden pause in Kambei's breathing, Shichiroji fights down the pain running through him for the sake of the wounded man before him. Reaching out to cup Kambei's face in his hands, needing to feel the older man's reaction for he knows what he is about to say will make Kambei bleed more than blood, Shichiroji asks, "What happened to the vanguard?"
There is no answer, but Shichiroji can feel the muscles beneath his palms clenching and can hear the deep ragged breaths as the man struggles with himself. But Shichiroji no longer needs to hear the answer, it is clear in the inarticulate cry that breaks past Kambei's control.
The sound pierces Shichiroji and he feels himself begin to shake, can feel the grief and pain he has held at a distance rising up in an unstoppable wave as he tangles his fingers in Kambei's hair and leans forward to desperately kiss him.
It is an urgent need to comfort and to be comforted that drives Shichiroji now; and as Kambei returns the kiss and wraps him in a fierce embrace, he feels his own wound begin to bleed. Shichiroji yields to Kambei without question as visions of the slaughter overwhelms him.
And then, the barriers that protected his mind during the battle shatter and he remembers it all.
Blind panic grasps him by the throat and Shichiroji suddenly breaks the kiss, pulling away in a useless, frantic attempt to escape the horror unfolding in his head, but Kambei holds him tightly and snaps, "Shichiroji."
The single word has the power of a command and Shichiroji freezes in place. His chest feels as if it is being crushed even as he tries to drag precious air into his lungs. He is unaware of his hands clutching Kambei's uniform until the older samurai covers them with his own; and he is unaware of the tears wetting his cheeks until Kambei gently wipes them away as he pulls him close.
"There is no shame in being the one who has survived." Kambei whispers, his breath warm against Shichiroji's lips.
And Shichiroji finally succumbs to the darkness within for he now knows he will not be facing it alone.
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It is late in the night before the young samurai finds peace. Kambei listens as the man's breathing becomes easier and the body in his arms slowly relaxes.
Kambei lets his mind wander, his thoughts now calm and accepting. His daimyo would have been informed of his survival and Kambei was honor bound to report his failure directly. He had been prepared for what was to come and yet, he had stopped when Shichiroji had spoken, and accepted the offer of aid without hesitation. And it had not been to escape his fate.
He knows he should not be here, he should continue on and fulfill his duty; but he knows he will not leave Shichiroji alone.
And that knowledge brings him a feeling of completeness that he is unable to explain.
A choked laugh slips from Shichiroji and Kambei feels him bury his face into the hollow of his shoulder. "And here I was trying to comfort you." the young samurai says, his voice muffled.
"You have." Kambei murmurs gently as he combs his fingers through Shichiroji's loose hair.
A comfortable silence falls over them, then a deep sigh slips out of Kambei and he feels Shichiroji shift, tilting his head. Glancing down he finds Shichiroji studying him in the light of the newly risen moon. He unconsciously traces the young man's features with his thumb as he explains, "But my life is not my own. It is up to the daimyo to decide my fate."
An understanding look crosses Shichiroji's face. "And if you live?" he asks softly.
A shadow of a smile slips unbidden to his lips and Shichiroji gives him a curious look.
"I will eventually have need of an aide and I have the impression you will give me an honest opinion whether I wish to hear it or not." Kambei says.
Quiet amusement sparks in Shichiroji's eyes when he asks, "And will you listen to me when I tell you you're wrong?"
Kambei let his head fall back and watched the leaves shift the moonlight around, the smile growing a little. "Probably not."
"Fair enough." Shichiroji answers and settles back against his chest.
And as he feels the young samurai slip into sleep, Kambei decides that his future can wait just a little longer.