-Flying Tiger, Crouching Dragon-
An A:TLA / WW2 AU One-shot
Rated: M, for language
January, 1942. Skies above Changsha, China.
In the cold rush of dawn, high above shadowy hills and snaking rivers, the sun's rays pierced the cloudy horizon, illuminating Sokka's cockpit with a glaring orange light.
He immediately roused himself from a daze as the light hit his eyes, shaking his head violently to fight off the crippling fatigue he felt.
"Damn it, come on…" he cursed himself as he quickly rubbed one of his eyes with a gloved hand.
He couldn't allow himself to doze off like that, not while he and his formation were out on their first sortie of the day. He had to remain vigilant, even if he hadn't had any coffee or grub to hold him over.
Every now and then he quickly darted his head upward, scanning for fighters that might have sneaked up on him. None were in sight. Good, he thought, as he pressed down on the accelerator, the world continuing to rush passed him.
The cockpit groaned and shook violently. Sokka kept his center stick as stable as possible. Airfoil cut through heavy gusts of wind as his plane shook, g-force pulling him back as he clenched his teeth.
"Come on girl, hold it together," he muttered through his flight mask to his plane, keeping it as stable as possible.
To the mechanics back at the base, she was a beat up, shark-faced Tomahawk, barely held together with spare parts, quick-repair patches, and dented armor. She wasn't much to look at when one peeled the camouflage paint away, but Sokka always said she was a tough little bird, tougher than anything the Japanese could throw at her so far. There was enough blood, sweat, and motor oil soaked into each of them to call it a blood relation. She'd seen a few scraps and came back with plenty of bruises, but she always came back.
Bang-o-Rang, as he affectionately called her, a dark-skinned, white-haired, blue-eyed pin-up painted on the side of the fuselage, cradling a hefty boomerang in her bosom, was always ready for another fight.
"Blue Leader to Blue Flight, descend to angels one, level off, and hold course. Repeat, angels one and hold course."
"Copy that Blue Lead. Descending to angels one," said Sokka through his mask radio as he leaned the stick forward, his plane shaking once again.
Blue Flight eased into formation as they dived toward the ground, easing off once they were at a comfortable altitude.
"We'll do a flyby over an allied column, head straight for the front, and provide ground support. By the the book gentlemen. You all ready?", Blue Lead said over the radio.
"Blue-Four, ready!" chimed in Kuruk's Bane as he rolled to his position in the formation.
"Blue-Three, good to go." growled La's Wrath, leveling off as he had some difficulty in taking his position in the tight formation.
"Blue Two, Four-A! Watch us shoot up another bunch of Japanese today, boys," said Sokka over the radio as he leaned his beloved Tomahawk into the wingman's position to his flight leader's left.
He could hear Kuruk and La grunting in agreement over the headphones of his flight cap.
They had been scrambled from their base near Zhijiang for what was considered to be a tedious yet dangerous chore that grew more frequent with each passing day. His superiors called these sorties "morale missions", flybys over Chinese columns to boost their spirits before heading off to the front, usually to provide air support for the grunts on the ground. Bang-o-Rang usually came back with a couple of holes on these missions. Japanese soldiers in droves always tried to take pot shots when they could. It was happening more often now that they flew near this area…
Winter didn't seem to bother the Japanese as Chinese positions were hit hard by an offensive near the city of Changsha. The Japanese were pushing southward to take the city along the Xiang River and showed no signs of slowing down. Commanders in the city were desperate for air support, but with most squadrons deployed to help protect supply routes near the Burmese border, Sokka's superiors couldn't send much.
What squadrons they did send were reluctant to do so. They were interceptors, trained to swoop in on Japanese fighters and bombers, not shoot up columns of trucks and soldiers. It was too easy for them. It bordered on slaughter, but most importantly… there was no promise of pay in it. Each fighter they shot down got them a hefty bonus, more for bombers. It was worthless shooting up ground-pounders, no incentive and no bonus. Well, there was technically an incentive of sorts… orders and duty, right?
"Could be better if we got bonuses for shooting up trucks and grunts. What do you say, boys? Five bucks for the small fry and ten for the trucks?" said Sokka.
"I'd take that action, Blue-Two," said Kuruk's Bane.
"Hell, the Japs got armored trains full of guys on them. I'd say put in a bonus for that and I'd go hunting any day," chuckled La's Wrath.
"Cut the crap, Blue Flight! Keep your heads in the game," Sokka's flight leader, Blue Wolf, growled irritably, "Orders say to help the guys on the ground, so we help. So clam up and just deal with it. They're easy targets anyway…"
"Yeah, unless they got Ack-Ack on the ground, which they do. Will it still be easy then?" retorted Sokka.
"Just shut it, Blue Two," growled Blue Wolf.
They rushed over the barren countryside toward the front lines north of Changsha, passing columns of cold looking Chinese soldiers as they trudged on toward the smoke in the distance. Sokka could see ragged looking refugees heading in the opposite direction, their whole lives strapped onto to wheel barrels, carts, and oxen as they fled south. He could see many of them waving up at his formation as they passed over them, the din of cheers barely audible over drone the engine.
"Well, that's one part of the job over with," muttered Sokka as he rocked his plane from side-to-side, a symbolic wave to the people on the ground.
As they passed over the bleak countryside, Sokka's formation came up over the city of Changsha. He could see the gutted and charred remains of houses when he looked below, rubble and shell holes scattered every which way as smoke from fresh fires rose in thick, oily pillars.
"Makes you glad you're not infantry…hell of a sight," said Sokka, turning his head away from the destructions as they passed through a pillar of smoke.
"They catch hell down there every day, Blue-Two. Come's with the job of being a soldier," muttered Blue Wolf, as he led his formation over the charred carcass of Changsha.
Sokka was a foreigner flying for the Chinese, all the pilots in the 1st American Volunteer Group were. Most were in it for many things, most likely the pay. Some were in it for the adventure, while others were in it for personal glory, a chance to prove what they could do. Sokka felt he was in it for a little of everything, selfish as it was. Yet, as his formation cleared the black smoke, flying away from the city, he couldn't help but feel pangs of guilt.
He liked to think he had a sense of duty though, helping to fight the Japanese here in China. He had grown to feel that he was a part of something bigger than himself, even if it meant fighting for a people he hardly knew about. Yet, that wasn't the real reason he joined this group… in every way he was still a mercenary, even if he felt like he was growing out of that.
"Alright gentlemen, look alive," Blue Wolf called out over radio, "Front line coming up on our twelve, couple of kilometers out. Focus reflector sights and line up on me."
"Copy that, Blue Lead… Following your approach," Sokka grunted as he leaned on the stick, flipping switches as he took his position behind Blue Wolf.
They came in low, like birds of prey, there engines whirling faster, fingers playing at the triggers on their center sticks. Sokka frowned as he heard Bang-o-Rang's metal joints groan under the pressure, shaking his cockpit.
"Don't worry, girl…I'll get us through this…count on it," he whispered to his plane as he kept it steady.
"Still talking to your plane, Blue Two?" chided Kuruk over the radio, catching what Sokka whispered.
"She's my girl, Blue-Four. My pain and pride," Sokka answered back, "Bang might be tough to handle, but she's kept me safe. She'll get me through this war one way or another…"
His eyes drifted away from the sights momentarily as he gazed at a picture placed between the dials and gauges in his cockpit. It was a picture of his family. His sister, father, and grandmother looked battered and worn in their old clothes, but nonetheless happy, as they ate bologna sandwiches. He could still taste the satisfying small beads of fat secreted from the meat after every bite. Sweet nostalgia made his stomach grumble.
"She'll get me home…" he whispered gently to himself, as he placed two fingers over the picture penitently.
Sokka remembered when he captured that moment on the family camera. They were sitting in the back of a shabby looking, furniture-filled pick-up truck, smiling as they ate their sandwiches outside a gas station. They had come a long way from their little reservation in Oklahoma in that picture, a long way from dried up fields and black dust storms that choke a man to death. He remembered the sigh of utter joy and relief when they crossed the state line and pulled into the gas station, happy they had reached the green promised land of California to find new jobs as field workers, even if it paid miserably.
Would they still be happy over the reasons why he left home? Would they still be happy with why he was fighting half a world away, for a country he hardly knew about… for the money?
Sokka frowned, looking away as the hard rev of his plane's engine picked up speed. It was hard leaving home. A lot of shouts were exchanged and a lot of tears were shed. He even earned a slap. They weren't at war with anyone, they said, not back then at least. So, why go? Just for the pay? Just so he could send a little extra money home to them? Was it worth his life?
Sokka shook those thoughts out of his head. He couldn't reminisce over such things now. He needed to focus. Just get everything over with and go home, he thought.
He licked his chapped lips, gritting his teeth once again as he focused his gaze on the front lines within his reflector sights. He wiped the sweat accumulating under his eyes. He really hoped God, the spirits, and the universe were kind to him today…
As they sped toward their target area, Sokka could see hundreds of flashes from rifle and machine gun fire in the distance as Chinese and Japanese soldiers broke from cover in dried rice patties. Each side seemed to move in closer to each other. He could see the impact of artillery fire chewing away at each side, dirt and bodies being flung every which way.
"Son of a bitch…" Sokka muttered to himself as the battle drew in closer over his sights.
Hundreds of Chinese soldiers suddenly surged forward in waves like scurrying ants, bayonets fixed, straight into the Japanese guns. They were either very brave, very crazy, or a potent mix of both to attack the Japanese like that, Sokka thought.
"Blue Lead to Blue Flight… standby for strafing run," said Blue Wolf as he set himself up to make a pass along the Japanese lines.
Sokka and the rest of his flight followed. No more fooling around, he thought. It was time to get to work.
By a force of habit Sokka scanned the skies above him one last time, keeping an eye out for Japanese fighters. If they got the drop on them as they made a pass, then things would get ugly quick.
He glanced up, squinting as the glaring rays of sunlight finally broke through the winter cloud cover.
And then he saw them. He barely had time to warn the rest of his flight as four Hayabusa fighters came screeching down out of the sun. He cursed the universe.
"Bandits! 'Leven o'clock high! Break! Break, damn it!" Sokka screamed into his radio.
He kicked the rudder and leaned hard on his stick, rolling a tight left as the cockpit shook violently. Blue Flight broke formation as tracer fire rained down on them. Sokka sucked in more of the rubbery air mix through his flight mask, gasping as the Japanese fighters dived down on them. He raced away from ensuing brawl, pulling up to gain altitude as negative g-force pulled him back in his seat.
The radio was loud with chatter as Blue Flight found themselves in a brawl over the frontline, four birds on four from what Sokka could pick up.
"Guns live! Guns live!"
"Blue-Four! Blue Four! Jink right and get him off your six!"
"Where's he at?! I can't see him!"
"B-Blue-Two! Blue-Two! Close in and get him off me!"
"Stay on him! Stay on him, Blue-Three!"
"Son of a bitch! He's good!"
"WAHOO! Good hit! Good hit!"
"Add one to my tally and five-hundred in the bank!"
"For fuck sake! Someone, get this bastard off my tail!"
"Blue-Two to Lead, I'm on him now!"
Sokka stomped on the rudder bar, turned left and rolled back down for a dive. It was a sudden and ferocious move. The cockpit shuddered violently, his vision growing spotty as negative g-force once again threatened to pull him back. Forcing multiple blinks, he managed to picked up the bandit on Blue Wolf's tail.
"Come on, Come on…" Sokka growled as he aimed down his reflector sights, struggling to get a bead on the bandit as he lined up Bang-o-Rang for an attack.
It was a scream dive. His Tomahawk's engine howled against the wind as Sokka angled his nose down, the world suddenly filling his cockpit's windows. He had one shot at this. Dive in on the bandit, make the kill, and zoom out. He had the altitude advantage. He only hoped that surprise was on his side too.
The nimble Japanese plane didn't sit still, matching every turn to try and stay on Blue Wolf's tail. Wind battered Sokka's wings as his plane shook over the pressure of the dive, throwing him off his target bit by bit. He waggled the stick, pitching, rolling, trying to correct.
He was closing in on the Hayabusa, its blood red circular markings clearly visible. He could see a decal painted on the tail. A menacing looking eye painted in front of three horizontal spikes, kanji painted below. A war cry, perhaps. It suddenly broke off from its pursuit, turning and rolling, as predator suddenly became prey.
Sokka stayed on him. He rapidly calculated his angle of deflection. Ten degrees to lead his shot, he thought, as he finally got control of his plane. He focused his sights on the bandit. He mumbled a quick prayer to the spirits in his tribe's native tongue, hoping they would be with him today.
He pressed down on the trigger. Guns live. Bang-o-Rang shuddered at the kick of the breechblocks. Flash-flames flickered in Sokka's eyes.
The bandit turned away just in time to avoid his fire, angling in a tight arch to Sokka's left as he swooped down past it, still in his dive.
He missed. Images of every spirit his tribe believed in flashed across his mind, mocking him.
"Son of a bitch!" cussed Sokka frantically as he turned his head back toward his foe, only to find it circling around.
This one wasn't going away. It had caught the blood scent. The one-eyed bandit was hungry, greedy for a kill.
Sokka pulled his plane's nose upward, his grip on the stick tightening, as he struggled to come out of the dive, g-force like lead weights as it threw his head back. He had to climb fast and get out. If he got into a brawl with a Hayabusa on his tail, his Tomahawk wouldn't last long.
"Come on, Bang! Come on!" grunted Sokka through clenched teeth as the cockpit shook.
Sokka wrenched on the stick and continued his desperate climb, rolling frantically to keep the Hayabusa from getting a good bead.
"Blue-Two! Blue-Two! He's on your six! Get the hell out of there!" Sokka's flight leader screamed over the radio.
"I can't shake him!" yelled Sokka, his plane shuddering slightly as he heard a banging sound on the side of his fuselage. It sounded like he had been holed.
Sokka gunned the engine and kicked the rudder hard, desperate to escape. More banging noises as tracers flashed by, getting closer to their mark. He jinked right, frantically, trying to shake the bandit off. It matched him effortlessly as it turned at a sharper angle than him. Tracers once again zipped passed him as he leaned down in his seat, as if ducking his head.
"Someone get this asshole off me!" Sokka screamed into the radio, pitching and turning left now to keep the bandit off him.
It was too late.
A burst from the Hayabusa found its mark, tearing his left wing to bits as more shots punctured his cockpit and engine. Metal and glass ricocheted in the cockpit, cutting him. Bang-o-Rang screeched and bled, more metal being flayed off the wing as oil splattered her helpless pilot. Sokka cried out in horror as he tried to cover up the gushing, oily wound near his instrumentations with a gloved hand. The world outside went upside-down.
"I'm hit! I'm hit!" screamed Sokka over the radio to anyone who could hear his cry.
He only got garbled responses as the radio squealed like a stabbed pig.
"S-Shit! Shit!" he stuttered, trying to keep stable as he rapidly bled altitude.
The stick was sluggish, barely able to respond. Bang-o-Rang screamed as she fell from the sky, fire burning her engine, weeping smoke.
Sokka froze, his hands shaking violently on the stick as his mind rapidly processed what he was seeing in front of him. The world drew closer in the oil stained windows. He was about to die.
He screamed desperately, like a man possessed with an unnatural will to live. The fire from the engine was crawling into his cockpit. His picture burned up on the gauges.
"Bailing out!" Sokka yelled into his dead radio, frantically grasping at the latch that would hopefully set him free.
"Bailing out!"
"They got one!? Oh no… it's burning up!" Ty Lee cried out as she pointed to the plane spiraling to the ground.
"Hmm… looks like the canopy is still closed. Pilot must be dead in there," said Mai, her voice low and raspy as she examined the plummeting aircraft, squinting hard. She couldn't tell which side the plane belonged to. All she knew was that it was a fiery mess.
The two soldiers, miles behind the front while foraging for food in the barren, brown fields had stopped to witness the dogfight unfolding in the gray winter skies above.
Dark forms drew dizzying circles and loops, moving away from the front as they chased each other, wings flickering with gunfire. The plane they had watched painted the sky with a thick trail of black smoke.
"Wait… wait, look! There! There he is!" shouted Ty Lee again, pointing up at a small form desperately wiggling its way out of the burning plane.
"Well I'll be…" said Mai, her eye brows raised, "Bastard is still alive…"
"Oh! He's gotta get out of there!" Ty Lee said worriedly, clutching her friend's arm tightly as she refused to look away from the spectacle unfolding in the sky, "Come on! Get out already!"
Mai grunted irritably, trying to loosen her friends grip on her arm.
"Let go of my arm, damn it!" growled Mai.
"Oh, he's out! He's out, Mai, he's… wait, he's… Oh, no! He's spinning!"
"Ty Lee, I said let go!"
"Why isn't he using his parachute!? Oh, Mai! He's going to die!"
"Damn it, let go of me already!"
"Come on! Stop spinning around! Use your parachute or something!"
"Ugh! Ty Lee, for the last time, I said-"
"Huh? Oh! Oh, look he did it!" Ty Lee cried out joyfully, taking her friend in a tight embrace, still looking upward, "He got his parachute to work! Look, Mai!"
Mai merely grunted, unable to free herself from her friend's arms.
"How… how are you my squad mate?" Mai muttered as she clenched her teeth, still held by Ty Lee as she jumped joyfully, happy at the pilot's success.
Mai looked up as the pilot hovered in the air on his parachute toward the ground, watching him twist and turn, trying to direct where he would land.
His plane finally hit the ground far off in the distance, a fiery blossom marking the metal bird's grave.
She raised an eyebrow, seeing the pilot glide down on a collision course with a lone tree far off in the distance.
"If he keeps falling like that he'll…" but she was too late.
The pilot collided into the tree, branches and leaves rustled as the parachute settled on top of it.
"Never mind… idiot," Mai sighed heavily, turning away from Ty Lee as the girl still held onto her.
"So, we got a downed pilot. What's our plan, Azu-… uh, Lan?" Mai asked as she turned to her comrade, catching her mistake before saying the girl's nickname, "He didn't land too far out."
Lan shot a murderous glare toward her friend as she looked up from lighting a cigarette, hearing her nickname almost being uttered. She hated it when people called her by that name.
She remembered some Spaniard or some Italian businessman she met when she was young had given her that name. She never knew what it meant, but at the time she took it as a sort of compliment. Ever since then the name stuck to her, to the point where those she knew insisted upon calling her by it. They thought it was a cute name for some reason. Some even thought it was… fitting to call her by that name.
She loathed it now.
It brought with it memories, ones that only caused her pain nowadays. Before, when Lan lived in Shanghai, she wouldn't have minded being called by that name. There, in the Paris of the East, surrounded by the luxury of the Foreign Concessions, she was considered a princess by many of her admirers, the daughter of a powerful businessman. From the Canidrome to the Great World, and from many high class clubs along the Bund's waterfronts, she was one of many women many men would've given anything to court.
Princess Azula her friends often called her. Queen of the The Great World, Baroness of the Bund, Your Highness, and other ridiculous sounding names. That name carried power behind it, a great yet distant power to squabbling courtiers who hopelessly sought her. How they praised her beauty, how they feared her wrath. Now...
Now she was just Sergeant Lan. Nothing more than a rag-assed, lice ridden, dirt-stained grunt. Her beauty had long since faded away, but her anger only seemed to grow.
The name of Azula meant nothing to anyone in this war. It meant nothing to the foreigners who promised to get her out of Shanghai when the Japanese invaded, it meant nothing to her father's supposed friends, and it meant nothing to the invading soldiers. To them, she was just another Chinese girl, adrift in a mass of frightened refugees. It also meant nothing to the soldiers who had forced her to fight in this war.
How she hated that name.
She'd let the slip up pass for now, she thought.
Lan closed the lighter's cap, extinguishing the blue flame she had lit her cigarette with, and pocketed it. She took a long drag before lazily exhaling the smoke, thinking about how to deal with their new situation.
"Isn't it obvious, Mai" sighed Lan, un-shouldering her rifle, "We go meet this pilot."
"I couldn't see the markings on the plane that well," she admitted, Ty Lee finally loosening her grip on her, "Too damaged from the dogfight… might be ours or theirs."
"Then if he's on our side… well, we'll see if he's worth rescuing," sighed Lan, already walking toward the direction of the tree, Molotov cocktails clanking against each other on her bandoleer.
"And if the pilot is Japanese?" said Mai as she un-shouldered her rifle as well, working the bolt and loading a fresh clip.
Lan paused for a moment. She brandished her bayonet, cold steel glinting in the gray light of the morning, as she fixed it to the end of her rifle.
"Then we kill him."
Idiot.
That was the one word that registered in Sokka's mind.
He should have known better than to turn as he did. He wasn't thinking, too desperate to try and escape the guns of his nimble pursuer. He shouldn't have taken it on alone. He should have known better than to come in at the angle he did in order take it on. He should have known… but he didn't.
He'd been beaten, outclassed even. The way the Hayabusa moved… no rookie moved like that. It must have been a veteran pilot, probably an ace. He miscalculated his deflection trying to aim at it. Had he just led his target a few more degrees to the left he would have had it. He knew it now. Had he just done that…
Sokka felt the anger fan in his heart, clenching his teeth.
It was the adrenaline. It was the dizzying smell of the oxygen mix he sucked in through his mask. It was the fear… something, anything to put the blame on other than him for his stupid decision.
All thoughts pointed to him though. He failed. He tried to tangle with the Japanese fighter and he failed. He couldn't out turn it. He couldn't beat it.
And now his plane was gone. The little bird that had seen him through several brawls and bagged him several confirmed kills, the little bird that always came back, was gone. Burned up in some field.
Idiot.
That was the word he was thinking about now as he hung by the harness of his parachute, cut to pieces and stained with oil… in the middle of a tree. The parachute was caught on the many twigs and branches as Sokka dangled over the ground, his limbs tangled in the cords.
Sokka let out a long, heavy, sigh as he hung his head down. The wind… no, his own stupidity most likely, sent him crashing into the only tree for miles across barren, gray fields.
"Why do you hate me, God?" he muttered, gazing down at the ground, "Why do you curse me, spirits… why do you like using me as a plaything, universe?"
There was only the sigh of the cold wind echoing across the fields and the rustling of drying leaves.
Then, silence.
"Was it the cow?" Sokka asked the wind, "It was the cow wasn't it… the one that strayed onto our training field in Rangoon? It was accident! W-Well… okay, look… lets just say I was hungry. I was hungry, the cow was there, I had my plane, six fifty-caliber guns, a thousands rounds, and an annoying wingman with a bet saying 'you can't hit it from here'…yeah."
Silence again. Time seemed to stand still now as Sokka hung from the tree.
"… He tasted really good, though," continued Sokka, "I hadn't had beef that good in a while. The stuff they served down in the mess hall was crap compared to that cow… and, I found the farmer and paid him back! Fifty dollars is a lot of money… right?"
Sokka sighed heavily again, scratching the back of his neck as he began to chafe in his harnesses. His cuts began to sting more as the cold wind blew against him.
"Okay… I get it. I shouldn't have done that," he confessed, "I should've just flown away and left it alone. Heck, I shouldn't have done a lot of things maybe… at home and while I was here. I admit it. I've done some bad, badass shit… I've said some nasty things to people… I've hurt folks that probably didn't need to be hurt, maybe a couple of soldiers… but, its war down here and times were hard back then…"
The silence grew heavier, weighing him down.
"It's still hard back home. I can't go back to that shack empty handed with my whole family looking down on me…" he continued, "I'm just doing what I think is right… for my folks and maybe a little for the folks here, even if its just for money. I can't be a damn saint… I'm just trying to get by the best way I can."
He turned his head up, gazing at the gray skies above. He could feel dust kicked up by the cold winds accumulating in his eyes as they began to water.
"That's all I am… Sokka: that kid from the reservation trying to get by, but always in over his head," he said to the sky, "…But, I can be Sokka: the pilot who's not in it for the money and in it to save people the rest of the world doesn't give a shit about, even though they've been dying in droves… I can do that too!"
His voice seemed lost on the wind.
"Get me out of this tree and I'll prove it," he pleaded with the clouds.
Again, he was met with silence. He bobbed his head down, sighing.
"Please…it can't end like this," he gritted his teeth.
The air grew still. Nothing could answer him.
"Fine… I'll do it my fucking self," he muttered bitterly, reaching for the trench knife strapped to his boot, intent on cutting himself out of the bindings.
"At least I'm still alive," Sokka muttered bitterly to himself as he struggled to cut the cords, "That's worth something… right? Hmph! Sure…"
For whatever it was worth, he was still alive. For all Sokka knew, he could have burned up with his plane. The way it spiraled out of control, the feeling of air rushing past him as he fell helplessly from the sky, the moment when he thought his parachute wouldn't deploy… he really should have been dead.
"Shit…" he suddenly realized as he stopped cutting his cords, aware of the heavy heart pounding in his chest, the flow of blood coursing through him, "I am alive…"
The events of the dogfight played out again in his mind. The surge of adrenaline, the whiz of tracer rounds, the feel of fire licking at his boots, the moment when glass shards cut into him… it had all happened so fast. His hands began to shake. Whether it was from the cold or something else he could not tell.
"I need a smoke," he sighed, sheathing his knife as he tried reaching for the pack of cigarettes he kept in his flight jacket.
Being alive, despite everything that had happened… it was a lot to take in.
But Sokka had little time to pay that thought any more attention when he heard voices at the base of the tree. He froze, trying to decipher the language being spoken.
It was Chinese. And feminine.
"What the hell?" he muttered, pushing a fragile branch away to reveal his new visitors.
Three young Chinese women, dressed in military khakis and armed with rifles, whispered among themselves as they observed Sokka with varying degrees of curiosity from below. Had they been watching the whole time? How long were they there? How had he not noticed them sooner?
"Damn… I hope they didn't hear all that," Sokka sighed heavily, looking upon the three women as he stopped his struggle to release himself from the harness.
Hopefully, his day wouldn't get any worse than it already had. Hopefully, these women were on his side and would at least try to help him out. But God, the spirits and the universe had a funny way of playing around with Sokka when he was in a pickle. They just might be playing with him now…
By the white sun emblems on the caps they wore, Sokka felt thankful that these women were at least apart of Chiang Kai-shek's National Army. He bore the same emblem on the back of his flight jacket. Although he heard stories on the base that said otherwise, Sokka believed that the Reds in China were no friendlier to foreign pilots like him as the Japanese surely were to everyone else. That said, his association with Nationalists only guaranteed he wouldn't be shot on sight.
And from the looks of at least two of his potential 'allies', he could tell they were weighing their options, deciding whether to leave him behind for either the Reds or the Japanese. He could feel sweat trickling down his forehead now as he smiled nervously at them. He was completely at their mercy, without even having the ability to plead for his life in their language. If only he could cut himself down and show them the blood chit on his jacket, show them the written promise of reward for bringing back a downed pilot safely to his base…
"Better break the ice then," he sighed heavily, lazily waving his hand at them in greeting, attempting to widen his smile.
One of them, who looked half-white and half-Chinese, sporting a faded pink worker's scarf, waved back at him rather enthusiastically after shouldering her rifle. She said something in Chinese Sokka couldn't understand, but by the way she sounded and the way she waved, he imagined she said something like 'hi, cutie!' That was a comforting thought at least, if not an odd one. How can a soldier be so… flirty in a time like this?
The other two did not respond to Sokka's gesture as they continued to observe him from the ground.
One, who looked unusually pale, seemed to stare blankly at him, as if a pilot hanging from a tree by his parachute was the most unimpressive, boring, and least shocking thing she had ever seen. Well, for all Sokka knew, it was. She was a soldier after all, and this was China. He saw how bad the fighting was on the ground. She may have seen things. And from the brutal looking Dadao sword she carried on her back, Sokka wondered if she was ready to see more.
The last one, by far, was the most menacing looking one, the one Sokka was growing the most uncomfortable with as her stare turned into a murderous glare. It was as if this woman had a permanent scowl on her face. To Sokka, she may have been either mad at her comrades, mad at having to deal with him, or just mad in general, maybe even mad at the whole world. He couldn't blame her though. There was much to be mad about in the world right now.
From the look of it she was probably the group's leader, maybe a sergeant judging by her patches. She had a collection of Molotov cocktails strapped to her bandoleer. She looked ready for anything. That didn't comfort Sokka much though, since she was the only one with her rifle not slung over her shoulder.
She quickly tore her gaze away from Sokka as she glared rather pointedly at the happy one for acting so nice. She yelled something in Chinese, possibly an order, as she shoved the happy one rather harshly by the shoulder, pointing a stiff finger at Sokka. This couldn't be good.
The leader then swiftly aimed her bayoneted rifle at him, with the happy one reluctantly following her lead, aiming hers at the hapless pilot.
The gloomy one merely continued to look at him blankly, unmoved by the actions of her comrades as the leader began shouting at him.
Sokka flinched, struggling around in his harness while trying to shield himself with one of his hands.
"Whoa, whoa, HEY! Don't do that! C'mon, don't point that thing at me!" he cried out desperately.
The happy one looked even more reluctant now, lowering her rifle for a moment only to be shoved by the leader again to aim it. She continued shouting at Sokka, glaring at him intensely with those fiery amber eyes.
"Hey, c'mon! I'm on your side, damn it! I'm yelling English at you for fuck sake, not Japanese, you fucking idiot!" he yelled back at the leader.
She suddenly stopped, lowering her rifle just a bit as Sokka saw her raise an eyebrow at his vulgar statement. In the brief pause he realized that the leader could understand him.
"Hey…hey, you understood me, right? You can speak English?" Sokka asked, looking almost ecstatic upon his realization.
The leader's face twisted into a deeper scowl as she glared at the pilot, a little flair of anger glinting in her eyes as she seemed to mentally curse herself for the slip up.
"Yes… I speak English," she said reluctantly, still aiming her rifle.
Sokka picked up on the slightest hint of a British accent in her voice. It was actually quite lovely to hear. There wasn't a single trace of her native tongue as she spoke.
"Oh, thank God!" he exclaimed, elated to have run in to someone who was bilingual, "I thought I would never meet someone who speaks English out here."
"Lucky you," she hissed, still aiming her rifle at him.
"Hey, c'mon now! We're friends, right? We're fighting on the same side. I got the emblem on my jacket to prove it," Sokka said, trying to turn himself around to show her the flag of her country on his jacket.
"The last I heard, there were no foreigners flying in our planes, much less crazy enough to fight for us," she said.
"Well, sister, times have changed. Americans have got a bone to pick with the Japanese now, in case you haven't heard," Sokka said, rather proud of himself, "And ol' mister Chiang is letting guys like me fly in his army."
"Is that so?" said the leader, raising an eyebrow as she smirked, her gun ever at the ready, "Well, we must be more desperate for soldiers than I thought if we let mediocre pilots like you try to fight in our war."
"Hey! Who you callin'…" Sokka started, until his brief surge of anger quickly dissipated after remembering just how he got into this mess.
"Ugh… never mind," he reluctantly stated, hanging his head downward. The leader let out a slight, low chuckle as her comrades looked at her rather apprehensively. What in the world was she talking about with this pilot?
"Oh, and I do apologize for not knowing about America's new interest in our little war here in China," she said, "News like that seems to…fly over our heads without us noticing it. After all… we have been busy dealing with more important matters than reading the news. Namely killing Japanese."
Her last words came out as a venomous hiss as she glared at Sokka with more intensity. And did she just make a jab at him, a twisted joke? Well, he could hardly do anything about it, for she did have a point. News like that seemed unimportant when you're fighting for your life.
"Okay, look… we got off on the wrong foot here," he sighed, trying to salvage his situation. The last thing he needed was a pissed off, golden-eyed Chinese soldier, who was supposed to be his ally, willing to put a bullet between his eyes.
"If you ladies can help me down from here…" he continued, before being interrupted by the leader.
"Ladies?" she retorted sharply as her eyebrow rose.
"Uh… you soldiers," Sokka corrected himself, "If you soldiers can help me down from here, I might have a way to help you out."
"Oh? And how is that?" she inquired, aiming her rifle at him again.
"Well, you won't find out if you don't cut me down," he said, smiling, "No tricks. Cross my heart and hope to… not die. I just offer a friendly deal and a promise of compensation from your government. What do you say?"
The leader's comrades grew more apprehensive as the two continued to talk in English. Sokka could tell the happy one grew particularly worried as she started asking emotional questions in Chinese. Even the gloomy one started to show some life as she also inquired about what the two were saying, in a rather monotone way however.
The leader merely silenced them both with a series of harsh sounding phrases, once again shoving the happy one. She then returned her glaring eyes at Sokka, thinking the offer over.
"Ugh… my joints are killing me," Sokka muttered to himself, trying to shift his weight in a more comfortable way as he continued to hang by his parachute in the tree.
The leader of the small group seemed to have made up her mind by the time Sokka started moving. She lowered her rifle, pointing a finger toward the parachute as she ordered her comrades around. From the looks of it, she wanted them to cut him down, which relieved Sokka greatly. Maybe this day was looking up after all, he thought. If he could just talk to the leader, maybe he would convince her to escort him back to his base safely.
The happy one looked much happier now. She seemed glad she wouldn't shoot anyone today, as she gave the leader a quick hug. The leader, of course, seemed irritated by this and shoved her away, flicking the happy one's forehead as she harshly ordered her to cut Sokka down from the tree. The gloomy one merely rolled eyes and sighed heavily as she took out a bayonet from her pouch. It seemed cutting Sokka down would be nothing but a chore for her.
Up into the tree the two climbed as their leader turned around and crouched in the dirt, scanning her surroundings warily, her rifle at the ready, as the two got to work.
From where Sokka was in the tree he couldn't see anything moving for miles. Just flat, dry farmland dotted by a couple of trees, with the cold wind gently kicking dust up into the air. He could see the smoke plumes from where his plane crashed however, which was sure to draw someone else's attention.
The branches began to shake more fiercely as the two soldiers began cutting the ropes of his parachute. Sokka shook as well as he began to do what he could from his end. Before he knew it, however, he fell to the hard ground below, unable to brace himself as he fell on his side.
"Argh! Damn it!" he cussed, his already sore body growing more sore at the sudden impact.
As he recovered from the fall by slowly brushing off some dirt, the leader turned around from her position and made her way toward Sokka.
"Okay," he breathed heavily as he struggled to get up, coming face to face with the leader "Now that that's out of the way, we can…" but he didn't finish.
The leader delivered a swift yet heavy blow to the side of his ribs with the butt of her rifle before Sokka could finish. He felt the wind knocked out of him as he clutched his side.
"Ugh! Fuck!" he cussed again, "Wha-What the hell was that for!?"
"That's for calling me a 'fucking' idiot, you fucking idiot," said the leader, bearing her teeth at him and looking as dangerous as ever, despite showing some discomfort at having to resort to vulgarity.
Her comrades had climbed down from the tree by now, the happy one gasping in horror as she saw the leader strike Sokka with her rifle. She darted to the pilot and attempted help him out, while the gloomy one merely looked on, putting away her bayonet as she crouched down to scan her surroundings.
"Damn… fine. I guess I deserved that one too," Sokka sighed, recovering his breath as the happy one began cleaning off the oil stains from his face with her pink scarf. He wasn't catching a break from anyone today, at least not from her.
The leader berated the happy one again in Chinese, seemingly questioning her actions. She merely retorted with a series of phrases ranging from pouty sounding to cute sounding, pinching his cheek with one hand as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders, as if in a hug. What was up with this woman?
"Uh… what's she saying?" Sokka asked the leader as she shushed the happy one in the middle of an apparent argument.
"She says I can't hit you anymore because you're apparently 'too cute' to hurt," said the leader harshly, looking rather annoyed, "She likes foreigners for some disgusting reason. It must be her white-side getting to her head again."
"Well, thank you!" Sokka said, turning to the happy one with a smile, even though he knew she wouldn't understand him, "I think you just made my day a lot better by protecting me from the mean dragon lady. Really, thank you."
The leader growled in annoyance, muttering something in Chinese under breath.
The happy one looked at him in surprise, asking the leader to translate. She rolled her eyes as she reluctantly did so, prompting the happy one to let out a yelp of joy as she hugged him tightly, understanding what her angry translator said. What a weird woman, he thought.
The leader walked up to the happy one, pinching her arm and shoving her out of the way as she released her tender hold on Sokka, berating her once again probably over a lack of discipline. The happy one pouted as she feebly tried to argue, but the leader merely shot her a glare as she ordered her away to keep an eye out for any foes.
"Now… about that proposition of yours," she stated, "What do you mean?"
Sokka didn't feel like answering her after what she did, so he merely turned around to show her the emblem on his flight jacket, which bore a notice in several different languages, including Chinese, stamped with an official seal from her government.
"'I am an American airmen,'" she read aloud in English, seemingly having no difficulty in translating the text, "'I am here to help in the war effort. My plane is destroyed. I cannot speak your language. I am an enemy of the Japanese. Please give me food and take me to the nearest Allied military post. You will be justly rewarded.'"
"And that's my deal," he said, turning around, "Simple as that. You take me back to my base in Zhijiang, I get back into another plane, and you get rewarded for your efforts."
"And just what is my government promising to reward me exactly, if I take you back?" she inquired, unconvinced, "I saw no explicit statement of the kind of reward I can get. I may just get nothing for my efforts."
"Oh, you will," Sokka retorted, "They told us the starting rate for rescuing down pilots is one-hundred dollars… maybe more. Since you're soldiers, I'm sure they'll throw in something extra. Guns, ammo, grenades, food, whatever you guys need."
When the leader heard the reward price, her face twisted into a disbelieving smirk. She was laughing derisively now.
"One-hundred dollars? That's it?" she said disbelievingly.
"Uh…yeah. One-hundred dollars for each you," Sokka said, confused by her behavior. What was so funny about one-hundred dollars? That's a hefty chunk of change, he thought. He would've taken it...
"You must be joking…right?" she asked, recovering from her laugh.
"No," Sokka said.
"If you think I'll take you back to your base in…"
"Zhijiang," Sokka interrupted her.
"Does it really matter where? If you think my group will take you back for only a hundred dollars from where we are in Changsha, through territory held by the Japanese and the Communists, you may as well walk back there on your own. Its not worth the effort," she said.
"What!? A hundred-dollars is a lot of money, lady!" shouted Sokka, surprised by the leader's rejection, "That's a hefty chunk of my salary if you want a damn comparison! Who do you think you are!?"
"Clearly, you think I'm some peasant conscript content to take as much pocket change as she can get. And if you think the rest of my group is going to bring you back for such a measly reward, you clearly think…"
"But we're on the same side!" Sokka interrupted again, "We're soldiers for crying out aloud! This is part of your job! We're supposed to help each other out and…"
"What? Help you? A foreigner who clearly got more than he bargained for?" she interrupted Sokka, glaring at him, "And for the record, my job is to kill Japanese."
"So is mine," retorted Sokka angrily, "We just have different ways of doing it. Take me back and you might get to plug a few reds along the way too."
"Which we won't do," insisted the leader, "Zhijiang is a long, hard march from Changsha, on the other side of the province. We're not equipped for such a journey let alone..."
"Alright, fine! Just take me to a supply post or something. We're near Changsha, right? They'll take me back, I'll be out of your hair, and back to keeping the skies safe for…"
"Oh, and a fine job you've done with keeping the skies safe," she interrupted again harshly, causing Sokka to grit his teeth. He really wasn't going to get a break from her.
The happy one and the gloomy one turned their heads as they listened in on the conversation they couldn't understand. It seemed to grow tenser by the minute.
"My group and I have more important issues to tend to than taking a side trip to Zhijiang to drop off some poor excuse for a pilot. My orders say to forage what we can and move south with the army toward Changsha. And I intend to go there, preferably without you as deadweight," She stated.
"What?! You can't just leave me here! I'm on your side too!" Sokka blurted out.
"You're a mercenary is what you are, a foreigner in our uniform," she said sternly, "That makes you less than a soldier to me and poor one at that. As soon as you're taken back, you'll run back home, done with playing soldier. And I don't tolerate soldiers who fight for coin instead of country. They easily run from the fight. So you're not worth the trouble."
That got to Sokka. Sure, he was in it for the money, but that money wasn't necessarily for himself. Sure, it wasn't as noble sounding as whatever cause she was fighting for, but it was his cause nonetheless.
The leader began walking away, intending to leave Sokka behind, as she ordered her comrades to move out. The happy one didn't look so happy anymore as she looked worriedly at Sokka, asking the leader what they talked about. The gloomy one couldn't care less as she got up and followed the leader… until she caught what she was saying to the happy one.
There was a sudden outburst from both of them as they argued with the leader in chinese over what was said. The happy one was the most animated, gesturing angrily toward Sokka and the leader, rubbing her fingers and thumb together. She seemed to be arguing about the reward. The way Sokka saw it, she thought a hundred dollars was too much to pass up.
The gloomy one stuck to growling at the leader. What she was angry about Sokka couldn't tell, but she was clearly not pleased with the leader's decision.
All the leader could do was yell back, trying to reign in control over her small squad. If she convinced them to leave him behind… no, it couldn't end this way for him, he thought. He'd show her.
"Hold on a minute," called out Sokka, making the leader look back at him with a irritated glare, "Hold on a damn minute."
He walked up to the leader, giving her one his own glares.
"I may be a mercenary to you," he continued, "I may be a guy who is in it for the cash and I may be nothing in your eyes… but, I'm one stubborn son of a bitch, lady. And I'm the best damn fighter you'll ever see. You knock me down, and I'll come right back up and give you the what for!"
The leader scowled. Sokka could practically hear her grind her teeth.
"Is that so?" she muttered angrily.
"Damn right I will," he said sternly, "Why do you think I'm willing to get back into another plane? I'm not letting any Japanese get the best of me this time around… And there's more than money at stake here for me. Don't ever think otherwise."
The two of them seem to stare each other down. Sokka glared at the leader as if he were ready to pulverize her for ridiculing and hitting him. She, on other hand, began to smirk, her head held high, as if to look down on him even after all he said.
Never, in all his life, had he met a woman, or even a soldier, quite like her. In a short span of time she was able to belittle him and anger him without even seeming to try. She had a good point however. What incentive did she really have for bringing him back? One-hundred dollars was chump change compared to the personal losses she must've incurred as a soldier. Plus, his superiors were truly notorious at skimping out on rewards for rescued pilots. He'd have to twist an arm or two to make sure the payments came through. Contracts had to be beneficial for both sides right?
The gloomy one and the happy one tensed up, not sure on whether to react to this latest development as an act of hostility or stupidity. The man had no gun, yet he looked as if he wanted take on the best soldier in their group. By the shocked looks on both of their faces, they clearly thought he was crazy.
The leader hardly seemed threatened by him as she continued to smirk. She'd seen combat before. She knew when she was really in danger of being attacked. But as her comrades gazed at her, they saw a look of amusement in those gold eyes of hers. What was she thinking?
The leader was the first to break off from the tense moment, giving a low, bemused chuckle. Sokka raised an eyebrow as he looked at her in confusion. What was up with her?
She turned to her comrades with that same bemused look on her face, uttering something in Chinese to them, as if she couldn't believe this foreigner had the gall to stare her down as he did.
"So scared you'll be left alone, huh?" she retorted, "Why? Do mean to give us a better offer to see you safely to your base?"
"As a matter of fact I do," muttered Sokka, "If you had let me finish, I would have said that the reward would be boosted by compensation payments. Every day spent on getting me back and any personal supplies used on the trip would be considered and added as a bonus to your reward. Its hefty chunk of change maybe enough to double it."
"And?" said the leader, raising an eye-brow.
"And… I'll throw in my own money as well," said Sokka through gritted teeth, "Call it a sign of a my personal gratification. As long as I get back into a plane, I'll find a way to earn what I paid you back."
"And how much are you willing to give each of us?", she asked, smirking.
"Depends on how nice you all are to me," he retorted, returning the look, "And whether or not you can keep me alive. No pilot, no money, honey."
She rolled her eyes at his last comment, but still smirked at him, amused.
"What's your name, American?" she said.
"My name is for my friends," he replied sternly, "Even for acquaintances… but not you. Unless, of course, you think we're friends?"
"I don't believe we are, American," she said, "Only my friends have the courage to go where I go and fight where I fight."
"Then you have very few friends," he retorted, looking at the only two companions she had.
"Indeed, friends with courage, as I said before," she said, more firmly, "I have no use for those without it."
"Oh yeah? What about stubbornness? Persistence?" he inquired.
"That depends. How persistent are you in your efforts to get where you want to go, American?" she asked, another smirk on her face as she studied Sokka, attempting gauge his answer.
It didn't take him very long to think of one though. Sokka meant everything he said. If he had to fight through Japanese on the ground to get back to his base then… so be it. At least he would be in a group. Going by foot alone in hostile territory was just asking for trouble. And next time he may not come across a group that wouldn't shoot at him on sight.
"Very persistent," he said firmly, studying the woman with equal interest, "That is if you really are taking me to Zhijiang."
Sokka reached into his jacket pocket as both locked eyes with each other, neither looking away. He did it as slowly as he could, so as not to arouse the group's hostility. The gloomy one and the happy one took a step back as he did so, worried by his move, but the leader hardly stirred as she eyed him suspiciously.
He produced a pack of cigarettes, pulling out one by his mouth as he held it between his lips.
"Got a light?" he said casually.
The leader blinked, raising an eyebrow as she continued to study the pilot with suspicion. She held her gaze with his as she produced a pristine looking silver lighter from her pocket. When she struck it and covered the small fire with her hand, Sokka noticed that the color of the flame was blue. Interesting, he thought. He'd never seen a lighter like that before. Then again, he never saw eyes quite like hers before either.
He leaned in close as she offered to light his cigarette, his eyes never leaving hers as he continued to stare her down. The tip caught the flame easily, lighting almost instantly. As he leaned back he took a long, steady drag, letting out a small puff of smoke into the air.
"Damn… I needed that," he said raggedly, attempting to put the pack away as the leader stowed her lighter into a pouch on her belt, "So, what do you say? Take me back?"
Before he could put the pack away, she reached out a swift hand to grab his wrist, holding it firmly. His initial surprise by the action grew into utter confusion as she reached into his pack and produced her own cigarette. As she let her grip go, the leader held it between her two fingers as she slipped it between her lips, a new smirk on her face as she seemed amused by his confusion.
"Well, if you wanted a smoke, you could have…" but Sokka didn't finish.
Just as she reached out unexpectedly to grab his wrist, the leader moved unexpectedly slower toward him, almost daringly.
As Sokka continued to study her with more confusion, the leader leaned in closer to him until their faces were mere centimeters away. His eyes widened at the action, his heart beating at a faster pace than usual, sucking more smoke into his lungs than usual as he attempted to gasp. It was as if he were holding his breath now as the woman brought the cigarette she held between her lips closer to his own.
She looked up at him from what she was doing, smirking when she caught the look of utter confusion on his face as she lighted her cigarette with the one he still had in his mouth.
The happy one blinked repeatedly, shaking her head out of a confused daze. The gloomy one's eyes widened, completely caught off guard by this. This was something she had definitely never seen before...
When the leader's cigarette was lighted, she pulled back, looking satisfied with herself as she took an equally long drag on her cigarette. She let out a puff of smoke in Sokka's direction, causing the pilot to cough furiously, his eyes watery.
"Sure, we'll take you back to your base... Flying Tiger," said the leader, indicating the patch of his unit on his jacket when he recovered from his fit of coughs.
She let out a low chuckle as she turned away from him, motioning her hand for her comrades to come with her as they began their trek down the dirt road.
Sokka couldn't tear his gaze away from her as she walked away, followed closely behind by her companions.
"Good to hear," he said to himself, smirking as he caught up to the rest of them.
What a crazy soldier, he thought.
"So, a hundred dollars, huh?" asked Mai quietly as she looked back at the American pilot trying to teach a bemused Ty Lee how to speak English.
The sun was now high in the sky and the weather had cleared up as the group walked along the dirt road, passing the occasional group of peasant refugees as they stumbled across vast expanses of cold, dried rice paddies.
"Plus compensation for supplies consumed and personal damages incurred while taking him back," Lan said quite pointedly, glaring at her squadmate as she puffed cigarette smoke from her nostrils, "We've been over this already Mai."
"I'm just making sure," Mai retorted, "Zhijiang isn't exactly a short walk away, Lan. That's on the other side of the province, at least a week long march. Across a lot rivers and a lot of steep hills."
"Yes, and quite a few communist cells inhabit those hills as well," Lan said, rolling her eyes, "Like I said, we've been over this already. We are a small, nimble group. If we stay off the roads and pick our fights wisely we will come out in one piece. You will get your share either way, Mai."
"What about the pilot, this 'Sokka' guy? He better be useful to us while we're traveling. I don't want to escort deadweight," Mai said bitterly, glancing back at the pilot as he continued his futile conversation with Ty Lee.
Mai rolled her eyes as Ty Lee seemed enthralled with whatever the pilot was saying. She always preferred foreigners back in Shanghai, probably in the hopes of winning one over so she could get away from China. Her mixed heritage certainly made her exotic looking, but now she looked as grimy as the rest of her squad.
"Why don't you relax, Mai. If we handle this right, this pilot may be our best opportunity to finally leave this war behind us. If we keep him alive he'll be personally indebted to us. If I hadn't pushed him and insulted him, he would never have given us a boost to our reward. Everyone has a price Mai, even us. No harm in increasing it."
"If we get to Zhijiang in one piece," Mai retorted, "Even with the reward money, I still don't think its enough to bribe the army officials if they refuse to believe our enlistment terms are fulfilled. They shoot deserters, Lan."
"Well, what else do you suggest Mai? This is our best option now. If I had any other, I would've taken it. If we remain focused on this last mission, we will never have to do another. Besides… it might be a little fun to commit treason. What has this army and country done for us besides treat us like dirt since leaving Shanghai?"
Mai growled, her eyes narrowed in stark opposition to Lan's opinion. Yet, if there was one thing they could both agree on, it is that their service in the army was fulfilled. National desperation and a corrupt military bureaucracy prevented them from leaving. Yet, there was only so much a soldier could take before cutting the loses.
"I don't like it when you say that, Lan," she said uneasily, "You have a funny sense of fun sometimes."
"No, Mai," said Lan, looking more sinister than ever as she smirked, smoke emanating lazily from her mouth as she talked.
"It's going to be fun."
A/N:
Hey everyone, Fanwright here.
I've decided to keep this a one-shot and extended the original story to include a dogfight and some additional character information. Sorry to those who wanted a continuation. I realize I may have cheated you out of a good story, but I don't have the proper skill or time to continue with this. That said, the very few who voted on the poll completely favored a continuation, eight in total. No votes for the other categories.
Reasoning for Setting:
I've taken 20th century contemporary history class and I really got into the history of this part of WW2: the 2nd Sino-Japanese War. It's a theater that, I felt, was not looked into as much when considering and AU for A:TLA. Then again, who would pick WW2 for setting right?
I decided to put the characters in China during this period (1937-1945) because I thought they would fit rather well into the setting, seeing that much of the show is heavily inspired by Chinese culture, particularly the Earth Kingdom. I found it an interesting setting to put them in, one where many of the characters could fit rather well since this was fairly large theater, if given just a bit of explanation.
There were many sides to this part of the war during this time in China, all wanting to gain control of the land. Other characters like Long Feng and his Dai Li, Zhao, Iroh, Zuko, and many more might fit well into this setting. You have modern armies with modern weapons, multiple factions, a mix of modern and medieval weaponry (Chinese soldiers were known to use dadao swords in combat, if I'm not mistaken, and women were known to be in active combat roles), cities like Shanghai with a mix of cultures that other characters can fit into.
So… that's basically my reasoning for not putting them into the European theater.
As implied in the story Sokka is apart of the Flying Tigers aviation squadron, while Azula, Ty Lee, and Mai are part of the National Revolutionary Army.
I had thought about including Jet's Freedom Fighters into the story, as well as Toph and Aang. The former would have stayed guerrillas (possibly making them communist guerrillas) and allied themselves with Azula's squad, although it would be a fragile alliance due to conflicting motives. Toph and Aang would have been refugees (though not a pairing): Aang would have been a Buddhist monk looking after Toph, who would had been blinded by gas (depressing, I know). I cut them out to focus the scene on Sokka and Azula as best I can.
For those who are curious about little details:
- Sokka's plane was a P-40 Tomahawk llB, he was shot down by a Ki-43 "Hayabusa" land based fighter
- Sokka's "blood chit" is an official notice from the Chinese government handed out the Flying Tigers in the event of being shot down found by non-english speakers. Some were sewn onto flight jackets for visibility and identification.
- Sokka's adversary during the dogfight was none other than my version of Combustion Man.
- The call signs in Sokka's flight were references to ATLA lore and fan fiction.
Anyway, just wanted to share that piece of pre-production information, if you guys were interested in it.
Please, leave a constructive review when possible.