Kanzo Mogi was always rather shy, but he wasn't always completely silent. He used to talk, you know. That is, until his life was almost stolen from him.

The Sound of Silence

1994, The Front

He had never been so scared before in his life. He gritted his teeth and plugged his ears with dirty fingers as shells exploded over his head, wishing that he had never thought of joining in the war. He had expected maybe a desk job- boring yes, but also safe. He would have settled for being a base guard- anything but this! He was deeply regretting his quick decision as he lay in the bottom of that trench, covered in dirt and the blood of his comrades.

He remembered leaving home, which could not have been even a week ago. He remembered the crisp smell of his uniform then, how his mother had admired it grudgingly, as her son was going off to war, and he remembered those last moments when leaving home. He remembered standing at the door, fully dressed in his smart-looking uniform, and with his knapsack on his back. Over the taste of blood and dirt, he could practically taste his mother's perfume right now. He wanted to cling to it as he remembered those last moments at home.

He was standing at the front door wearing his new army uniform, and he was laughing. "Mom, I'll be fine. I promise." She was looking up at her son with a face so cold and practiced that it was chilling. But her words spoke differently. "You better, Kanzo. I can't be there to protect you anymore. You're really going to be on your own." He laughed at these words, dismissing them, and got down onto his knees so that he could wish her goodbye. His mother almost grudgingly stepped forward in her tough woman manner, and embraced her only son tightly. He was only twenty-one. "I mean it, Kanzo. You keep out of trouble." He nodded shortly as she ran her hand over the back of his head, feeling the fresh shave for what might have been the last time. She seemed reluctant to let go, but when he pulled away, she did not return. "Be a good boy, Kanzo." Returning to his full and rather alarming height of six-foot two, he smiled down at his mother. "I will, Mom. You can count on me. I'll make you proud." And then he was gone.

His head- no, his whole body, was throbbing as he lay there, half-buried in the dirt. Kanzo Mogi could hear the rapid-fire of the machine guns and he could see the bullets snicking to impact in the dirt, sending up momentary puffs of dust where they struck. He could feel the earth tremble at the violence of the shells, and he could see the damage that they wreaked. He saw bodies littering the trench, some of them now several days old and bloating black in the sun, and he could see men clutching fearful wounds as they crowded against the trenches' northern wall, too scared to fight. Teeth gritted and fighting back his fear, Kanzo Mogi shook himself free of the dirt to crouch by his abandoned weapon and pick it up. As soon as he picked it up, he had to drop it again. He saw the great cavity in the barrel that had been created with the impact of a bullet, and knew that if he were to fire it, he would be blown to shreds by the backjam. He would have to strip a gun from one of the dead that littered the area. He looked around, drawing his head in close to his shoulders for fear of being shot. There were plenty laying around, so which one? He scanned the fallen weapons, wincing constantly as bullets came too close. He saw one of the familiar AK's up near the north wall, and decided to go for it despite there being several that were closer to him at the time. By choosing this one, it would give him a reason to get closer to safety without letting off to everyone else that he was a coward. Of course to get there, he had to cross direct enemy fire. He would risk it. He gritted his teeth and ran, praying aloud that he would be spared a bullet, and before he knew it, he was up against the north wall with several others. He grabbed the gun without thinking of it, and checked to see if it was loaded. There was still half of a clip left, and so as he had been trained to do in this situation before he had been shipped off, he raised the gun out of the trench and fired blindly toward the enemy front, hoping that he did some damage.

This was insane. Why was he here? Why the hell were they fighting this war? What was the point? He couldn't even remember why in the hell this war was being fought- he couldn't even remember who he was fighting- mostly because they fought guerillas and renegade factions. All he knew was fear, the fear that he wouldn't survive the fear of losing a limb to the shells and shot and being a freak for the rest of his days. Damn it, but why the hell was he fighting?

A fresh roll of machine gun fire cracked through the air, and Mogi saw one man a fair distance away jerked backwards by the force of several blows to the chest. The man stood on his feet for a moment, staring in disbelief at the crimson stain spreading across the front of his once-magnificent uniform, and then he fell backwards, his hands clutching at his front like his conscious being to life. Mogi thought that he recognized the man, but he paid no attention to him, too suddenly engrossed in reloading his weapon. He had learned that keeping your weapon at the ready was what would keep you alive- that, and changing your socks daily. And then there was a hand on his back. He jumped, startled, and whirled around, ready to strike if need be. His sergeant smiled gruffly under his helmet despite the blood that flecked his face.

"Private Mogi, are you ready for a promotion? Corporal Yusei is dead, and I need you to help me lead the squad." Kanzo Mogi didn't know what to say. "Sir, Yusei-san is dead?" he managed, and the sergeant lowered his head a fraction. "Yes, now come on, Corporal Mogi, I need your help." Mogi was at a loss for words as the sergeant grabbed his arm to lead him away. Corporal? His mind was too confused to understand. Too much was going on for him to comprehend.

"Do you know how to give orders to a bunch of bastards, Corporal?" the sergeant asked, having to yell over the din. Mogi jumped over a body in pursuit of his superior. "I do, Sergeant Fuwara-san!" The sergeant nodded while running, and Mogi, made up newly to be a corporal, wondered what the hell he was about to do. "Corporal, I need you to lead a detail of men up to the creek for an escort. You are escorting to headquarters American Major Paul Silas, and we need him here as quick as possible. You know where the creek is, correct?" Mogi nodded. "Yes sir." Sergeant Fuwara gave a brief nod. And then, as if acting on a T, he threw himself and Mogi to the ground as a shell exploded overhead. Mogi felt the terrible fiery heat from the burst and felt the dirt raining down over him, mixed with hot casing. He tasted dirt. He felt like they were pinpointing him, singling him out to attack. It was a horrible feeling, and a horrible experience. He could hear the machine guns starting up a fresh beat, and he could hear the wounded men screaming. A chill ran down his spine at the sound. He pushed himself back up onto his knees, spitting dirt, and began to run in a crouch after the sergeant.

He knew how constantly close to death he had been over the past few days, since having joined the fight, and therefore, should have been used to it, but the fear was driving him insane, the fear that he would never make it back home. He wanted to get a girlfriend. He didn't want to die in a place he had no clue what even the name was, he did not want to be mangled beyond recognition. He did not want to kill people he didn't even know- he didn't even want to fight anymore. He wanted to go home. There was so much more of life for him to see. He had never had a girlfriend- he was still a virgin, for crying out loud!

Mogi wanted to run away and hide, but he managed to force himself along after Sergeant Fuwara, dropping to the ground at the order of the war-scarred sergeant every time. Fuwara had seen enough of war to have earned his rank, and beyond it, in Kanzo Mogi's opinion. The sergeant knew just when the shells were going to hit- one look at those pencil-thin lines in the sky, and he would know exactly when and where it was going to impact. That was one reason he always hung around the sergeant. Mogi dropped to his knees as he followed his superior across a more shallow part and up the back end of the trench. The firing was more accurate here, and Mogi winced as he felt a bullet pluck at the cloth of his sleeve. He wanted to get the hell out of this hellhole!

Fuwara kept looking back at him, probably to make sure he was still following, and did not stop that until they had reached their destination, a small tent at the back of the line. Mogi, really not wanting to embark upon this mission, hung reluctantly outside the flap after Fuwara went in and went inside only when prompted by a sudden hail of bullets. He tumbled through the tent in a rather undignified manner, and dusted himself off as he caught sight of the detail.

They sat about the tent, one in a chair, two on the ground, three on the cot, and Fuwara himself standing in the middle. Was this really enough men to escort a foreign Major? He didn't know about that, but what he did know was that there was no backing out now. He nodded to the men, feeling strangely distant from the rest of them. One of them, whom was known and recognized as Private Miki Uchida, stepped almost timidly forward toward the six-foot two Mogi, bearing a jacket in his hands. "This is for you now that you're Corporal. Sir." Mogi accepted the jacket, which bore the corporal's insignia, and clapped Uchida on the shoulder. "Where'd it come from?" he asked after putting it on, noting that there were signs of wear and damage all over it.

Uchida looked uneasy as he spoke to his new corporal. "It was Corporal Yusei's, sir, and now it's yours." He said, and Mogi felt suddenly sick. He was wearing a dead man's jacket. He wanted to throw it off and never touch it again, but he restrained himself. He was very good at self-restraint. "Thank you, but I thought he was dead. Where's the blood?" He was searching the jacket over for traces, and Fuwara coughed lightly. "He was shot in the head, Corporal. His blood never touched the jacket." Mogi felt his face grow red for some unknown reason. It always did that. "Oh. Well, I didn't know that." He was surprised at how all of them, including himself, were talking so lightly of Corporal Yusei's death. He had never known that you grew used to blood being shed after a while. He tried to shift the topic to free his mind.

"So… how are we going to do this?" he asked Fuwara, who, looking suddenly tired, took a seat in the middle of the tent while his inferiors gathered around. "We're going to have to follow the creek up a ways, which physically, isn't very hard."

"Except the hill-" Mogi tried to add, noting from personal experience. He knew that if that hill took a toll on him, making him weary and tired and short of breath, that the others, not being in such superb shape as he, could very well pass out during or after the challenge.

"Yes, you're right. That's the only thing the land will have against us. Now the enemy, on the other hand…" Fuwara's voice drifted off before he could continue. "You know they have mines planted around the area to make sure none of us escape. They also have checkpoint snipers that will probably be waiting for us. There's no doubt that we'll lose some men, and that's why I have a few more men on their way here." Fuwara was staring hard at Mogi, and Mogi returned the look with a nod. "Sir?"

Fuwara scratched his neck, still staring at his young corporal. "Your new rank is only brevet, Corporal Mogi. You will officially earn that rank upon the arrival of the Major. Is that clear?" Mogi nodded and gave a brief salute. "Yes sir. I understand completely." He said, and at that moment, the tent flap opened. Seven men, all clad in the uniform of a grenadier, filed into the tent, and without a word, they lined up against the wall.

"Here they are now, led by Corporal Hideki Takashi. I'm sure everybody is familiar with him by now." A murmur of agreement went around the tent, and the tallest grenadier in the lot, bearing his corporal's insignia, stepped forward toward the middle with a grim smile. He looked like he could rip even Mogi apart with his bare hands. Mogi knew of Hideki Takashi's reputation, too. Takashi lived up to his menacing and intimidating appearance- he was every bit of the fighting soldier he looked to be. He had almost an entire foot on Mogi, and at least a hundred pounds over Mogi's buff 178. Takashi also had a soft spot- he loved kids, and would do anything to help them.

Sergeant Fuwara pulled on his collar in the heat just as an explosion rocked the air outside the tent, sending spent fragments bouncing off of the canvas. "I'm leading this detail, as you might have guessed. We will be escorting Major Silas from a designated point to the camp headquarters, and of course, our objective is to keep him safe from capture or death. The checkpoint we must reach him at is four miles upstream, and you'll know it when you see it. I can't describe it too well, you see." All of the soldiers nodded quietly. Many wore pale faces, rather scared of what lay ahead, but there was no backing out now. Mogi was sweating under his collar, feeling rather uneasy also. "We need to set out as soon as possible. It won't be too long, and we don't want to be weighed down, so no packs. Carry only necessities. I am giving everyone a single green flare, only for use if the squad is being wiped out. I mean that. Only light it up if the squad has been decimated, and then help will come in." Several of the men agreed, but most stayed silent. It was silent for a few minutes while men fidgeted and looked at one another. After a while, Fuwara looked at Corporal Takashi and cleared his throat. "Well… we need to get a move on."

***

He could hear the shells raining down on the trenches behind them, and he was quite glad to be free of the hell. It didn't seem too bad, going on this escort mission. They had encountered, so far, no resistance. The men were quietly cracking jokes, their anxieties easing up a bit the further from camp they got. Mogi began to feel himself unwind. Everything was going to be fine. They were going to meet up with Major Paul Silas and escort him back to camp- nobody was going to die on this mission. He grew a bit more confident. Every so often, he would exchange a word with his good friend Fuwara, who despite being of higher rank, treated Mogi like an equal and talked to him as one. The two got along very well.

"How are your feet, Corporal?" Mogi blinked. "Good, sir. I changed my socks, if that's what you mean." Fuwara laughed. "That's exactly what I meant. I'm glad you've kept up with it. Don't want to lose my new corporal to trench foot." Mogi agreed, and then fell silent. "So what do you think of war, Corporal?" he asked Mogi, who blinked again at the question. "I couldn't say, Fuwara-san." He said, a false trace of a grin upon his face. Fuwara laughed again. "That bad, eh?" He elbowed his younger counterpart in the ribs, and then they all fell silent.

Mogi was watching the trees to the left for anything suspicious, but was finding nothing out of what he had learned was normal for this place. He was beginning to feel quite confident. And then there was a scream from behind him, quick, sudden, and cut off before it was finished- the rest of the men turned around in alarm, several with raised guns. There was nothing there, not even a trace. Mogi, his heart in his throat, scanned furiously. He could see nothing- what the hell was going on? Was one of the guys playing a joke? All of them stopped to look around, and it was a moment before someone noticed what was wrong. "Kyoto's gone! Kyoto, he's gone- he's not here- where'd he go?" Private Kaigo was looking for his friend, but he was nowhere to be found. "Kyoto?" Fuwara swore under his breath. "I don't see him anywhere- can I call for him, Sergeant?" Fuwara shook his head, and resumed walking, his gun tight in his hands. "Come on. We're not going to find him." The group, shaken up by the early and unexpected loss of one of their lot, continued down the way. Mogi was sweating again. Kyoto was missing, and there had been a scream. He had been grabbed and presumably killed, but not without alerting the rest of them. "Corporal Mogi, I want you to take up the rear. I know that you can defend yourself if anyone tries to grab you." Mogi saluted, filling with what could be described as dread. "Yes sir." He let the others pass him by, receiving a pitying look from Private Kaigo, and took up the rear, his gun clenched in his hands. Kyoto was gone. Already one of the detail was dead, and they hadn't even reached the creek yet. Here was still a ways to go, and suddenly, Mogi's confidence, which had been growing, shrunk back down again.

And then the guns blazed overhead, ripping leaves and vines from the trees. Several of them struck the ground at the foot of the group- they had been spotted! Mogi's heart was in his throat. He blanched when one of the men in front of him gave a scream and dropped his gun, his hands flying up to his chest, where they scrabbled wildly in a sudden scarlet spray of blood. "Hirama!" one of the grenadier privates yelled, dropping his own gun to help his friend, who was now laying on the ground, clutching himself tightly, eyes wide in disbelief at the blood that covered his front. He coughed once, twice, and up came pink froth to his lips. "Hirama!" his friend was kneeling at his side, unable to do anything but stare and wave his hands frantically. Mogi didn't notice the oath that escaped from his mouth. Pink froth. Blood-laced bubbles of spittle. Hirama wasn't going anywhere. Fuwara and Takashi took one look and shook their heads. Fuwara was looking a little pale. "Leave him, Bakugeki." Takashi said quietly, his eyes not once leaving Private Hirama's desperate face. "No. You can't leave me guys, come on… I can walk- ahhmmgg…" His face was intensely pale, and he was now too weak to even clutch at his wound. Mogi saw the bloody froth coming to his lips with every breath, and knew that Takashi was right. Private Hirama wasn't going to make it. "You guys can't leave me here- I'll die…" Mogi winced at the truth in Hirama's desperate words. Grenadier Private Bakugeki had tears in his eyes as he got to his feet. "You'll be fine, Hirama. Just rest a little bit, and we'll be back for you in a minute." He said, trying to hold his voice together, the bullets raining around them. Mogi thought it was insane how they were all standing motionless when they were being shot at. It was insensible! Takashi gave a cough, startling everybody despite the cough's lightness. Fuwara himself jumped, as if finally realizing that he was being shot at. "Let's go, men. We've got to get the Major. He's waiting for us. We're almost to the stream." With a last look at the screaming Hirama, the escort, already cut to thirteen, left. "No! I don't want to die! Come back! Please! No!" he yelled as loud as he could, which, considering that he had a bullet in his lung, (hence the blood at his mouth) was not far beyond a whisper. Mogi winced, sweat running cold down the back of his neck, and tried not to think of what was going on. Two of the escort had already been killed off, and the job had hardly even begun!

Tight-faced and looking quite grim, -or maybe that was just fear- the shrunken detail of thirteen resumed their trek, trying with mixed success to drown out Hirama's voice, which, though hardly above a whisper, could still be heard through the machine-gun fire. "Guys! No! Don't leave me! I've got to get back to my daughters- oh Karin… Yumi… oh… and Kiyami… my sweet… guys! No! Guyysss!"

Mogi, despite hardly knowing the guy, had tears stinging his eyes. He blinked them away fiercely, not wanting to be called a baby by the other guys. He was no baby! He gritted his teeth, and his eyes squinted to attempt to hide the presence of tears, he walked after the others. Bakugeki was still standing there above Hirama, sobbing. Mogi, looking over his shoulder and seeing this, stopped again despite the machine-gun fire sweeping the area. "Come on, Bakugeki." He said, motioning slowly for the crying private to rejoin the escort, and Bakugeki looked slowly up. At that moment, Mogi saw what could be described as a metallic glint flying through the air and not even a second after witnessing that, Bakugeki's head was surrounded by a halo of red and gray matter as the bullet slammed into his brain. "Baku!" Mogi yelled, running forward, and then he stopped. Bakugeki's frame rocked slightly before he was shaken by a sudden tremor and crumpled overtop of his already-dying companion. Mogi gritted his teeth and took a step backward from the carnage. Bakugeki's face, half-shown from under his arm, wore the same look that he had been given Mogi- he had died so suddenly. Hirama had given up his struggle to lie quietly on the ground in his last moments, but when Bakugeki fell on top of him, he started to scream and thrash. Terror flooded Mogi's entire being and he fought the urge to throw up. He staggered a step before breaking into a panic and running toward the escort, which had also stopped. "Aaargh!" he cried, clutching his face in his terror. Fuwara, his face pale, put a hand on the fearful young man's shoulder. "Come on." Fuwara turned to the rest of the escort, all of whom wore white faces also. "Come on! Don't bother with the flare! Run!" Gritting his teeth and taking his hand from the flare in his belt, Mogi ran after the rest of them. His heart was pounding in his ears and his heart was in his throat- he felt sick.

They made it to the creek without further casualties, where they gulped down plentiful amounts of water. To Mogi, the icy liquid was quite fortifying, but it did nothing to diminish his fear. Yes, he had seen death before, but for some reason, this experience had been far worse. The guns were still blazing around them, as if the enemy were close enough to keep alongside and in range as they ran. He kept his teeth gritted in his fear, eyes darting quickly for possibilities as to where the enemy may have been. He studied several of the bullet impacts in the ground to discover that they were all from varying angles of less than thirty degrees from the ground. These snipers were on foot. Sergeant Fuwara, having drunk his share, got back to his feet, wiping his face. He had been the last to finish. "All-right. Come on, guys. Let's move." They started running again, Mogi still in the rear, and all of the sudden, just as Mogi had out of the blue expected, the earth exploded. He was thrown backwards in a fiery explosion into the shallows of the water, his helmet ripped from his head. He choked as the water rushed into his open mouth and up his nose, and he was coughing up the water rather violently as he crawled back out of the water, blind in the fierceness of the shelling. He rubbed his eyes in a terrified effort to see, and stumbled forwards. Bombs were raining over the area, blowing up everything in their radii. Mogi heard screams and saw a mangled body floating in the creek through the fiery din. He was knocked sideways by another impact, and his vision went a fogy gray with smoke and flame. And then he heard Sergeant Fuwara yell. "The flares! Light a flare! Someone, light a flare!" Mogi knew that his flare wouldn't work- it was wet from his fall in the creek. And then, as if by instinct, he threw up his arms in self-defense as another shell blew up directly in front of him, feeling the blistering heat burning through his body, and was again flung to the ground, where he clung for life, numb and blind, his head pounding in an agonizing rush. He didn't even try to get to his feet. He just lay there, knowing that it was all over for him. He wasn't going to make it home. He was going to die here, and whatever remained of his body, if even identifiable, would be shipped home to his mother. She would do more than cry over the lost life of her only son. He gritted his teeth and waited for the end to come.

But it seemed like it never would. He could feel every second tick away, the rumble of the shells, the scorching flames, and the sadness. Worse than the flames could, he was scorched by the screams of the wounded and dying. They weren't going to make it either, he knew. And so he lay there unmoving, spread on the ground, knowing that it was over for him. And then out of the red and fiery din, he saw a green spark, and a jet of green flame belched up from the ground a dozen feet away. It didn't register in his mind, but he was quite mesmerized by the sudden vibrosity of the green. What a nice color. He smiled and closed his eyes. It would be the last color he saw…

***

He could hear voices murmuring above him in a Japanese variant- only certain words were distinguishable, and none of them made any sense. "Dead… were escorting… got them good…" There was a hollow laugh from nearby, and a soft grunt. Mogi didn't open his eyes just yet. He noted that the shelling had ceased, and that the immediate area was now quiet, save for an occasional soft groan and the talking of a few men. So he wasn't the only one alive, and the reinforcements were here and had take control. That knowledge loosed a burden in his chest. But still he didn't open his eyes. The voices were still speaking above him, and he knew that his face was against the ground, his arm crooked over his face. He was positively aching, but at least he hadn't been really wounded. Someone laughed above him. "…Make sure they're dead before we leave them. Take what you want, but give the weapons to me." All of the sudden, fear flooded his mind as he realized that these men weren't his comrades. He wanted to get up and run, run for his life, but he found that he couldn't. He was frozen against the ground, unable to move. A few paces away, he heard the unsheathing of a blade and then a quick whoosh at the weapon cut through the air to hew a neck. There was a half-shriek that Mogi recognized as Kaigo's, and then a quiet gurgle was the only sound left, and then nothing. Mogi felt sick. His death was quickly coming, and he could do nothing to prevent it. Once again, Mogi heard the tell-tale whoosh of the blade, and the thunk of it sinking into flesh. Mogi found himself fighting back the urge to scream. There was a quick rummaging around in the pockets of the dead man, and then footsteps near Mogi's head. "Look at the size of this guy, man. I'd hate to have him wake up on me when I'm searching him-"

Mogi heard the whooshing sound again, and knew that it was his turn, but he didn't want to die. His eyes flew open and he rolled to the side to avoid the thrust of a long knife that had been poised over his throat. The bearer of the weapon yelled and prepared to strike again as Mogi got to his feet, all in the span of a few seconds. Desperate with fear, Mogi launched himself at his attacker- a foolish idea, for he was unarmed. But it was his only chance. He tangled with the surprised enemy soldier and knocked him backwards with an unintentional yell. He hit the knife away from his enemy's hand, sending it spinning away in the dirt, and swung around to connect his fist with the man's skull in a shattering blow that he knew could kill if done just right.

The man reeled and collapsed, and Mogi knew that he was dead by the sudden glazing of his thoughtful blue eyes. He could feel the power coursing through his veins, the power that was willing him to stay alive. He could kill with his bare hands. He turned around just in time to deflect a glancing knife blow with the side of his arm. He felt the blade sink into the flesh and muscle of his arm, and he knew that he probably wouldn't be able to use it any more as it flopped to the side, but it was better than taking the knife to the stomach. He gritted his teeth and spun around in a quick second dodge, and lashed out with a fierce kick at his adversary, hardly even noticing the blood that sprayed scarlet from his wound in the process. Fear filled his heart, but he also felt a feeling of fierce rage building inside. They were slaughtering his comrades like sheep. They weren't going to get away with it. His instincts became primitive in his stubborn will to survive, and he fought fiercely, blocking several blows with the same arm as before, just managing to get it in front of himself. He knew that he would never be able to use his right hand again after this, if he survived, but he didn't care. The meaning of the moment was to do or die, and he figured that he would rather live. He had seen death too much to welcome it any more.

And then all of the sudden, he stumbled over his own feet and fell to the ground in a tangle, useless arm flopping and bleeding profusely. His foe stood above him, poised with the knife. The trapped Japanese corporal tried to roll back to his feet, and just managed to do so before his enemy struck again. Mogi was able to roll out of the way just in time and struggle back to his feet, picking up the knife of his first adversary in the process. He wasn't much of a fighter with knives, but he reckoned it gave him a better chance. He lunged at the masked face of his enemy with the blade but had to twist and pull it away to block a strike. He checked the blow with his own, so powerful that the knife in the hand of his opponent shattered. He had never seen a knife shatter, but he wasn't paying attention to that. The man was reaching to his belt or a gun-Mogi wondered why in the hell the man hadn't thought to use it already, but nothing would come of his wondering. He struck out with his own knife again and just as he lunged, there were several gunshots. He felt white-hot metal tear into his stomach and chest in multiple places, and embed itself below his knee. He dropped the knife and slowly, dazedly, crumpled to the ground, vision flashing red and his whole body numb. His brain went into shock as waves of pain crashed over him, shredding every fiber of his being, and he choked on dirt and blood-laced spit. He couldn't think. The only word that crossed his mind was failure. He could hardly see, but he saw the outline of his enemy standing over him with the gun ready, about to make the final shot. "You would have been better off pretending to have already been dead. It wouldn't have hurt so bad." He said, holding his gun to the dying corporal's forehead. There was a nearby gunshot, but Mogi didn't hear it. He found himself unable to move, in excruciating agony yet quite numb, and he found himself thinking.

So here's the end. I knew it was coming. At least I died fighting and not running away like a coward. Mom can be proud of that, at least.

He was waiting for the bullet to enter his brain and end his suffering, but it never came. The man poised above him gave a small grunt and dropped his eyes. His hand lowered a bit with the gun. It was now pointing at his throat. Mogi was staring with half-open and glazed eyes, waiting for the end.

Come on, I'm ready.

Any moment now, the white-hot metal would rip through the gray matter of his brain and take his life. Any moment. But it never came. And then the man dropped his gun, slowly lifted off his mask, and turned his face toward the sky, slowly, letting the sunlight spill onto his revealed countenance. Mogi saw bright green eyes and a pale face. But the eyes flickered dim and then blank and lifeless. It was a moment before Mogi realized that the man was dead, and then the body spilled forward to fall next to him. He looked over without a thought and saw a great scarlet stain spreading across his back, and then he lay back, suddenly too weak to move again. He coughed, pinkish bubbles coming to his lips. His thoughts were growing dim, and he felt the life draining from his body. He grew cold, so cold… he had never been so cold… But at least he was going to die in peace. He could just lay here and stare at the sky in his last moments. That wasn't so bad. He closed his eyes, letting the sun filter red through his eyelids. And then there was a cough from above.

"Hey, Corporal." Mogi opened his eyes to see Sergeant Fuwara standing over him. Fuwara kneeled down next to him, and put a hand on his forehead. To Mogi, the warm hand was heaven. It felt so good on his clammy skin. "H-hey, Sergeant Fuwara." He coughed up more blood, his head reeling and vision twisting. He saw Fuwara smiling, and then the hand disappeared from his head. "How are you, man?" Fuwara asked, choking up, and Mogi tried to smile. "Feel pretty shitty, Sarge. Think I ate too much steel." He tried to laugh, but all that came out of his mouth was more blood. He felt really weak. Fuwara gave a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I think so too." He put his hand back on his corporal's forehead for a moment, and then got to his feet. "See you around, Corporal?" Fuwara asked, a somber smile upon his face, and Mogi quietly agreed.

And then a gunshot rang out. Mogi saw through his failing vision, Fuwara fall forward to the ground, his face registering a look of surprise. The sergeant hit the ground with a dull thud on the other side of his corporal. His face was turned toward him, his eyes lifeless and brown. His jaw hung loose and slack, and Mogi watched unmoving as a string of spit found its way into the dirt from his sergeant's mouth. "Sergeant Fuwara?" Mogi got no answer. Fuwara's eyes stared straight into Mogi's face but beyond it, as if he were reading into his very soul. "Sarge?" All Mogi got in reply was a faint gurgling, and then it stopped. "Sarge." Mogi couldn't move, and he could barely speak. He couldn't move any longer, and he knew the end was near for him. But Fuwara was dead too. Though he couldn't move as the feeling of numbness took over his body, he felt a tear slide down his cheek. He felt it drop, and he felt the trail that it left evaporate into a salty crust on his skin. He had failed.

***

A lone man sat in a wheelchair under a small shade tree, his face turned toward the sun. He let the sun's rays caress his face with their consoling warmth, but he found no comfort in it. He was well-muscled and tall, even in the wheelchair, and he wore a blank, hard expression upon his face. The jacket that was hung on the back of his wheelchair bore a sergeant's insignia, but he didn't care. He would make a worthless sergeant. He wasn't going to give orders. Kanzo Mogi hadn't spoken a single word in the two months that he had been in the hospital- not one. People said that he had been knocked senseless by his injuries, and that may have been somewhat true, but he was just choosing not to speak. He was grieving for the loss of his comrades, in particular, Sergeant Fuwara, who had, in his short time as Mogi's commander, shared a lot with the shy young man. He was, in short, Mogi's only friend, and now he was gone. Mogi was not consoled at all with the fact that he had been promoted to Fuwara's old position. He missed the friendship, the bond that they had shared. He was grieving. He turned his face away from the sun and closed his eyes in remembrance. Faces flashed through his mind. Kyoto. Bakugeki. Kaigo. Hirama. Fuwara. He fought hard to swallow the lump that obstructed his throat. He saw those last moments of Fuwara's life, and he remembered pleading with the world to take his life and give it to his sergeant, who had gone cold. He remembered help finally coming, and being loaded into the chopper hooked up to multiple machines, and making it out of harm, but screaming for his sergeant the whole way until the paramedics knocked him out with their foul chloroform. He hung his head sadly. He was the only one to have survived. He sat there in his misery, letting it wash over him in torturous waves. He was miserable.

"Sergeant Mogi-san?"

The voice snapped him from his miserable thoughts, and he looked up to see one of the hospital nurses standing over him. He wasn't quite looking at the sergeant, being still a bit too intimidated by his size to do that. Mogi blinked. "I've got to bring you back to your room now." Mogi nodded silently, and the nervous nurse grabbed the handles of his chair and began to wheel him downhill. To stew in his misery.