The Cost to the Soul
by Yanagi-sen
Gundam Wing songfic
Usual disclaimers apply. I do not profess to own these puppets, they dance on my strings for amusement only, I make no profit from them and will return them when I'm done, maybe. "Goodnight Saigon" by Billy Joel.
Warnings: implied yaoi, violence, death (not a deathfic!), OOCness
Author's Note: This story takes place the same night as "Dust in the Wind."
This is moderately boring. Of course, I don't usually mind boring missions, but tonight my mind just keeps wandering off. There is a song that keeps running around in there. It is so annoying to get a song stuck in your head. At least I like the song, it's worse when you hate it. The song is old, really old. I think it was written about some vague, long-forgotten war. It's written from the common soldier's point of view, not that of some lofty general. War, the way it really is, not the 'heroic fantasy' people persist in trying to make it out to be.
We met as soulmates… On Parris Island… We left as inmates… From an asylum…
Finally, my partner is moving again. We're like two shadows slipping though the night. This is pathetically easy; at least the song can keep half of my overactive mind busy. Duo had been singing it yesterday. Not a surprise, he likes ancient music. Sometimes when he's in a dark mood, he dregs up songs like this. He actually has a surprisingly good singing voice.
Good thing he's not along on this one. He hates this kind of mission. Truth be told, the two of us aren't really happy with it either. It is a little too heartless, even for us. But it has to be done, no matter what the cost to our souls.
And we were sharp… As sharp as knives… And we were so gung ho to lay down our lives…
It's so easy to slip onto an OZ base. We're heading for the new recruit barracks. We actually find a security guard that isn't asleep on the job. My partner deals with him and steals the uniform. This is ridiculous. How can OZ be so lax? Just cause we haven't hit this place before… idiots. And it's always the enlisted men who bear the brunt of the officers' stupidity. He's waving me in. Must be clear. Time to lay the charges.
We got the idea from Wufei. He did the same thing at the Lake Victoria base. It sucked, but it played havoc with OZ's morale. Maybe it would make it harder for them to recruit for a while. I'm really trying not to look into the rooms. I don't want to see them, the men and women our age that will soon be dying. I don't need more faces to add to the collection in my nightmares.
We came in spastic… Like tameless horses… We left in plastic… As numbered corpses…
'Finished?' His eyes ask me, and I nod. We start to slip out the way we came in. We've laid enough high explosive to reduce the building to rubble. We're almost home free.
"Hey! D'you hear something?"
We freeze.
"No, Bakerson. Go to sleep."
"But, Chuck, I swear I heard someone in the hall."
My partner already has his gun half out of the holster. Subtlety is not his strong suit.
"So what? It was prob'ly security or somethin'."
And we learned fast… To travel light… Our arms were heavy but our bellies were tight…
I relaxed fractionally. Then I couldn't help myself. I looked in. Two kids, 17 maybe 18. One is blond as Quatre, the other dark, maybe Hispanic. I shake my head and hurry down the hall. I run out into the night, trying to forget the faces I've just seen. The mission has to continue regardless. This is war and we have very few soldiers on our side. Our success, our lives, the lives of those we love; depend on our ability to shoot first and ask questions later. There is no room for hesitation, no room for error, or we die.
We had no homefront… We had no softsoap… They sent us Playboy… They gave us Bob Hope…
We dug in deep… And shot on sight… And prayed to Jesus Christ with all of our might…
Damn! They're just kids in there. Jaded, innocent, cynical, deluded kids. Just like us. The only difference is that they're still unbloodied. Typical. It's always the young having to deal with the mess created by our elders. Maybe the world wouldn't be such a terrible place if someone like Relena were in charge. Not that I like the girl mind you. Not with her tendency in the past to hound one of my partners and torment the other. Plus if she were in charge I would be out of a job. I want to sigh wistfully. What a wonderful thought.
We had no cameras… To shoot the landscape… We passed the hash pipe… And played our Doors tapes…
Hmm? I wonder who the Doors were? I should ask Duo, he'll know. I wonder what war the song is about? Did it have a name? Who won? Was it as bloody and pointless as this one? Did they use kids like we do? So many questions, and war provides no answers. I should keep my mind on the task at hand. Guerilla warfare can be very effective. It's cheaper than an all-out offensive and requires fewer troops. It just costs a little more of your soul. Terrorism slices off little pieces of your heart each time you kill innocents. Well, it does if you have a heart; and are sane. We tried to prevent that by numbing ourselves.
Thanks to our empathic and entirely too-caring leader, that's impossible now. He's the only one that could have pulled this off, making us into a team. My partner doesn't have the 'people skills', neither do I. Duo isn't interested in being a leader and Wu is too independent. Quatre's the one with the soul; it doesn't hurt that he's a strategic genius either. But we don't let him go on missions like this one. It took some doing to talk him out of coming along this time. We let him plan them, but we carry them out. We try to shelter him as much as possible. It hurts all of us too much to watch him suffer.
And it was dark… So dark at night…
It's really dark out tonight. We waited until after moonset to move in. We work by the light of the stars. My night vision is better than most but my partner's is truly uncanny. I'm a better shot though. He's quicker, but I'm more accurate. That guard we found earlier is still out cold. It might be kinder to just quietly kill him now. Too bad we can't do the same for those kids back there.
I wonder what they will be doing when the bombs go off? It's late, some are undoubtedly sleeping, they're probably the luckiest, they won't know what hit them. Others are up talking, like those two, what were their names? Chuck and Bakerson. Oh, Hell! I remembered their names and worse, I can stick them on faces. I don't know which is which, but that doesn't matter. My overly-clever brain just picks one. Someone else is most likely writing home. Damn! Sometimes I hate my job.
And we held on to each other… Like brother to brother… We promised our mothers we'd write…
We're out. Oh joy. Now we get to hit the button that will send those kids to whatever afterlife awaits them. I can tell my partner is thinking the same thing. Those who don't know us think we're fairly dead inside. We're not, end of story. I can see it in his eyes, the inevitability of it all. He doesn't like this, but he'll see it through, to the end. He bows his head closing his eyes. Does he pray? Does he ask the universe for forgiveness? I don't really see him as the type. That's more Duo or Quatre's style. I suppose you could classify me as an agnostic. There's something out there, but I don't really want to contemplate it. 'IT' and I ignore each other and therefore get along just fine. My partner lifts his head and looks at me, and then toward the base.
"Sumimasan." He whispers and pushes the detonator.
And we would all go down together…
We said we'd all go down together…
Yes, we would all go down together…
We're off, running cross-country for where we have hidden the Gundams. It'll take us a while with the doubling back and various other tricks to hide our tracks. I seriously doubt any type of pursuit will be coming soon though. I should hope they would try to dig those kids out first. I wonder if any will survive? I hope so. I wish they all would, but that is crossing out of the realm of probability into pure fantasy.
Remember Charlie… Remember Baker… They left their childhood… On every acre…
We run on through the night. We'll reach the Gundams soon, but we probably won't be heading back to the safehouse tonight. Too risky. We'll stay put till the fury dies down. I dread this time more than anything else; the nervous, edgy, cool-down time after a mission. After what we just did, we need our third desperately. He's the only one who can draw us out, force us to vent a little. We can't do it on our own; the two of us are too used to hiding within our walls. No good after a mission like this, it eats away at you.
And who was wrong?… And who was right?… It didn't matter in the thick of the fight…
We crouch in the cockpit of my partner's Gundam, watching the news report. It seems that Wu and Duo's devices have done their job. The building is nothing more than a pile of debris. I cannot judge the rightness or wrongness of what we've done. All I can say is, this is war. It is dirty, and bloody, and heartless. I heard once that death loves us all equally. That's true; it's only the time and manner of the death that changes. You can't worry about right and wrong during the battle. If you start to second-guess, you will die. At one time I would have welcomed death, sought it out. But not now. I have six very good reasons to live, my fellow pilots (lovers and ex-lovers all of them), Lilith the demon-child, and my 'sister'. They've become my family. It's funny. Once, I didn't even have a name, and now I have a family. I have to believe that what I'm doing the right thing, for their sakes.
We held the day… In the palm… Of our hand… They ruled the night…
OZ and Romafellor may control the world by day, but the night belongs to us. We succeed at missions they deem hopeless, because quite simply, we have no choice. But desperation can only carry you so far; it won't win a war. So we end up taking on missions like this one. Fear is a powerful and valuable weapon. That's why we're called 'terrorists'.
Ah. The base personnel have managed to extinguish most of the fires. They're starting to pull people out now. Fortunately, the cameras are far enough away that we can't see any faces. My partner has told me to go. He'll keep a count. He tells me I should get some sleep. Sleep? Yeah right. Not anytime soon. I decline and he doesn't press the issue. I don't think either of us wants to be alone right now. The hard part about being a terrorist is looking at yourself in the mirror. And trying to sleep at night.
And the night… Seemed to last… As long as six weeks… On Parris Island…
Where is Parris Island? There goes my mind again. Oh well, I'm curious. Maybe I'll run a computer check when I get back to my Gundam. It'll keep me occupied for a while. This night already seems to have lasted forever, just like this damn war. We've been fighting for over two years now, on Earth and in space. Nothing's been resolved. Nothing has changed. And it never seems to end.
We held the coastline… They held the highland…
You could say that OZ and Romafellor hold the highland in this war. They keep dangling the safety of the colonies over our heads; it's like they're holding a child as ransom. And the colonies do nothing about the situation. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I mean, in some ways I'm glad that others are not getting involved. Still, it would be nice to have a little support now and then. The only one with any real support is Quatre. That's only because of his family's holdings, not because of any real generosity on the part of L4. He is kind enough, and insistent enough, to share; but sometimes it still feels like charity. I don't think it would hurt the colonies to throw us a bone now and then. I feel like we're perched on a coastline at times. A very steep coastline. With our backs to the water. And nowhere to go.
And they were sharp… As sharp as knives…
They have found a few alive. But not many, not as many as I had hoped for. These cockpits are really only made for one, so my partner pulls me down to sit in his lap. I think he wants the contact. I'm sure he finds the comfort in it same as I. Together we watch as the bodies are dug out of the rubble, mostly in pieces. It's really horrifying.
The news report fills us in on something our intel had lacked. Apparently, some of the building material used in the barracks was an experimental metal alloy. Cheaper than the usual materials. It wasn't supposed to be used for living quarters since it didn't have the tensile strength required for safety. But the cost-cutters at OZ didn't think it would be a problem. The bombs had turned it into high-velocity shrapnel. It had torn though everything in its path. Honestly, we hadn't known. If we had, we might have done things differently. Quatre's not going to take this well. My ex-lover hadn't planned on this many dying. Duo won't like it either; he made most of the charges. I really hate this war!
They heard the hum of our motors… They counted the rotors… And waited for us to arrive…
They've finally gotten their act together and sent some pursuit out after us. They're really not too bright. I mean Treize, Une, and Zechs are competent enough, but most of the officers are total idiots. You'd think they'd wise up after a while. I guess their learning curve is a flatline. Did they honestly think we wouldn't know they were coming? Especially since the media was all over the story. We watched the pursuit troops leave on the news. I had plenty of time to get over to my Gundam. We decided to pull out before they reached us. We've stained our hands with enough blood tonight.
And we would all go down together…
Everyone is really subdued by the time we get back to the safehouse. Quatre is quick to tell us that it's not our fault. My partner is equally quick to tell Quatre that it isn't his either. Our gentle leader sighs and says he knows, but I can tell he still blames himself. As if we could have known that the architects and engineers were idiots. No, blame should go to the bureaucrats that made the funding decisions. Wu is hovering. He's a worse mother hen than Quatre at times. But I have no doubts as to his love for the smaller boy.
Our third is waiting. He offers us what comfort he can. We cling to him like drowning men clutching at a life raft. He's our salvation, just as we are his. We need each other. We need him to pull our souls from the darkness; he needs us to keep him from being swallowed by his demons. All of us need each other to stay sane in this war.
We said we'd all go down together…
I just lay there; sleep is going to be impossible tonight. The song keeps running through my head. I don't know if anyone will build a memorial to those kids at the base. I don't know if anyone will even remember this war, let alone their names, in a hundred years. I said before that I'm not really devout. But if there is a Creator, a Goddess, a Great Spirit; please grant those kids a peaceful rest. I don't expect absolution for the things I've done. We inherit the sins of our elders and try not to add more for our children. We're not always successful. Chuck… Bakerson… I'm sorry…
Yes we would all go down together…
-owari-