Okay, so with the Butterfly' Dream getting most of my attention, I know I've let this fic languish. Although, perhaps this is a good thing, because I have decided to redo this and my other one Life Story Override, because frankly I probably was running myself thin trying to do all three, and the quality suffered too much. So there will be a massive overhaul in the future (starting here, though can't much call this massive since there are only two chapters).
Anyway, just for people to know, this is version TWO of the chapter, hopefully there won't be a need for a version three.
Febuary 18 1936
Kwantung HQ in Hsinking, Manchukuo
"I'm telling you, these people are too dangerous to keep alive."
"They are dangerous, which is precisely why we should continue efforts to sway them to our cause. The Manchukuo army is full of nothing but deserters and opium addicts. We can't rely on them to be an effective policing force for our new territory and to have our backs when we need it."
"I see your point, but if we give these people any sort of reparations they'll only demand more. A seat at the table is only the start, and soon they will be taking over our forces from the inside out."
"Perhaps. However, the chief problem with all your arguments is that you all keep referring to them as a single cohesive nation, simply because they all speak the same language we do. They do not see it that way. Much as they do not see us as their brethren, they fail to see one another as potential allies. You forget, that it was not long ago our great nation was in a similar state of disarray, and it was only through great external force that we came to look inwards and rally around our true leader."
The bickering heads of command all went silent as they listened with reverence to the elderly man at the end of the table, not only because their social expectations demanded it, but because each and every one of them knew him to be a man of wisdom.
They followed him out of respect. The obeyed him out of fear.
"Honjō-sama, what do you propose we should do?" Lieutenant General Jirō Tamon asked directly, knowing his own feelings had already been made clear to all present.
The venerated Honjō Shigeru, head of the Kwantung Army which represented Japan's imperial interests in China, shut his eyes in mute retrospection.
They had already committed themselves to a long fight. Invading China was not a hastily made decision and had been in the works for hundreds of years. A power struggle going back to the first Kamikaze which defeated the Mongol threat in the Sea of Japan.
Still, no one could have ever expected this turn of events.
A mistake had been made. But where?
These warmongering people which called themselves 'Shinobi' might have spoken Japanese, but they were from a world totally different than their own. Words were the same, but ideas were different.
They did not take kindly to the foreign interlopers, and it was only a matter of time before the probing forces of the Imperial Japanese Army and the forces of Demon and Sky Countries came to blows. No amount of political decorum could smooth over what was a fundamental rift.
Perhaps it was that similarity which cause the mistrust. People so alike, yet so different. It was a thought as insidious as a plague.
It was too late for a vaccine. The only cure was eradication.
"However unwittingly, we find ourselves in the same position as that bastard American, Perry." Honj let his thoughts wander aloud while he stroked his graying beard. "Can you imagine what our forefathers must have thought when his black ships sailed into Edo Harbor with their cannons blazing? Was this not the fear of god which drove us to come together and unite our nation against the true enemy? We are now that unifying force to the uncultured heathens. If we put demands on them, we risk giving them that common enemy.
"Gentlemen, our island nation is small compared to vast and historic empires of England, France, Germany, and now the United States. Our will is strong, but without the resources to fight, what hope do we have for the future? Mark my words, war will spread, and it will only be a matter of time before those patronizing countries seek to reign in our expansion. I have little doubt that they can do it, too.
"Thus, we need an edge. If we can sway them to our cause, get them to see the world such as it is… perhaps they will understand the plight against us all, and perhaps they will fight with us. As it stands, I have little doubt we could spend the entire war trying to sway them to our side, and that is not something we can afford."
These almost-blasphemous words were absorbed by the room with a solemn indemnity that they would never see the light of day. It was traitorous to doubt the divine mandate delivered to their race to conquer their due fiefdom. But being halted so early in their crusade, no one could refute the wise words.
"So… what should we do?"
They were no closer to answering this question, either practically or spiritually. Their forces were stopped cold on the Eastern Edge of the Great Lake by ninja who declared themselves to be of the Hidden Mist. A deadlock staring at the salty waves which washed back and forth, separating them from that virgin land.
It was possible to simply ignore this part of the mainland, skirt around it and capture the objectives which would give them the oil, iron, and petroleum that they desperately needed.
But what if it should come back to bite them? What if, once learning of the rest of the world outside their small enclave, the Shinobi Nations should seek their own empires to challenge their own? That cat was already out of the bag, now, and it had turned out to be a fierce tiger seeking to rend them asunder.
There was little doubt they had the strength to do it, too. When first mocked for going into battle with knives and children at the forefront, the leaders of the Imperial Army soon found out that there was nothing lesser about these barbarians. Their tactics, like their outlooks, were different. And their weapons were something to behold.
"We must do something." They all nodded like they understood their commander's words, but inside was the hollow knowledge that many would likely die in this venture. "We must do something and commit to it fully. It is tragic, but words have failed us. The strike that is necessary must be fast, and complete. General Isogai,"
"Hai."
The man addressed held the position of being the youngest, and also the most vigorously adamant about eliminating the threat. He sat up straight in his seat at attention.
"In three weeks from today the shipment of the new bombers will arrive. Your artillery will provide cover for their sortie to the opposite side of the lake. Your target will be what the local maps call 'Fire Country'. Intelligence indicates that they recently suffered a major catastrophe, and will be more likely to submit when put under a little pressure."
"But sir," The man who spoke must have been nervous to interrupt the supreme commander, either at the untested technology or the thought of awakening yet another dragon. "Wouldn't our bombers be of better effect against the Mist Shinobi blocking our path? We don't have the naval forces to transport our troops across the lake without island-hopping through their territory."
While silent, the room was abuzz with fearful and scathing glances at the lowly general who dared undermine their superior.
To their shock, the old man simply nodded.
"Yes they would, if they were dropping only bombs." The table was silent while they contemplated this mysterious thought, and everyone could hear as the lead general took out a sheet of paper and began writing on it, his pen-strokes like lashes against the deathly pall. "After the first wave, we will drop these." And slid the note down to his right.
The silence continued to be deafening as the letter was passed around the table, slowly but surely. After each hand touched it, faces twisted in tormented concentration, trying to grasp the entirety of what the shrewd old man had planned.
"When they attacked us with their magic, we were surprised. When we attacked with our cannons and our guns, they were surprised. It was for that brief moment that we held the advantage, and so it must be again, but this time we must do it totally and completely.
"The bombs we drop will be a sample of what the world can do to them. A sample of what we can do to them, should they resist. That note which will be copied into leaflets and dropped by the bushel from the aircraft," He pointed to where the scrawled sheet was just rounding the opposite end of the table from him. "Will tell them to join forces with us and exterminate the Mist Shinobi in our path. We will use their fear and weakness, but also their hatred of one another to our advantage.
"They need not know that our Air Force is years from its full capabilities. We only need one, good run, and we will have them begging at our feet."
"Will this really work?"
No one admonished the doubter this time, as all had been thrust deep into this dark and unknown territory, with little idea where to go. No one could see rank and privilege in this brave new world.
"It had better." Honjō laid his glasses on the table and massaged his temples. "Our future hangs on this, so it had better."
"Begin Phase Two."
August 7th 1942
USS San Juan 2240 Hours
"Get those casualties aboard!"
"Careful now! Do you know what these guys had to go through? Can't have them dying on the home stretch!"
Even in the middle of the night, the deck aboard the flagship of the United States Navy Watchtower expeditionary force to the Guadalcanal Islands was busy as Grand Central station. The hustle and bustle of men and equipment being shuffled back and forth over floors slick with heavy fog which had rolled in almost unnaturally quick after the storm had passed.
This level of activity was not untypical for a combat deployment, but it managed to pique the interest of busybodies who could only wonder what was going on far off at shore. For those who weren't keyed in to the situation, it was a clear symptom of something not quite going right with their smoothly planned operation.
"Get this one's name and unit." The corpsman stepped over stretchers packed like cigarettes on the cold deck to snatch the soldier's dog tags. The jangling metal strips he handed over to the Major in charge of the overflow of casualties currently spilling out onto the ship's decks.
"Hey, what's going on out there, anyway?" The tactless young medic leaned over to ask one casualty as the man continued to stare straight ahead, past the Major busily scribbling notes on a crowded clipboard. The Major raised an eyebrow in admonishment of the unprofessional attitude.
"The hells the matter with you? This man clearly has shellshock." He set the clipboard down carefully amidst the human cargo and drew out his GI issue angle-head flashlight with homemade peephole aperture, shining the pinpoint ray back and forth across the man's unresponsive and dilated eyes. "Shit, probably has a concussion, too. Read to me what I wrote down for his unit."
After a moment's hesitation, the neophyte healer carefully picked up the Major's paperwork and shined his own light on the chicken scratch, squinting in the red-tinted light to make out what the former civilian doctor had written.
"Uh, looks like 2nd Division, 5th Marines. Private First Class John Arc. Says here E company."
The Major issued a single wry laugh- the only one he could muster for the pathetic bit of humor. It was grim, and surely the Arc family wouldn't be laughing when their valiant John came back home a broken shell of a man- hardly, a boy still.
But at least he was going back.
"He's the last? Any more from his company?"
"Doesn't look like it."
"Jesus."
It took a lot to shake such a schooled medical professional. He didn't let it do so now, and issued a small prayer for the 27 other souls whose bodies were lying somewhere in that impenetrable darkness, trees like black ivory walls hiding the horrors which still kept John Arc's sanity in their clutches.
"C'mon, let's get you someplace dry."
He probably should have prayed for one more.
August 8th 1942
USS San Juan Medical Ward 0010 Hours
The night watch made their rounds, tiptoeing around the multitude of bodies stacked in every nook and cranny of the inadequate facility, stopping every now and then to shine a flashlight on a patient, glance at the white tag tied to their wrist (or toe, in the absence of said appendage). Every now and then a small curse would be muttered and heard by those in too much pain to sleep. Then the orderlies would gather together to carry another fatality out of the way of the living.
The medical staff worked around the clock, but even they needed rest and could only check up on the patients declared stable every few minutes at a time.
12 minutes, to be exact. 'John' had counted.
He knew there were four orderlies working at any one time checking up on their room and one had glanced his way after he tied some soiled bandages around his head to appear more injured than he actually was. He was also careful to appear contentedly asleep. Though he only had to change his appearance a little, the illusion wouldn't hold up if they were to physically inspect him.
The last flashlight was swallowed up by the steel bulkhead and he was once again swathed in comforting darkness.
Now. Move.
He shed the blanket he had stolen off his huddled frame, laying it on a feverish patient who was tossing and turning on the cot his was given, continuing to grasp at the empty space where his arm should have been. He gently tucked the blanket in around the man, waiting half a beat until he settled.
He didn't know why he did it. They would all soon be dead, anyway.
USS San Juan Hallways 0017 Hours
"I'm telling you- their unit was completely decimated!"
"But there's one guy left, right? Maybe he can tell me! Please, I need to know!"
"From what I hear he's got shellshock, totally dumb right now. He needs rest away from all this."
"And I need to know if my brother's dead or alive! If there's even the slightest chance that the Japs didn't get him then I need to be in the next wave, so I can go look for him!"
"This is madness. Fuck-this is totally insane! Hey- you can't go in there!"
But the harsh whispers of the orderly meant next to nothing in the face of the desperate family member as he shoved the wispy man aside and forced his way into the darkened space.
He was at first taken aback by the putrid smell, completely disorienting in the abject darkness and making him stumble over the watertight threshold. His arm shot out to steady himself and came down heavy on the edge of a gurney. There was a cringing squeal as his bulk shifted the mobile bed jarringly.
"Fuck!"
"Ah, shit. Now you've gone and done it!"
Once recovering from being slammed into a wall, the orderly followed him in, hot on his heels as he squeezed through the tiny doorway. Nearly running into the marine's massive back, he stopped and squinted in the dark room to see if the lumbering brute managed to exacerbate any of the patient's injuries.
At first he thought that he had stepped into the wrong room. Something was just so… off.
It was totally quiet. Not even a groan from the jostled bed.
Even when everyone had been asleep last time he checked in, there had been the steady sound of breathing all around in off-tempo drones which made it often hard to tell which of them had passed on in the night. That, and there was always at least one who snored like an ox.
In the absence of those familiar sounds, the silence was deafening. Each of their two breaths were the crackling of new ice, their heartbeats the thrum of the engines coming through the deck.
"Hey?! Is there someone there?" The big man suddenly lost his brazenness as he caught a shadow shifting in the darkness.
"Hang on, I'll get the lights."
"Hurry up, would you? I want to find this guy and let the injured get back to resting."
"I'm going, I'm going." There was the sound of blind tapping on the bulkhead, and then suddenly a sound that the civilian-soldier recognized from his days in his father's furniture factory.
Metal on metal, with flesh in between.
"Fuck!"
But at least the lights were on, and they could see now.
If only they couldn't, they might have rested soundly.
"What the-"
"It's too soon."
Another sound from his youth, the sound of a ripsaw cutting through air as the blade broke and went wildly sailing across the room.
Then nothing.
Naruto stood amongst the carnage he had wrought, staring at his latest victims past his extended fingers which had just loosed the fuma shuriken. The weapon still imbedded into the bulkhead and looming over the bisected men. He sighed wearily before straightening and glancing around at the rest of his objective.
If he was remorseful for slaughtering the wounded in their beds, he didn't show it. He did as his mentor and teammates advised him, reminded that they had all received quick and painless deaths.
Much as John Arc had.
He was lucky they had bought his ruse. Although he was admittedly a good actor, the moment he talked would have given up the ghost as his English was atrocious. Why did his teammates assign him this mission again?
Oh yeah.
"Tajῡ, Kage-Bushin"
"You can't hide in the shadows forever kid. You're not nearly as good at it as I am."
"I'm not hiding anymore."
The clones spread across the ship like a plague.
June 21st 1936
Hi no Kuni, Konohagakure no Sato 1800 Hours
He remembered that day. The cries erupting from the ship transported him back to his home, the steel bulkhead bleeding into the ironwood trees which surrounded his existence from the day he was born.
Fear and hatred were normal. They had been, even back then. His own people feared him, shunned him, treated him like a dog with mange and aimed to starve him just the same. Never so much as deigning to touch him for fear that the disease he carried would spread to them and their children. He was a leper whose only affliction were three parallel marks on each cheek, but inside his heart was rotting.
Starved. For food, and for human attention. No one ever beat him or harmed him, in fact, no one ever laid a hand on him. That was perhaps the worse thing they could have ever done to an orphan like him whose one desire more than any other in the world was to not be alone.
When he killed, he would make sure to kill them all, so that they too could always be together.
But that wasn't who he was. Not back then, anyway. Before, he had been as normal as could be allowed. Death was not in his thoughts, not even when he dreamed of becoming a powerful ninja. And he still held hope that one day people would come to respect him, understand him by his words and his actions.
When words failed, when action defied comprehension, that was when he had lost hope.
He remembered that day. The sound at the edge of his ears like locusts, a low, buzzing, thrumming noise like thousands of wings taking to the air which had turned black with an oncoming storm.
There was another buzz, as the colony of people spoke in hushed whispers as they turned their heads to the sky. A girl crying. Someone dropping a basket. And all the while, the noise became louder and louder, until it seemed to dwarf even the thoughts inside his head.
And then came the explosions.
Low, guttural tones which struck at his very core. Shook the Earth. Rained debris down onto the streets, and lit up the dark afternoon like fireworks.
Then came the pamphlets, like snow or ash from an out-of-control fire. They were disgorged from the bellies of the locusts which swept over their village in menacing V formations, engines screaming above the racket of organized panic. Cries from civilians who had no idea what was going on, shinobi giving and receiving orders who had no answers for them.
There were also the cries of the dead and dying, which seemed to top them all.
Walking past what was once a shop that sold premium green tea, he paid only a cursory glance at the hole in the ground surrounded by bricks the same color that the walls once were. Bending down, he picked up one of the neat little pieces of paper, squinting, trying to read the faded and fuzzy katakana which spouted a bunch of terms he did not yet know.
It wouldn't be long before those same words would be inscribed in his heart, tattooed into his daily existence. The chrysanthemum at the bottom a symbol he would come to loathe, and be grateful towards.
For that five-pointed flower would take away his dream, but also ensure that he would never be alone again, that he would have everything he ever wanted.
He was still finding out at just what a cost.
August 8th 1942
Tulagi Island 0113 Hours
The waves gently lapped upon the pristine beach, the boot prints from the previous morning washed away with the tide. The jungle behind had its peace restored, and the sounds of nighttime creatures had once again returned to the island.
This halcyon setting was in contrast to the blazing inferno on the horizon.
Something burst from the surf, gasping for air. And once it took a few, deep, oxygen starved breaths, it trudged along the sandy bottom before throwing itself onto the shore.
Naruto lay there, soaked through to the bone and panting because of the difficult escape he had just made. He had spent more time swimming underwater now than he had in his entire life, and had still just narrowly missed being spotted by other ships coming to aid the San Juan.
He opened his eyes, expecting to see the familiar night sky staring gently down upon him in reassurance that he was still alive unlike all those poor souls he knowingly condemned to burn.
Instead, he was met with the ugly mug on his senior teammate staring soberly down on him, the only reprieve being the bandages wrapped around his lower face which hid the sneer of condemnation.
"Do you think you've earned a rest? Get up, brat." Zabuza growled as Naruto silently struggled to comply, knowing that any word of protest would earn him even more reprimand than what he already had coming.
The blond was only half-surprised to feel two slender arms try and lift him gently to his feet. He was not at all surprised when they were rudely slapped away.
"Don't help him out, Haku. Let the gaki prove that he isn't totally worthless."
Naruto ground his teeth, but refused to let further pain show on his already battered face. He shakily stood on his own, tabi-boots sinking deep into the wet send. A swift kick to the back of the knee forced him back on all fours again.
"You were supposed to capture the ship, not blow it up."
"I was compromised." Naruto didn't know why he bothered protesting, it would only make things worse.
"You made yourself compromised." He expected the former Mist-ninja to kick him again while he was down, and clenched his teeth so that the he wouldn't have to go through the pain of re-growing any more teeth.
But it never came, and instead he was again told to get to his feet, which he did slower this time in anticipation of meeting the ground so soon afterwards. Instead, when he got to his feet, he was greeted only with Zabuza dispassionately walking away into the dense foliage.
"Can you walk?" The incongruously beautiful boy asked without the slightest inflection of concern.
"Yeah," Naruto acknowledged, thumping his chest to clear it of the brackish water. "Though I'd be a hell of a lot better if you or the bastard decided to teach me how to breath underwater."
The Hyōton user gave him a weak smile as he offhandedly reached over to brush down the blond's sand-caked uniform.
"You should know by now, Naruto-kun. You still don't have good enough Chakra control to learn any elemental techniques that aren't your nature."
In turn, Naruto growled and rudely stomped away from the familiar ministrations. Haku merely continued to smile amusedly at the petulance shown by his younger teammate.
But inside he was concerned. He knew that Zabuza had been asking a lot of the young recruit when he assigned him his task. Not only in the scope of the mission, but in the emotional demand of it as well.
"Do you think…" Haku looked back up at the blond who was standing at the edge of the jungle, hands clenching the sopping wrinkles of his trousers. "… do you think that Taicho will have me transferred because I failed my mission?"
The beautiful boy frowned and floated over the soft ground to place a hand on his friend's sagging shoulder. "Zabuza-sama may be hard on you, but that's only because he's so hard on everyone, including himself. He still blames himself for failing to stand up back then, and feels that he has to regain honor in the eyes of our new leaders."
"Yeah." Naruto relented with a sigh, having heard the explanation before but still not understanding it on an emotional level. "I s'pose."
Haku then smiled and the gentle expression was illuminated by the silver light.
"Besides, where would they transfer you to? You can't be demoted much farther than this."
Naruto laughed heartily which caused him to gag on a wad of seaweed crawling up his throat. He spit it out and continued to chuckle.
"Guess you're right. No sense getting upset over it. Crying in the gutter is a great way to drown."
"I think you've done enough drowning for one night. Come on, let's get you to a fire and see if we can't fill that bottomless pit of a stomach you have."
"Sounds good."
Okay, so I was hoping to avoid having to fill in background history, and the fact that I need to is more a reflection on my writing rather than ignorance on the part of my readers (although it STILL irks me that most of you probably don't know these things already). Point is, my work should be able to stand on its own, and I am sorry that it doesn't.
Aside from the Kwangtung army which I tried to explain in the first part, here are the historical facts worth mentioning:
The Manchukuo army were Chinese who were collaborating with the Japanese takeover of Manchuria, and were essentially a puppet government.
The comment on 'that bastard American Perry' is reference to Comodore Perry who famously sailed into Tokyo harbor in his 'Black Fleet' in 1853, thereby forcing Japan to open itself to the Western world and precipitated the Tokugawa Restoration.
And if you doubt me on any of these things, look them up. They are all common public knowledge. Hopefully, I will not have you looking any more things up during the course of this story, because it will continue to diverge from the historical process of WWII from here on out.
But at the moment, I have tried my best to sync things up with both real historical events and correct geography and science, as well as the Naruto lore and geography. If someone does find inaccuracies with my work, please let me know, because even if I am aware of them, it might help me figure out how to improve my work in the future.
Anyway, to recap for those who don't quite understand what happened, we saw the campaign to take over China 4 years in where the Kwantung army is at a standstill with regards to the Elemental Nations because they are obstinately refusing to deal with them politically (because if you know anything about Japanese during this time period, you will know the military were STAUNCHLY right wing).
They are held up at the Coast of the Land of Honey, and need to take over Mist as a stepping stone to the other Nations. Because they were geared up for a land battle across the incredibly large Chinese countryside, they did not posses enough ships to conquer the territory with a naval battle. Instead, they chose to focus their efforts into a single psychological attack directed mainly at the civilian population. This bypasses the equally aggressive shinobi by targeting them at their weakest point, and taking advantage of the irrational fear of the public. This is done to leave as much infrastructure and potential fighting forces intact, while firmly establishing an undeniable supremacy which would make the other countries subservient to the Japanese army.
But as we will see, this also leaves a great number of possible rebels, and without a doubt lingering animosity as the 'barbaric' shinobi are exposed to the brutality of modern, Total Warfare.