Title: Seafaring Heartless: Exit North Blue
Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece. It belongs to Eiichiro Oda. The following story is a work of fanfiction only.
Summery: Law had to admit that when one considered the state of the world and that he didn't have the temperament to sit on his heels as a civilian, piracy was by far a better option than joining the marines. Pirates may be considered evil by the majority, but Law had met quite a few of the world's navy who were corrupt to the core and putting up a very thick facade. He reasoned that if he was going to manipulate and scheme his way into that goal, at least he was going to be honest enough to admit it.
Genre: Adventure
Rating: T, If you can handle the original Manga and/or Anime (subs or Funimation dub) you've probably got nothing to worry about as I intend to write this at about the same level.
Pairings: I do not intend to write any pairings at this time.
Author's Note: Thank you to all the wonderful people who took the time to give me reviews. I hope this story can meet your expectations. And to the Guest reviewer who asked about Penguin and Shachi, you called it. This chapter's all about them.
Personal Theory Number 1: Penguin and Shachi worked together prior to joining Law's crew, possibly as marines.
Also, I have studied martial arts, and though I am no longer as active in that study as I would like to me, all references to such in this chapter are based on personal experience. I only wish I could link videos to show what the move is supposed to look like as words can't always paint an accurate picture.
3/2/18: This chapter has been updated to reflect new information featured in SBS 84. No major story changes have occurred. One Minor character's name has been altered and some extra background added on Penguin and Shachi ;)
Chapter Three
Marines: The Man With an Impractical Dream
They say that in G-3 - the chicken's mighty fine.
One jumped off the table - and started marking time . . .
The boots of thirteen men pounded the pavement in unison. Twelve in the column, three men across and four long, and one running to the side calling the cadence. All were wearing the white and blue uniforms of marines complete with kerchiefs and ball caps.
They say that in G-3 - the hours are just right
Start early in the morning - and work on through the night . . .
The sun poured down from the clear blue sky overhead. An observant man might have been able to tell by its passage that the time was somewhere around o-nine-hundred, but the only times that mattered on the base were chow time, curfew, and whatever the schedule nailed to the bunk room wall showed. Unless a superior stated otherwise.
They say that in G-3 - the mail is so great
Today I got a letter - it was three years late . . .
Today, a superior had stated otherwise. The thirteen men passed a lone bench placed outside the base's main office, their boots pounding to the rhythm of their chant, the leader giving directions for another lap around the yard. Sitting on the bench was a single soldier, an open folder in his hands. He seemed to be poring over the orders included on the first page, in a somewhat shell-shocked fashion, part of him puzzling over how he had gotten to this point and part of him wondering why it hadn't happened sooner. His eyes narrowed behind a set of dark sunglasses as he pulled his ball cap lower over his forehead, further shading his eyes from the sun, as a light breeze blew through his shoulder length red-brown hair.
They say that in G-3 - the tents are waterproof
You wake up in the morning - and you're floating on the roof . . .
He was so absorbed in his orders that he failed to notice when the front doors of the office burst open. He leapt to his feet and saluted only when said doors banged loudly against the wall, barely keeping the folder's contents from flying everywhere. "Lieutenant Hodge, Sir, Master Chief Petty Officer Shachi reporting as ordered, Sir."
They say that in G-3 - the coffee's mighty fine
it's good for cuts and bruises - and tastes like iodine . . .
The chant faded as the running men moved further away. The lieutenant's thin mouth frowned at them, and then turning on Shachi taking in his immaculate uniform, perfectly tied kerchief, shined boots, and evidently finding nothing worth complaining about, his lips twitched upward in a smile matching the amused glimmer in his beetle black eyes. "At ease, Master Chief." Turning slightly and removing his ball cap from his dark skinned, bald, head, the lieutenant motioned for Shachi to follow before leading the way down the walk towards the dockyard gate, its flanking cylindrical towers easily visible in the distance. "Master Chief Morse and Warrant Officer Sims should be waiting for us there. Morse had morning wall patrol, would have gotten off five minutes ago, and Sims is on gate guard."
"Understood, sir."
"Are you sure you're ready for this, Master Chief? Senior partner is a huge responsibility . . ."
"With all due respect, Lieutenant, the Rear Admiral recommended me for this assignment and regardless of what I feel personally, I trust his judgment."
"Good answer." They were nearly there when they came across the two other officers of their party. Both saluted the lieutenant, and then fell in line with Shachi, following the lieutenant into the dockyard where he led the way to a ship unloading a number of passengers. These included three rather raw looking marines who had been shunted off to one side by ensign Kai, who was apparently in charge of the area at the moment, as other recruits were ordered to various locations depending on their papers.
"I believe you lot are Seaman Phelps, Seaman Turing, and Petty Officer Penguin?"
"Sir, yes, Sir." The trio chorused.
"Alright, Master Chief Morse you'll take charge of Seaman Turing, Warrant officer Sims, you'll take Seaman Phelps, and Master Chief Shachi, Petty Officer Penguin is yours. By now you should all know your jobs and the expectations. Officers take your junior partners and integrate them into your usual crew. The marines expect the best. I'm looking forward to hearing your progress. Dismissed."
"Thank you, sir!" everyone chorused this time, saluting and remaining at attention as the lieutenant walked away before they dispersed in random directions. Sims a short, stocky, blond haired woman led Phelps, a tall, wiry, dark youth, with her back to the gate. Morse, a tan skinned man of average height, with horn rimmed spectacles, led Turing a rather scrawny looking red haired lad who couldn't be more than eighteen, back to the cryptography office.
Shachi gave Penguin a good look over as the others walked away. He was a well-built young man with a jaunty smile and a rather carefree attitude, despite still standing at attention. He hadn't changed at all.
"At ease," Shachi snapped and the youth immediately relaxed his posture his smile growing even wider and his eyes flickering briefly to a point over Shachi's left shoulder. "Follow me." Shachi motioned taking the chance while turning toward the gate to see where the petty officer had been looking. He suppressed a sigh. Apparently the man had noticed a rather large group of female recruits departing the transport ship, and they in turn had noticed him. It seemed by the looks the petty officer was getting that the women liked what they saw. Shachi sincerely hoped this sort of thing was not going to become a problem. If he discovered that Penguin had become what the girls called a heartbreaker . . . well he'd deal with it when, and if, it became an issue. Seven years now seemed a very long time ago.
Waiting just long enough for Penguin to pick up his bag, Shachi lead the way back into the main grounds of the base. "You ever been here before, petty Officer?" he asked looking back over his shoulder.
"No, Sir," came the prompt reply. And then once familiarity could be dropped, "It's good to see you again."
"It has been a while," Shachi answered, "Will you be okay taking orders from me?"
"You always gave orders, it's no different now. And I did wait to join the Marines, now it's a matter of protocol."
"We'll forget the past then, I think we both wanted to be new men anyway, after that day…" If took him a moment to find his train of thought gain.
"It'll be easy enough to learn your way around. You see that?" Shachi asked pointing at a tower rising from the grounds ahead of him, its pale gray stone stenciled with a large G-3 that should be visible from miles out on the ocean. "That's what we call the Vice-Admiral's tower." The building's main door opened as an off-duty ensign left the premises, sat down on the bench Shachi had occupied only fifteen minutes earlier, and unfolded a newspaper. "It's the tallest part of this base viewable from even the darkest back-alley. If you get lost, head there and you should be able to find where you want to go. It's also the main administration building. Orders, memos, records department, commissioned officer's offices; they're all located there. Right next to it is the medical unite, and behind it are the training yards." Shachi glanced over his shoulder again, please to discover that Penguin was still following and seemed to be soaking in every word he said, though he was shifting his rucksack around to his other shoulder. "However, I think the first place we should head is the barracks," he continued, "That'll give you a chance to stow your gear and straighten up before chow time. We rotate on shifts around here. For the time being you and I are stationed with squad eight of platoon five, and they've drawn first watch this quarter. That means we eat first and get off duty first, but it also means we'll be up well before the crack of dawn."
"Understood, sir."
"Good," by this time they had reached the yard in front of the tower and it was here that Shachi took a sharp right down a short set of concrete steps. They walked downhill a ways before coming upon a grid of long white two-story buildings set up in several columns of four deep and two long divided by several main pathways. He turned up the center path of the third column in, and led the way to the very last row, entering the building on his right, from a door at the base of the short end. Stepping into a rather large room containing several couches and a large bookshelf overflowing with a variety of volumes, he looked around to find they were the only ones there. Other things were scattered about but Shachi didn't pay them too much attention, everything'd be cleaned up by the next inspection anyway. "Common room, though most don't use it," he said matter-of-factly and continued through to a small hallway with a set of stairs against one wall and a closed door across from the one he had just entered. "Toilet and showers," he said pointing his thumb at the closed door, "you'll be expected to take your turn cleaning them just like everybody else."
"Like being back at boot camp." Penguin's comment was said with a smile and Shachi chose to ignore it, instead going up the stairs.
"Beds are up here." He stated emerging into a long room the same size as the one below. Five single occupancy beds stood against each wall with a small chest of drawers next to each one and a trunk that could be rolled beneath. Some had pictures of loved ones or a book set on top the drawers, others had hung posters above their beds. A row of windows, set in three of the four walls, let in plenty of light. Everything was as tidy as if some housewife had been over it with a fine-tooth comb. "Yours is the one on the end." Shachi muttered pointing to the only empty bed available, the one closest to the stairs. Penguin moved to put his stuff down but Shachi held out a hand to stop him turning him to face the back wall containing two doors instead of the windows. "You see those two rooms? Mine's the one the right. If I'm here the door'll be open. The room on the left belongs to Master Chief Andrews. His door is always closed. If you find you need anything you're probably better off asking me. And a word of caution, when Andrews says jump you had better say . . ."
"How High, Sir."
"Exactly." Shachi nodded satisfied. Penguin seemed a quick study, he'd do ok, "I'll give you a few minutes to straighten your rack, and then we'll head to the mess." And leaving the younger man to get situated Shachi entered his own small room, leaving the door open as promised, and settled down at the small desk placed against the far wall. He reopened the file he had been carrying and pulled a page from the bottom. The Petty Officer's record was impressive. Full marks on basic training, top of his class in school, and a promising note from his hand to hand combat instructor stating that Penguin showed an extraordinary aptitude for the art, perhaps Shachi could convince the petty officer to join him in the dojo for a sparring match. It was almost strange learning about his old friend's life after Swallow Island this way. He proceeded to study the file for the very few minutes it took for Penguin to settle in.
A short while later Shachi led his new partner into the G-3 mess hall. Various marines belonging to the first shift were milling around, filling their plates from the kitchen's buffet line and comparing notes on the day's work. Shachi was relieved to see that though Penguin followed him, the man seemed to have no intention of becoming a suck-up. He smiled at those who passed him and made small talk with those who said hello, all marking an intention to fit in and adapt to this new life and not waste his time on pleasing the senior officers.
Once their plates were full Shachi led the way over to a table full of faces familiar to him, people he wanted Penguin to meet, people Penguin would in all probability end up working closely with in the days to come. Some were men with whom they shared the barracks, others were members of other squads belonging to their platoon, and a few, a very few, were members of platoon three, not direct comrades, but friends none-the-less. "Hey," Shachi stated as he approached the table placing his tray down in an empty seat. Penguin took the spot across from him. "This is Petty Officer Penguin." They all nodded and Shachi started making the round of introductions starting with the highest ranked. "Master Chief Pierson, " a thin faced man with brown hair and a beak of a nose, nodded, though he did not smile, "He's squad one leader for platoon three. Chief Hawkins, Petty Officer Boone, Petty Officer Roy, Petty Officer Boarz," Boarz, a short blocky built man with close cropped blond hair and a grin that could send a man running for the hills, reached across the table and shook Penguin's hand. "Seaman Cliff, Seaman Rodriguez, Seaman Yamamoto . . ." Shachi continued the introductions as several more joined them and claimed the remaining empty seats.
"So you're Shachi's new junior partner," Petty Officer Rodgers, a tall blond with legs that seemed to extend forever, stated as she took a place between Boarz and Shachi, "I must say I'm pleased to find that you're quite the looker!" Pierson sighed took one more bite of food, and then left the table abruptly, no doubt heading back to work. The man never seemed to stick around when the women were present. It was as if he objected to the very idea that a female could become a competent marine. Although, Shachi mused, if you weren't already clued in it might take some time to realize it. Shachi had known the man a year before he had figured out even enough to theorize, and long after before he had any concrete evidence to call his theories fact. It probably didn't help that Rodgers seemed to insist on catering to the stereotype of the ditsy secretary with her short skirts and high heeled stiletto boots.
"No romantic relations with officers in the same command chain." a crisp voice snapped as copper skinned Petty Officer Ikkaku Ayame strolled up taking the empty place next to the man in question, "You should know better Lien." Ikkaku Ayame was Rodgers' complete opposite. Petite framed, with a no nonsense attitude, any man who even attempted to sweep her off her feet once was quickly shot down. As far as Shachi knew no second attempt had ever been made.
"But he's not in my command chain, Soge-hime," Rodgers purred. Shachi noted that Penguin was very deliberately studying his food. Ayame pursed her lips, Shachi rather enjoyed looking at that pout, and tucked a stray lock of jet-black hair behind her ear before making sure her braid had not come unraveled. "Just because you enjoy pretending to be one of the boys doesn't mean we all have too. I at least enjoy a date now and then," Rodgers continued, "and a date with a handsome man one can dress up for, is even better!"
"Just keep in mind that I can shoot an apple off your head at one-hundred yards, I have yet to see you hit the center of a target at five." Ayame's dark eyes glinted.
"Ladies please, you'll confuse the rookie!" Boarz jumped in, "Lien here works as the personal assistant to the Vice-Admiral himself. Ayame, however, is a member of what we here at G-3 like to call Black Alpha. That's squad one platoon three. They specialize in reconnaissance and, on occasion, tactical interference missions."
"I'm sorry?" Penguin paused with a bite of potato halfway to his mouth. "what does that. . ."
"I'm a sniper." Ayame stated in her usually blunt manner.
Penguin nodded in understanding while Shachi tried to focus on his own lunch. Boarz continued talking, his own food apparently forgotten. "The petty officer can position herself at the top of the vice-admiral's tower and shoot an apple off the head of a recruit in the dockyard, without anyone being the wiser . . ." Penguin raised eyebrow and shot appraising look at the women beside him which only prompted a laugh from Boarz. "You doubt me? We can always bet on it."
"No one's shooting apple's off anyone's head today." Shachi interjected pushing rice around his plate.
"What? you don't want to watch a real marksman at work? I think we all know about your shooting record." Boarz roared with laughter and several of the others joined him. Shachi forced a smile. Oh yes, his shooting record left plenty to be laughed at.
"I just don't want to fill out the paperwork if she misses," he muttered.
"I never miss." There was an almost offended note to her voice.
This time it was Roger's turn to smile. She fiddled with a silver hoop earring she wasn't technically supposed to wear and leaned forward. "Oh what about that time on chapman's hill when . . ."
"That doesn't count." Ayame cut her off. "I'd like to see you take a clean shot with Rumyard's Doberman's teeth in your leg!" Rogers leaned back in her seat frowning, and sensing another argument in the air Boarz quickly shoved the conversation in another direction.
"What about you Penguin? You any good with a gun?"
"Don't like guns much." Penguin muttered trying to swallow his food and answer the question at the same time.
"What? How'd you become a marine if you can't shoot?" Ayame looked positively flabbergasted.
"I didn't say I couldn't shoot I said I don't like guns much."
"I don't get it," Boarz grumped
"Aww, Shachi, don't tell me you've already managed to corrupt the kid." Ayame shot him an accusing glare. It seemed since his stationing at G-3 they had already had this conversation in circles several times over, but this round Shachi was pleased to discover he might actually have an ally on his side.
"Well look at it this way," Penguin began, "Any moron can hold a gun, pull a trigger, and if they're close enough hit what they're aiming for. Most pirates know enough to take the gun from the marine before they get shot if at all possible. It ups their chances of escape."
"Your point?" Rodgers tapped her manicured fingernails on the tabletop.
"I prefer weapons that can't be taken from me." This time Penguin met the woman's gaze and held it. She looked away first.
"Which are?" Ayame probed genuinely interested, in the conversation not the man.
"My own hands and feet," he answered.
"No wonder they assigned you to Shachi!" Boarz exclaimed there was a chorus of laughter but it was the friendly sort and this time Shachi didn't mind being the butt of the joke, but Boarz wasn't done with Penguin yet. "No offence, kid, but you don't look like much."
Penguin shrugged, "a point in my favor . . ."
"I think you're bragging." And he pushed everyone's dishes to one side clearing a spot and placing his elbow on the table hand open in obvious invitation.
"That's not going to prove much in relation to skill." Penguin said a skeptical look on his face.
"It'll prove what I need to know." Boarz grunted.
"Which is?"
"Your strength." Penguin sighed but switched placed with Ayame and grasped Boarz's outstretched hand. Shachi watched as, face impassive when compared to Boarz's grin, Penguin held steady when Ayame called start and Boarz pressed with all his might face turning red with the effort it took to move Penguin's arm a third of the way down. It looked as though the match would be over in a matter of seconds, but suddenly his arm stopped. One minute, two minutes, three minutes passed and Penguins arm was still at the three quarter mark, his face only showing the barest sign of strain. Sweat dripped from Boarz's brow and he let out loud grunt putting everything his had in to one final push. Penguin's hand slipped a quarter of an inch. Then slowly Penguin pressed back inch by inch eyes narrowed in concentration, until the back of Boarz's hand rested on the table top.
"I may have spent some time training under Beorgis "Budoshi" Dwayn currently of G-1," he said by way of explanation. Shachi let out a low whistle. The guy was famous for modernizing the Marine style of hand-to-hand combat. "I've also had a lot of practice turning wrenches in the boiler rooms of some of Vegapunk's new steam ships . . . I'm trained as an engine mechanic. Though the same set of skills can be applied elsewhere not just a steam ship." The remark was made offhandedly as if turning wrenched was supposed to account for his ability, but Boarz, a ship building enthusiast, took the invitation for a change in conversation.
"Ha, steam ships," He scoffed, "those things may be flashy, but they're slow, never get anywhere on time . . ." Boarz sent a glance as Shachi, but he refused to rise to the bait.
"That may be so, but they're more reliable then a sailing vessels, more durable too." Penguin answered calmly.
"What about submarines." Boarz pressed further. The man had a bit of an obsession with sailing vessels and was highly biased. Shachi continued to say nothing, curious to see how Penguin would handle this challenge.
"I've worked on a few submarines their tactical advantages are highly superior . . ." and food forgotten Penguin launched into a highly detailed explanation of submarine maneuverability and stealth capabilities. Shachi only shook his head when Penguin moved on to explaining engine configurations and their effects on said maneuverability as Boarz's eyes began to take on a slightly glazed look. "You don't really care how they work huh?" Penguin suddenly paused noticing he'd lost his audience.
"Nah," Boarz grunted, "if Vegapunk says it works it works, if one of his people says it works it works, and if a mechanic says it works it works, but maybe Shachi'll get it."
"He started out as a propulsion engineer," Petty Officer Roy, a lean red-haired man finally jumped in having followed the entire conversation and remained silent up until this point, "if ya want it to move he'll make it move, right, Shachi? If you're gonna go anywhere out here ya want a man like him aboard!"
"Really you've sailed in the Grand Line? Do you have any good stories?" Penguin's eyes seemed to light up at the prospect and Shachi suppressed a sigh. And here he'd been hoping that Penguin would not be the type of young man to have his head filled with adventure.
"This may be the Grand Line, but we are Marines. No fooling around on random islands we sail to our destinations with an eternal pose. No thrill on Reverse Mountain, we cross the calm belt in ships with sea stone lined hulls. No adventure here, we follow orders."
"Always need to put a negative spin on things aye, Shachi?" Boarz chuckled.
"Yeah, I guess lately I do. Sorry to ruin the mood rookie."
The weeks passed, following the same sort of schedule Shachi had been use to previously. They spent their mornings on the docks working with the dock crews checking and repairing the generators, engines, props, and propulsion systems of any steam ships or subs that came in, afternoons were spent checking maintenance logs, and Saturdays were a hodgepodge of necessary tasks. Sundays were free. The only change in his routine was that now he had Penguin to look out for as well as himself. In a way he had always had an eye out for Penguin. Technically speaking it should have been the other way around being that Penguin was nearly a year older, but things had never felt that way. Perhaps the difference in their upbringings and penguin's overly idealistic nature. As the weeks went by things grew less awkward and they had begun to slip back into the patterns of their childhood. Shachi very quickly remembered that Penguin had an incredible work ethic and it wasn't long before he found himself trusting the man more than any of his previous colleges. Both as a friend and as a soldier
Penguin was a good man to have as a colleague too, Shachi finally decided, if a little over enthusiastic on some points. He did have a tendency to jump into a project with both feet never-mind the landing, always had. That sort of thing was going to get the man in trouble someday and Shachi only hoped he be close enough to pull him out. In addition, Penguin also had some idealistic opinions about the marines and their mission of justice. He seemed to think that given the chance everyone on base would always do the honorable thing, simply because they had chosen to become a marine. Shachi just hoped Penguin could hold onto that sort of optimism. He had lost his own confidence in the marine code of justice long ago. But for Penguin at least there was hope. It seemed he idolized none other than Rear Admiral X Drake. "Someday I'd like to sail with the man," the petty officer admitted one afternoon as they were sorting through the maintenance logs of the newest arrival to port. "Imagine what that would be like? Sailing the world with a man who always seems to know exactly how to help the people he comes across." If there was a marine who could continuously hold his head up with pride because he had accomplished his orders while maintaining his own internal moral compass according to Penguin it was Drake. Shachi had the greatest respect for the man based on everything he had ever heard, and he had to admit that if Penguin was going to choose an example to follow it most certainly could have been worse than the Rear Admiral.
It was the fifth week after Penguin's arrival on base, that Shachi was reminded once again of one of the disadvantages to being assigned part of a partner duo. While he and Penguin may be currently assigned to squad eight, neither was truly a permanent member and a single piece of paper and five minutes could see them both on the next outbound ship.
He had been called into Lieutenant Hodge's Office one chilly afternoon for the purpose of discussing exactly that. Well that and Penguin's extraordinary adaptability from sub duty to land base. "He's doing quite well sir," Shachi was saying perched on the edge of a wooden, ladder backed chair in front of Hodge's desk. "While I'm sure he misses sea duty, hell I miss sea duty, he's got the routine down, knows what he's doing, very rarely needs help and is not afraid to ask when he does . . ." Just then there was a racket outside, a sharp knock, and before Hodge could answer the door flew open. Several people piled into the room including Petty Officer Ikkaku Ayame, and Master Chief Pierson. They were followed by Jr. Lieutenant Stalker, the current third platoon leader. By the way the thick-lipped, stocky man was staring at the floor Shachi had serious doubts that position would last very long. With this many people in the room the tiny office was beginning to feel like the inside of a sardine can. Shachi started to rise to leave but Lieutenant Hodge motioned for him to remain seated. The way his dark brow furrowed over equally dark eyes and the lamplight glinting off his bare head was giving him an increasingly menacing air as he stared pointedly at Stalker.
"What?" he said softly after a very long moment of silence.
Stalker hastily pulled out a handkerchief scrubbed the sweat from his round forehead before stuffing the article back in his pocket. "It . . . It would seem that Master Chief Pierson took the initiative to scrub mission Seahawk.
"What?"
"Seahawk, sir, it's been scrapped." Stalker stammered.
"May I ask why." There was no mistaking that tone of voice. When Lieutenant Hodge grew polite somebody was in a world of trouble.
"With . . . with all due respect, sir, mission protocols . . . Some here aren't cleared on the specifics just their own post . . . I uh . . . may I recommend . . ."
"All those below the rank of Master Chief may be dismissed." Hodge stated calmly. "Will that satisfy your reservations?" Knowing it wouldn't and that what was currently happening was quite probably above his pay grade, Shachi once again started to rise intending to follow the rest out of the room. One again he was waved back to his seat.
"Shachi, stay."
"But sir he's . . . he's not cleared!" Stalker stammered his voice starting to take on a rather whiny tone no doubt due to nerves.
There was a flash of anger in Lieutenant Hodge's eyes as he stood from his seat, placed both hands palm down on the desk, and leaned forward. "Might I not remind you that it was you who interrupted my meeting with him," Hodge's glare sent Stalker back a few steps, "and I see no reason to send the one person who is ACTUALLY DOING THEIR JOB, out into the hall to wait while I reprimand those who aren't."
"I - I'm s . . . sorry, sir."
"Now," Hodge very pointedly settled back into his seat, "Tell me what happened." Stalker opened his mouth but Hodge had already shifted his gaze to the other responsible party in the room. "Pierson, as it was your decision you may explain."
"Ah, well," Pierson began his deep voice echoing slightly around the small room, "Conditions were unfavorable. It's true that Petty Officer Ikkaku had acquired the target, but the target was in a crowded area surrounded by both his guard and a considerable portion of the island's civilian population. Add in the unusual gusting wind conditions and the approaching storm that would have made our escape difficult . . ." Pierson kept abnormally still his gaze fixed on the corner of Hodge's desk.
"Did you believe you or any of those under your command were about to be caught?"
"Ah, no."
"Was there a place you could have taken shelter from the storm, perhaps carry the mission out after it passed?" Hodge leaned back in his chair his anger at Stalker evidently fading as he turned to the task at hand.
"There was a possibility but the petty officer . . ."
"I see . . . Your problem was with the sniper not the mission. Was she injured?"
"No."
"Did she complain about the conditions, indicate there was anything to give her difficulty, was there any reason to think she might be unable to complete the task then or on any other day?"
"None of that, Sir."
"Then," the lieutenant tapped him fingers together as he rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, "there must have been some reason you returned without achieving your objective?"
"I," Pierson hesitated but Hodge raised and eyebrow and the master chief continued perhaps in spite of his own better judgment, "I would have preferred to have someone else take the shot, sir, and no one else on the team at the time had the required skills."
"You . . . wanted someone else to take the shot." Lieutenant Hodge frowned
"Yes, sir."
"Why?" Lieutenant Hodge leaned forward in his chair and the Master Chief met his eye for a brief moment before looking back at the floor.
"I wanted to spare her, sir." He grumbled a tone in his voice that Shachi might have mistaken for concern had he not known the man well enough to tell when he was faking. It occurred to him that this was why the Lieutenant had wanted him to sit in on the meeting and just in case he very pointedly readjusted his sunglasses. The Master Chief was hiding something.
"Spare her?" Lieutenant Hodge questioned, flicking his eyes to Shachi for a very brief moment and giving the tiniest of nods. "from what?"
"Sir, I . . . I had reason to believe that the petty officer knew the target on a . . . ah, personal level . . . and ah, being female . . ."
"Being female? Are you implying that you wanted to spare Petty Officer Ikkaku from completing her assigned task because she was female?"
"No, Sir. I only meant that being female she is more likely to dwell on the emotional aspect of the job and not get over it as easily." Shachi very pointedly studied the floor. He was having a hard time believing this conversation had gone where it had so quickly. If this wasn't an attempt at a misdirect he didn't know what was. Pierson may be biased towards female officers, but only a fool would admit as much unless . . .
"You don't like female officers, do you, Master Chief Pierson?"
"Professionally or personally, sir?" his voice was toneless at this question. So at least he was smart enough not to want to appear to be disrespecting a senior officer.
"In fact this is not the first time you've pulled a stunt like this is it?" Hodge's voice was growing harder, his frown deeper, it seemed that Pierson had successfully steered the conversation away from the failed mission. Shachi wondered briefly if he should even attempt to intervene, but one look at the lieutenant's face gave him enough resolve to stay silent.
"No sir. . . yes, sir . . . I mean, Ah, I think they lack the instinct to kill and there is no guarantee to keep them out of combat situation, sir."
"I respect that, I really do," Hodge nodded, and Pierson seemed to relax slightly. "BUT IF I EVER" Lieutenant Hodge's hand slammed down on the desktop causing even Shachi to flinch, "learn that you've prevented an officer from doing their job BECAUSE they were female, I'll keelhaul your hide until you wish you could beg for mercy."
"I, ah, yes sir. I understand, Sir."
"Dismissed!"
Pierson practically ran from the room and Shachi moved to close the door behind him before returning to his seat, "You think he was lying Master Chief?" Lieutenant Hodge muttered reaching into his in-basket and pulling a page from the bottom of a stack of papers.
"If he wasn't there was something he was most definitely not saying."
"You, know him well then?"
"Not well, just a very long time . . .we've been stationed in many of the same places over our careers, and ah we may have been assigned as roommates on more than one occasion."
"Keep an eye on him for me," the lieutenant muttered, "let me know if it seems he's up to something - Don't spy, Just watch." He heaved a sigh as he looked at the paper in his hand and Shachi waited. "This," Hodge held up the page, "is a request for transfer from Petty Officer Ikkaku Ayame . . . as for why, she lists 'irreconcilable differences with another officer'. It seems like now I'm going to have to approve this request. Keep an eye on her for me too. The way things are going here it may take until the end of the year before I can get this pushed up the command chain." He gave a nod and settled back in his chair. "Dismissed, Master Chief, we can continue our original conversation another day."
"Yes, Sir."
It was the dead of winter before Shachi managed to report anything to the Lieutenant, and even then what he had was observational only. Nothing of any substantial interest, and nothing to imply that there was any genuine wrongdoing. Oh Pierson was quieter more observant, snapped more, and seemed to be developing some serious micromanagement issues, but there was nothing to prove he was hiding anything. As for Ayame, she too was quieter, but this Shachi attributed to the fact that she was beginning to look as though she hadn't slept in weeks. Even Penguin commented on it, but she just brushed the remarks aside and muttered something about an increased workload. Her impending transfer was common knowledge now, though not why (command had certainly taken their time approving it) and though she seemed nervous, Shachi didn't know enough to say if it was simple nerves at the prospect of a new position and base, or something more. Finally he decided he'd had enough waiting and it'd be better to just flat out ask.
He found her in the dojo one Saturday evening during an open session, going through footwork exercises (though had expected to find her on the firing range) and, after changing into his gi and hakama, he joined her on the mat and resigned himself to the pummeling he was no doubt about to be subjected too in exchange for answers. Ayame was always in a better mood when he "let" her win.
"Need an Uke?" he asked softly, going through warm up stretches at the edge of the mat. She smiled fatigue apparent in her eyes.
"Are you sure you don't want to throw?"
"I'll get Penguin in here tomorrow afternoon and toss him around a bit."
She chuckled, "I don't know, that one's pretty strong . . ."
"I'm faster." He smiled tossing his sunglasses aside so they rested on top of his gym bag at the back of the room. He pulled a hair band from his wrist and quickly tied his hair back settling into right hanmi and waiting as Ayame stepped into her own place on the mat, her back to its center where she could easily throw him without risking sending him flying through a nearby window. The Dojo was large. It had to be to accommodate a marine base of this size, and though it was an open session and there were no classes going, there were still several other groups on the mat. It was always better to be one end or the other leaving space for everyone else to run, roll, or fall as needed. He looked around the square, wood paneled room, noting that all of the exterior doors and windows had been opened despite the chill outside, and then back at Ayame. "What did you have in mind to work on?" He asked wondering what attack to start with.
"Grabs, holds, escapes," she shrugged. "Most of the time people want to work on strikes and kicks and things. You know Tsuki, kotegaishi, Yokomenuchi shihonage that sort of thing. It's more fun I know. But if you're willing I'd like to start with Ushiro kubishime kokyunage and progress from there."
Shachi nodded and when she presented her left wrist he attacked from the side. Running at, well if not full speed at least a decent one, he grabbed the offered arm cross handed and swung around intending to put Ayame into a choke hold, but no sooner had his right hand touched her collar bone then he felt the tiniest of tugs at his elbow. In a single step to the side, away from his hold, she'd taken his balance and spun him around so that he barely had time to think before he was slammed to the mat and left staring up at the ceiling. In that single second of thought he managed to fling his arms out into a break-fall. The moment Ayame had stepped away Shachi jumped back to his feet. He grinned at her. Learning to fall had perhaps been the single most important thing he had ever been taught. Ayame shook her head at him. "Good to know you can handle the abuse. Again?" Shachi rushed her a second time.
Shachi had to admit that when Ayame said abuse she meant abuse. She had him attack her harder and faster than the usual pace and at five minutes in he had already broken a sweat. By twenty minutes he had requested a water break twice, and by forty-five minutes he was panting heavily. Usually they would have taken turns attacking each other when practicing something this repetitive, but Ayame seemed to be lost in her own zone and Shachi didn't feel much like complaining, though after a while he did have to call for a pause. After observing her mood all morning and her seeming focus on effect over precision, which was entirely unlike her, he knew something was going to have to be said. That and he needed a chance to catch his breath.
"Can we switch gears a minute," he panted checking that his hakama was still properly tied, "maybe do some hold escapes for a while? I need a breather." She nodded and relaxed in to natural stance. Choosing his words carefully, and knowing that the grunts, thuds, whacks, and ki yells issuing around the dojo from other practicing marines would cover the sound of their conversation, even if he didn't bother to whisper, Shachi approached Ayame's back and wrapped his arms around her biceps clasping his hands and pinning her arms to her sides as he spoke, "I'm a little worried about you." She grunted and sifted her weight forward pulling Shachi across her back with some effort but curling her shoulders and creating a space between his hands and her chest. "You seem to be practicing with the actual intent of using this on someone out there," he continued nodding towards an open window.
"We're supposed to be able to use it out there, that's the whole point." She snapped as she wriggled her own hand up through the gap between his arms and her body, and grasped the top of his hand, wrapping her fingers around the edge of his palm.
"That's not what I meant." He muttered as she used her shoulder the push the arm she was grabbing up over her head, "Something's bothering you, it's as if you expect to be attacked." She said nothing only slid away bringing her freehand up to join her other and twisted his wrist into a rather painful Sankou. He had to tap three times before she let up, and even then she didn't let go, rather she pointed his palm at the floor and dropped her hands leading him into a forward slide. Shachi grunted as he hit the mat but didn't resist as she kept hold of his arm and pulled it into a formal pin.
"You're right," she muttered as she bowed over him. "Let's do the other side and then maybe head to dinner?"
"Of coarse." He answered hoping this meant she was still going to answer the question.
Fifteen minutes later Shachi was waiting for Ayame by the main door of the Dojo having showered and changed back into his uniform. He didn't have to wait long, about thirty seconds later she re-appeared from the women's locker room braiding her dark hair, gym bag over one shoulder, and looking hesitantly over her shoulder down the hall. All Shachi could see was Master Chief Pierson rounding the corner to enter the Dojo.
"Ready?" Ayame asked and preceded Shachi through the door. He followed in silence for a few minutes before she began speaking again. "To answer your earlier question, for the past couple weeks I haven't been able to shake the feeling of being constantly watched, sometimes followed."
"Have you reported it?" Shachi asked a note of concern in his voice.
"What do you think I'm doing now?" Shachi winced having momentarily forgotten that he was the senior officer. She looked at him, "anyway I have no proof that anything's wrong. I've never actually caught anyone following or staring, and nothing's actually happened. So there's really nothing to be done."
Shachi frowned, "When do you transfer." He asked after a moment's thought as they reached the concrete steps near the vice-admiral's tower and continued up them on the path that ran past the main building and towards the mess.
She sighed, "week from today."
"And is anyone from this base going with you?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Then, then for the next week I'd say not to go anywhere alone, and if the feeling persists once you've reached your new post . . ."
"Seek counseling . . . Yeah, that's exactly what I was planning on . . . Hey, is that Penguin? Why does he look so down?" Less than ten feet straight ahead of them, exiting the tower, was Penguin two separate pages in hand glancing repeatedly from one to the other, face frozen in an expression of shock.
"Petty Officer?" Shachi called knowing that for the moment the previous conversation had been put on hold. "What's up?"
"I . . ." Penguin turned and took a deep breath before handing Shachi the pages in his hand. "Have you seen this? Just rushed from HQ. I was in reception talking to Lien when it arrived." Shachi took the pages his own eyes widening in surprise as he saw their content.
"Oh, so petty officer Rodgers has gotten her claws into you after all?" Ayame quipped, but her eyes were drawn down as Shachi held the papers so that she too could see. She fell silent.
Staring up at them from the center square of a freshly printed wanted poster was none other the Rear Admiral X Drake. Former Rear Admiral, Shachi supposed it was now. The second notice was a bulletin of information for all bases. The marines couldn't have their men finding out the information from the morning papers after all. No telling how the reporters would butcher this story. Still the bulletin was nothing more then a list of facts and some minor speculation. Fact: Drake had defected. Fact: Several marines under his command had gone with him. Fact: Drake had commandeered a ship. Fact Drake had killed several men during the escape. Fact several ships had been damaged or sunk in the attempt to apprehend him. Fact: X Drake now flew a pirate flag. Speculation: Drake had been planning the incident for some time. On the back of the notice was a list of the dead and wounded.
"I'm supposed to put this copy on the bulletin board in the mess hall." Penguin said softly beginning to lead the way to the building in question as Shachi and Ayame followed, Ayame still reading the flyer as she strolled along. "Additional copies will be posted in all barracks buildings, and main boards in the offices."
"Shachi only shook his head letting out a slow whistle. "So much for your dream of sailing under the man," he said finally. "Not unless you want to become a pirate yourself."
"I'm sorry," Ayame muttered, "I know how much you admired him."
"But I don't understand why? Why would he change sides?" Penguin shook his head in disbelief and Shachi sighed, the only answer he could think to give not exactly a pleasant one.
"Perhaps he discovered the marines weren't what he believed them to be." He clapped a hand on the younger man's shoulder, "Come on. Lets get those posted and then hit the town. I'll buy you a drink."
Much later in the evening the two men could be found sitting at a low table in a rather crowded bar located near the center of the town that sat just outside of the walls belonging to G-3. It was a large square room sporting wooden paneled walls with red painted trim, and wrought iron lights suspended from the ceiling that filled the room with a low golden glow. With a bar along one wall, pool tables and a dart board along the back, and a raised platform for a band in the opposite corner with a dance floor in front of it, the Black Sheep had something for nearly any patron who chose to enter the premises. At the moment Shachi was perfectly happy sipping his fourth beer of the night. The sun had set, and most of their companions had gone off to seek out other activities. Pierson had just left to head back to his barracks where he claimed he had paperwork waiting. Boarz had been pulled into a game of pool with some members of squad four. Petty officer Lien Rodgers had taken one look at Penguin's inebriated state and pulled a much more sober seaman onto the dance floor. Roy was chatting up some blond a few tables away, and Ayame had begging off much earlier in the evening claiming she was going to take an early evening and get some much needed rest. Shachi had made sure she had left in the company of seaman Ronni Yvette who he knew lived in the same barracks.
"I still don't understand," Penguin hiccuped; he was now on his sixth. "What did you mean the marines weren't what Drake believed them to be?"
Shachi put his own cup down and mused pensively, when he spoke the words were slightly slurred though completely rational. "Maybe what he believed was right and that what the marines say is right are two entirely different things. Maybe he grew tired of always having to second-guess his orders, whether they were meant to help people or move the one who gave them up the political chain. Maybe he was frustrated with trying to discern his superiors' motives. Maybe he'd had enough and wanted to follow his own moral code for once so . . . so he quit." Shachi paused and then snatched up his mug and drained the rest in one long drink. When it was gone he held up the glass shouting, "barkeep, one more!"
He had just finished his own sixth when the sound of shouting from the back of the room broke out. Shachi turned to see Boarz shaking his pool cue under his opponent's nose. From the gist of the conversation someone had taken an illegal shot and Boarz was none too happy about it. Shachi may have been impaired, but he could still see that this situation was not going to go anywhere good any time soon. "Come on," he muttered to Penguin as he rose from his chair, "We'd better intervene before Boarz decides to hit somebody." As if he had spoken a prophecy Boarz decided to hit somebody.
With a very awkward sort of delicacy the man set the pool cue aside while simultaneously planting his other fist in his opponent's short ribs. Shachi didn't wait another second; hauling Penguin to his feet the two shoved their way through a now cheering crowd in an attempt to reach Boarz before the large man could inflict too much damage on his already injured opponent. The two of them knew Boarz's strength and temper even if no one else did, and when they finally reached the scene of the fiasco it was just in time to grab their friend before he could land a punch perfectly capable of dislocating the other man's jaw. It was then that the bouncers appeared.
Seconds later the three men found themselves hauled bodily across the room, Boarz shouting the whole way that the other man had cheated, and thrown out the front door to land on their hands and knees on the pavement which was just beginning to be coated in a light dusting of fresh snow.
Let's go," Shachi muttered picking himself up finally understating why the bar always insisted drinks be paid for in advance. "I don't want to be here when they chuck the other guy out," and picking his hat off the pavement he settled it back on his head and began to lead the way back to the barracks.
It wasn't a long walk, but it was late enough and cold enough that Shachi found himself spending that time staring up at the cloudy sky as tiny flakes floated down, wondering if anything else was about to go wrong. Again it seemed Shachi had some form of premonition. No sooner had the three of them made the main gate then the sound of running footsteps could be heard approaching and soon after a figure appeared around a corner up ahead. Shachi gawked and exchanged looks with the guard who had just handed him back his ID. The other was looking over Boarz's. It was then that the shot rang out. The figure dodged to the side as a small cloud of chipped cement sprayed up in the space it had occupied only moments before. As they dodge they ran through the glow of a streetlight and Shachi gasped. "Ayame?" he called out, "Ayame what's happening!"
She waved her arm in a very obvious get away gesture, "Get down, get down, get down!" her shout floated towards them as she veered towards the gate no doubt intending to make it through and put the stone tower between herself and whoever was shooting. He meant to duck back but in that moment another figure appeared. It was too dark and they were too far away to see clearly, but the motion of the second person bringing a rifle to their shoulder was unmistakable. They fired a shot ran forward several paces and fired another. It was rather like passing a shipwreck. Shachi knew he should be doing something else but he couldn't help but watch. He felt two sets of hands grab him and forcefully hauled him around the corner. When he looked around he found Penguin and the gate guard staring at him concerned.
"Boarz and that other guy made it inside the gate house," Penguin whispered loudly, the shock of the event having apparently sobered him considerably.
"Hedricks should have gotten to the den den mushi by now." The guard muttered, "re-enforcement should be on the way." Another shot rang out and Shachi winced.
"We don't have time for that, let me have your gun, Seaman."
"But, Sir . . ."
"Shachi I don't think . . ."
"Your gun, Seaman, now!" The young officer reluctantly handed over the weapon and, checking for a round in the chamber, Shachi knelt and peered around the corner. Ayame was fifteen, maybe twenty feet from the gate now, but as she presented a clear target in the lamp light the person trying to hit her, also closer, would have an easier time finding their mark. Shachi raised the scope to his eye. He could feel his hands shaking, he was no good with guns and he knew it, but if he could just buy some time . . .
Ayame was feet from the gate, the shooter had paused beginning to raise his own weapon. Shachi squeezed the trigger on the borrowed rifle as she passed him.
The figure jerked, spun and staggered, the gun clattering to the ground feet away. Seconds later Boarz and the second guard burst from the gatehouse and ambushed the assailant wrestling them to the ground. Shachi handed the rifle back to its original owner and rushed forward, Penguin hard on his heels. He could hear Ayame panting for breath behind them, but though he knew she was leaning against the wall shaking, Shachi was far more concerned with who he had shot. He groaned when he saw the culprit. He really should have seen this one coming.
"You lack killing instincts too!" Peirson laughed at him through gritted teeth from where he sat on the ground cradling a bloody hand that seemed to be missing the upper portion of his last two fingers. He was held on each side by Boarz and the guard.
"No, I'm just a terrible shot." Shachi muttered as running feet announced the arrival of the extra men that had been called for when this whole incident had started.
"You're also drunk sir," Penguin offered almost helpfully.
"I don't know Shachi," Boarz muttered giving Pierson's shoulder a rather vengeful twist, " you shot the gun right out of his hand that's pretty good for being inebriated."
"I was aiming for his head."
"What," A voice roared, "is going on here!" it was fortunate Shachi did have alcohol in his system. If he hadn't the sound of Hodge's furious voice might have stripped him of his courage and sent him running for the hills. It took only seconds for the whole matter to be explained to him and when it was clear that the Lieutenant understood, well it was surprising that Peirson had enough courage to hold the man's gaze.
"Why?" that one word conveyed more disappointment, displayed more loathing, and showed more desire for truth, that half a dozen speeches could have combined.
Pierson took a deep, shuddering breath, but answered. "Ah, well, she knows too much," he grumbled through the pain of his injured hand. "The Seahawk target, she saw his face, probably figured out that I scrapped the mission to let him get away." Shachi wasn't too surprised at that revelation. That possibility had occurred to him. "Ah, Her transport ship was supposed to be destroyed enroot . . . but that idiot Drake had to defect." This fact did surprise him.
"I don't understand what does Drake have to do with . . ." Penguin started but lieutenant Hodge raised a hand to cut him off.
"Nothing, but he destroyed the ship that was supposed to do the job during his escape . . ." Pierson's breath was growing more labored. A medic had arrived, but it was apparent that Hodge wanted answers before anyone received medical treatment. "That left only me to . . . to cover things." "But I didn't know . . . I never would have . . ." Ayame whispered and Shachi turned to find her frightened eyes fixated on the man who only minutes before had been trying to kill her.
"Shachi might have if he had asked you who the target was. . ."Pierson spat, "he's smart enough to put two and two together.
This time it was Shachi's turn to protest his brain reeling with all the little details he should have seen. "But I didn't, I was preoccupied with her . . ."
"Fear that she was being watched?" Pierson's smile was rather nasty, "If Drake hadn't defected, well, everything would have gone perfectly, wouldn't it." Pierson's eyes were beginning to glaze over.
Hodge reached down and grabbed the man by the kerchief, "why?" he hissed, "Why all this to cover the escape of one man from the Marines' watch?"
"Because." Pierson smiled, "he was needed alive. Orders from the revolutionary Dragon." And with that Pierson lost consciousness. Lieutenant Hodge cursed kicking a stray rock out into the yard, Shachi knew just how he felt. At the mention of The Dragon he felt his own stomach lurch. How was it possible that he had known the man for so long and still missed this?
"Get this man a doctor. Petty Officer Ikkaku, get yourself checked out. Shachi, come with me. The rest of you get back to whatever- the-hell you're supposed to be doing." And with that Shachi found himself being marched all the way to the vice-admiral's tower up to the third floor and into the lieutenant's office.
"Sit down, Master Chief."
"I'd rather stand sir." Shachi didn't know what it was but there was something about being mostly drunk, thrown out of his favorite bar, watching a friend nearly be killed, and then shooting a man he'd known for years, that made a man feel like he needed a bit more control in his life. It was this perhaps that made him exchange glare for glare with the lieutenant.
"Perhaps you can clarify for me what just happened out there!"
"You know as much as I do, Sir."
"Do you know what he meant when he referred to the ship X Drake destroyed?"
"No idea, Sir,"
"You're rather uncooperative tonight." The last was said with a sigh, a rhetorical remark, but Shachi answered anyway.
"Yes, Sir."
"You're being insubordinate Master Chief!" Hodge finally shouted at him.
"I'm drunk, Sir."
"Then you can chill in that seat until your sober enough to answer my questions in an appropriate fashion. Preferably before the higher-ups get involved. SIT DOWN, Master chief."
Shachi finally sat as Hodge left the office slamming the door behind him. It wasn't long before he grew bored and at the sight of a newspaper on the lieutenant's desk Shachi grabbed it deciding he might as well read while he waited as anything else. From the centerfold fell a stack of wanted posters and Shachi cursed as they scattered all over the floor. Heaving a sigh he reached down to collect them. One looked vaguely familiar but he was too drunk to place it, his eyes barely registering that across the bottom in bold black letters were the words Surgeon of Death.
