Crown Impulses : Tell Me Why by wallflower

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A/N: (This is a huge one!) I'd like to add in a bit of my life story here, lol. I'm Chinese-American, my grandparents were alive during the time period this supposedly took place; that's where I got some of the information for this story. My mother's father had to leave China because of a paper he wrote critisizing the communists, and the other grandpa had to leave because he had Communist friends, though he wasn't one. Now my grandma hates the Japanese people with a vengeance, anything Japanese. But I don't know, when they describe it, it seems like both sides are exactly the same, just...well...on different sides. I mean as people. Do I make sense? Oh well...anyway. Watch out for some biased viewpoints! ^^;

If you guys haven't read "The Giving Tree" by Shel Silverstein, you MUST! I had it read to me by one of the worst read-a-louders of all time and used up 3 tissues. Right Hotaru, Leslie? (Hotaru, review or...you know!)

Contactable: joy_fishy@hotmail.com (email and MSN), sunshine ba ba (aim), 71018292 (ICQ), and stellar687@yahoo.com (Yahoo!Messanger) I love to chat with people, and I'm always on! lol.

The song of this fic...is...*drumroll please* "Broken Promises" by Tonya Mitchell.

Like I said before, this fic is for mi-chan, who asked for a fic. (I didn't know it was going to blow up so much, lol!) And I will never succumb to sorato! Never, even if they do get married in ep 50 (maybe just a rumor, don't kill the messanger...)

Though tabloids do occasionally get the truth, I don't own digimon.

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Matt pulled his jacket closer to him as the wind and rain pounded mercilessly against his back. He was tired, his men were tired, but he had to get to Chunya to stop the Chinese. A private fell over onto the ground with a thud, and they left him behind, moaning for them not to abandon him. Like the politicians who had started this mess, they moved on, ignoring his pleas because they couldn't grant them.

It was almost midnight when Matt finally stopped for camp. The men wearily fell to the ground, too tired to even erect a tent or build a fire; only able to breathe and sleep.

So, this is what Japan is depending on.

He looked at the bedraggled, sprawling men, lying like a scattered box of matches. He knew he should go to sleep, at least rest. But ignoring his aching joints and his better judgement, he stumbled around, making sure that every man was alive, breathing. Even the private who had fallen over before had caught up, and now slept fitfully with a contented expression on his dirt-streaked face.

How could anybody be anywhere near happy in this place?

Matt shook his head, and slowly walked back to the small tent he had pitched. Crawling inside, it was a long time he lay there, watching the rain splatter water on the canvas like a reckless child with paints. Like TK had done when he was little.

TK…where was TK? The last letter Mimi had sent had no information about him, no updates on his doings, like most did. Perhaps she just forgot. TK wasn't 18 yet, he wouldn't be allowed to enlist like he threatened.

Satisfied, Matt turned onto his side and fell asleep.

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(2 months earlier)

The tall blonde wove his way through the crowd of boys. They all seemed the same, wearing the same colored uniforms, the same hats, the same look of adventure in their eyes. TK wondered if that was what he looked like. Matt had seemed so different; he was going off as his duty, as something he owed himself and his country, not as a game of cops and robbers. Absent mindedly, he stepped into a line.

He felt bad about leaving Kari. Well, feeling like crap was more exact, but this was something he had to do. United we stand, divided we fall. Maybe he might not make a huge difference, but enough of him would.

He was now at the front of the line. The man behind the desk ticked off questions on his fingers.

"Name?"

"Takeru Ishida."

"Hometown?"

"Odaiba."

"Hair color…blonde…eye color…blue…" the man mumbled to himself.

"Height?"

"6'1"

"Position?"

"Private. Footsoldier."

"Age?"

"I'm over 18." TK stoically replied. He rubbed his heel on the sole of his shoe, to make sure the piece of paper with the number 18 on it was there, and then took his pledge of allegiance to serve Japan, no matter what the cost.

At last, he was put on a train. He immediately fell asleep, tired from the stress of the day.

Somebody was shaking his shoulder. "Stop it Kari…" he mumbled, squinting. He felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck. Since when did his pillow feel like a block of wood? And when did his room get new windows?

Oh. The events of the last day washed over him in a wave of remembrance. The boy who had woken him up was already gone, and TK stumbled off the train, not yet quite awake.

A commanding man with a double chin walked by. "Private! Report to your captain!"

TK fumbled with the slip of paper he had shoved into his pocket. The ink was all smudged. He deciphered a "Fujiyama" from the mess, and walked off in search of his troop here at the military training camp.

At the end of the day, TK flopped down onto his bed without changing. Every bone in his body was broken, every muscle was strained. Not literally, but still. High School basketball sure hadn't prepared him for the grueling 12 hour workout he had just received. And tomorrow, he would get to do it again.

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"Okay privates. You've done well. You will be gone from here tomorrow, but may your spirits live on!" Capt. Fujiyama called at the retreating backs of his troopers.

It was finally a month, a month! Never had 30 days felt so long ago before. After 720 hours, 43200 minutes, 259000 seconds of punishing training, TK was free. He ran a finger through his blond hair, which had become straw-like from the harsh treatment it had received. He practically leaped on the train, and as the whistle blew and the engine started up, he waved goodbye out the window. Now he was actually going to do something. He was going to help Japan, help Matt, wherever he was. He was going to keep the world safe for the Kari's, Mimi's, and Sora's.

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He was behind schedule. Matt urged his men to go faster, but realized that he was going to be late. Any faster and his men would all drop from exhaustion. Reluctantly, he stopped his troops. The rest of the Japanese army was just going to have to fight the battle without Platoon #687. He raked his dirty hand through his just as sooty hair, which could have made him pass for a brunette, and gave the order to set camp, while a messenger on a horse was sent ahead with a message.

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"Sorry soldiers. Your General has been delayed. You will be transferred into Mali's command for now."

With disgruntled but not disrespectfully loud murmurs, TK's platoon shifted over to their right. He felt like a cow. "Go right." "Go left." "March." "Duck." "Shoot." True, this was going to be his first battle, but what was different between the Chinese and the straw dummies in training camp? They both didn't deserve to live.

"Load." TK clapped a cartridge into his gun.

"Aim." He took a view through the view piece. (A/N: Don't yell if I get some of the battle terms wrong, I've never shot a gun in my life, and my parents won't let me join the army, lol.)

"Fire!" barked General Mali.

Within fractions of seconds apart, the men fired sending dozens of whizzing projectiles at the opposite lines. TK's gun kicked back, hitting him in the chest, but he ignored the pain and reloaded. A volley of return shots was fired, and TK threw himself against a rock. The man next to him took a bullet in the stomach, crimson blood staining his uniform.

"TK." He groaned.

Takeru didn't want to, didn't want to see his fellow countryman dying, but who could refuse the last wish of a dying man? He crept over.

"Tell…my…mother…I'm…gone. I..don't" he winced as he looked at his wound. "..want…her…to…find…out…from…the…officials. Tell…her…I…died…for…our…country." The man swallowed and gasped out the last words with trouble, then his eyes rolled back in his head, and his head flopped over to the side.

TK wanted to throw up. Instead, he closed the man's eyes, and checked the inside of his lapel to find his name. Then, saying a soft prayer, he picked up his gun, and continued to shoot, the satisfaction of each body falling lessening and lessening in his heart.

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Review? Please? For all you Romance people, I swear there will be romance...just not yet. And it's not really going to be fluffy (some parts are, some parts aren't) but then again, this isn't a really fluffy fic, is it? Hehe. Please review, or send me comments, ideas, flames, and crunch bars at joy_fishy@hotmail.com!