Hara-Kiri Yatasumu
Written by:
Kupok
(Bobby Phillips)
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on Final Fantasy VII. I do not own any of the game's characters, its story line, or any other features of the game, for that matter. They are all possessions of Squaresoft.
The Loader shovels a spoonful of rice into the Tank Commander's empty ration tin.
The lieutenant salivates and silently gives thanks to the Da-chao that endowed his crew with this Loader after the last one bought the farm. The ree-pee Loader is a far better cook than the Gunner ever was. For a greenhorn, he is quite skilled at his duty. In fact, it is equitable to believe that the new Loader was the single factor that kept the crew alive in yesterday's skirmish.
Their armored landship is parked in the heart of a reasonably small glade, more or less concealed from the girdling forest by scattered brakes and hedges on its borders. Outside of the Loader's heavy step, the only sound in the air is that of the chipper fowl that trill from the wood. There is a nearly imperceptible smile on the face of each of the men propped against the treads of the tank. In the vicinage of such a pacific setting, a man can scarcely believe that there is a war going on.
The Machine-Gunner still is not finished with his rations by the time the Loader reaches him. The Commander has noticed that M-Gunner has not been eating right lately. Maybe he misses the old Loader. Maybe he is depressed because he has comprehended what Command knew from the beginning--that the Wutai Army will not be able to hold on to Karawa Island. The Commander cannot discern which, but it disturbs him; morale is golden in Wutai's war of attrition.
The Loader frowns and continues on to serve the Driver, who whispers his gratitude.
Gunner sniffs at the rice and makes a face. "Rice again? I am sick of rice!" he exclaims.
The Loader chastises, "Rice is the only thing we have plenty of. It may be all we have to eat once the rations run out. So you had better get used to liking the flavor. And keep your voice down. Those pesky ShinRa are crawling all over the place."
The Gunner snorts but proceeds to eat his helping of rice.
Commander hides a smirk. The diverse characters of his crew amuse him. Gunner is the rough philanderer; Loader is sarcastic and pissy. When the Loader took over as platoon cook, a rivalry between he and Gunner was predictable. Gunner acted hurt by the prospect of a ree-pee taking over his job, but in truth, the Gunner has been relieved not to be cook anymore (though he never admits it for his pride).
The ShinRa Marines have cornered the Wutai Army to one end of the island. The ShinRa Navy prevents Wutai from evacuating the island's enduring defenders--not that Wutai would evacuate them. Now ShinRa is trying to clean out the remaining Wutai. A week ago, the Commander led a full platoon of five Type 19 HA-HA medium tanks (the ignorant ShinRa call them "Funnies"). Two days ago, he oversaw four. After the fight yesterday, he now commands one last tank--his tank. His platoon consists of himself, his Driver, his Gunner, his Loader, and silent, repressed M-Gunner.
The Commander finds himself thinking about the first tank they lost. A wedge of ShinRa Muller III's hit the platoon's left flank while it was in an echelon right formation. The platoon was caught off guard when its rightmost unit took an AP round to the turret. The Commander hated those brazen Mullers. Their 88mm shells tore holes through the Type 19's armor with the greatest of ease. As the Commander's platoon wheeled around and backpedaled up a nearby slope, it managed to knock the treads off one of the Mullers.
The damaged Type 19 had soon had its tracks blown out, as well. As per standing orders of the Wutai Cavalry, its crew set off their own ammunition. The tank was swallowed in a chain of explosions. With the Type 19's superior speed, the four remaining tanks managed to escape the wrath of ShinRa, Inc.'s sluggish Mullers.
Bushido. When the time comes, will the Tank Commander do it? Will he commit suicide for the glory of his Emperor Godo and the Da-chao? The Commander cannot picture killing himself, but he knows such is unavoidable. The ShinRa Merc Forces have them trapped. It is only a matter of time before he finds himself at the end of a ShinRa infantryman's bayonet. It will be death or dishonor.
Driver climbs to his feet and strolls off into the forest, muttering something about having to take a leak.
As he eats his rice, the Loader attempts to break the silence. "I cannot wait to write my wife."
The moment becomes awkward. Loader has not yet figured it out.
The Loader continues, oblivious to the incredulous stares of his fellows, "Did I tell you she is with child? I can only hope I am on R&R when my son is born." He grins stupidly. "I imagine he will have his mother's sparkling eyes and his father's skill in the kitchen." The Loader looks up at his comrades and keeps talking uneasily under their cold eyes. "I-I pray to the Da-chao that we will win this war quickly s-so that I may go home and help raise my s-s-son." Loader swallows hard, his Adam's apple quivering as it bobs up and down.
It is the M-Gunner who bursts out--"How stupid are you?! You are not sending a letter home to your beautiful wife, you are not going to get off this island, and your son will grow up without a father! You are green! ShinRa will take Karawa, and Command will leave us here to keep their forces at bay for as long as we can, doing as much damage as we can in the process!"
The Loader's jaw hangs open, and he stares vacantly at M-Gunner.
Wark.
Gunner says, "What is that noise?"
The Commander heard it, too. It was too faint to be sure, but...
The Driver comes jogging out of the woods. "Dragoons!" he says in a hoarse whisper.
"In the tank!" orders the Commander.
The crew scrambles on top of their Type 19. Driver and M-Gunner clamber down through the driver's hatch, and Tank Commander, Loader, and Gunner enter by way of the turret hatch.
Within seconds, all crewmembers are at their stations and ready for battle. The Commander has ordered for the engines to be left off, for the enemy may or may not be aware of their position. From behind the 22mm-thick turret armor, the Tank Commander can hear the escalating warks of approaching chocobos.
Even in an age of mechanized warfare, chocobos still have practical applications in combat. Used principally as scouts or light shock units, ShinRa Dragoons ride into battle atop chocobos specially bred for optimal speed and endurance. The riders are equipped with high-voltage shock lances that can quickly tear down personnel if used properly, specially engineered power boots that allow them to leap great lengths and heights when dismounted, and 6mm automatic wristguns.
The Tank Commander knows that a tank versus Dragoon battle is a trade-off. The Dragoons had learned useful tricks early on. They like to run in circles around a Wutai tank, spreading themselves far apart, doing their best to avoid being caught by the main gun or the machine-guns. When they see an opportunity, they rush in, jab their lances through the gun- and view-ports, and take off. In an assault, they dismount, use their power boots to bound up on top of the turret, and lob frag grenades into the turret hatch.
The Tank Commander and other Wutai tank commanders like him have evolved a few tricks of their own. They started plundering automatics off the KIA ShinRa Marines so the tank commanders could pop up and blast the Dragoons that jump up on the turrets. A really skillful driver can outmaneuver the mounted Dragoons so that the bow machine-gunner can get a shot in. The driver revs the engines really loud, or the gunner fires off an HE round at trees and other collapsible targets, or the crew does whatever else they can to make as much noise as possible in order to spook the Dragoons' chocobos.
The crew waits anxiously. Through his periscope, the Commander searches for any visual signs of the Dragoons. It is difficult to see through the lush undergrowth that circumscribes the glade, and he sees nothing of the enemy. But he can still hear the warks. And something else, too. A mechanical groaning--a tank, perhaps. They are very close now.
"Which way are they coming from?!" M-Gunner seethes.
The Commander gnarls, "I do not know! I do not see anything!"
HISS!
THUNK!
The periscope's field of vision is filled by the image of a Dragoon's power boot. The Commander automatically makes a reach for the carbine hanging on the wall. In the same instance, the Driver ignites the tank's engines, and the rattle of machine-gun fire echoes throughout the vehicle's interior. "On the right!" someone yells.
The Commander hardly has the firearm in his hands when the turret hatch opens. Without missing a beat, he darts up through the hatchway and blasts the assailing Dragoon in the head. As the Dragoon's body collapses on the Type 19's turret, a live pineapple grenade falls from the man's clutches and rolls over the edge of the deck. The Commander drops back into the turret to avoid the grenade's rain of shrapnel.
Their tank is moving now, and its grinding squeal fills the crew's ears. M-Gunner is still raking the glade with his 7.7mm machine-gun, and the Gunner is roaring, "What is wrong with you?! Give me an HE round!"
The Commander inquires, "What is wrong?"
"The ree-pee has stage fright!" Gunner snaps.
The Tank Commander slings the carbine back on its wall hook and shimmies down into the lower turret chamber. Loader is curled up in a corner, his slender knees drawn to his chin. The Gunner is at his station, adjusting the main gun's traversal. The Commander retrieves a white-tipped 65mm round from the storage racks, removes its safety pin, and slides it into the main gun's loading chamber. "Fire at will!" he screams to Gunner.
There is a loud boom, and a forceful concussion throws the Commander's feet out from under him. He lifts his head from the floor to see white sunlight streaming in through a gaping hole in the turret. The walls are spattered with blood. Gunner's decapitated trunk slumps in its chair, and the Loader screams hysterically.
The Driver bellows from the bow of the tank, "Where did that come from???"
Commander picks himself up and peers out from the breach in the turret's side. Out on the glade, the mounted Dragoons are breaking off from the attack. At the fringes of the clearing, smoke rises from the 88mm gun of a ShinRa Muller III. The Commander grinds his teeth. The Dragoons were just a diversion--a diversion that bought time for the retarded Muller. And where there is one Muller, there are bound to be more. The crew, he knows, is doomed whether they are inside their tank or out of it.
The Commander steps over to the storage racks, withdraws another HE round, yanks out its safeguard, and raises the shell above his head. He turns to face the Loader. Loader's eyes tell him, "Do not do it; I want to see my wife again." "But," the Commander's eyes protest, "orders are orders." And with that, 1st Lieutenant Song Yatasumu, KE Company, 61st Cavalry, 3rd Division, heaves the 88mm shell point-first into the floor.
It isn't a dud.