Author's Notes: In response to some reviews, don't get too
attached to any of the characters! Their fates have all been
planned out and, as it is, not all of them end well. Ah well,
dramatic irony and all that. ~_^
And this chapter is much shorter than the previous, but not much really happens here before the next one. Enjoy! ^_^
Disclaimers and the rest can be found with the first chapter.
Historical note: I mention 'Minnies' on occasion in this narrative, and they probably warrant explanation. The name stemming from the German 'Minenwerfer' [lit. 'mine thrower'], they were grenade-type bombs that could be launched at great distance but with little accuracy. Isn't history fun? -_-
+++
Taichi experienced his first gunshot that day. He was just returning from throwing an eye over the weapon storage when a harmless-sounding popping noise erupted nearby. He made to ignore it - there had been several times when he had jumped at sounds the others dismissed - and continued down through to the covering trench. He had barely passed the entrance when a flying weight crashed into him, pulling him roughly down into the mud. Taichi gasped and would have struggled if Takeru's face and pale golden mop of hair hadn't come into view. The boy, ashen and devoid of any laughter, shushed him agitatedly and gestured for him to ready his pistol.
Taichi scrambled to collect his thoughts. His weapon was in his hand in a flash, and he turned slightly so that he could grip it firmly. At his side, Takeru was refilling his magazine. So, Taichi gathered, this is how the real war starts! It seemed terribly ignominious, and he wasn't half as enthusiastic about the whole process as he had been just two days ago. His stomach, although empty, complained of cramps and he feared that he would retch on the spot. Vague panic took him: Taichi's steady grip on his weapon was wavering under an onrush of trembles, cold sweat trickled down his back, vision blurred. Every second that the silence extended itself became an eternity of torture. He glanced at Takeru by his side: the blonde had his eyes closed but his gun remained trained on the passageway before them.
Then, just when Taichi thought it had become safe enough to breathe, there came a terrified yell somewhere to his left. A black thing hissed overhead.
"Minnies!" Takeru yelped and threw his arms over his head. Taichi did not hesitate to imitate his action, and not a second too soon. There came a horrifying crash. The ground heaved violently beneath him, and a sudden hissing shower of sand and rubble fell all about them. He fought with his instinct to turn and flee. When the sound settled, he lay prone, forcing his unwilling eyes open. He could see nothing, and barely breathe: the air was filled with smoke and dust. To his immense relief, the boy alongside him stirred and coughed. A questing hand found his own, and Taichi felt Takeru pulling him up insistently.
"Come on," he explained in a rush, "They never drop more than one Minnie at a time. The others might need our help!"
Taichi's unfamiliarity with procedures allowed Takeru to take the initiative. Taichi unwillingly followed him into the firing trench. In there, he saw Koushiro, Ken, Iori and Jyou pressed flat against the outer wall and sprinted to join him. Takeru shifted his course slightly to land near the sullen black-haired boy.
"You're a mess," Koushiro laughed mirthlessly by way of greeting. "Have you got your revolver?" Taichi held it up without speaking. The older man looked at him thoughtfully. "You're almost green, Yagami! Welcome to the war, I suppose!"
"Thanks," Taichi croaked. He didn't feel up to eloquence. Instead, he settled for a simple, "What now?"
"We wait." There was a sigh. "This is the bit that really gets to the men. Waiting - knowing that death might be around the next corner, shearing through the barbed wire. We wait and see if they do any more."
"And then? Don't we fire back?"
The elder man scoffed. "Oh sure, if you're up for a slaughter! You can't send men up to where you know there are a thousand guns trained on them. Patience, Taichi, we'll repay them in kind sooner or later."
They sat in breathless silence for almost an hour, but no further attack came. Taichi almost wished that something would break the monotony of the expectant silence - a shot, a call, anything. He slowly felt a restless madness grow within him. His muscles clenched sporadically, demanding action. He had to suppress the cry that was building up in his chest forcibly. His back screamed with discomfort, as did his cramped legs. And whenever he glanced at the others, their placidity just exacerbated his situation: were they so unperturbed? So used to this kind of scenario? Taichi didn't want to cry, and he barely halted the flood of tears. This was not the war of tale and epic. There was nothing heroic about lying in mud up to your ankles, trembling with fear and anger, and simply waiting for the next inevitable attack. The disillusionment was the singular worst thing that Taichi had experienced in his entire life.
His father had preached relentlessly about the glory of fighting for king and country. Whenever he had made trips home from the trenches, every four months or so, he had brimmed with stories of heroic exploits. Now, Taichi knew, his father had left out a few very choice details that made the experience an altogether grotesque one. The last time that he had seen the man, shortly before his graduation, Mr. Yagami had expounded the importance of Taichi's doing something that would make his name one worth speaking. And then, as if the product of some crude premonition, his father was announced dead, fallen in crossfire. Taichi had been left, suddenly responsible for his mother and sister and goaded to fulfil his father's last demand. It was an unstable position to be in, at best. He felt strangely cheated.
Taichi was so deeply engrossed in his own world that he startled when Koushiro placed a hand on his shoulder. He leaned in, his comforting words only for Taichi's ears. "Sorry, kid. This is the reality, even if we wish it weren't. Now, pull yourself together, we're almost about to relax our guard and it wouldn't do for the others to see you in a state."
Taichi quickly swiped a dusty hand across his face, smearing the grime that was already there. He felt disgustingly sticky and muddy and damp, and suddenly wished for the unsung pleasure that was a hot bath. But he was unlikely to get one in the foreseeable future, so he pushed fragile whimsy aside and collected his nerves, tying them up with sheer stubbornness.
And, true to Koushiro's words, the other five were instantly on their feet at the sound of the 'all clear' whistle. They looked to Koushiro for guidance, but the older marshal was quick to call Taichi in on the action. "You're captain here, Yagami," he reminded. "It's best that you assume your responsibilities as soon as possible. You never know what could happen. Don't pull a face," he admonished severely, for Taichi had done just that. "I'm just being realistic, and I sure as hell don't want to leave you lot unprepared if something comes up." Taichi again looked as though he would voice a protest, startled by the vehemence in the man's voice, but Koushiro silenced him with a curt, "What do you propose now, captain?"
The young soldier was suddenly hit by the revelation that Koushiro was actually being serious. But what to do? He tried to sort his befuddled mind into some kind of order, to little avail. If only he could dredge up some fragments of knowledge, gleaned from the stories he had so eagerly listened to in his youth. But they told only of impossibly courageous deeds in the direst of situations, not of the run of the mill daily procedures with which he was now faced.
Priorities, he remembered suddenly from those lectures he had once vehemently cursed: he had to work by priorities. That one keyword gave him the impetus to begin, and he suppressed his inner upheaval for the moment.
"Alright," he began, and hesitated, seeing the upturned faces looking at him expectantly. They were relying on him! It was a terrifying notion. "Alright, do we have any wounded?"
Jyou piped up with an all-clear for the officers. "There are some minor cuts and bruises among the men, but that is to be expected and it isn't anything serious."
"Good. Now, are we under any immediate threat?" Taichi asked, then briefly wondered if they were ever out of immediate danger. This time Koushiro spoke, verifying the message of the all-clear whistle and quickly explaining its purpose. Taichi nodded, but found that he wasn't absolutely convinced of the infallibility of the signal. To him, the others seemed far too complacent for his liking.
And then he stopped again, not certain how to continue. The trenches themselves had been damaged, but was their repair more important than procuring - or ensuring - a supply of water and food? Or should he launch an offensive? Should he post a watch? Was he supposed to communicate information about the attack to headquarters? Was the attack even something out of the ordinary?
"Excitable fellow," Iori muttered to nobody in particular. Taichi paused his internal debate and found that he had been glancing around frantically, fumbling with his hands like he did whenever he was nervous or his mind was otherwise occupied. He consciously stifled his movement, trying to appear that he had arrived at a decision rather than that he had been influenced by the candid comment.
"I reckon that we're not in the clear yet, so I want to send a group up to keep an eye on No Man's Land until we've gotten our composure back. Better safe than sorry," he added in response to Koushiro's surprised expression. "Takeru, get ten soldiers together and set up a watch. And keep out of sight," he cautioned, even though it was unnecessary.
The blonde boy nodded, but Taichi did not miss the glance that he aimed at Koushiro, seeking the older man's confirmation. Koushiro just shrugged. Takeru frowned slightly, then turned and went to carry out the unusual instructions.
"Meanwhile," Taichi continued, shrugging off the undercurrents of uncertainty and disapproval, "The rest of us can get started on fixing the damage that mortar caused to our trenches."
Taichi knew that they wouldn't be thrilled at the task, but the captain hadn't been expecting the loud, vehement protests that he received. Iori and Jyou raised a din, and a number of officers standing nearby leant their voices to the argument. Even Ken's sullen expression had changed to one of disapproval. Only Koushiro was silent, contemplating. When the others looked to him to put Taichi in his place, the older man simply shrugged. "An order is an order, after all," he commented casually, winking secretively at Taichi, who was feeling like a black sheep put on the spot. But he managed - and it was no mean feat - to remain adamant about his instructions.
++
Takeru most certainly had not been expecting such an order from Taichi. Didn't the young captain know that the last place anyone wanted to be just following an attack was on the front line? It seemed a soldiers' common sense; Taichi's hish esteem fell a few notches down the blonde's measure.
He had a hard enough time finding ten willing - or, more accurately, ten not entirely opposed to the venture - to join him. They spread out in the watch dugout, fidgety and nervous to a man. And now Takeru was battling with his own inner confusion. He was never a particularly vehement stickler for protocol, but Taichi seemed to have crossed too many lines already: ordering impromptu stand to's and sending high-ranking officers to do a pit crew's work! They had never had this problem with Captain Garren. He had been well-schooled and knew the proper drills. Then again, Takeru thought ruefully, look what had happened to him. The young man had been struck down with trench fever: a sickness of the mind and body that rendered any man inapt to perform his duty, that sapped courage and reason.
But for all his shortcomings, Takeru was already fond of Taichi. He sensed an air of wholesome honesty about him that seemed to pervade to others. Peering out over the mist gloom of No Man's Land, the blonde lieutenant knew that he wouldn't have braved the watch for just anyone. Captain Yagami had, a the very least, the right sort of character.
For what seemed like a long while, nothing stirred in the grey, formless expanse. Takeru noted that the men were being careless, whispering loudly amongst themselves and making too much general noise. But then, that paltry worry faded into non-existence: a dark fat shadow whined overhead, tracing a trail of smoke. Takeru sat stunned, as he watched the bomb impact. Mortars! Why the hell were they firing mortars again? That was not supposed to happen...
With a growing dread, Takeru made out the impact site, and that made his stomach twist worryingly. It seemed to have taken out most of the mess hall. That, he knew, was where Koushiro and the others would be - where he himself would have been if not for this crazy mission! He didn't dare contemplate the consequences. Takeru barely suppressed the lump in his throat.
But then his attention was diverted yet again. Somebody was pulling on his sleeve, frantically gesturing towards the growing haze of No Man's Land. Takeru's eyes dilated. Something - somebody, he amended - was approaching.
++
The entire group trooped into the badly damaged support trench and set about the unsavoury task of scooping the earth into some sort of order. Taichi worked right alongside them, not wanting laziness to be added to the already lengthy list of things that the others could hold against him. He was amazed at how much havoc one single bomb could cause: much of that stretch of the trench's structure had been shattered, the arched ceilings had caved in. There was little that they could do to rebuild the fallen section, but the group worked tirelessly, if not happily, to try to mould some order out of the mess.
For once, Taichi was distracted enough not to notice the passage of time. The work was so monotonous that his mind drifted off into its own world. He thought of better times, trying to stitch his depressed soul back together. It was only the sharp rattle of gunfire ages later that recalled him into the present.
Everyone froze at once, then burst into action. A dozen handguns were pulled from a dozen holsters, and when the 'danger' whistle pierced the air, Taichi was amazed at the haste and precision with which everybody dove for cover. A low grumbling erupted nearby, coming from the vicinity of the cover trench, and the earth seemed to groan about them. Another cloud of debris sprang into the air.
What was going on? Taichi though furiously. Surely Koushiro had said that there would be no imminent attack? And what had happened now? He swallowed hard when he realized the implications. The cover trench. If they hadn't been doing this menial work, every last one of them would have been in the cover trench!
Even before the dust had settled, Taichi was up and running. He didn't quite know where he was hoping to get, but had suddenly been assailed by the need to find Takeru and ensure his safety. It was his doing, after all, that the boy was out in as dangerous a place as one could find, barring No Man's Land. He sprinted through the adjoining trenches, through the now distorted cover trench and to where he remembered that Takeru and his men were keeping watch in the firing trench. He dodged falling debris and had to hold his sleeve over his mouth to prevent inhaling the dust of the wreckage.
For only a brief moment during that run did he stop to wonder what exactly had possessed him to leave the safety of the cover trench. Now that he came to think about it, this was madness! But it was far too late to turn back. The way was most probably impassable, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to dredge up enough courage to dare the sprint again.
Through sheer luck, he managed to track Takeru down. The boy's pale face erupted into stunned shock when Taichi threw himself down alongside him. "What're you doing here?" he gasped. "I thought that Minnie had taken your heads off!"
"No such luck," Taichi answered with a dry, distorted grin. He stretched down beside Takeru and trained his weapon on No Man's Land.
"And how did you know?"
"Know what?"
Takeru looked affronted. "That they'd try to launch an attack on foot?" At the puzzled expression he received, the blonde continued with, "Fifteen of them, armed to the teeth, tried to sneak past us! We got them all," he added with wry satisfaction. "If you hadn't sent us up to keep watch, those who had escaped the bomb would have been hopelessly outnumbered! You're a hero!" And the boy beamed up at him, an expression of such utter adoration and trust that Taichi almost believed him. Wasn't this what he wanted? To be a hero?
He shook his head to dislodge the notion: this was no time to grow an ego! "I didn't know," he admitted. "Koushiro told me to take charge and I did the best that I could."
"But don't you understand: you saved all of our lives!" Takeru was adamant.
Taichi did understand, at least to a degree. He had fulfilled his duty. Saving lives was what he was there for, nothing more and certainly nothing less was expected of him. He had been waiting for a feeling of pride and self-importance, but he hardly felt that he had done anything extraordinary. Just his duty.
+++
The evening meal that day was a curious affair, mostly owing to the fact that part of the hollowed mess hall had caved in. From beneath the rubble, one could distinguish the forever-lost framework of a bed, a surreal image. Even stranger was that Ken had joined them - still sullen - taking a seat in a far corner and reloading his various weaponry with ammunition. Taichi tried to ignore the stares as he entered on the scene, attempting to meld into the background and failing. Koushiro immediately hailed him and beckoned him over. Taichi neared the small group apprehensively. He felt as though he had been put on the spot again, or rather under a spotlight, where his every twitch would be seen and debated. It was an extremely disconcerting sensation.
"So," Koushiro began with a hint of humour, "Word has it that you're our resident hero."
Taichi didn't know how to respond, so he abstained. He lowered himself into a vacant chair and waited with trepidation for what would come next.
"You have a rather 'cut and paste' method of working, but I daresay that it's refreshing, at least. Takeru here has told me all about it. About your brave dash through a cloud of impenetrable rubble, heedless of your own safety, to keep tabs on your troops. A touch embellished, I'll wager, but the facts seem right." Koushiro glanced over at the young blonde, who reddened slightly, then returned his gaze to Taichi. "You know what this means, correct?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," Taichi said with a marginal bite of irritation. Nobody seemed to be making allowances for his ignorance and lack of experience. Was he being reprimanded or praised? "I just did what seemed appropriate in the situation. Just my job."
The field marshal leaned back with a degree of paternal affection. "Well, my boy, it means that you've just qualified for a Military Cross."
Silence descended. Taichi first imagined that he had misheard, then simply gaped as the realization hit him. "You're joking!" he accused. Could fulfilling his dream have been just that easy? Was he really a hero? And a medal to prove it? Koushiro had spelled it out in virtual black and white. "You- you're joking!" he repeated, incredulous. Takeru was beaming at him reverently, and even the usually stoic Jyou and cocky Iori seemed mildly congratulatory. Koushiro laughed.
"Not at all. We've made the application on a general consensus, and there is little doubt that it will the turned down. The higher powers like morale to be up in the trenches." He smiled expansively, and handed Taichi a rather well-thumbed newspaper. The front cover had an image of a large hall with people, in all their finery, attending some or other banquet. In explanation, he said, "And not only that - you will most probably be invited to a ceremony in Nancy to receive it, which means a blissful weekend away from this mud hole." He gestured affectionately at the trench around them. "You've deserved it, Taichi; whether through skill or simply blind luck, you deserve it. You did, after all, save all of our necks!"
That evening, Taichi hardly tasted the food as he choked it down, floating high on a cloud of elation. The atmosphere seemed light and jovial, permeating to the others and improving their moods. To everyone's surprise, Ken seated himself at the table and even partook occasionally in the conversation.
Taichi, who had expected talk of secrets and plans, espionage and heroics, was surprised at the turn that the discussion took once the meal had been cleared away. The group seemed to find great joy in picking the most mundane topic to toss around.
"Found a rat today," Koushiro was saying as though it was the most interesting thing in the world, his feet propped up on the rickety table and savouring his cigarette like a finely made Cuban cigar. "First of the spring, but I put a hole in its head and no mistake. Big one, too."
"Hole or rat?" Jyou piped up. The pair seemed almost subconsciously to pick up on nuances in each others' words, and they chatted back and forth without shame, always a step ahead.
"Both. And I'm sure that the former is more relevant. To the rat, at least."
Takeru sighed with the weight of the long suffering. "Rats again, eh? And I was hoping the frost would keep them out another month! Not that it's ever stopped them before." His chance gaze fell on Taichi, and he read the confusion on the young captain's face. "You're in for a treat, Taichi. They're the proverbial cherry on top of the trench life ice-cream."
Iori spread his hands apart to an improbable distance. "And the bastards get big! They get into everything, rats do; food, stores, you name it. And then one day you wake up with one running over your face."
Taichi listened to their comments and tried to keep a dispassionate silence. Something of his revolt must have shown on his face, though, because the others broke into laughter. Takeru had a vaguely maniacal glint in his eyes when he said, "But it's brilliant revenge when you shoot them down. Best stress relief invented by man - really, you should try it."
"No shortage of target practice." That was Koushiro again. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "And we always seem to get more meat served around this time. Very suspect." There was no doubt as to his innuendo, and Taichi felt his previously eaten supper doing an uncomfortable dance in his stomach.
"Congratulations," he said sourly, "You've just entirely put me off trench food for ever."
"You won't be missing anything," Ken piped up, and everybody was so shocked at his participation that there was a momentary, uncomfortable silence. Takeru quickly coughed to cover it up.
"It's getting late," he said irrelevantly, because that much was more than obvious. "They're changing the watch about now, so we'd better head off to where we're going before it's lights out."
That comment, innocent though it was, put Taichi inexplicably on edge. He had had the notion that everybody here knew much more than they willingly revealed, and he knew for a fact that more went on during the night hours than was spoken of in casual company. To the captain, it seemed that he was only in the trenches for show, whilst the real players of war went about their shady business. Not that he himself would know what to do when faced with intricate decisions that potentially risked thousands of lives. Nevertheless, he couldn't shake the feeling of inferiority.
But then the conversation turned to speculation of America's joining the war effort, gleaned from various scattered news reports, and the mood became suddenly more jovial. All resolve to settle in for the night vanished, and as far as Taichi could measure, their talk stretched far into the morning hours. When they did finally retire for the night, warmed by Koushiro's stash of rum, Taichi felt hollow warmth in his belly from more than just the alcohol. It was the sensation of accomplishment. He had hardly imagined that he would fulfil his childhood ambition - his father's dream - and in all of two days in the trenches!
He had, hadn't he? Taichi was somehow unconvinced. He'd done something for the greater good, a heroic deed that he would recount to the next batch of hopefuls. Then why did he feel so unfulfilled? Why was the pride shallow and fleeting? Why hadn't even a flicker of real passion returned to his glum soul?
"Is this," he asked the ceiling, cynical, "As good as it gets?"
And this chapter is much shorter than the previous, but not much really happens here before the next one. Enjoy! ^_^
Disclaimers and the rest can be found with the first chapter.
Historical note: I mention 'Minnies' on occasion in this narrative, and they probably warrant explanation. The name stemming from the German 'Minenwerfer' [lit. 'mine thrower'], they were grenade-type bombs that could be launched at great distance but with little accuracy. Isn't history fun? -_-
+++
Taichi experienced his first gunshot that day. He was just returning from throwing an eye over the weapon storage when a harmless-sounding popping noise erupted nearby. He made to ignore it - there had been several times when he had jumped at sounds the others dismissed - and continued down through to the covering trench. He had barely passed the entrance when a flying weight crashed into him, pulling him roughly down into the mud. Taichi gasped and would have struggled if Takeru's face and pale golden mop of hair hadn't come into view. The boy, ashen and devoid of any laughter, shushed him agitatedly and gestured for him to ready his pistol.
Taichi scrambled to collect his thoughts. His weapon was in his hand in a flash, and he turned slightly so that he could grip it firmly. At his side, Takeru was refilling his magazine. So, Taichi gathered, this is how the real war starts! It seemed terribly ignominious, and he wasn't half as enthusiastic about the whole process as he had been just two days ago. His stomach, although empty, complained of cramps and he feared that he would retch on the spot. Vague panic took him: Taichi's steady grip on his weapon was wavering under an onrush of trembles, cold sweat trickled down his back, vision blurred. Every second that the silence extended itself became an eternity of torture. He glanced at Takeru by his side: the blonde had his eyes closed but his gun remained trained on the passageway before them.
Then, just when Taichi thought it had become safe enough to breathe, there came a terrified yell somewhere to his left. A black thing hissed overhead.
"Minnies!" Takeru yelped and threw his arms over his head. Taichi did not hesitate to imitate his action, and not a second too soon. There came a horrifying crash. The ground heaved violently beneath him, and a sudden hissing shower of sand and rubble fell all about them. He fought with his instinct to turn and flee. When the sound settled, he lay prone, forcing his unwilling eyes open. He could see nothing, and barely breathe: the air was filled with smoke and dust. To his immense relief, the boy alongside him stirred and coughed. A questing hand found his own, and Taichi felt Takeru pulling him up insistently.
"Come on," he explained in a rush, "They never drop more than one Minnie at a time. The others might need our help!"
Taichi's unfamiliarity with procedures allowed Takeru to take the initiative. Taichi unwillingly followed him into the firing trench. In there, he saw Koushiro, Ken, Iori and Jyou pressed flat against the outer wall and sprinted to join him. Takeru shifted his course slightly to land near the sullen black-haired boy.
"You're a mess," Koushiro laughed mirthlessly by way of greeting. "Have you got your revolver?" Taichi held it up without speaking. The older man looked at him thoughtfully. "You're almost green, Yagami! Welcome to the war, I suppose!"
"Thanks," Taichi croaked. He didn't feel up to eloquence. Instead, he settled for a simple, "What now?"
"We wait." There was a sigh. "This is the bit that really gets to the men. Waiting - knowing that death might be around the next corner, shearing through the barbed wire. We wait and see if they do any more."
"And then? Don't we fire back?"
The elder man scoffed. "Oh sure, if you're up for a slaughter! You can't send men up to where you know there are a thousand guns trained on them. Patience, Taichi, we'll repay them in kind sooner or later."
They sat in breathless silence for almost an hour, but no further attack came. Taichi almost wished that something would break the monotony of the expectant silence - a shot, a call, anything. He slowly felt a restless madness grow within him. His muscles clenched sporadically, demanding action. He had to suppress the cry that was building up in his chest forcibly. His back screamed with discomfort, as did his cramped legs. And whenever he glanced at the others, their placidity just exacerbated his situation: were they so unperturbed? So used to this kind of scenario? Taichi didn't want to cry, and he barely halted the flood of tears. This was not the war of tale and epic. There was nothing heroic about lying in mud up to your ankles, trembling with fear and anger, and simply waiting for the next inevitable attack. The disillusionment was the singular worst thing that Taichi had experienced in his entire life.
His father had preached relentlessly about the glory of fighting for king and country. Whenever he had made trips home from the trenches, every four months or so, he had brimmed with stories of heroic exploits. Now, Taichi knew, his father had left out a few very choice details that made the experience an altogether grotesque one. The last time that he had seen the man, shortly before his graduation, Mr. Yagami had expounded the importance of Taichi's doing something that would make his name one worth speaking. And then, as if the product of some crude premonition, his father was announced dead, fallen in crossfire. Taichi had been left, suddenly responsible for his mother and sister and goaded to fulfil his father's last demand. It was an unstable position to be in, at best. He felt strangely cheated.
Taichi was so deeply engrossed in his own world that he startled when Koushiro placed a hand on his shoulder. He leaned in, his comforting words only for Taichi's ears. "Sorry, kid. This is the reality, even if we wish it weren't. Now, pull yourself together, we're almost about to relax our guard and it wouldn't do for the others to see you in a state."
Taichi quickly swiped a dusty hand across his face, smearing the grime that was already there. He felt disgustingly sticky and muddy and damp, and suddenly wished for the unsung pleasure that was a hot bath. But he was unlikely to get one in the foreseeable future, so he pushed fragile whimsy aside and collected his nerves, tying them up with sheer stubbornness.
And, true to Koushiro's words, the other five were instantly on their feet at the sound of the 'all clear' whistle. They looked to Koushiro for guidance, but the older marshal was quick to call Taichi in on the action. "You're captain here, Yagami," he reminded. "It's best that you assume your responsibilities as soon as possible. You never know what could happen. Don't pull a face," he admonished severely, for Taichi had done just that. "I'm just being realistic, and I sure as hell don't want to leave you lot unprepared if something comes up." Taichi again looked as though he would voice a protest, startled by the vehemence in the man's voice, but Koushiro silenced him with a curt, "What do you propose now, captain?"
The young soldier was suddenly hit by the revelation that Koushiro was actually being serious. But what to do? He tried to sort his befuddled mind into some kind of order, to little avail. If only he could dredge up some fragments of knowledge, gleaned from the stories he had so eagerly listened to in his youth. But they told only of impossibly courageous deeds in the direst of situations, not of the run of the mill daily procedures with which he was now faced.
Priorities, he remembered suddenly from those lectures he had once vehemently cursed: he had to work by priorities. That one keyword gave him the impetus to begin, and he suppressed his inner upheaval for the moment.
"Alright," he began, and hesitated, seeing the upturned faces looking at him expectantly. They were relying on him! It was a terrifying notion. "Alright, do we have any wounded?"
Jyou piped up with an all-clear for the officers. "There are some minor cuts and bruises among the men, but that is to be expected and it isn't anything serious."
"Good. Now, are we under any immediate threat?" Taichi asked, then briefly wondered if they were ever out of immediate danger. This time Koushiro spoke, verifying the message of the all-clear whistle and quickly explaining its purpose. Taichi nodded, but found that he wasn't absolutely convinced of the infallibility of the signal. To him, the others seemed far too complacent for his liking.
And then he stopped again, not certain how to continue. The trenches themselves had been damaged, but was their repair more important than procuring - or ensuring - a supply of water and food? Or should he launch an offensive? Should he post a watch? Was he supposed to communicate information about the attack to headquarters? Was the attack even something out of the ordinary?
"Excitable fellow," Iori muttered to nobody in particular. Taichi paused his internal debate and found that he had been glancing around frantically, fumbling with his hands like he did whenever he was nervous or his mind was otherwise occupied. He consciously stifled his movement, trying to appear that he had arrived at a decision rather than that he had been influenced by the candid comment.
"I reckon that we're not in the clear yet, so I want to send a group up to keep an eye on No Man's Land until we've gotten our composure back. Better safe than sorry," he added in response to Koushiro's surprised expression. "Takeru, get ten soldiers together and set up a watch. And keep out of sight," he cautioned, even though it was unnecessary.
The blonde boy nodded, but Taichi did not miss the glance that he aimed at Koushiro, seeking the older man's confirmation. Koushiro just shrugged. Takeru frowned slightly, then turned and went to carry out the unusual instructions.
"Meanwhile," Taichi continued, shrugging off the undercurrents of uncertainty and disapproval, "The rest of us can get started on fixing the damage that mortar caused to our trenches."
Taichi knew that they wouldn't be thrilled at the task, but the captain hadn't been expecting the loud, vehement protests that he received. Iori and Jyou raised a din, and a number of officers standing nearby leant their voices to the argument. Even Ken's sullen expression had changed to one of disapproval. Only Koushiro was silent, contemplating. When the others looked to him to put Taichi in his place, the older man simply shrugged. "An order is an order, after all," he commented casually, winking secretively at Taichi, who was feeling like a black sheep put on the spot. But he managed - and it was no mean feat - to remain adamant about his instructions.
++
Takeru most certainly had not been expecting such an order from Taichi. Didn't the young captain know that the last place anyone wanted to be just following an attack was on the front line? It seemed a soldiers' common sense; Taichi's hish esteem fell a few notches down the blonde's measure.
He had a hard enough time finding ten willing - or, more accurately, ten not entirely opposed to the venture - to join him. They spread out in the watch dugout, fidgety and nervous to a man. And now Takeru was battling with his own inner confusion. He was never a particularly vehement stickler for protocol, but Taichi seemed to have crossed too many lines already: ordering impromptu stand to's and sending high-ranking officers to do a pit crew's work! They had never had this problem with Captain Garren. He had been well-schooled and knew the proper drills. Then again, Takeru thought ruefully, look what had happened to him. The young man had been struck down with trench fever: a sickness of the mind and body that rendered any man inapt to perform his duty, that sapped courage and reason.
But for all his shortcomings, Takeru was already fond of Taichi. He sensed an air of wholesome honesty about him that seemed to pervade to others. Peering out over the mist gloom of No Man's Land, the blonde lieutenant knew that he wouldn't have braved the watch for just anyone. Captain Yagami had, a the very least, the right sort of character.
For what seemed like a long while, nothing stirred in the grey, formless expanse. Takeru noted that the men were being careless, whispering loudly amongst themselves and making too much general noise. But then, that paltry worry faded into non-existence: a dark fat shadow whined overhead, tracing a trail of smoke. Takeru sat stunned, as he watched the bomb impact. Mortars! Why the hell were they firing mortars again? That was not supposed to happen...
With a growing dread, Takeru made out the impact site, and that made his stomach twist worryingly. It seemed to have taken out most of the mess hall. That, he knew, was where Koushiro and the others would be - where he himself would have been if not for this crazy mission! He didn't dare contemplate the consequences. Takeru barely suppressed the lump in his throat.
But then his attention was diverted yet again. Somebody was pulling on his sleeve, frantically gesturing towards the growing haze of No Man's Land. Takeru's eyes dilated. Something - somebody, he amended - was approaching.
++
The entire group trooped into the badly damaged support trench and set about the unsavoury task of scooping the earth into some sort of order. Taichi worked right alongside them, not wanting laziness to be added to the already lengthy list of things that the others could hold against him. He was amazed at how much havoc one single bomb could cause: much of that stretch of the trench's structure had been shattered, the arched ceilings had caved in. There was little that they could do to rebuild the fallen section, but the group worked tirelessly, if not happily, to try to mould some order out of the mess.
For once, Taichi was distracted enough not to notice the passage of time. The work was so monotonous that his mind drifted off into its own world. He thought of better times, trying to stitch his depressed soul back together. It was only the sharp rattle of gunfire ages later that recalled him into the present.
Everyone froze at once, then burst into action. A dozen handguns were pulled from a dozen holsters, and when the 'danger' whistle pierced the air, Taichi was amazed at the haste and precision with which everybody dove for cover. A low grumbling erupted nearby, coming from the vicinity of the cover trench, and the earth seemed to groan about them. Another cloud of debris sprang into the air.
What was going on? Taichi though furiously. Surely Koushiro had said that there would be no imminent attack? And what had happened now? He swallowed hard when he realized the implications. The cover trench. If they hadn't been doing this menial work, every last one of them would have been in the cover trench!
Even before the dust had settled, Taichi was up and running. He didn't quite know where he was hoping to get, but had suddenly been assailed by the need to find Takeru and ensure his safety. It was his doing, after all, that the boy was out in as dangerous a place as one could find, barring No Man's Land. He sprinted through the adjoining trenches, through the now distorted cover trench and to where he remembered that Takeru and his men were keeping watch in the firing trench. He dodged falling debris and had to hold his sleeve over his mouth to prevent inhaling the dust of the wreckage.
For only a brief moment during that run did he stop to wonder what exactly had possessed him to leave the safety of the cover trench. Now that he came to think about it, this was madness! But it was far too late to turn back. The way was most probably impassable, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to dredge up enough courage to dare the sprint again.
Through sheer luck, he managed to track Takeru down. The boy's pale face erupted into stunned shock when Taichi threw himself down alongside him. "What're you doing here?" he gasped. "I thought that Minnie had taken your heads off!"
"No such luck," Taichi answered with a dry, distorted grin. He stretched down beside Takeru and trained his weapon on No Man's Land.
"And how did you know?"
"Know what?"
Takeru looked affronted. "That they'd try to launch an attack on foot?" At the puzzled expression he received, the blonde continued with, "Fifteen of them, armed to the teeth, tried to sneak past us! We got them all," he added with wry satisfaction. "If you hadn't sent us up to keep watch, those who had escaped the bomb would have been hopelessly outnumbered! You're a hero!" And the boy beamed up at him, an expression of such utter adoration and trust that Taichi almost believed him. Wasn't this what he wanted? To be a hero?
He shook his head to dislodge the notion: this was no time to grow an ego! "I didn't know," he admitted. "Koushiro told me to take charge and I did the best that I could."
"But don't you understand: you saved all of our lives!" Takeru was adamant.
Taichi did understand, at least to a degree. He had fulfilled his duty. Saving lives was what he was there for, nothing more and certainly nothing less was expected of him. He had been waiting for a feeling of pride and self-importance, but he hardly felt that he had done anything extraordinary. Just his duty.
+++
The evening meal that day was a curious affair, mostly owing to the fact that part of the hollowed mess hall had caved in. From beneath the rubble, one could distinguish the forever-lost framework of a bed, a surreal image. Even stranger was that Ken had joined them - still sullen - taking a seat in a far corner and reloading his various weaponry with ammunition. Taichi tried to ignore the stares as he entered on the scene, attempting to meld into the background and failing. Koushiro immediately hailed him and beckoned him over. Taichi neared the small group apprehensively. He felt as though he had been put on the spot again, or rather under a spotlight, where his every twitch would be seen and debated. It was an extremely disconcerting sensation.
"So," Koushiro began with a hint of humour, "Word has it that you're our resident hero."
Taichi didn't know how to respond, so he abstained. He lowered himself into a vacant chair and waited with trepidation for what would come next.
"You have a rather 'cut and paste' method of working, but I daresay that it's refreshing, at least. Takeru here has told me all about it. About your brave dash through a cloud of impenetrable rubble, heedless of your own safety, to keep tabs on your troops. A touch embellished, I'll wager, but the facts seem right." Koushiro glanced over at the young blonde, who reddened slightly, then returned his gaze to Taichi. "You know what this means, correct?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," Taichi said with a marginal bite of irritation. Nobody seemed to be making allowances for his ignorance and lack of experience. Was he being reprimanded or praised? "I just did what seemed appropriate in the situation. Just my job."
The field marshal leaned back with a degree of paternal affection. "Well, my boy, it means that you've just qualified for a Military Cross."
Silence descended. Taichi first imagined that he had misheard, then simply gaped as the realization hit him. "You're joking!" he accused. Could fulfilling his dream have been just that easy? Was he really a hero? And a medal to prove it? Koushiro had spelled it out in virtual black and white. "You- you're joking!" he repeated, incredulous. Takeru was beaming at him reverently, and even the usually stoic Jyou and cocky Iori seemed mildly congratulatory. Koushiro laughed.
"Not at all. We've made the application on a general consensus, and there is little doubt that it will the turned down. The higher powers like morale to be up in the trenches." He smiled expansively, and handed Taichi a rather well-thumbed newspaper. The front cover had an image of a large hall with people, in all their finery, attending some or other banquet. In explanation, he said, "And not only that - you will most probably be invited to a ceremony in Nancy to receive it, which means a blissful weekend away from this mud hole." He gestured affectionately at the trench around them. "You've deserved it, Taichi; whether through skill or simply blind luck, you deserve it. You did, after all, save all of our necks!"
That evening, Taichi hardly tasted the food as he choked it down, floating high on a cloud of elation. The atmosphere seemed light and jovial, permeating to the others and improving their moods. To everyone's surprise, Ken seated himself at the table and even partook occasionally in the conversation.
Taichi, who had expected talk of secrets and plans, espionage and heroics, was surprised at the turn that the discussion took once the meal had been cleared away. The group seemed to find great joy in picking the most mundane topic to toss around.
"Found a rat today," Koushiro was saying as though it was the most interesting thing in the world, his feet propped up on the rickety table and savouring his cigarette like a finely made Cuban cigar. "First of the spring, but I put a hole in its head and no mistake. Big one, too."
"Hole or rat?" Jyou piped up. The pair seemed almost subconsciously to pick up on nuances in each others' words, and they chatted back and forth without shame, always a step ahead.
"Both. And I'm sure that the former is more relevant. To the rat, at least."
Takeru sighed with the weight of the long suffering. "Rats again, eh? And I was hoping the frost would keep them out another month! Not that it's ever stopped them before." His chance gaze fell on Taichi, and he read the confusion on the young captain's face. "You're in for a treat, Taichi. They're the proverbial cherry on top of the trench life ice-cream."
Iori spread his hands apart to an improbable distance. "And the bastards get big! They get into everything, rats do; food, stores, you name it. And then one day you wake up with one running over your face."
Taichi listened to their comments and tried to keep a dispassionate silence. Something of his revolt must have shown on his face, though, because the others broke into laughter. Takeru had a vaguely maniacal glint in his eyes when he said, "But it's brilliant revenge when you shoot them down. Best stress relief invented by man - really, you should try it."
"No shortage of target practice." That was Koushiro again. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "And we always seem to get more meat served around this time. Very suspect." There was no doubt as to his innuendo, and Taichi felt his previously eaten supper doing an uncomfortable dance in his stomach.
"Congratulations," he said sourly, "You've just entirely put me off trench food for ever."
"You won't be missing anything," Ken piped up, and everybody was so shocked at his participation that there was a momentary, uncomfortable silence. Takeru quickly coughed to cover it up.
"It's getting late," he said irrelevantly, because that much was more than obvious. "They're changing the watch about now, so we'd better head off to where we're going before it's lights out."
That comment, innocent though it was, put Taichi inexplicably on edge. He had had the notion that everybody here knew much more than they willingly revealed, and he knew for a fact that more went on during the night hours than was spoken of in casual company. To the captain, it seemed that he was only in the trenches for show, whilst the real players of war went about their shady business. Not that he himself would know what to do when faced with intricate decisions that potentially risked thousands of lives. Nevertheless, he couldn't shake the feeling of inferiority.
But then the conversation turned to speculation of America's joining the war effort, gleaned from various scattered news reports, and the mood became suddenly more jovial. All resolve to settle in for the night vanished, and as far as Taichi could measure, their talk stretched far into the morning hours. When they did finally retire for the night, warmed by Koushiro's stash of rum, Taichi felt hollow warmth in his belly from more than just the alcohol. It was the sensation of accomplishment. He had hardly imagined that he would fulfil his childhood ambition - his father's dream - and in all of two days in the trenches!
He had, hadn't he? Taichi was somehow unconvinced. He'd done something for the greater good, a heroic deed that he would recount to the next batch of hopefuls. Then why did he feel so unfulfilled? Why was the pride shallow and fleeting? Why hadn't even a flicker of real passion returned to his glum soul?
"Is this," he asked the ceiling, cynical, "As good as it gets?"