Finally, we step out of Taichi's head for a while in this
chapter, and into poor Ken's tortured psyche. He's by far my
favourite 02 character, and I find favourite characters
notoriously difficult to write. Hopefully I've done a decent
job of it. Oh, and let me know how the pace of the plot is
progressing: slow, fast or just right? Don't worry: there's
plenty of intrigue coming up soon! One more thing: I
lengthened the previous chapter a bit, so go have a look at
it if you haven't seen it! ^_^
Oh, and Yama makes an appearance. And actually does things. At last. 0_o
+++
After the hubbub of his first few eventful days, Taichi could hardly have imagined that trench life could ever be dull. But, invariably, it had its down times as well. For the next six days, not a single event of redeeming value broke the endless muddy haze of days. There were the morning and evening stand-to's, of course, but little other routine to break the continuous thread of sheer survival. Watches were set, the lines patrolled and boredom was staved off. It seemed a strange concept that one could feel bored in such a stressful and ever-watchful environment, but Taichi had no other description for his restless sense of ineptitude. After a night of sleep and having to stand to in the pouring rain, his heroic air had withered and huddled into a far corner. The consecutive days had only left him feeling emotionally drained and utterly useless.
At that moment, Taichi Yagami was lying in the shallow dugout reserved for those watching No Man's Land. During the first hour of his vigil, he'd taken apart and reassembled his rifle twice out of the sheer necessity of keeping his hands occupied. Not a bird or insect stirred in the three dozen or so feet of barren land between him and the Enemy. It had seemed, after the first, botched attack that he had experienced, the Enemy had slunk back to lick their wounds. Not even a call or engine rumble broke the stillness. But Taichi didn't find the silence oppressive or tense either, just empty. Like the entire world had decided to avoid his nook of the planet.
For the sheer heck of it, the young captain began going over provisions lists again. Storage was fine: they had food enough to keep them till autumn, and a relatively generous supply of spare uniforms and boots. Jyou had told him the medical facilities - although painfully crude, he couldn't help mentioning - were in order. They were a bit low on grenades, but otherwise artillery posed no problem.
Taichi let his head fall to the earth with a clunk. It wasn't the fighting that was going to kill him - it was the monotony! Then he tried to remind himself that it wasn't all- bad. He'd met a group of eclectic individuals, and they had shared many a rousing debate - some would say argument - over the routine meals. He'd made a point of analysing their characters one watch a few nights ago, and even felt that he had gained some valuable insight.
Jyou was a steady type, not one prone to panic attacks in the midst of action. He was solemn almost to a fault, and took his position as field doctor so seriously that Taichi could only marvel at his dedication. He was by far the most intellectual of the lot, and never reserved his judgment during discussions. Getting him to open up emotionally was like prying a tree from the ground with a toothpick, though: he was either intensely private or, and Taichi suspected the latter theory, was simply not aware of the sentiments that he experienced.
Then there was Iori: the strangest of the lot. Strange, because Taichi could never quite get a lock on his personality. It was like trying to swat a drunken mosquito. He'd go from laid back and jovial to sarcastically sharp- witted, then degenerate to all out pouty before pretending that nothing had happened. It annoyed the captain because he didn't feel a rapport with the boy, which led to a cramped working relationship. Every once in a while, though, he'd catch Iori giving him sour, spiteful glances. That was even more puzzling. He hadn't done the boy a bad turn since he'd arrived, and couldn't understand the antipathy. And there was something else that didn't mesh: Iori's shady recruitment. Koushiro had told him that the boy was seventeen and that the matter wasn't spoken of, but Taichi's shrewd reasoning - or perhaps inexplicable paranoia - had smelled a large and dangerous rat in that statement. He was, unfortunately, powerless to do anything about his suspicions.
On to Ken. Taichi had had a lot of difficulty thinking clearly about the raven-haired soldier. He could hardly imagine that the boy had survived years here in the trenches, and managed to keep his wits about him. He put on an impressive show of haughty gloom, but Taichi didn't buy it completely. He'd heard vague clues and snippets about Ken's past, and had basically pieced together the facts that he had stubbornly refused any kind of promotion, preferring to maintain his lonely, mournful watch over the trenches. Taichi just knew that there had to be some tragic story behind it all, but he couldn't just go and ask, could he? It didn't seem appropriate. Aside from his aloofness, Ken was notoriously shy: out of battle he startled when someone addressed him directly, and kept his answers to a bare minimum. During a fight however, it was an entirely different story. From the small amount of action that Taichi had seen, he surmised that Ken was the beacon of stability in the turmoil, and for good reason: he'd had more experience in his life than any teacher could cram into a textbook. He made Taichi feel humble and inadequate sometimes.
Takeru was the yin to Ken's gloomy yang. He was sunshine on daisies. Taichi couldn't understand why, but the blonde boy was perpetually happy. Nothing could shake his almost violent resolve to remain cheerful, and he had a naivety in looking at the world that made Taichi want to keep him safe from its perils. It was like nothing could corrupt his cheer. Taichi didn't believe in that façade either, and it suddenly occurred to him that everyone seemed to be putting on a front. Was it for protection? He'd soon find out, he was sure. But Takeru made the entire war business seem like a moderate inconvenience, like discovering that the coffee you ordered turned out to be a latte instead of decaf.
Then again, thinking of Takeru had got Taichi thinking of Yamato, and he's spent a long while on the cold and empty night going off on that pleasant tangent. He hadn't had enough material by far to analyse his personality, but he'd certainly seen enough to analyse his other traits- Taichi caught himself blushing and quelled the thought. So what if Yamato was right up there in the 'utterly stunning' department? He was probably a bastard and annoying and ungrateful. Taichi had tried to console himself with his favoured law of equals: for every good trait, there was an equal and opposite bad one. It hadn't helped one iota. Try as he might, he couldn't attribute a flaw to the blonde. But he'd find one, he swore, just to wrench his mind from the monopoly that Yamato held on it in moments like those. Taichi didn't even know him!
But enough of that, he admonished himself sharply. He still had one to go: Koushiro. The redhead had been his first real friend in a world of hate, and seemed to garner more respect with every statement and action. He was kind and severe all at once, the perfect balance between discipline and understanding. The field marshal was his beacon of trust and his font of wisdom: if anybody had a concern or a question, they instantly addressed it to him. And Koushiro seemed to take it all in stride, sharing anecdotes and advice like sweets between eager children. They were his adoring fanclub.
Taichi already saw him as a paternal figure, much more so than his own father. He felt like a hypocrite for thinking that, but Koushiro inspired an aura of trust, support and love that his own father had failed to do: with Koushiro, it felt like the real thing, for all that Taichi had barely known him a week. All that his father had managed to knock into him were some disjointed ideals of heroism before he had gone and gotten himself killed in some courageous incident. Taichi resented him for that. Everything that he had been taught to live up to by that man had dissolved within three days in the trenches! All the notions of honour and being valiant and all that had dripped from him with the perennial rain showers. He had had to revise his entire lexicon of true courage, and that had disillusioned him more than anything. He'd made it his mission to prove just how much braver he truly was.
But Taichi had no stomach for gloomy ramblings just then. He thought back to Koushiro, and that put him in mind of a rather unsettling talk they had had just the day before.
'It's uncanny how much they knew,' red-haired man had ranted during a lone moment with Taichi. 'Their timing was dead-on. And they almost got us, too. If it hadn't been for you, Yagami, we'd be up the creek without a canoe!'
When Taichi had attempted to protest this, he had simply received a sour look.
'Don't muck around, boy. It was your clear thinking and unusual strategy that managed to save us.'
'I guess. But you said they knew too much: don't we also know the basics of their troop movements, patrols and so on? It isn't that unusual for them to know our habits, is it?'
Koushiro had stood up in agitation. 'Don't be daft, Taichi. They anticipated us down to the minute. I spent some time working it out. We'd have been having our calming drink in the mess hall at that precise moment. And remind me again where they struck?'
'The mess hall.' Taichi had gotten more nervous by the second. He didn't like where this was all leading.
'Precisely. I hate to say it, to accuse one of the lads, but we have a rat in our midst. Somebody's not altogether on our side in this. Problem is, we just don't know who, how, why or when.' Koushiro sighed. 'Not even a suspect. But I trust this stays between you and me?'
Taichi had only been able to nod, shocked by the idea now that it had been formed into words. He shivered, knowing that he had entrusted his life to someone who was determined not to guard it.
Now he tried to run through a list of possibilities in his head. When it got down to it, everybody did something that could potentially incriminate them. He didn't even rule Koushiro out, although he fervorently wished that he could. The older man might after all be baiting him, hitting so close to the mark that he himself fell under the radar. Then there was Iori who was far too enigmatic, Ken who knew practically everything about them and more, Jyou who would not share a single thing about his life, and happy sunny Takeru who could just be putting a front on to feign innocence. And, of course, Yamato, who had access to the outside world so much more readily than the others.
Taichi hated having his comfortable view of his closest living companions so grossly shadowed, so he tried not to think about it. Chances were, Koushiro's theory would be proved incorrect, and Taichi would have wasted his perfectly good nerves worrying over it. He tended to live a philosophy of crossing each bridge in turn and only when he got to it, so potentially needless stress was just that: needless. Taichi had a vague notion that he was lulling himself into a false sense of security, but he quashed it. This was the first reasonably warm day in what seemed like ages, and he sure as anything was not going to sully it with phantoms.
The captain gazed dully over the drear landscape. He felt his life slowly ebbing away, wasted in tasks that did no justice to his potential. He was just reaching for his revolver a third time when there was a sudden flurry of darkness behind him, to the right. He was on immediate alert. Taichi had learnt to acquire this heightened state of awareness almost instantly: it was like something tweaking his nerves. He turned towards the sight, and just managed to catch a glimpse of what looked like a grey bird arrowing out of the dugout. That confused him. In an area that most animal life had shunned, why was this lone creature suddenly here?
Then he got his answer: the sun momentarily glinted off something metallic on the bird's leg. A carrier pigeon? Why on earth would anybody here be in possession of one? Taichi had been told that most messages were sent either by semaphore or runner. For a moment, he could not explain the dreading heaviness in his stomach. Then it hit him. He'd just discovered their spy.
++
Captain Taichi Yagami had actually eased out of the narrow watchers' trench and taken a few loping strides towards the dugout before his reasoning caught up with his actions. What was he doing? He couldn't abandon his post! That was the first and most important rule that he had been taught: stay where you're put. And besides, the penalty for desertion was death by firing squad, and Taichi wasn't prepared to face such an ignoble end.
He had wanted to head off the suspect and demand an explanation. But that was folly, his more sensible side mentioned. By the time he'd reach the probable spot, the traitor would be long gone, surely not daft enough to stay on the scene of the crime. Patience, he reasoned, and subtlety were the tools necessary for this. As Taichi turned back to his abandoned position, he was already mentally hatching a plot. By the time that he realised that he was planning to trip-wire most of the trench, the sheer absurdity of the whole thing struck him. He was working on shreds of doubt, not cold, plain evidence. He most certainly could not go around accusing people until he found the guilty party.
Now, sitting in the cramped dugout, Taichi felt restless and antsy for an entirely different reason. He could hardly wait for the change of guard so that he could have a word with Koushiro. Then, he remembered, the older man would be out most of the day on trench patrol: an assignment to check and secure the trenches between them and their immediate neighbours, parts that fell under neither jurisdiction. Taichi groaned. For now, he was on his own.
++
'Ken?' The bleary eyes opened to him, hazy with pain. 'God, Ken, what happened?'
Ken Ichijouji collapsed next to the figure, placing his hand on the clammy forehead, staring out into the gloom. Gunfire rattled overhead. 'Shh, don't talk now, we're not out of range yet.'
'Just tell me, for Christ's sake!'
Ken couldn't meet the pleading gaze. 'Land mine,' he whispered through a tightening throat. He tried to keep his eyes off his companion's lower body - or rather, its mangled remains. He suppressed nausea and despair.
'I can't move.' The voice was plaintive, fading. 'God, Ken, I'm going to die! All of us are!'
'No!' and this time Ken's reply was harsh. He bridled his fury just in time. 'Just lie still. I'll get us out of this.'
'You don't understand! I can't move; can't feel anything, just pain.' There was a strangled sob, and the cough splattered blood over the already stained earth. 'Can't breathe!'
Ken abandoned all pretence of watchfulness and scrambled to the man's side, gripping his face firmly. 'Stay with me! Just keep your eyes open!' Fear eddied through him like a maniacal tide, driving him. 'Don't fall asleep!'
'So- tired...'
'Please, please don't! Fight it. Stay awake,' he begged, feeling desperately selfish. 'You can't leave me! The medics will come, just hang in there a moment longer. I'll fetch them...'
'No.' The tone had become suddenly resolute. 'Too late. Don't leave me.'
'I won't. I won't, ever... Please...' But Ken no longer knew what he was pleading for. He cried now with heedless abandon. Clasping the hand in his to his chest, he sobbed, 'Try to hold on. Don't make me be alone. I need you!'
A smile ghosted across the face, so much like his. 'You grow up - so quickly. Don't - need anyone...'
Ken's expression contorted into unmasked sorrow. 'God, just stay awake!' he yelped in desperation. But the eyes were unfocusing rapidly below him.
The man smiled blearily up, contorting his ravaged face. 'Ken,' he murmured, 'God speed.' Then the head fell back and his tense muscles slumped. A sense of peace descended on the pained visage.
Ken was shaking, his eyes wide in disbelief. He lay there for hours beside the tattered body, waiting for the chance at a dash for safety. It was the single most horrifying time in his life. At some point in his vigil, he nudged the body, hopelessly hoping for a miracle. But Osamu stirred no more.
++
Ken sprang up in his bed and took a moment to settle his raging panic. Then he slumped forward, head cradled in his hands, taking deep, calming breaths and fighting the tears that welled insistently in his eyes. So, he surmised, he'd had the Osamu dream again. But why now, suddenly, after so many months of absence? He'd thought that those demons had been banished from him once and for all; but apparently they were back and with a vengeance.
He sighed mournfully and shifted so that his back was against the wall. His brother's gruesome death had been the turning point in his existence, but why did he constantly have to relive it in full colour? Ken chewed absently on his lip and glared at the floor as he thought. There must have been some trigger for it.
He was probably getting too close to others again. Last time that had happened, he had been haunted by Osamu nightly until he had broken off the contact. His brother had been right, naturally: Ken didn't need anyone. People only interfered, trying to help and thereby weakening his stalwart determination. They had even tried to snatch him from his eternal vigil under the pretence of promotion! And yet he had managed to remain, resisting while others came and went, heeding the calls of death or madness or glory. He could not have done that alone, though: he was certain that he had a guardian angel in Osamu.
And yet, sometimes doubt did manage to set in. Was he really destined for a life alone, overachieving without recognition, braving perils without so much as a pat on the back? Although he found it near blasphemous to Osamu's memory, sometimes Ken let his mind wander the paths of a different life, one in which he wasn't simply guarding a Pandora's box. And it had been so easy to warm up to Takeru...
How could it be wrong when their cautious friendship tempered his loneliness? Surely his brother would not be against an association with the perennially cheerful blonde. And yet, the dreams had recurred. Why, Ken thought despondently, in his hour of need, did he have no one to turn to?
++
After three hours of dangerously mind-numbing watch duty, Taichi was relieved by a despondent-looking Ken. He thought to ask whether something was wrong - or at least more wrong that usual - but quickly decided against it. The raven-haired boy made him inexplicably nervous, and Taichi didn't really want to be privy to his doubtlessly horrifying inner demons. He contented himself with a grateful nod. He had work to do.
The problem of not exactly knowing which procedures to follow persisted. Taichi first stopped over at his room to deposit his helmet and rifle. For all that it was damp and dingy, he had begun to appreciate the muffled comfort of the nook. After a week's inhabitation, it didn't seem so bare anymore: the table held numerous charts and notes, which Taichi perused in his spare time, and he had made place for his equipment in the far corner. No home by any stretch of the imagination, but it would do.
He rifled through the stack of maps and produced the rolled, elongated one that showed trench positions. After a moment's searching, Taichi found his current location and the one that he estimated that the bird had been launched from. He traced his intended path twice to commit it to memory, then let the ends of the scroll loose and watched as they rolled in on each other. His current plan was simply to throw an eye over the scene to see if he could discover anything of value to his cause. Later, he'd have a discreet word with Koushiro and seek his advice for further action.
So pointed and jaunty was his stride that, after several puzzled looks, Taichi reverted to a more neutral pace. Perhaps it was the notion of having something beyond basic routine to occupy him that gave him so much buoyancy. His mere week in the trenches seemed more a year. This small fraction of independent activity acted like a balm for his downtrodden spirit, one that had already begun to count the days until their company would be relieved from the gruelling, draining front line duty. If only the reason for the mission hadn't been so dire, he might actually have enjoyed the day: the weather was fair enough for a French spring day, and Taichi had no duties until the evening's stand-to. Or so he thought.
Taichi was so deeply involved in his ruminations that he must have lost all track of his surroundings. But a pointed throat clearing to one side derailed his meandering train of thought, and he became suddenly privy of the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. He glanced up and around, and his feet almost forgot to halt their progress when he saw who it was.
Yamato was standing there, arms crossed, the picture of good- natured irritation. He was like a beacon of crisp, radiant serenity and looked starkly out of place in the drab, grey- brown trenches. Taichi tried to mask his discomposure, but feared that he had only increased his predicament when the blonde suppressed a chuckle.
"Good morning, captain. Is something the matter?" he asked, laughter and not a trace of concern in his voice. It did nothing to ease Taichi's rising discomfort. He aimed a swipe at his unruly hair.
"Nothing, nothing," he answered dismissively. "Why are you here?" When the words left his mouth, Taichi realised how presumptuous the question was. To cover that up, he added, "I wasn't expecting a visit."
To his surprise, Yamato's expression darkened slightly. "You weren't told? And that's fundamental routine! I wonder what else they've missed," he muttered cryptically. Then his tone cleared. "But no matter: you're going to have to put up with me every Wednesday morning, just after ten. I trust you won't be late next time?" His smile was challenging.
Taichi didn't know whether to feel admonished or righteously angry. To be safe, he settled for a quick apology. He didn't want to look any more bumbling and uncouth in Yamato's estimation.
There was no more anger in the blonde's voice - or, at least, it was not directed at him. "Not your fault, Yagami. Somebody else will be sorry, though, for neglecting your training."
Suddenly, it was at though somebody had struck as discordant note in Taichi, and the captain experienced a sense of hollow dread. Just who was this Yamato anyway, he wondered sharply, to speak like that of his superiors? There seemed to be another level entirely to the whole situation that he had suddenly stumbled upon. Why was this minute digression the cause of so much discord? He felt a stab of fear for the unknown, but quashed it instantly. Yamato was studying him expectantly, and Taichi nodded to the main dugout.
"Well, we might as well go over those supply lists, then. Not like I haven't had ages to check them," he added wryly.
In the cool, relative dark of the dugout, Taichi felt remarkably more at ease. Perhaps because now his every movement wouldn't be studied and, he feared, filed away for Yamato's future reference. On prompting, he quickly rattled off the things that he had memorised that needed replacing. It was not a long list, and the staff sergeant nodded agreeably at the demands. Then he pulled out a separate list and read over it.
"We're having a bit of an overload with regard to the supply of artillery, so I'm afraid this lot might be a while in arriving. Where are the others?"
"Away on trench patrol, mostly. Ken's up on watch, but I'm almost certain I saw Takeru around somewhere." He watched the blue eyes sparkle slightly at that mention. When Yamato looked up and happened to catch his intent observation, he laughed.
"It's hard, you know," he began, "Having my little brother out here on the front where I can't watch over him and make sure he keeps out of trouble." His smile was wistful, and Taichi wondered at this sudden softening of manner of a boy who acted old beyond his years.
To maintain this repartee, he asked, "So, how did you end up being assigned this stretch of the trench, then? Something to do with Takeru?"
"Very shrewd of you, Yagami!" Yamato laughed. "Let's just say that it was a personal favour from the commander, and leave it at that."
"Personal favour?" Taichi's curiosity was insatiable.
He received a long, piercing look. "Now you're venturing into classified territory, captain. But -" and here he leaned forward conspiratorially, "And you didn't hear this from me - our esteemed field marshal has somebody who wants to keep a close eye on him."
"Aha," Taichi enthused, although he couldn't quite read the meaning of the words. "And in return for that - "
"I have the privilege of seeing my brother once a week." Yamato sighed as he settled back again, then seemed to gather his aloof front. It was as though the conversation had never happened. "Now, before it slips my mind, captain-"
"Please," Taichi interrupted. "Can't we do away with all the formalities; 'Taichi' will do just fine."
Yamato gave him a cool, undecipherable look. "Captain," he stressed, looking back down to his notes, "it's very important that these documents get to Koushiro as soon as possible." He magic'ed a file seemingly out of thin air. "Nobody must see them, of course. Understood?"
The brunet nodded half-heartedly. "What are they?"
"Yagami, 'nobody' means not even you. I'm sorry, but those are direct orders."
Taichi had the feeling that, for all that he outranked everybody in his jurisdiction, there was a massive amount of things that happened behind his back that he had absolutely no control over. This only furthered his suspicions. He slumped back in his chair, feeling his face meld into a pout.
Yamato had risen, and now regarded him sourly. "Don't act like a child, Yagami. Did you really think that a qualification from a secluded country school could give you the knowledge to run a war? The men here have real experience, and only put up with you junior cadet types because they have to. A piece of paper can't make you a good leader; not even a mediocre one. Now," and he hardly missed a beat of his tirade as he glared at Taichi's wide-eyed, aghast expression, "You can either sulk and throw your toys around, or you could sit quietly and learn from the others. And earn those stripes of yours." For a second, he seemed to want to say more, but a voice in the doorway broke through his anger.
"'Mato?"
The blonde's face lit with relief. "Takeru, there you are!" Taichi sat in shocked silence, forgotten, as the pair embraced. Yamato looked down at his brother with a tinge of suspicion. "You haven't been pulling any stunts, have you?"
Takeru laughed, but his comically even grin deepened. "Me, no. But Taichi here, he's had quite the week!"
The focus shifted sharply back to the captain, and Taichi wished that Takeru hadn't brought that topic up, especially not now after that surprisingly enlightening lecture from the older blonde.
"Oh really?" Yamato asked, something sharp and unpleasant in his tone.
"Yes!" Takeru erupted, oblivious to the tension. He quickly recounted the tale, embellishing greatly on Taichi's part, making the captain flush and look plaintively to the floor. To his credit, Yamato put on an admirable show of being impressed for the younger boy, but Taichi seemed to see through and beyond it. "And that's why Koushiro recommended him for a medal! Isn't that right, Taichi? After two days! Can you believe it?"
Now, Yamato was masking a smirk that plainly showed that he did not in fact believe the fanciful story. Then he steered his dialogue with Takeru into another direction, and Taichi was entirely forgotten. He didn't know which was worse: full spotlight or not the barest recognition? Then, to add insult to injury, Takeru - instead of Taichi, who would have been the obvious choice - was given all of the paraphernalia that the others had asked for. That seemed to make his defeat in Yamato's books absolute. Ignored, the young captain slumped back down onto the hard wooden chair with a sigh, but this time the reason was different. The crux of the rant had finally struck him: Taichi was as good as expendable.
++
When Koushiro and his crew returned, Taichi dutifully sat through their report, although the subject matter held little interest for him. The mystery of the traitor still stood at the forefront of his thoughts - whenever, he amended, he wasn't mulling over the truth of Yamato's words. When finally the talk was over, the others were dismissed and Taichi remained alone with the field marshal for the first time.
"We really should get some of that new tempered steel wire," the older man was saying with a contemplative look. "Give the Germans something proper to chew through!"
"That's an idea," Taichi agreed hurriedly. "But I have some potential information about that spy of ours that I'm sure you'd like to hear." He waited expectantly, but Koushiro didn't seem the slightest bit interested.
"I told them we shouldn't leave great big gaps of unwatched trench between us. Merleigh to the right hardly knew who we were! That's no good for relations, if you ask me." He laughed lightly at the irony. Taichi, frustrated, tried to force his issue.
"Is all that really so important when there's a traitor in our midst?" he asked in exasperation, not bothering to doctor the frustration in his voice. For the first time, Koushiro stirred from his contemplation and looked at him squarely.
"Can you give me a name, Taichi? Rank, number, details?" When the boy shook his head, he continued. "Then it's of no importance, not to me. The very real possibility of Germans flanking us is a proper threat. Not some could-be spy, who might not even exist, and who certainly has been of little detriment to us."
"But-"
"No, Yagami! War isn't a romantic affair full of intrigue and hidden agendas. War is getting up to your elbows in dirt to make sure that you survive the night. You'd better sort your priorities quickly, or else you'll just end up face down in the muck."
Taichi half glared, half gaped at Koushiro. He'd gotten two severe, harsh lectures in barely a handful of hours! And the worst thing was that both of them had been poignant enough to strike a chord in him. Was this what was known as a life lesson? He hoped that they weren't all this hard to swallow. The field marshal, making a point of ignoring Taichi's inner turmoil, asked, "Wasn't our staff sergeant around today?"
Taichi huffed. Just what he needed: another reminder of that disastrous visit. "Yes," he mumbled noncommittally. "Oh, and I'd forgotten - he left this for you." Taichi presented the sealed file, making certain that nobody else had seen it. Koushiro looked exponentially more relieved.
"Forgot, did you? This is important, Taichi; you can't just go around misplacing things."
"Sorry," he said, not sounding the least like he meant it.
He received a sharp, calculating look. "What's the matter?"
"Oh, just that everyone I see today had some absolutely vital lecture that they feel I need to hear. It's not doing any wonders for my self esteem, you know." He realised that his tone had been a few degrees more snappish than he had meant it so be. "You just did, for one, and Yamato said -"
"Yamato, eh? I wouldn't worry about that! He's a different sort, that one." Koushiro seemed to think that this explained all. The look on Taichi's face told him otherwise, however, so he added, "He has a stressful job. That boy has seen more people come and go than most others, and it isn't always easy. Especially not for someone like him: he's become closed off, thinking with his head but not with his heart. Ever since..."
When Koushiro did not continue, Taichi leaned forward, trying to mask his hunger for information. "Ever since what?"
The older man sighed. He looked decidedly unwilling to continue. "You may as well know. Captain Garren - the one you were sent to replace - and Yamato were good friends, even before this whole war fracas started. Just imagine," he intoned, emotion heavy in his voice, "Imagine that your best friend starts losing his sanity right before your eyes. And you can't do a single thing to help. Can you imagine the guilt? The sorrow? Yamato was a sensitive kid, and it killed him inside. So it's no wonder that he feels resentful towards you; it's nothing personal. It's like you've been conscripted to fill the role that Garren once did. Be careful, Taichi. You could cause more hurt than you know."
When Captain Taichi Yagami finally left to go sleep, that last talk weighed most heavily on his mind. How was he to have known about all that? It shouldn't even concern him. But this new dimension to the Yamato enigma fascinated him, and he needed to know more. He resolved to take action tomorrow, to go to the source.
He'd have a talk with Takeru.
+++
Oh, and Yama makes an appearance. And actually does things. At last. 0_o
+++
After the hubbub of his first few eventful days, Taichi could hardly have imagined that trench life could ever be dull. But, invariably, it had its down times as well. For the next six days, not a single event of redeeming value broke the endless muddy haze of days. There were the morning and evening stand-to's, of course, but little other routine to break the continuous thread of sheer survival. Watches were set, the lines patrolled and boredom was staved off. It seemed a strange concept that one could feel bored in such a stressful and ever-watchful environment, but Taichi had no other description for his restless sense of ineptitude. After a night of sleep and having to stand to in the pouring rain, his heroic air had withered and huddled into a far corner. The consecutive days had only left him feeling emotionally drained and utterly useless.
At that moment, Taichi Yagami was lying in the shallow dugout reserved for those watching No Man's Land. During the first hour of his vigil, he'd taken apart and reassembled his rifle twice out of the sheer necessity of keeping his hands occupied. Not a bird or insect stirred in the three dozen or so feet of barren land between him and the Enemy. It had seemed, after the first, botched attack that he had experienced, the Enemy had slunk back to lick their wounds. Not even a call or engine rumble broke the stillness. But Taichi didn't find the silence oppressive or tense either, just empty. Like the entire world had decided to avoid his nook of the planet.
For the sheer heck of it, the young captain began going over provisions lists again. Storage was fine: they had food enough to keep them till autumn, and a relatively generous supply of spare uniforms and boots. Jyou had told him the medical facilities - although painfully crude, he couldn't help mentioning - were in order. They were a bit low on grenades, but otherwise artillery posed no problem.
Taichi let his head fall to the earth with a clunk. It wasn't the fighting that was going to kill him - it was the monotony! Then he tried to remind himself that it wasn't all- bad. He'd met a group of eclectic individuals, and they had shared many a rousing debate - some would say argument - over the routine meals. He'd made a point of analysing their characters one watch a few nights ago, and even felt that he had gained some valuable insight.
Jyou was a steady type, not one prone to panic attacks in the midst of action. He was solemn almost to a fault, and took his position as field doctor so seriously that Taichi could only marvel at his dedication. He was by far the most intellectual of the lot, and never reserved his judgment during discussions. Getting him to open up emotionally was like prying a tree from the ground with a toothpick, though: he was either intensely private or, and Taichi suspected the latter theory, was simply not aware of the sentiments that he experienced.
Then there was Iori: the strangest of the lot. Strange, because Taichi could never quite get a lock on his personality. It was like trying to swat a drunken mosquito. He'd go from laid back and jovial to sarcastically sharp- witted, then degenerate to all out pouty before pretending that nothing had happened. It annoyed the captain because he didn't feel a rapport with the boy, which led to a cramped working relationship. Every once in a while, though, he'd catch Iori giving him sour, spiteful glances. That was even more puzzling. He hadn't done the boy a bad turn since he'd arrived, and couldn't understand the antipathy. And there was something else that didn't mesh: Iori's shady recruitment. Koushiro had told him that the boy was seventeen and that the matter wasn't spoken of, but Taichi's shrewd reasoning - or perhaps inexplicable paranoia - had smelled a large and dangerous rat in that statement. He was, unfortunately, powerless to do anything about his suspicions.
On to Ken. Taichi had had a lot of difficulty thinking clearly about the raven-haired soldier. He could hardly imagine that the boy had survived years here in the trenches, and managed to keep his wits about him. He put on an impressive show of haughty gloom, but Taichi didn't buy it completely. He'd heard vague clues and snippets about Ken's past, and had basically pieced together the facts that he had stubbornly refused any kind of promotion, preferring to maintain his lonely, mournful watch over the trenches. Taichi just knew that there had to be some tragic story behind it all, but he couldn't just go and ask, could he? It didn't seem appropriate. Aside from his aloofness, Ken was notoriously shy: out of battle he startled when someone addressed him directly, and kept his answers to a bare minimum. During a fight however, it was an entirely different story. From the small amount of action that Taichi had seen, he surmised that Ken was the beacon of stability in the turmoil, and for good reason: he'd had more experience in his life than any teacher could cram into a textbook. He made Taichi feel humble and inadequate sometimes.
Takeru was the yin to Ken's gloomy yang. He was sunshine on daisies. Taichi couldn't understand why, but the blonde boy was perpetually happy. Nothing could shake his almost violent resolve to remain cheerful, and he had a naivety in looking at the world that made Taichi want to keep him safe from its perils. It was like nothing could corrupt his cheer. Taichi didn't believe in that façade either, and it suddenly occurred to him that everyone seemed to be putting on a front. Was it for protection? He'd soon find out, he was sure. But Takeru made the entire war business seem like a moderate inconvenience, like discovering that the coffee you ordered turned out to be a latte instead of decaf.
Then again, thinking of Takeru had got Taichi thinking of Yamato, and he's spent a long while on the cold and empty night going off on that pleasant tangent. He hadn't had enough material by far to analyse his personality, but he'd certainly seen enough to analyse his other traits- Taichi caught himself blushing and quelled the thought. So what if Yamato was right up there in the 'utterly stunning' department? He was probably a bastard and annoying and ungrateful. Taichi had tried to console himself with his favoured law of equals: for every good trait, there was an equal and opposite bad one. It hadn't helped one iota. Try as he might, he couldn't attribute a flaw to the blonde. But he'd find one, he swore, just to wrench his mind from the monopoly that Yamato held on it in moments like those. Taichi didn't even know him!
But enough of that, he admonished himself sharply. He still had one to go: Koushiro. The redhead had been his first real friend in a world of hate, and seemed to garner more respect with every statement and action. He was kind and severe all at once, the perfect balance between discipline and understanding. The field marshal was his beacon of trust and his font of wisdom: if anybody had a concern or a question, they instantly addressed it to him. And Koushiro seemed to take it all in stride, sharing anecdotes and advice like sweets between eager children. They were his adoring fanclub.
Taichi already saw him as a paternal figure, much more so than his own father. He felt like a hypocrite for thinking that, but Koushiro inspired an aura of trust, support and love that his own father had failed to do: with Koushiro, it felt like the real thing, for all that Taichi had barely known him a week. All that his father had managed to knock into him were some disjointed ideals of heroism before he had gone and gotten himself killed in some courageous incident. Taichi resented him for that. Everything that he had been taught to live up to by that man had dissolved within three days in the trenches! All the notions of honour and being valiant and all that had dripped from him with the perennial rain showers. He had had to revise his entire lexicon of true courage, and that had disillusioned him more than anything. He'd made it his mission to prove just how much braver he truly was.
But Taichi had no stomach for gloomy ramblings just then. He thought back to Koushiro, and that put him in mind of a rather unsettling talk they had had just the day before.
'It's uncanny how much they knew,' red-haired man had ranted during a lone moment with Taichi. 'Their timing was dead-on. And they almost got us, too. If it hadn't been for you, Yagami, we'd be up the creek without a canoe!'
When Taichi had attempted to protest this, he had simply received a sour look.
'Don't muck around, boy. It was your clear thinking and unusual strategy that managed to save us.'
'I guess. But you said they knew too much: don't we also know the basics of their troop movements, patrols and so on? It isn't that unusual for them to know our habits, is it?'
Koushiro had stood up in agitation. 'Don't be daft, Taichi. They anticipated us down to the minute. I spent some time working it out. We'd have been having our calming drink in the mess hall at that precise moment. And remind me again where they struck?'
'The mess hall.' Taichi had gotten more nervous by the second. He didn't like where this was all leading.
'Precisely. I hate to say it, to accuse one of the lads, but we have a rat in our midst. Somebody's not altogether on our side in this. Problem is, we just don't know who, how, why or when.' Koushiro sighed. 'Not even a suspect. But I trust this stays between you and me?'
Taichi had only been able to nod, shocked by the idea now that it had been formed into words. He shivered, knowing that he had entrusted his life to someone who was determined not to guard it.
Now he tried to run through a list of possibilities in his head. When it got down to it, everybody did something that could potentially incriminate them. He didn't even rule Koushiro out, although he fervorently wished that he could. The older man might after all be baiting him, hitting so close to the mark that he himself fell under the radar. Then there was Iori who was far too enigmatic, Ken who knew practically everything about them and more, Jyou who would not share a single thing about his life, and happy sunny Takeru who could just be putting a front on to feign innocence. And, of course, Yamato, who had access to the outside world so much more readily than the others.
Taichi hated having his comfortable view of his closest living companions so grossly shadowed, so he tried not to think about it. Chances were, Koushiro's theory would be proved incorrect, and Taichi would have wasted his perfectly good nerves worrying over it. He tended to live a philosophy of crossing each bridge in turn and only when he got to it, so potentially needless stress was just that: needless. Taichi had a vague notion that he was lulling himself into a false sense of security, but he quashed it. This was the first reasonably warm day in what seemed like ages, and he sure as anything was not going to sully it with phantoms.
The captain gazed dully over the drear landscape. He felt his life slowly ebbing away, wasted in tasks that did no justice to his potential. He was just reaching for his revolver a third time when there was a sudden flurry of darkness behind him, to the right. He was on immediate alert. Taichi had learnt to acquire this heightened state of awareness almost instantly: it was like something tweaking his nerves. He turned towards the sight, and just managed to catch a glimpse of what looked like a grey bird arrowing out of the dugout. That confused him. In an area that most animal life had shunned, why was this lone creature suddenly here?
Then he got his answer: the sun momentarily glinted off something metallic on the bird's leg. A carrier pigeon? Why on earth would anybody here be in possession of one? Taichi had been told that most messages were sent either by semaphore or runner. For a moment, he could not explain the dreading heaviness in his stomach. Then it hit him. He'd just discovered their spy.
++
Captain Taichi Yagami had actually eased out of the narrow watchers' trench and taken a few loping strides towards the dugout before his reasoning caught up with his actions. What was he doing? He couldn't abandon his post! That was the first and most important rule that he had been taught: stay where you're put. And besides, the penalty for desertion was death by firing squad, and Taichi wasn't prepared to face such an ignoble end.
He had wanted to head off the suspect and demand an explanation. But that was folly, his more sensible side mentioned. By the time he'd reach the probable spot, the traitor would be long gone, surely not daft enough to stay on the scene of the crime. Patience, he reasoned, and subtlety were the tools necessary for this. As Taichi turned back to his abandoned position, he was already mentally hatching a plot. By the time that he realised that he was planning to trip-wire most of the trench, the sheer absurdity of the whole thing struck him. He was working on shreds of doubt, not cold, plain evidence. He most certainly could not go around accusing people until he found the guilty party.
Now, sitting in the cramped dugout, Taichi felt restless and antsy for an entirely different reason. He could hardly wait for the change of guard so that he could have a word with Koushiro. Then, he remembered, the older man would be out most of the day on trench patrol: an assignment to check and secure the trenches between them and their immediate neighbours, parts that fell under neither jurisdiction. Taichi groaned. For now, he was on his own.
++
'Ken?' The bleary eyes opened to him, hazy with pain. 'God, Ken, what happened?'
Ken Ichijouji collapsed next to the figure, placing his hand on the clammy forehead, staring out into the gloom. Gunfire rattled overhead. 'Shh, don't talk now, we're not out of range yet.'
'Just tell me, for Christ's sake!'
Ken couldn't meet the pleading gaze. 'Land mine,' he whispered through a tightening throat. He tried to keep his eyes off his companion's lower body - or rather, its mangled remains. He suppressed nausea and despair.
'I can't move.' The voice was plaintive, fading. 'God, Ken, I'm going to die! All of us are!'
'No!' and this time Ken's reply was harsh. He bridled his fury just in time. 'Just lie still. I'll get us out of this.'
'You don't understand! I can't move; can't feel anything, just pain.' There was a strangled sob, and the cough splattered blood over the already stained earth. 'Can't breathe!'
Ken abandoned all pretence of watchfulness and scrambled to the man's side, gripping his face firmly. 'Stay with me! Just keep your eyes open!' Fear eddied through him like a maniacal tide, driving him. 'Don't fall asleep!'
'So- tired...'
'Please, please don't! Fight it. Stay awake,' he begged, feeling desperately selfish. 'You can't leave me! The medics will come, just hang in there a moment longer. I'll fetch them...'
'No.' The tone had become suddenly resolute. 'Too late. Don't leave me.'
'I won't. I won't, ever... Please...' But Ken no longer knew what he was pleading for. He cried now with heedless abandon. Clasping the hand in his to his chest, he sobbed, 'Try to hold on. Don't make me be alone. I need you!'
A smile ghosted across the face, so much like his. 'You grow up - so quickly. Don't - need anyone...'
Ken's expression contorted into unmasked sorrow. 'God, just stay awake!' he yelped in desperation. But the eyes were unfocusing rapidly below him.
The man smiled blearily up, contorting his ravaged face. 'Ken,' he murmured, 'God speed.' Then the head fell back and his tense muscles slumped. A sense of peace descended on the pained visage.
Ken was shaking, his eyes wide in disbelief. He lay there for hours beside the tattered body, waiting for the chance at a dash for safety. It was the single most horrifying time in his life. At some point in his vigil, he nudged the body, hopelessly hoping for a miracle. But Osamu stirred no more.
++
Ken sprang up in his bed and took a moment to settle his raging panic. Then he slumped forward, head cradled in his hands, taking deep, calming breaths and fighting the tears that welled insistently in his eyes. So, he surmised, he'd had the Osamu dream again. But why now, suddenly, after so many months of absence? He'd thought that those demons had been banished from him once and for all; but apparently they were back and with a vengeance.
He sighed mournfully and shifted so that his back was against the wall. His brother's gruesome death had been the turning point in his existence, but why did he constantly have to relive it in full colour? Ken chewed absently on his lip and glared at the floor as he thought. There must have been some trigger for it.
He was probably getting too close to others again. Last time that had happened, he had been haunted by Osamu nightly until he had broken off the contact. His brother had been right, naturally: Ken didn't need anyone. People only interfered, trying to help and thereby weakening his stalwart determination. They had even tried to snatch him from his eternal vigil under the pretence of promotion! And yet he had managed to remain, resisting while others came and went, heeding the calls of death or madness or glory. He could not have done that alone, though: he was certain that he had a guardian angel in Osamu.
And yet, sometimes doubt did manage to set in. Was he really destined for a life alone, overachieving without recognition, braving perils without so much as a pat on the back? Although he found it near blasphemous to Osamu's memory, sometimes Ken let his mind wander the paths of a different life, one in which he wasn't simply guarding a Pandora's box. And it had been so easy to warm up to Takeru...
How could it be wrong when their cautious friendship tempered his loneliness? Surely his brother would not be against an association with the perennially cheerful blonde. And yet, the dreams had recurred. Why, Ken thought despondently, in his hour of need, did he have no one to turn to?
++
After three hours of dangerously mind-numbing watch duty, Taichi was relieved by a despondent-looking Ken. He thought to ask whether something was wrong - or at least more wrong that usual - but quickly decided against it. The raven-haired boy made him inexplicably nervous, and Taichi didn't really want to be privy to his doubtlessly horrifying inner demons. He contented himself with a grateful nod. He had work to do.
The problem of not exactly knowing which procedures to follow persisted. Taichi first stopped over at his room to deposit his helmet and rifle. For all that it was damp and dingy, he had begun to appreciate the muffled comfort of the nook. After a week's inhabitation, it didn't seem so bare anymore: the table held numerous charts and notes, which Taichi perused in his spare time, and he had made place for his equipment in the far corner. No home by any stretch of the imagination, but it would do.
He rifled through the stack of maps and produced the rolled, elongated one that showed trench positions. After a moment's searching, Taichi found his current location and the one that he estimated that the bird had been launched from. He traced his intended path twice to commit it to memory, then let the ends of the scroll loose and watched as they rolled in on each other. His current plan was simply to throw an eye over the scene to see if he could discover anything of value to his cause. Later, he'd have a discreet word with Koushiro and seek his advice for further action.
So pointed and jaunty was his stride that, after several puzzled looks, Taichi reverted to a more neutral pace. Perhaps it was the notion of having something beyond basic routine to occupy him that gave him so much buoyancy. His mere week in the trenches seemed more a year. This small fraction of independent activity acted like a balm for his downtrodden spirit, one that had already begun to count the days until their company would be relieved from the gruelling, draining front line duty. If only the reason for the mission hadn't been so dire, he might actually have enjoyed the day: the weather was fair enough for a French spring day, and Taichi had no duties until the evening's stand-to. Or so he thought.
Taichi was so deeply involved in his ruminations that he must have lost all track of his surroundings. But a pointed throat clearing to one side derailed his meandering train of thought, and he became suddenly privy of the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. He glanced up and around, and his feet almost forgot to halt their progress when he saw who it was.
Yamato was standing there, arms crossed, the picture of good- natured irritation. He was like a beacon of crisp, radiant serenity and looked starkly out of place in the drab, grey- brown trenches. Taichi tried to mask his discomposure, but feared that he had only increased his predicament when the blonde suppressed a chuckle.
"Good morning, captain. Is something the matter?" he asked, laughter and not a trace of concern in his voice. It did nothing to ease Taichi's rising discomfort. He aimed a swipe at his unruly hair.
"Nothing, nothing," he answered dismissively. "Why are you here?" When the words left his mouth, Taichi realised how presumptuous the question was. To cover that up, he added, "I wasn't expecting a visit."
To his surprise, Yamato's expression darkened slightly. "You weren't told? And that's fundamental routine! I wonder what else they've missed," he muttered cryptically. Then his tone cleared. "But no matter: you're going to have to put up with me every Wednesday morning, just after ten. I trust you won't be late next time?" His smile was challenging.
Taichi didn't know whether to feel admonished or righteously angry. To be safe, he settled for a quick apology. He didn't want to look any more bumbling and uncouth in Yamato's estimation.
There was no more anger in the blonde's voice - or, at least, it was not directed at him. "Not your fault, Yagami. Somebody else will be sorry, though, for neglecting your training."
Suddenly, it was at though somebody had struck as discordant note in Taichi, and the captain experienced a sense of hollow dread. Just who was this Yamato anyway, he wondered sharply, to speak like that of his superiors? There seemed to be another level entirely to the whole situation that he had suddenly stumbled upon. Why was this minute digression the cause of so much discord? He felt a stab of fear for the unknown, but quashed it instantly. Yamato was studying him expectantly, and Taichi nodded to the main dugout.
"Well, we might as well go over those supply lists, then. Not like I haven't had ages to check them," he added wryly.
In the cool, relative dark of the dugout, Taichi felt remarkably more at ease. Perhaps because now his every movement wouldn't be studied and, he feared, filed away for Yamato's future reference. On prompting, he quickly rattled off the things that he had memorised that needed replacing. It was not a long list, and the staff sergeant nodded agreeably at the demands. Then he pulled out a separate list and read over it.
"We're having a bit of an overload with regard to the supply of artillery, so I'm afraid this lot might be a while in arriving. Where are the others?"
"Away on trench patrol, mostly. Ken's up on watch, but I'm almost certain I saw Takeru around somewhere." He watched the blue eyes sparkle slightly at that mention. When Yamato looked up and happened to catch his intent observation, he laughed.
"It's hard, you know," he began, "Having my little brother out here on the front where I can't watch over him and make sure he keeps out of trouble." His smile was wistful, and Taichi wondered at this sudden softening of manner of a boy who acted old beyond his years.
To maintain this repartee, he asked, "So, how did you end up being assigned this stretch of the trench, then? Something to do with Takeru?"
"Very shrewd of you, Yagami!" Yamato laughed. "Let's just say that it was a personal favour from the commander, and leave it at that."
"Personal favour?" Taichi's curiosity was insatiable.
He received a long, piercing look. "Now you're venturing into classified territory, captain. But -" and here he leaned forward conspiratorially, "And you didn't hear this from me - our esteemed field marshal has somebody who wants to keep a close eye on him."
"Aha," Taichi enthused, although he couldn't quite read the meaning of the words. "And in return for that - "
"I have the privilege of seeing my brother once a week." Yamato sighed as he settled back again, then seemed to gather his aloof front. It was as though the conversation had never happened. "Now, before it slips my mind, captain-"
"Please," Taichi interrupted. "Can't we do away with all the formalities; 'Taichi' will do just fine."
Yamato gave him a cool, undecipherable look. "Captain," he stressed, looking back down to his notes, "it's very important that these documents get to Koushiro as soon as possible." He magic'ed a file seemingly out of thin air. "Nobody must see them, of course. Understood?"
The brunet nodded half-heartedly. "What are they?"
"Yagami, 'nobody' means not even you. I'm sorry, but those are direct orders."
Taichi had the feeling that, for all that he outranked everybody in his jurisdiction, there was a massive amount of things that happened behind his back that he had absolutely no control over. This only furthered his suspicions. He slumped back in his chair, feeling his face meld into a pout.
Yamato had risen, and now regarded him sourly. "Don't act like a child, Yagami. Did you really think that a qualification from a secluded country school could give you the knowledge to run a war? The men here have real experience, and only put up with you junior cadet types because they have to. A piece of paper can't make you a good leader; not even a mediocre one. Now," and he hardly missed a beat of his tirade as he glared at Taichi's wide-eyed, aghast expression, "You can either sulk and throw your toys around, or you could sit quietly and learn from the others. And earn those stripes of yours." For a second, he seemed to want to say more, but a voice in the doorway broke through his anger.
"'Mato?"
The blonde's face lit with relief. "Takeru, there you are!" Taichi sat in shocked silence, forgotten, as the pair embraced. Yamato looked down at his brother with a tinge of suspicion. "You haven't been pulling any stunts, have you?"
Takeru laughed, but his comically even grin deepened. "Me, no. But Taichi here, he's had quite the week!"
The focus shifted sharply back to the captain, and Taichi wished that Takeru hadn't brought that topic up, especially not now after that surprisingly enlightening lecture from the older blonde.
"Oh really?" Yamato asked, something sharp and unpleasant in his tone.
"Yes!" Takeru erupted, oblivious to the tension. He quickly recounted the tale, embellishing greatly on Taichi's part, making the captain flush and look plaintively to the floor. To his credit, Yamato put on an admirable show of being impressed for the younger boy, but Taichi seemed to see through and beyond it. "And that's why Koushiro recommended him for a medal! Isn't that right, Taichi? After two days! Can you believe it?"
Now, Yamato was masking a smirk that plainly showed that he did not in fact believe the fanciful story. Then he steered his dialogue with Takeru into another direction, and Taichi was entirely forgotten. He didn't know which was worse: full spotlight or not the barest recognition? Then, to add insult to injury, Takeru - instead of Taichi, who would have been the obvious choice - was given all of the paraphernalia that the others had asked for. That seemed to make his defeat in Yamato's books absolute. Ignored, the young captain slumped back down onto the hard wooden chair with a sigh, but this time the reason was different. The crux of the rant had finally struck him: Taichi was as good as expendable.
++
When Koushiro and his crew returned, Taichi dutifully sat through their report, although the subject matter held little interest for him. The mystery of the traitor still stood at the forefront of his thoughts - whenever, he amended, he wasn't mulling over the truth of Yamato's words. When finally the talk was over, the others were dismissed and Taichi remained alone with the field marshal for the first time.
"We really should get some of that new tempered steel wire," the older man was saying with a contemplative look. "Give the Germans something proper to chew through!"
"That's an idea," Taichi agreed hurriedly. "But I have some potential information about that spy of ours that I'm sure you'd like to hear." He waited expectantly, but Koushiro didn't seem the slightest bit interested.
"I told them we shouldn't leave great big gaps of unwatched trench between us. Merleigh to the right hardly knew who we were! That's no good for relations, if you ask me." He laughed lightly at the irony. Taichi, frustrated, tried to force his issue.
"Is all that really so important when there's a traitor in our midst?" he asked in exasperation, not bothering to doctor the frustration in his voice. For the first time, Koushiro stirred from his contemplation and looked at him squarely.
"Can you give me a name, Taichi? Rank, number, details?" When the boy shook his head, he continued. "Then it's of no importance, not to me. The very real possibility of Germans flanking us is a proper threat. Not some could-be spy, who might not even exist, and who certainly has been of little detriment to us."
"But-"
"No, Yagami! War isn't a romantic affair full of intrigue and hidden agendas. War is getting up to your elbows in dirt to make sure that you survive the night. You'd better sort your priorities quickly, or else you'll just end up face down in the muck."
Taichi half glared, half gaped at Koushiro. He'd gotten two severe, harsh lectures in barely a handful of hours! And the worst thing was that both of them had been poignant enough to strike a chord in him. Was this what was known as a life lesson? He hoped that they weren't all this hard to swallow. The field marshal, making a point of ignoring Taichi's inner turmoil, asked, "Wasn't our staff sergeant around today?"
Taichi huffed. Just what he needed: another reminder of that disastrous visit. "Yes," he mumbled noncommittally. "Oh, and I'd forgotten - he left this for you." Taichi presented the sealed file, making certain that nobody else had seen it. Koushiro looked exponentially more relieved.
"Forgot, did you? This is important, Taichi; you can't just go around misplacing things."
"Sorry," he said, not sounding the least like he meant it.
He received a sharp, calculating look. "What's the matter?"
"Oh, just that everyone I see today had some absolutely vital lecture that they feel I need to hear. It's not doing any wonders for my self esteem, you know." He realised that his tone had been a few degrees more snappish than he had meant it so be. "You just did, for one, and Yamato said -"
"Yamato, eh? I wouldn't worry about that! He's a different sort, that one." Koushiro seemed to think that this explained all. The look on Taichi's face told him otherwise, however, so he added, "He has a stressful job. That boy has seen more people come and go than most others, and it isn't always easy. Especially not for someone like him: he's become closed off, thinking with his head but not with his heart. Ever since..."
When Koushiro did not continue, Taichi leaned forward, trying to mask his hunger for information. "Ever since what?"
The older man sighed. He looked decidedly unwilling to continue. "You may as well know. Captain Garren - the one you were sent to replace - and Yamato were good friends, even before this whole war fracas started. Just imagine," he intoned, emotion heavy in his voice, "Imagine that your best friend starts losing his sanity right before your eyes. And you can't do a single thing to help. Can you imagine the guilt? The sorrow? Yamato was a sensitive kid, and it killed him inside. So it's no wonder that he feels resentful towards you; it's nothing personal. It's like you've been conscripted to fill the role that Garren once did. Be careful, Taichi. You could cause more hurt than you know."
When Captain Taichi Yagami finally left to go sleep, that last talk weighed most heavily on his mind. How was he to have known about all that? It shouldn't even concern him. But this new dimension to the Yamato enigma fascinated him, and he needed to know more. He resolved to take action tomorrow, to go to the source.
He'd have a talk with Takeru.
+++