"To not fly the rising sun banner is considered suspect. To fly old blue sky, even in the occupied provinces, is a death sentence." Diary entry of a Chinese journalist in Nagoya.

II

Shinji tossed and turned beneath the sheets as he tried to sleep, some part of him not wanting to close his eyes. What lay beyond was only nightmares or some weird dream. Yet, nature overtook him, and he drifted off.

Hours later, he woke up with a jolt, wide eyed and sheets soaked in sweat. He ran a hand through his hair and shuddered.

"Come on, Shinji. It was just a dream. The war's been over for eight years." He muttered.

This one had been vivid. The blood and the screams as thousands of Chinese boots tramped, still rang in his ears. At the dream's climax came that terrible thunder of artillery, the sort that had made him wail as a little boy.

That one almost felt real… A muffled bang caused his heart to leap into his throat. He snapped his head up, alert, anticipating walls to collapse beneath the weight of massed communist field guns. Shinji strained his ears, rewarded with muffled bangs and shouts that came from outside.

Riots. Must be.

Shinji looked at his bedside clock and sighed. It was 4:00am, too early even for his liking. But he was awake, so in resignation he threw the sheets off and swept his legs out of bed.

After a quick shower, he dressed and made his way into the kitchen. Breakfast was porridge, followed by a few cups of sencha to wake him up properly. Were it quieter outside, Shinji would have sat down and read one of his books. The riot, however, niggled at his ear too much.

I need somewhere quiet, especially to think. Out of the corner of his eye, the letter still sat on the table, unwilling to relinquish its domination of his thoughts until answered. Shinji had no answer yet. I need my hill.

Things gathered in his now dried bag, Shinji slung it over his shoulder and left his apartment. Door locked behind him, he walked down the dimly lit corridor. Through the windows he could see an orange haze eating away at the night. Rain filled clouds still covered the heavens.

Ahead, a small crowd had gathered to look outside. Stopping momentarily by them, Shinji saw the haze grow with each distant flash of petrol bomb. He shook his head and carried on, although his ear twitched at murmurs.

"What was it this time?" One of them, a young man who worked in the local convenience store, said.

"Kenpei shot some kid." Said an older man, an ex-soldier who lived on the ground floor.

"Shit. Is the little shit alright?"

"Yeah. Only got shot in the leg. Apparently he and his friends thought it would be funny to throw bricks at a Kenpei."

Another distant bang echoed. The volume of calls and shouts seemed to be getting louder.

The younger man frowned. "You think the military will get involved?"

"We should hope not." The older man chuckled. "Bit below our pay grade. No, a few Riot Butai will handle this."

Shinji could distinctly make out faint cries of "fascist, fascist!" now. It wasn't the first time he'd heard that chorus, and he doubted it would be the last.

Throwing fireworks at Kenpeitai won't make Marshal Motichka go away. So fucking useless…

"Where are you going?" The younger man said, noticing Shinji.

"Out for a walk. Need some fresh air." Shinji offered.

"Are you deaf? It's not safe out there."

"I can manage." Shinji called back.

It's easy when you've seen worse.

As he reached the interior staircase, he faintly heard the ex-soldier say, "Always a strange one, him. You know he never talks to anyone?"


Although the din was clearly noticeable, Shinji's street stayed relatively quiet. Most sensible people were still in bed or watching the "fireworks" from the safety of their homes. Yet, things were still safer now than they'd ever been in his lifetime. Once, these were some of the favourite haunts of the Yakuza crime lords, who'd ruled a silent empire even before the Eruption. But since the day old Chakku Jinbo had let his delusions of grandeur get the better of him, since he challenged the military directly, they'd become all but extinct.

Just have the occasional youth gangs to deal with these days. Even drugs seem under control. Say one thing for Marshal Motichka, but she keeps order in her own way. Shinji tried not to muse on how many had to be beaten and shot before the "Time of Crime" was ended.

He'd managed to make it halfway to "his hill" when it went wrong. Pacing down an intersection he thought was far enough away from the riot, he suddenly heard the shouts and cries of hundreds of people hurtle his way. To his right, he saw them and immediately backed up.

Rioters and various other malcontents, some with red masks and hats on to denote their communist nature, an echo of the long-lost Civil War, stampeded down the street. Faint outlines of brown uniformed Kenpeitai were in hot pursuit, some in black riot gear. Petrol bombs and rubber bullets were exchanged in equal measure.

Shinji threw himself out of the main throng's way but still got caught in its snare. He fought against those pushing past him, knowing all he'd have to do was detour down an alleyway that would doubtlessly soon materialise…

"You!" Shinji froze. He knew that voice.

In his still stained tunic, sergeant Kaza glowered at him. "What are you doing here!?"

Run.

Shinji bolted, his brain already planning out an escape route. He knew downtown Kure, its nooks and crannies sprawled everywhere thanks to reconstruction. Screams of "stop, stay where you are!" followed him. Jack boots splashed in puddles he had just pelted past.

Got to block it out, got to focus. It didn't matter if his reasons for being there were innocent. After last night, his appearance at a public disturbance warranted suspicion in their eyes.

The Kenpeitai beat you within an inch of your life for less.

He pelted down alleyway after alleyway, until he could see the narrow path open out onto the sea front. Out there, he could easily be lost in the crowds of workers finishing night shift.

Instead, tired Kenpei footfalls at sufficient distance, he veered down another, narrower street and hid behind a large shop sign. A few seconds later, he heard his pursuers' boots hammer against pavement as they darted out into the gathering crowds.

Shinji couldn't help but smirk. They would thrash around aimlessly for a while now, until they were forced to return to their unit. Given the day's events so far, the manpower likely wouldn't be spared for an insolent teenager.

Shinji strained to hear footsteps over the crash of waves and cry of seagulls, just in case his pursuers doubled back. He relocated behind a skip just in case. After ten minutes he heard nothing.

"Chinese were more persistent than that." He muttered.

Satisfied, Shinji walked out onto the seafront. A large road ran over a concrete slab that eventually morphed into Kure's vast docks. This was the hub of the city. As a port and one of the major bases of the Japanese Combined Fleet, that vast armada of warships dedicated to the home island's protection, this was where dock workers hurried back and forth whilst cargo was offloaded, or sailors disembarked.

Dawn's golden light gently pushed through a blanket of sea mist. Spirits raised, Shinji wondered what ships were out at sea, until the tramping of boots jolted him back to reality.

One hundred footfalls at least hammered out as equipment chinked. A body of men marched around the corner, their uniforms navy blue beneath grey armour. Arisaka rail rifles were firmly clasped, bayonets glinting. It was an infantry company of the Imperial Japanese Army, one of the finest fighting forces in the world.

Cautious yet curious faces peaked out from behind closed curtains, whilst others darted indoors. Burly dockworkers all but skipped onto the pavement to keep out of their way. Only a few, Shinji among them, remained to watch the hundred and fifty strong unit march past. At their rear rumbled a Type-07 APC, .50 calibre already manned by a stern looking soldier.

Riot's gotten out of hand. Some baka is going to get shot.

Whilst the Kenpeitai were routinely mocked and clashed with, as they may well have deserved, the mere sight of Imperial Army bayonets sent even the strongest willed radical scurrying home.

"Pointless." Shinji muttered to no one. He readjusted his bag and walked on.


Kure shouldn't have been beautiful, yet it was. Metropolitan grey sprawled out like a great splash of paint, surrounded by endless jagged green hills. A knife of land jutted out into a carpet of blue. The city, built on either side of it, snaked together from behind. The sea rolled, rippled and crashed against barriers that could be risen higher in storm season. City, ocean and untamed mountain were the very core of Japan, and Kure epitomised it.

A haze of early morning mist clouded the port city as it roused from slumber. Soon, shops would open, children would walk to school and the metro would be packed to overflow, accompanied by the constant roar of military activity. With a crescendo of ship horns and the cries of a thousand gulls, Kure enjoyed as little sleep as any great Japanese city, let alone the nerve centre of imperial maritime commerce.

The fresh, salty sea air filled his lungs and nostrils. Shinji relished it and breathed in deeply. From here, ancient Ondonoseto Park provided a view few could contend. The great port city stretched out before him in its entirety, along with the grey waves that beat against the shore. Even in the fog, he could see merchantmen and warship alike steam through. Never was there a time when a ship didn't make port in Kure.

Shinji strained his eyes to make out the distant vessels. One hazed outline provoked a fond, familiar smile. He pulled out a notepad and pen from his backpack, then wrote a name, time and date. "Olgrov. 6:00am, 6th May 2017."

Me and my silly hobby. Looking up again, he admired the distant, rusty cargo freighter called "Olgrov."

Beyond sight, that gold, white and black horizontal tricolour limply yet ironically hung from the Slavyansk class freighter's flagpole; a Soviet built ship flew the Tsar's colours.

Surprised they haven't scuttled her yet. Last I heard, the Tsar still wants to annihilate whatever's left of the USSR.

Shinji clenched his jaw. As much as he loved his hobby, he'd more important matters to attend.

Reluctantly, he pulled the letter out of his bag. Shinji slowly read through it again as memory filled in the blanks left by disturbed sleep.

His nose wrinkled. Was a "hello" really all that difficult?

The time limit stood out as clear as the eternal summer sky; the train left at 1:00pm. Shinji needed time to think and a calm place to do it in, which was why he'd come here.

I've got about six hours, that should be enough. Trouble is, time always goes by quickly when you don't want it to.

He pulled out a flask from his bag and sipped its steamy contents. The sencha nourished him a little before he scanned the letter again with a frown.

Even with time, the words didn't seem any less blunt nor hurtful. Gendo clearly wanted him for something, else he wouldn't have written.

A distant horn cut through the fog like a knife through butter. A one-hundred-metre-long Matsushima class corvette pulled away from the docks, its funnel glowing with red Stephenson-particle energy.

Shinji let his imagination take him somewhere else. He stood on the deck of a ship like that, a limitless ocean around him. Uniformed and trained, he was a sailor, maybe even an officer of the Imperial Japanese Navy, serving his country with pride.

On one of those ships, I could make things right, Ryusaki-san. Sadness and fondness momentarily squeezed his heart. Now there's a debt I need to pay.

The ship's horn sounded out into the fog again. Shinji smiled. That distinct sound and a light slightly out of alignment was a dead giveaway.

HIJMS Kochi, 2nd Fleet. Compliment of ninety sailors, marines and officers. Must be going out on maneuverers.

"Damn it." He pouted. Out there, obscured from sight, were a few flotillas of warships, maybe even battleships. For Shinji, watching the vessels of the mighty Imperial Navy steam through these straights was a beloved past time. At least twice a week he would come up here and observe them with packed lunch and hot sencha for the afternoon.

To Shinji's surprise, the Kochi turned to port. The Second Fleet usually went out into the Sea of Japan for manoeuvres, rarely anywhere else. The Third fleet covered the south and Shikkoku from their base at Oita. The Kochi and the rest of her flotilla should be turning starboard, out to Tsushima basin and the Sea of Japan. To port, to the left, would take them further into Seto Inland sea, if not the Pacific itself.

Wonder what they're doing? Seems like the long way round…Ah, I'm overthinking it. They're part of the Combined Fleet, they've got a lot to patrol…

"Gah!" He punched the ground. He had to decide now: leave or stay? No more distractions.

"Why couldn't you have sent this last week?" Shinji hissed.

There was still time, though. Quietly, Shinji weighed up his options. On the one hand, a free trip to the capital, being chauffeured by a beautiful woman, and a chance of reconciliation. On the other, a long journey by train to a reunion that could go badly and would leave him stranded on the wrong side of Japan for a few days.

He didn't know how long he sat there, pondering. Gendo Ikari wanted to see him, and as a son who couldn't help but love his parent despite all, Shinji felt compelled to heed the summons. Yet deep down a part of himself spat bitterly of betrayal. Gently, like a daisy in spring, an idea as to why the letter had been so sudden blossomed. His brow wrinkled.

he's not ill, is he?

"What do I care? Hope it's terminal." Shinji snorted, then winced. "Shit."

Regret and shame displaced the fury. Did he really hate his father that much to wish him death? His mother would not have approved.

Shinji sighed and took a last look at the letter. Resigned, he folded it away and took a gulp from his flask. The sencha's grassy taste failed to soothe him. He stood up and slinged his bag over his shoulder.

Even if he isn't on his deathbed, father wouldn't have written unless this was important.

He cast one last lingering look at Kure. Deep down, Shinji knew he wouldn't see it again for a while.


Shinji trotted along in the narrow streets of downtown Kure, as his mind ran through what he would need to pack. It would be no more than a two-day trip, so he'd pack for three to be sure. That meant three days' worth of pants, socks and clean clothes, along with some money. Frugal by nature and education, money was no concern.

The streets started to fill as people sleepily stumbled to work. Weaving in and out, Shinji happily noted there weren't enough to form a solid mass. Their ranks thinned after the first few waves. With this unheard fortune, he found himself already at the shops which he'd ill-fatedly ventured to yesterday. Here was his other reason for being up so early: ingredients for a tasty breakfast.

Eggs, bread…and to hell with it, bacon.

The shelves were half empty when he stepped inside. Vans carrying fresh produce had only just arrived to fill them back up. Still, there was enough. Rare was the occasion when any shop ran out of eggs, after all.

At the till, he shifted uncomfortably beneath the dead, tired gaze of the cashier because the self-checkout had failed to start at this early hour. As the food was scanned slowly and painfully, he looked around for a temporary distraction. Like any shop these days, it had a television in the corner with the news on. Shinji vaguely took notice of it. A young, pasty faced woman reported live from Nakisawame, confusion in her raised tone as she tried to be heard over a din. Tanks rumbled past her, soldiers hitching a ride on them.

"Yes…yes, I can confirm, the 1st Heavy Air Squadron has been deployed to Nakisawame." The camera panned up to show four Susanoos as they crossed the blue heavens, flanked by dozens of fighters. The noise seemed to make the television shake. Even the cashier looked at the screen and frowned. "Imperial Army formations are taking up position at Defence Line 1. No word yet from either Parliament or the Military Council. Forces are concentrating at the coast. Reports are coming in of a massive naval deployment en-route here, possibly the 2nd and 3rd Fleet-"

The till pinged as it calculated the cost of his groceries. Shinji dropped his gaze and paid, eager to leave quickly. Outside, the usual mugginess began to intensify to its daily unbearableness. The earlier trickle of commuters steadily transformed into a flood as Shinji increased his pace. Thoughts of his father intermingled with what he'd just seen on the news.

That's a huge deployment. Haven't seen anything that big since the scuffle we had with the British over Tasmania a few years ago. But nothing from the Military Council, from the Marshal? Weird.

If there had been some international squabble, perhaps even some shots exchanged by border patrols, then Marshal Chiso Motichka would be the first to tell anyone about it. The idea she could turn down an opportunity to brag about Japan's martial supremacy was as preposterous as Shinji's teacher letting him have a cake for his birthday.

Eh. He shook his head. Whatever it is, it'll come to nothing. Japan cannot be conquered. A cruel smile twisted across his lips. More than a million dead Chinese dumped in the unmarked graves they deserved, and the Hinomaru flag flying over Shanghai, were testament to Japanese invincibility. Atop China's humiliation and punishment, the empire had been restored.

Chankoro scum.

A little part reflected sadly on what his mother would think of that. She surely would never have wanted him to hate like this. Alas, the war had seen to it he wouldn't feel any other way about Gaijin.

"It's raining, it's pouring, Marshal Motichka's snoring!" The sweet, high pitched voice caused Shinji's hairs to stand up. He froze and turned to see a little boy no older than seven jumping in a puddle. In blue student's uniform and with bag slung over shoulder, he was clearly on his way to school.

"She went to bed and bumped her head and couldn't get up in the morning!" The boy sang, oblivious to the world and other looks of horror. Shinji made no attempt to correct him and almost ran away, only looking behind to see if there were any brown tunics in sight.

I'm already in the Kenpeitai's bad books! If they caught me with a kid singing that…

One beating in the last twenty-four hours was quite enough.

War, the state breathing down everyone's neck, this was too sullen for today. After all, he'd some legitimate good news for once, in the form of his father's invitation. The mere thought caused him to smile oddly as he tried to suppress it.

I mustn't get ahead of myself. Still, either way he needs to see me.

The smile irresistibly broadened as he gave in. A spring entered his step.

He needs to see me.

When was the last time anyone "needed" him?