Kumamoto City, August 1984
Although the clock on the wall counted down the seconds in the exact rhythm, and she knew for a fact that it had been exactly eleven minutes and forty-four seconds since she had arrived, the feeling of being stuck motionless in this place for an eternity persisted. The distinctive mixture of the smell of antiseptics and floor cleaner with a strange metallic scent, as well as the electric buzzing of fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor in which she was waiting, made her considerably uncomfortable. She did her best to maintain an air of serious indifference, even though she was in the midst of an internal battle to herself keep from running away. She was well aware that her absence here would be seen as a great affront, and that flight was the domain of cowards and traitors, but she couldn't shake the tempting vision of simply getting up and leaving, as if nothing significant had happened here and she had never been here.
Even she was familiar with the feeling of irrational fear caused by a stimulus that, like a secret code, transmits information about a hypothetical threat to the brain, instructing it to prepare the body to fight, flee or freeze. She had no idea why it was exactly the hospital that had caused her to feel this way. She suspected it might be the result of some unpleasant event in her past, but she couldn't remember exactly what it was. Quite often her memory was missing more or less important pieces of the puzzle, so she would not be surprised if this explanation were the right one. The possibility that her memory was failing was failing her, worried her more than the idea that she was scared for no reason. Though based on what she had been led to believe, the latter option was the worse one.
All her life she had been taught that she had no need for emotions, little better than animal instincts, and that the functions they performed were to be replaced by intellect alone, a far superior tool with which evolution had equipped man through natural selection of the best individuals. That was how someone superior to the common mob, someone created to become almost superior human ought to be. Something on the borderline between an always infallible and perfect machine and a god, cruel, full of pride, only wrapped in a human body. But no matter what she had been taught, told to do or endure, she still possessed ordinary human weaknesses and perhaps even a heart. Recently, she had even begun to wonder if it was actually possible to destroy all of this within herself. These thoughts were dangerous - from the perspective of what she had been taught, they were pure heresy. If someone found out about them... She would be in great trouble.
The nurse came out of the room she was sitting across from, and with a mere nod of her head let her know she could enter. As she entered, the uneasiness completely disappeared, as if it had never been there - like a deformed shadow, banished by the simple act of turning on the light. She had a task ahead of her, which gave her a certain sense of comfort, in the guise of a pleasant emptiness. It could be called simply concentration.
Junko Aizawa sat upright, full of refined dignity, on the last and only occupied bed, looking surprisingly well considering yesterday's events. Her face was lightly mussed by a shadow of fatigue, and her hair was only in a slight disarray. This is what the captain of the Kuromorimine team, which had just won the National Championship finals, should look like, and, despite the fact that she came from a side line of the famous Nishizumi family, was a perfect embodiment of Nishizumi Style virtues. Only the mint-colored hospital gown, the bandage on her head and the IV in her hand betrayed that not everything had gone as it should. Her attention was drawn to Aizawa's absent-minded look; it could have been the result of either fatigue, or medication. The worst had been avoided, but the mere fact that this year's victory was not without serious losses and injuries caused slight regret. But a victory is still a victory, and the scarlet banner once again went to Kuromorimine.
She paid her respect by standing at attention. Tradition, although recently somewhat sweeped under the rug by progress and modernity, was still a sacred thing. Adherence to the rules of drill and ceremonial, which were one of its pillars, was the duty of every girl respecting herself, and her sisters in Sensha-dō. For her, the drill, in addition to being a sign of Kuromorimine's glory and honor, was a source of a certain order that made her life significantly easier. A predetermined, rigid hierarchy, pre-written formulas for civility, and the removal of ambiguity in favor of effective practicality, once she became familiar with them, made her know who she was and what exactly was expected of her. Outside Sensha-do, where the rules may have been there, but not as codified, let alone clearly laid out, she felt less confident.
She thought that everyone shared the same sentiment, however, it couldn't have been further away from the truth. Most people could instinctively, without written, clearly laid out set rules of conduct, understand how a given community functions and what place they should take in its order, and she was significantly lacking this skill.
"As a captain of Kuromorimine Middle School's Sensha-dō team, I want to congratulate the High School Division and especially you, Captain Junko Aizawa, for the remarkable victory in the 34th National Sensha-do Tournament. Your unwavering dedication and relentless effort in upholding the honor of Kuromorimine have not gone unnoticed, and we express our gratitude for serving as an exemplary role model for our entire division."
She finished her little speech with an appropriate bow. She had been practicing it since yesterday, repeating written beforehand text over and over again inside her head, untill she could repeat it out loud without hesitance. She was not a born speaker, but everything can be mastered, given enough dedication and practice. In her case however, such a valuable skill, had to be learned.
There was silence for a moment. Aizawa turned her gaze toward the window without even deigning to look at her. It was her first time seeing her behave like that, so she had no idea what she might be thinking about. Anyway, she didn't even try to guess, because she knew perfectly well that she was doomed to fail from the start. From the elusive emotional state of her superior there was something much easier for her to recognize and name - a sense of relief. The worst was behind her. Now all that was left was a polite conversation about nothing and she could get out of here. Although she still stood at attention, she felt slightly relaxed.
Finally, she looked at her with a look she had never seen before. Although she seemed to be looking at something, it was hard to tell if she was actually seeing what was going on around her. After a few seconds, she closed her eyes for a few seconds, and when she opened them, she was back to her usual self.
"Sorry about that, my head is still hurting. Be seated. " Captain Aizawa gestured to the chair next to the bed, which she took as instructed. "Quite nice, but I don't suppose you improvised. Who helped you put your little speech together?"
"Nanami Shimakawa" she answered without hesitation. Her gunner, as always in these situations, proved to be an invaluable help, and there was no point in denying that.
"Of course, it had to be her. Rather than being a tanker or a pianist, she should become a poet, don't you think? Maybe one day she'll write an elegy to one of us?"
"Perhaps"
Once again there was a moment of awkward, strange silence. If it happens again, she will probably lie and say that she has some family business to attend to today, or some papers to fill in. It could also happen that Aizawa realises that she is not ready for a conversation and lets her go. This option seemed the best. Normally, moments like this were heavy and exhausting, but at this moment, the atmosphere was exaggeratedly light, as if everything was floating in the air. Just like in a dream.
"Do you think it was worth it?"
Captain Aizawa suddenly spoke, as if she were talking to herself, and again not looking at her, this time driving her gaze to the ceiling. This was all starting to get weirder and weirder. She didn't understand the point of the question. It seemed completely out of context, inappropriate to the situation, so she decided to assume it was about the last game. That was the easiest way.
"The damage to the equipment is so great that we will have to repair the tanks for at least a month. Apart from you, no one else has been injured. It has been worth it. Great victories cannot be attained without sacrifice."
"I'm not asking just about yesterday's battle. Do you think theres any meaning to all of this? That Sensha-do isn't just a stupid game, and that everything we've sacrificed and suffered so far wasn't in vain?"
She had never expected that someone like Aizawa, who had been practicing Sensha-dō since she was a little girl, could have such doubts. She had known her for as long as she could remember, having trained with her from the very beginning. In every memory she had, she was an almost perfect reflection of what a young woman who pursued Sensha-dō ought to be, so she didn't suspect that the Junko Aizawa herself might have such doubts. She chose not to answer her. It was quite possible that she could get more out of her with silence. In fact, she managed to do so, because Aizawa inhaled deeply and prepared to go on.
"Lately I've begun to feel that what we're doing is some kind of pathetic puppet show, and we both know who's pulling the strings. It is supposed to be about raising girls to be exemplary, modern Japanese women, but with each passing day I know less and less about what it is really about. I could die practically every day, but I have no idea what for. So that the people who bet on my rival can get their money back? So that our deranged mothers can meet for tea in the afternoon and complain that we don't know what sensha-do is, while they only see it as a glamorous, prestigious game? So that federation officials and judges, who are supposed to be looking after our safety, can get rich off our tragedy? They hope to get as much money as possible, and we hope that their faulty safety devices and rigged ammunition don't kill us! Is this the way it should be? I don't know any other world than the world of Sensha-do, but every day I begin to hate it more and more, even though I'm nothing without it. Are we really cursed?"
After the last, blasphemous accusation, she hid her face in her hands, trying to stifle her tears. She was trembling, gasping for air, trying to slow her breathing down by force of will, but she was defeated by her own distress, and gave in rather quickly and fully lost control of herself, allowing violent sobbing to escape from her chest, strengthened by her attempt to control it. Junko Aizawa, the pride of Kuromorimine, one of the best Japanese tankers of her generation, famous for her cool and accurate calculations and fierce fighting spirit, was now weeping like a terrified little girl. Weak and worthless. A pathetic sight indeed.
Can she still be trusted? She personally thought, despite what she was taught, that doubts in themselves are not evil, as long as you are able to suppress them and do your own thing. What Aizawa was doing now was unacceptable. She mentioned things that SHALL NOT BE TALKED ABOUT. It's dangerous to think about them, let alone talk about them outloud. Does she think she had nothing left to lose? She was lucky that no one else was there to see her now, because if anyone else had witnessed her hysteria, the whole thing could have come to light and then it would be the end of her.
She wanted to leave because the situation was getting too uncomfortable for her, but something told her to stay. How much time did she actually spend here and how much longer would she have to? She preferred not to know, nothing irritated her more than wasting time.
"Have I lost my mind?" Junko asked, falling helplessly onto the pillow. She calmed down faster than she expected. With her mouth slightly open and her eyes blurry, she looked like a dead fish washed up on the shore. She was probably aware of what a pitiful condition she was in and would consider this comparison quite apt. And it also seemed like she wanted to continue the conversation, without any reciprocity.
"Maybe." What she had just witnessed was not evidence of sound mind.
"But I repeat my question, do you think Sensha-dō has any deeper meaning? "
" Yes, it does."
The fact that she was being asked about her own opinion surprised her a bit. Previously, no one ever cared about what she was thinking. She never had to say what was really on her mind before, accustomed to repeating clichés and pre-written, memorized formulas. Now she did something completely different than before, she moved in a completely different space, like a checkers pawn that suddenly moved from a white square to a black one. But he still makes the same moves, just in a different place. She even liked it. She had nothing more to add, although Junko obviously expected further explanation. How could she put into words something she could barely sense, let alone understand? However, something deep inside her told her to keep talking. Now she is the one losing control of herself.
"I don't know exactly what it is yet, but I know it definitely exists. I want to find it, and to understand it."
She knew from the very beginning that Sensha-dō was more than just a fool's play or a soulless mausoleum of tradition. It was about more than just results, tournaments and rivalries, which may have been important, but did not constitute the whole. But what is it really? And how was she supposed to know that? They forbade her to feel and understand, telling her only to do. They covered themselves with a mask of ideals that they were going to put to death anyway, just to have a moral justification for their crimes. And to keep up appearances, they needed someone like her, who would do their dirty work while externally being the embodiment of these virtues. If she continues to live as she is now, she will never know.
"You know, I want to be like you. I really want to believe in something, but I just can't. I'm even starting to think that maybe it's too late for me, that I've become a cynic for good. It has been poisoning me for a long time. I had to confess it to someone about it, you were just unlucky that it was you who got involved. I don't expect any understanding, on the contrary, a harsh judgement like the one you just gave me. Let's pretend this conversation never happened. "
"Yes, Captain!"
She realised it was over. Surprisingly, she felt nothing, not even relief, nor was she the least bit tired, which could not be said of Junko, who looked exhausted. Instead, she began to think of a plan, bigger than any she'd ever made before. She knew what she had to do, and she had no time to waist. All she had to do now was move forward.
If looked at from the side, with the objective eye of the camera, it would simply be a rather strange but still simply conversation between two girls - a former idealist on the verge of despair and a rigid servant. But with one question, which like a perfectly struck bullet hit the heart of the matter, something vibrated. One of them came out of there completely different from what she had been before, although she was completely unaware of it. It was only in retrospect that it became apparent how fateful that day had been, seemingly ordinary and insignificant, even forgotten, and what it heralded.
Seen from the side, with the objective eye of the camera, it would simply be a strange but simple conversation between two girls - a former idealist on the verge of despair and a rigid servant. But one question, like a perfectly aimed bullet, that hit straight to the heart of the matter, caused something to change. Though she was completely unaware of it, one of the girls came out of it as a completely different person than she had been before. Only in retrospect one could understand how fateful that seemingly ordinary, insignificant day was and what it a way, it was reminiscent of a gentle breeze on a hot summer's day. No one could even imagine it being the first harbinger of a powerful storm.
Thus in Kuromorimine began the age of Sturm und Drang.