Chapter 18: A Training Arc (Part 2)
(A big thank you to Siatru, and to Grig9700, Sunny, WrandmWaffles, and Daemon for beta reading this chapter.)
There was, as far as I could see, no way out. I had been caught red-handed and flatfooted, and I had no idea how to explain what Ohgi had just seen. I did not know how long he had stood by the cedars watching as I swooped and spun around the boulder, so focused on running my calculations and, to be honest, so lost in the sensation of nearly flying once more, that I had completely forgotten to pay attention to the outside world. I had grown complacent and had foolishly assumed that a hiding spot only four hundred and fifty meters from The School's entrance would be enough to keep my practice sessions secret.
Of course Ohgi would notice that I had slipped out and disappeared! Of course he would go out in search of me, as he was my self-appointed minder and co-leader of this training group! I must have been stupid to think otherwise, or really, to have not considered the possibility at all. And now I was paying for my idiotic behavior, standing on the stony bank of a frozen river, tongue-tied and shuffling my feet like the guilty child I suddenly felt like I was.
What do I say to him? My mind, usually so quick and agile, had unaccountably fallen into disorder and had screeched to a grinding halt. I couldn't think, couldn't plan. All the ideas and strategies and plans that constantly whirled through my mind had deserted me. I couldn't explain it; I had been in all kinds of situations that had far higher stakes, when my own life and death had been on the line, and I had never frozen up like this – never felt so stunned and panicky. The closest I had come had been when I thought Naoto would reject me, tell me to leave the group... Then, the fear of suddenly being alone again had been overwhelming, but I'd still had ideas of how to convince him to change his mind, to reconsider... Ideas that had ultimately proven unnecessary, but that had nonetheless come to me immediately. And now, I couldn't even figure out whether I should tell the truth or lie, much less come up with anything close to believable.
Should I run? The idea was nonsense, yet strangely appealing. Not having to explain one of the few secrets I still held close, the secret weapon that had seen me through thick and thin, that had kept my limbs moving when those around me collapsed, never to rise again... But then what? And where to? I couldn't do it. Panicked flight without a goal would burn my bridges and likely condemn me to a death by exposure or cold. For some reason, the first of those two probable outcomes felt like the worst of the pair.
I suddenly realized that while I had been working myself up into an uncharacteristically indecisive froth, Ohgi had slowly approached from the tree line, and was now only two arm lengths away. The initial shock still lingered, but an all too familiar concern was evident in the worried furrow of his brow and the set of his mouth. He paused in his approach as we made eye contact, and then slowly bent his knees, lowering himself down until he was nearly at eye level with me. "Tanya... Are you okay?"
Abruptly, I felt ashamed of my thoughts of flight or deception as I remembered a conversation around the battered old table back in Naoto's apartment. Back then, this same man had said, with all detectable sincerity, that I was needed, "not just because of your raw ability, we need you for you." I had believed him then – why was I suddenly so convinced that he would reject me now? I am afraid of being rejected, of being thought crazy? Well... I'm not a coward. Mustering up my courage, I opened my mouth and asked, "Ohgi... Do you believe in magic?"
Ohgi paused for a moment. "Magic...? I... can't say I've ever seriously thought about it, Tanya..." For some reason, he looked even more worried than he had a moment earlier. I could understand why – if one of my coworkers in my first life had suddenly started talking about magic, I would have been worried that they'd snapped too. That said, he'd just seen me hovering over the ground, so the skepticism seemed a bit rich at the moment.
I took a deep breath. "I've always known that there was something... different about myself. Something that made me stand out from the other children at my school, and then the other refugees in the Ghetto." I paused trying to figure out how to explain the next part. "When the Britannians invaded and my mother moved us to Shinjuku... When I had to start working... I was able to draw on that special thing as a source of energy and strength..."
"And that special thing was... magic?" Ohgi frowned slightly at that, before speaking again, this time slowly, haltingly, clearly choosing each word with care. "And... you can use this... magic... to strengthen yourself, and... to fly?"
I nodded, doing my best not to look too relieved. So far, he wasn't running for the hills or calling me crazy – although I suppose the second was harder to do if you'd seen "magic" with your own eyes. "I don't truly know how it works, or what it is, but I don't have a better way to describe it than magic. I can use it to enhance my strength, my endurance, my reflexes, and my mental acuity. I can't use it to fly – though I might be able to someday, but I can use it to redirect what direction I am moving in and how fast I am going. I only recently figured that out, and I was practicing it when you interrupted me."
Ohgi smiled faintly at the mild note of reproach in my voice, before reaching out and tousling my hair. I stood still and endured it in stoic silence, rather than attempt flight or resistance; a small personal token of thankfulness that he had believed me, that he hadn't rejected me... "So, you're a real life magical girl, huh?" His teasing tone belied the concern I still saw on his face, but that concern was steadily blending with awe and... pride, was it? "Do you have a special transformation sequence or anything? A small talking animal mascot, perhaps?"
I endured the affection for as long as I could stand it – roughly ten seconds – before applying my newly refined vector acceleration skills to scoot back a few feet, out of reach of any prospective head pats. I'm not running away from physical affection! I am strategically repositioning for a tactical advantage, dammit! "The only talking animal I see here is you, Ohgi!" I snapped, playing up the mock irritation while internally thankful that he'd managed to dispel the remaining awkwardness with humor. A valuable skill in a leader... I should try to learn it. "Anyway, call it magic or something else if you can't keep a straight face about it. The point is, it gives me some limited tactical advantages."
Ohgi nodded his understanding. "Magic is fine. Sorry, it... just took me by surprise to hear it." He sighed heavily and rubbed at his head, denting his already somewhat flattened pompadour. "I mean, I honestly don't know if I'd have believed it at all, if I hadn't seen you, uhh... practicing, for myself." He closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them with an air of renewed determination. "Alright, so... Magic. What do you need to be effective?"
I blinked, mildly surprised at how fast Ohgi had gone from confusion to acceptance. Ohgi clearly caught the momentary flicker of surprise, and smiled wryly. "You're already plenty special without magic, Tanya. I decided to try and stop being surprised when you pull out some fresh piece of insanity and just go along with it – it's better for my liver that way."
I snorted at that, remembering multiple nights I'd helped tuck a drunken Ohgi, or Naoto, or both, into bed, pulling their boots off and making sure that a glass of water was near at hand for whenever they woke up with a headache. I'd personally never been much of a fan of alcohol, especially not to the point of drunkenness, but I wasn't going to begrudge anybody the minor luxuries it took to get through the Shinjuku day.
"Good, it'd be a shame if your liver failed before you hit thirty five, old man! Don't you know that we don't offer healthcare for life-style issues?" Call me insane, would he? Hah!
Ohgi theatrically clutched his chest for a second, before laughing and letting his hand drop to his side. "Eh, I just hope I live long enough for death by cirrhosis to take me." The smile stilled for a moment, a pensive expression momentarily on his face, before Ohgi shook off the darkness. "Anyway, do you need anything for your magic to work? Any, uhh... mana crystals or anything?"
This time, I laughed. "What, like a video game? Where the hell would I be buying crystals out here?" I had a sudden image of a man who looked a lot like Captain Ugar from the old Logistical Corps, only dressed like a stereotypical wizard, and snorted with amusement. "No, all I need is food. Food, and more muscle."
Ohgi lit up at that. "Ah! So it's somehow tied to your body's reserves? And as your stamina improves, so does your m-magical capacity?"
I nodded and tried to avoid slipping into my instructor's voice. "Yes, exactly! Thanks to you, I've had more time to eat, so I've had more caloric intake, which has helped promote muscle development. In turn, this has increased my magical capacity, allowing me to investigate new applications!" I realized I had failed in my attempt – I was helpless to resist the cadence of the classroom, and only barely managed to force my mouth closed, halting the flow of detail.
Thankfully, Ohgi came to the rescue a moment later, filling the sudden silence as I resisted the impulse to vomit forth more detail about a topic near and dear to my heart after years of secret keeping. "New applications, eh? Well, sounds like it's a great idea to keep you fed! Which, come to think of it, is why I went looking for you anyway. The new arrivals are mostly done setting up, and Nagata was organizing dinner when I left – how about we get out of the cold and get some food before the guys eat it all?"
MARCH 17, 2016 ATB
"THE SCHOOL" TRAINING FACILITY
Today was my birthday, a fact I hadn't bothered to share with anybody. The anniversary of my birth had even less emotional weight in this life than in my previous two, as my mother had been too poor, too distant, and too drunk to ever do much to celebrate it. It hadn't bothered me as a child, and while I now regret not trying harder to get to know the woman who kept me alive for all those years, who had done her best to support my educational aspirations... Not celebrating my birthday didn't bother me much now either. As such, I had expected today to be much like yesterday – busy, but comparatively uneventful.
Somehow, Ohgi had learned it was my birthday, and had conspired with Nagata to smuggle a hot rotisserie chicken and a small can of coffee with filters into our shared room. I had no idea how the two had managed this achievement, but when I returned to the dorm room there they were. The two fools had tried to refuse any of the chicken, but I had insisted; I didn't want them to think I was a food hoarder, after all. In the small but cramped confines of hungry Shinjuku, hoarding food from family and friends was taboo, as it represented a willingness to prioritize oneself over the collective good. After much effort, I managed to foist a breast and a wing off onto each man, saving my favorite parts for myself and carefully "forgetting" to offer either man any of my coffee – some sacrifices were too weighty to bear.
It was the best birthday of my third life to date. I hoped all three of us would live for at least another year, so I could celebrate with Naoto, Kallen, Inoue and Tamaki next time.
APRIL 4, 2016 ATB
"THE SCHOOL" TRAINING FACILITY
The long awaited arrival of spring in Gunma Prefecture coincided almost perfectly with the graduation of the first class of trainees. It was amazing, after so long in urban environments, to see how dramatic the seasonal change was out in the hilly backcountry. All around the school skeletal deciduous trees suddenly erupted in green buds, and the deep snow diminished and retreated to the shadows of the evergreens. The fields turned to mud, the returning birds chirped, and Major Onoda continued to complain about how the recruits were being "coddled".
Thankfully, despite Onoda's grousing, he had managed to impart a number of valuable skills to the trainees over the last three months, offering badly needed insight and first hand experience into the arts of signal intelligence and infiltration. Onoda had also made an arguably even more valuable contribution to their training; He had managed to instill a sense of patience in even the most hot-headed of the recruits, who were now capable of lying prone in a puddle of mud for hours on end without movement or complaint. Combined with the hours each man and woman had spent on the range familiarizing themselves with the captured Britannian assault rifles and pistols as well as the thorough grounding all sixty had received in ambush tactics, the first cohort had emerged from their training as theoretically expert irregular fighters. Coupled with the lessons on how to repair and sabotage machines, how to drive, how to provide life-saving first aid, and on close quarters combat, the cohort would have looked extremely promising on paper, if anything that happened at The School was actually recorded in any form.
Despite the wide-range of skills, Major Onoda continued to insist on a graduation test. Worryingly, he had actually come to our latest meeting with an argument other than tradition.
"When push comes to shove, Miss Hajime, most people simply don't have the will to kill."
After I had demonstrated my proficiency with small arms and close quarters combat to his satisfaction, Major Onoda deigned to speak directly to me, although his tone when we met for our weekly one on one meeting remained insufferable.
"It is unfortunate, but many soldiers simply lack the warrior spirit." The sneer was quite incredible, especially compared to the JLF liaison's typically expressionless mien. "They shoot over the heads of the enemy, they don't close for combat, they offer mercy..."
Onoda shook his head, looking for all the world like a disappointed teacher who had grown used to the stupidity of his students. "These are not true soldiers. They are perhaps capable of support, maybe garrison duty, but are not capable of true soldiering. But..." Unconsciously, he leaned in slightly, and I could see the glint of an enthusiasm and interest that went far beyond the professional in his eyes. "But if you force them to kill, to do up close so they can feel the blood on their hands, their enemy's hot breath on their face, and if you make them do it in front of their buddies, well... Nobody likes to be the screw up in the squad. That's how you make sure your recruits will actually serve the Cause."
I nodded my agreement. Peer pressure was an excellent motivator, for better or worse, and I was certain that Onoda was at least partially correct in his assessment that forcing men to kill made it easier for them to kill again in the future.
That said, the way that Onoda persisted in bringing this topic up over and over again all but proved that this was a personal matter, something that Onoda considered a vitally important part of training. I wonder if the rest of the JLF agrees? "I understand your point, Major Onoda. Unfortunately, the logistical problems with the concept remain unchanged from the last time we discussed this topic." I paused for a moment. "Out of curiosity, Major, does the JLF still maintain this tradition? I haven't heard of many Britannians vanishing without a trace, certainly not in batches."
Onoda winced slightly, and sagged a little. "Unfortunately, General Katase, in his wisdom, has prohibited blooding training after the honored Colonel Tohdoh expressed reservations. Besides," his mouth twisted as if he'd bit into something rotten, his thin mustache twisting with his lips, "the Japanese Liberation Front has not pursued a vigorous recruitment policy over the last several years, which has rendered the matter moot, for now at least." He sighed and shook his head with dismay. "The wisdom of that choice I understand. We already have too many men sitting in bunkers, unwilling to take the fight to the enemy."
I blinked, taking care to conceal any other evidence of my surprise. This was by far the most talkative mood I had ever caught Onoda in, and it was the most he had ever said about the inner politics of the JLF in my hearing. "But you have been active. You said that you had been in Fukushima Prefecture, scouting the new MagLev rail branch – why weren't you sitting in a bunker too?"
Something about that made Onoda perk back up. "It's all thanks to Lieutenant Colonel Kusakabe. Kami willing, he is the future of the Japanese Liberation Front! He is the only divisional commander willing to take an aggressive stance against the foreign invader!" Onoda paused, smiled, and continued on more calmly. "He is also my superior officer. Most of us still willing to take the fight to the Britannians are under his command."
That was a very interesting tidbit. It sounded like General Katase, who I'd learned from previous conversations was the overall commander of the JLF, had opted to cut down on his headaches by lumping all of his problem children together in one unit. Frankly, that only sounded like a good idea to me if his plan was to use said unit as an expendable division, one that would take the most casualties and be given only the most risky assignments. No point in saying as much to Onoda, though...
"That actually brings me to another question, Major, and feel free to not answer it if it breaks operational security," I began, carefully injecting a note of respectful deference, and lowering my head a carefully metered degree for a moment, "but what sort of operations does the JLF conduct to further the goal of liberating Japan? No need for specifics, but can you describe any examples?"
Onoda did not immediately respond, instead studying me silently. His typically expressionless mask had returned, as had the familiar flat eyes that betrayed nothing of the Major's inner thoughts. I kept quiet as the silence dragged uncomfortably onward. Eventually, some inner calculation must have been completed, as Onoda opened his mouth and began to speak. His tone was calm, his voice level, but I could almost feel the man's frustration.
"General Katase has decreed that in order for Japan to one day be liberated, we must preserve and build our strength, and mislead the Britannians into the false impression that we will never act, until the day to spring our accumulated might upon them and drive them from glorious Japan comes at last. As such, most of our official missions are towards that end – accumulating resources and intelligence, cultivating strength, and luring the Britannians into complacency."
Onoda fell silent, licking his lips for a moment, before resuming. "We now have bunkers and storerooms full of enough supplies to last our garrisons for years, more weapons than men to use them, listening posts near every radio tower in Japan and taps on practically every phone line... and yet, we do not attack. We barely even recruit. I worry that the Britannians have not been the only ones to be misled into the belief that the day of liberation will never come."
I nodded gravely. Onoda hadn't really answered my question, but he hadn't needed to – I could draw the obvious lines between the dots myself. The JLF's leadership had lost the will to fight, in Onoda's eyes, and had instead opted to continue kicking the can down the road. The only faction in the JLF that was still active in the world outside their bunkers was apparently Kusakabe's group. I had noticed the emphasis Onoda had put on specifying that he was only speaking about officially sanctioned missions; considering that Kusakabe's division was apparently where the most aggressive and willing to fight were sent, I could only wonder at the scope of his unofficial missions.
"It occurs to me," I began carefully, realizing that I was far out onto thin ice at this point, "that we might be able to help each other." I paused, but Onoda didn't respond in any visible manner so I continued. "I still owe two missions for your organization, to be conducted upon targets that you specify. If, perhaps, one of those missions involved damaging the Britannian communication network by, say, taking over a radio station, perhaps some messaging informing the Japanese public that the JLF is seeking new members and that the day of liberation is near at hand could somehow be broadcast before the station is destroyed?"
Onoda's breath hissed out, but he still looked as expressionless as ever. Then, a somewhat detached, thoughtful look came over him, and he pointedly turned slightly to the side, looking out through the window of the empty classroom. "It would be exceedingly... unfortunate, in General Katase's point of view, if an irregular group unconnected to the Japanese Liberation Front, in their enthusiasm, aired such a message." Onoda nodded at nothing in particular, and turned back to look at me. "There is an FM station in Niigata Prefecture, one I have been to before. I will be speaking about the basics of operating the transmission equipment I observed there in an hour. Please use your discretion about how you choose to share this information. In the meantime, I will be recording a short message for my own amusement. I frequently forget to remove the CD from the machine after I finish recording."
I nodded again, and stood up from the cushion I had been kneeling upon. Onoda couldn't have been clearer if he tried – if this mission was successful, I would have done his faction a favor and partially paid off my debt to the JLF in the process. If I failed, on the other hand, Onoda would claim that it had been a rogue operation. Guess Gekokujō is alive and well in the JLF. What a surprise.
APRIL 7, 2016 ATB
MINAMIUONUMA, NIIGATA
1437
Minamiuonuma had been, before the Conquest, a prosperous medium-sized city of 50,000. Its inhabitants had relied upon the abundant and productive paddy fields that churned out the famous Koshihikari variety of rice for summer season income. In the winter, its deep snows and ski resorts had drawn tourists from all over Japan, and occasionally even from abroad. In essence, Minamiuonuma had been an up and coming provincial burg, a place where little that was newsworthy happened, a safe place for pensioners to settle or for young families to be raised in mixed agrarian-urban bliss.
Now, rolling into Minamiuonuma in the back of an illicitly acquired van, I could only mourn the sheer waste, the mismanagement that every meter of Minamiuonuma bore, the same scars that every village, town, or city I had traveled through so far had borne. Over the last day, my team and I had traveled through Naganohara, Nakanojo, Takayama, Numata, Minakami, and Yuzawa, plus half a dozen nameless villages. From a street-level view, it was impossible to miss the number of shuttered shops, the buildings gutted by fire and left to rot, and of course, the number of walls with lines of clearly visible bullet holes at chest height. It was clear that under the burden of Britannian occupation, rural Japan was dying. The vitality and produce were sucked away by distant landlords and governors, whose will on the ground was enforced both by civilian overseers and managers and by the small Britannian garrisons and Honorary Britannian police forces scattered across the interior.
Nobody was in much of a mood to talk; that was clear enough from the mood in the van. Nagata was stonefaced behind the wheel, dressed in the livery of the same delivery service that we had stolen the van from. The other eight men and two women-two squads of the newly graduated cohort-also sat in a silence heavy with tension. I could imagine what they were thinking about, but only just barely. It had been so long-literally a lifetime ago-since the first time I had gone into battle.
Idly, I wondered if I had actually gotten off lightly, in that regard at least; I had not expected to be fighting for my life when I'd gone up into the Norden sky, and that sudden plunge into battle had been a nearly complete surprise, sprung on me with only a minute's warning. By contrast, these two squads, the best of the first training cohort, had known for three days what was coming. Had it haunted them, the knowledge that their lives might be over in days hanging over every waking hour and dreaming minute? Impossible to know for sure, but I suspected that it had. While every man and women, and child, in Shinjuku had walked side by side with Death for the last half-decade, the terror of one's own mortality had never truly numbed, at least not for me. And I knew that there was at least the possibility of life after death, that there was something in the void, asinine though that something may be.
Well, I'm the leader. It's up to me to get them into the best shape, morale wise, instead of letting them stew in their anxieties! "Let's go over the plan once more," I said, deliberately breaking the silence. Immediately, every head except Nagata's in the van turned towards me. I smiled back at them, taking the time to look from person to person, making eye contact with each of my brand new baby comrades.
"First, I want you all to know that I am proud of you," Start with the praise – it gets the audience receptive. "You all have done a superb job on your training. Now, you will have the opportunity to put your new skills into practice." I reached into the rucksack at my feet, and pulled out a jewel box, containing an unlabeled CD, and held it up for their inspection. "Our job is to get in, get this message from the JLF broadcast, and get out, preferably destroying the CD and the radio station as we do so." I smiled at my captive audience again, drawing their eyes back to me from the CD. "Of course, it is not going to be so simple, nor so easy. I suspect the Britannians might take an unkind view to our choice of alternative programming."
After the pity chuckle died down, I turned my attention to the particulars. "As far as we are aware, there are two groups of opposing forces active in the region: The Minamiuonuma Municipal Police Department, which is primarily staffed with Honorary Britannians with minimal training and armed exclusively with clubs, has between three hundred and three hundred and fifty officers. On the other hand, the goon squad - excuse me, the 'private security force' - hired by the local landlord's Property Management Society consists of between fifty and eighty Britannian veterans equipped with small arms and in possession of two ex-military armored personnel carriers."
This was hardly a surprise, as they'd all heard the plan before, but the numbers were admittedly daunting. I didn't begrudge them the clenched jaws, the darting eyes, the overwhelming nervous tension. "This might sound like a lot, but a ton of garbage is still garbage, which is what they are. A bunch of practically untrained collaborators armed with sticks, whose job up until now has been terrorizing farmers into working, and some mercenaries only interested in their next paycheck are garbage." The beauty of it was that I barely had to spin the facts. The mercenary Britannians might be formidable, but I doubted any of them was eager to die for the local landlord. "They lack unity of command, and they have no idea that we're coming."
I turned to the leader of Squad 1, a fairly tall man in his early thirties named Yoshi, who was unfortunately experiencing early balding. "Squad 1 – what are your tasks?"
Yoshi coughed slightly, uncomfortable with suddenly being put on the spot, before responding. "You will drop us off near the Shiozawa Station, along with our gear. We'll plant the first package by the station, and then head through the underpass to the north and keep going for a mile. The mercenaries and their APCs are headquartered at the old ski resort in the hills there. We are to set the second package on Prefectural Route 124 where it turns. When the first APC comes through, we blow the bomb."
I nodded and gestured for him to continue. Heartened, Yoshi resumed his recitation. "If the APC is stopped, we fire the RPGs at it and the second one. If any men get out, we open fire and fall back across the rice paddies, through the farms. We keep drawin' them after us until you give us the word, then we find a car and get north to the meeting point in Shitoka, behind the recycling plant."
I nodded. "Remember – your job is to be a highly mobile annoyance, not to be heroes. If you can kill their armor, or render them immobile, you will have done an excellent job. If you cannot, though, let me know immediately and fall back." I cast my eyes around the crowded van, "that goes for all of you. I need- Japan needs living soldiers far more than dead heroes. That said..." I closed my eyes for a moment, and continued, "That said, if you think you are going to be taken prisoner, I strongly recommend you make your own way out. I think you've all seen the photos from Christmas, right?"
All nine men and two women, Nagata included, nodded at that. Good, they all know the stakes. Too late to back out now, anyway. Onoda would be furious. I turned to Tsubaki, the leader of Squad 2. She smiled manically as she met my eyes, nervous excitement practically rolling off her as she squirmed in her car seat. Before I could even prompt her, she began reciting Squad 2's planned role, the words pouring out in a vomiting froth.
"After you and Nagata park the van and get out, we're supposed to wait inside until the two of you go into the radio station, and then we're gonna hop outta the van all at once and book it west and south to the city hall and we're going to kill everybody we can in that building – hopefully getting the mayor and chief of police too! But we gotta be fast, because we need to be back at the van five minutes later so we can hop in when you and Nagata head outta the station unless we wanna stay behind when you guys go!" Tsubaki took a deep breath as she reached the end, having recited the entire plan without stopping for breath. I frowned, but nodded. She had recited everything correctly, and in training exercises she'd been calm and collected under pressure. Seems like turning into a chatterbox is how she deals with the pre-mission jitters.
I looked out the window as Nagata took a left, and saw a sign for Prefectural Route 365. So we'll be coming up on Shiozawa Station in a minute. "Excellent work, all of you. Remember to keep in contact, keep your heads on a swivel, and don't let them take you alive. For the Rising Sun!"
"FOR JAPAN!"
APRIL 7, 2016 ATB
MINAMIUONUMA, NIIGATA
1449
Nagata smoothly pulled the van into a street-side parking space ten meters away from the radio station, neatly checking that he was within the painted lines before killing the engine. Adjusting the cap of his delivery man outfit, he clambered out of the driver's side door, an empty cardboard box in his hands. I slipped out after him, Ohgi's old, much abused black hoodie concealing the pistol and the knife that pressed firmly against my belly. I had been pleasantly surprised, earlier this morning, when I found that the hoodie that had once nearly swallowed me up was now only somewhat baggy. Of course, the better fit did have a downside as well. It's good to finally not be a stick anymore, but there's less room to hide weapons now...
As we approached the radio station, Nagata leading and me lurking in his shadow, I reached into my pocket and pressed the 'Transmit' button of the handheld radio I carried three times. I was relatively sure that Squad 1 would be able to receive the transmission at their planned location three and a half kilometers away, but I hadn't been able to test the effects of Minamiuonuma's buildings on the walkie talkies in advance. Too late to worry about that now. I was certain that Squad 2's radios had just clicked the signal, though, so in a few seconds they'd be boiling out of the van.
The station was only a few meters away, and I was happy to see that the staff had apparently chosen to draw the curtains today, presumably in an attempt to keep out the afternoon sun. Happily for us, that meant that, aside through the glass of the front door, no curious passersby would be able to look through the windows and see what was going on inside the station. That removes one source of potential complications; only a few hundred more to go.
Nagata fumbled slightly with his package as he opened the glass door to the station lobby, pretending that it contained something heavy to draw the attention of the woman seated behind the receptionist's desk. She half-stood, clearly trying to decide whether or not to get up and help him with the package, when I slipped out from behind Nagata, gun in hand. Before she had a chance to register what she was seeing, I fired once, twice, thankful that the coilgun pistol produced a tiny report compared to the deafening bellow of chemical propellant ignition.
Nagata threw the box aside and rushed in, drawing the combat knife whose sheathe had been tucked into the back of his belt as he headed left towards one of the two doors flanking the receptionist's desk.
I spun to the right, covering the lobby with the arc of my pistol, looking for any waiting visitors sitting in the collection of ancient folding chairs. Fortunately, there were none, and so I completed my revolution back to the door, which was just closing behind us. As I flicked the lock closed-a small measure, but one hopefully adequate to hold casual guests at bay – I saw Tsubaki emerging from the side door of the delivery van, assault rifle cradled in her arms. She's a bit early – I probably should've waited until we were at the door to twitch the radio. I hoped the remote detonated pipe bomb that ideally Squad 1 had already planted-a twin of the ones I had used in Shinjuku, and likewise sourced from Mister Asahara during the frantic two days of prep-was detonating successfully at just this moment. If not, we'll be drowning in municipal police in minutes.
The plan rested on two pillars: Speedy mobility, and the exploitation of the widely dispersed and poorly organized opposition forces. The police, armed only with batons, could still swarm my better armed insurgents under with their huge numbers, but they were already spread across the municipality in three stations. I hoped the explosion at the train station would draw the bulk of the officers from the southern station, as well as some from the station closer to the center of the city. The attack by Squad 2 on the City Hall was likewise geared to attract the attention of the police away from the radio station, our true target. I doubted that they would be able to react fast enough to get here in sufficient number – the true purpose of the Honorary Britannian municipal police was to terrorize the local farmers into productivity, not to take the lead on fighting hostile forces – but if they did, hopefully they would concentrate on the more numerous and better armed force that would soon be machine gunning the local bureaucrats and anybody unlucky enough to be visiting the permits office this afternoon.
My real concern was the "private security force" assembled by the Property Management Society. If they managed to get those APCs into town to respond to the attack on City Hall or to stop the broadcast of Major Onoda's message, never mind the bulk of their company-level strength, it would make extraction very difficult. Hopefully Squad 1's explosive ambush, complete with the use of another pipe bomb on the road most likely to be used if the mercenaries were dispatched to Minamiuonuma, would prevent their arrival entirely, or at least delay it until it was far too late.
A gurgling scream indicated that the receptionist was apparently still alive. Turning from the door, I began running the calculations for my enhancement suite, making sure to pace my energy expenditure. Easily vaulting over the desk, I landed foot-first on her face. The gurgle deepened as the fragments of her jaw were smashed down into her throat, but a second stomp on her neck soon muted even that sound. One down. Major Onoda's information had indicated a likely staff of four or five Honorary Britannians, overseen by a Britannian manager and accompanied by a Britannian newsreader. Five or six to go.
I burst through the door to the right of the reception area, and found myself in a short hallway. There were two doors that looked like they opened onto restrooms at the far end of the hall to my left, a door marked "Janitorial" to their right, a door marked "Office" next, and finally a thick door with two light panels hanging over it, one of which was glowing a bright red. Presumably, the studio.
Movement twitched in the left corner of my vision and I turned on my heel, bringing my pistol up to track the motion only to force my wrists back down towards the ground. Nagata emerged from the men's room, hands practically dripping with blood. "Guy was at the sink," he grunted, noticing my curious look, "thought I was coming in to use the urinal until I grabbed his hair." He rubbed at a spot on the left side of his abdomen, right below the ribs, and winced at the touch. "Fucker kept ramming his elbow into me the whole damned time. Only stopped when I was nearly to the spine."
I winced sympathetically. I knew from experience that the frenzied last burst of strength could be quite something, and the floating ribs bruised something awful. "Did you check the women's room?"
Nagata nodded. "Nobody was there, all the stalls were open." Well, unless they're in the Janitor's closet...
I turned and pointed my pistol at the door to the office. "Four or five to go. Let's get on with it – we're on the clock."
I walked over to the door and moved to the side, keeping my pistol trained on the door in case someone inside decided to take a leak. Without prompting, Nagata came up, grabbed the handle, and in one fluid motion heaved it wide open and flung himself to the side, keeping one hand on the handle. Glad to see the room-to-room training stuck.
Inside were three men, two obviously Honorary Britannian bent over soundboards and other esoteric equipment, moving dials and sliders. Standing over them was an equally obvious Britannian, nearly bald save for a few strands of brown hair combed over his pate and incredibly fat. He was the first to turn towards the sudden surprise interruption, mustache already bristling and face purpling with indignant rage. I could tell the exact instant that he realized that I wasn't some lost member of the general public as his eyes abruptly widened, locked on the pistol in my hand, a pistol already raised and pointed at his center of mass.
Three shots, and the fat manager was reeling backwards, squealing like a pig, blood pumping from the triangle of holes punctured through his chest. Missed the heart, probably got a lung, might've nicked his vena cava, judging by the lack of arterial spurt. As he stumbled backwards, I followed him deeper into the office.
As I followed the flailing Britannian, I passed the first Honorary Britannian technician, still at his desk. The unfortunate man had looked up from his control board at the shots, which were presumably muffled by the headphones he wore, and screaming had made a desperate attempt to stand and wrench the bulky pair of wired headphones off his ears. Sadly for him, the escape attempt was defeated by his chair, which had snagged on the ratty carpet as he'd tried to push it out and away from the desk. This cruel stroke of misfortune left him trapped for a crucial second under his desk, unable to stand more than halfway up out of his chair and entirely unable to flee.
The knife smashed through the Honorary Britannian's C-3 vertebra and sank deep into his neck, the six-inch blade severing his spinal cord and almost certainly impaling his trachea as it tracked downwards through the dense column of muscle, propelled nearly hilt-deep by my supernaturally enhanced strength. With a heave, I wrenched the instrument back out of his nape as I continued to advance into the office.
Ignoring Fatty the Britannian for a moment, I fired three times at the other Honorary Britannian technician, who had made a nonsensical and panicked attempt to burrow under his desk. He screamed as one of the small caliber bullets sliced across his lower back, but he had chosen his strategy well – the other two bullets impotently thudded into the desk's wall. I fired the last shot of the magazine into the manager where he sat, slumped against the polished pine of the far wall, just in case he was still alive.
I saw through the one way glass of the office that Nagata had managed to find the last of our expected targets in the recording studio. The Britannian news presenter was desperately trying to ward him off, and had apparently met with some brief success, judging by the defensive wounds on her hands. A particularly nasty injury indicated that she had tried to catch the knife at one point, and had only gotten a split finger web halfway to her wrist for her trouble. As I hauled the technician out from under his desk, Nagata grew impatient and simply kicked the table she had sat at onto her, before following her down to the floor and out of my sight.
The technician screamed as I flung him onto his desk, and I winced at the sounds of complicated destruction coming from the technology beneath him. Hopefully that wasn't anything important. "I would like to play a CD over the broadcast," I informed him, knife at his throat, "can you please tell me where I should insert it and how to set it to broadcast?" He only burbled incoherently, eyes wide and pleading, and fixed on my knife. Too scared to talk is useless, besides, he is an Honorary, not a Britannian... Honey's worth a try.
I moved the knife an inch further away from the technician's neck, and tried sweet reason. "What's your name?" He only screamed again, eyes still fixed on the admittedly gory instrument, so I slapped him as lightly as possible, just to get his attention. Thankfully, it worked, and his eyes goggled at me, full of horror. "What's your name, mister?" I asked again, trying to pitch my voice in a lighter tone to hopefully set him as much at ease as was possible under the circumstances.
For a second, I thought the Honorary Britannian wouldn't answer, but then, after swallowing, he managed to force out a mumbled "Ed-Edward... Ma'am."
That wouldn't work - I needed to form common ground with him, which required sincerity. "Not that name!" I paused, surprised by the snap in my voice, and carefully modulated my tone back towards conversational. I heard something thump against the glass behind me, but ignored it. "Not that name - your real name. What's your real name?"
"M-Masanobu... My name's Masanobu..."
I smiled down at him. Finally, progress! "Alright, Masanobu. It's a pleasure to meet you. Now, as I was saying," I holstered the empty gun, keeping the knife hovering an inch away from his neck, and pulled out the jewel case containing Onoda's CD, "I want to broadcast this for all the world to hear. I am fairly certain that I can figure out how to do so without your help, but I am pressed for time. Would you please show me how to play this?"
Masanobu was nodding even before I finished speaking. In a different setting, it might have looked comical. I carefully took a step to the side, giving him room to stand while keeping the knife near enough that he'd remember it. "Excellent. Please, lead the way."
With effort, Masanobu rose on trembling feet, turned towards the workstation the first tech was slumped over, and promptly let out another scream. I suppose between the body of his co-worker, the bloody smear down the other side of the one-way glass, and the sight of Nagata entering the office looking absolutely drenched in blood, it was an alarming sight, but unfortunately I was on the clock and had no time to be gentle.
I rammed a fist straight into the shallow bullet wound that crossed his lower back, marveling at how the bullet had just barely creased the skin over his spinal column as I did so. This guy's got some incredible luck! "You were going to show me how to play the CD over the airwaves, Mister Masanobu." I reminded him as he hunched forwards defensively. Nagata raised an eye at the tech's survival, but shrugged and started pulling off his drenched deliveryman uniform shirt.
Sobbing, the technician walked forward towards the work station, and after I heaved the corpse out of the way pointed out the CD slot where they inserted discs for music, explained how to start playing a disk, and what button I needed to press to transmit the audio out over the station's assigned FM band. I followed his instructions and Nagata pulled on the headphones abandoned by the first technician to check. Fortunately, he gave me a big thumb's up – Major Onoda's message was being broadcast to the world, or at least, to the listening audience of Niigata Prefecture.
"People of Japan," I could hear from the discarded headphones lying on top of the CD player as I drove the knife up through the base of Masanobu's skull, into his brain. A quick death as a thank you. He didn't even live to feel it. "The day of liberation will soon be upon us! We have endured a long and painful six years since the Conquest of our glorious republic, but take heart! The Japan Liberation Front yet stands! We have spent this time building our strength, biding our time! Soon, like a tsunami, we shall wash away the Britannians and all of their evil! Soon, the Land of the Gods shall be pure once more!"
I pulled the first of the two pipe bombs out of the rucksack and wedged it squarely against the CD player as Major Onoda continued to prophesy the coming of a new Japan via the headset. I wanted to make sure that the CD was destroyed and the station rendered at least temporarily unusable when we left, to prevent the authorities from immediately declaring it a hoax or whatnot. "If you will fight," the Major's voice continued as Nagata wedged the second device into a box of what looked like important wires, "join us! Join the JLF! Together we shall be a holy army, a force not seen since the kamikaze! And like the kamikazes that saved Japan from foreign invaders before, we shall save our beloved country once more! A new empire shall rise! Amaterasu's line shall again sit the Chrysanthemum Throne!"
"Time to go." I said to Nagata, and he nodded his assent. I clicked the portable radio's transmission dial once-pause-twice-pause-and then once more. Nagata was already at the door of the blood soaked office, and I followed him out the swinging door and into the little hallway. As we hit the reception area, I could hear the sounds of screams and automatic gunfire through the curtained windows, sounds that were steadily getting nearer. Squad 2's falling back. Suddenly remembering the locked front door, I dipped into my vector acceleration and zoomed right past Nagata before returning to a more natural flat-out sprint to the front door. I click the lock open just as Nagata bulled into the door, flinging it wide open and bouncing it off the rubber-tipped door stopper. I was less than a step behind, thankful that the inch of growth I had achieved since Kallen and I had fled the ruins of a collapsing train station had lengthened my pace slightly.
Nagata jumped into the driver's seat and twisted the key in the ignition as I threw open the side door of the van and tumbled inside. Leaving the door wide open, I frantically pulled out my pistol and fumbled for a fresh mag, slamming the reload home as Nagata pulled out into the street. Ahead, I could see Squad 2 leap-frogging down the street towards us, three members facing the way they came, laying down suppressing fire, two orienting towards us before one of the rear three fell back and the squad cycled. So good to see solid training in action! Skidding into the intersection, Nagata came screeching to a halt, which thankfully provided all the guidance Squad 2 needed. I squirmed my way up to the front passenger seat just in time to avoid a stampede of heavily armed gunmen, panting with exertion as the last man - or woman, actually, seeing how it was Tsubaki - in slammed the side door behind them.
"They're all in!" I yelled at Nagata, "get going already!" This was entirely unnecessary, as Nagata was already accelerating, fishtailing the van around a burning car halfway onto the sidewalk. Putting pedal to the metal, the van shot up Prefectural Route 17 heading north. As we skidded up the block and shot through the traffic light of the next intersection with reckless abandon, I pulled out the two burner phones that had accompanied Mister Asahara's handiwork and dialed the only numbers in the contact list before throwing both out the window of the van. Despite the pounding of the wind through the open window, the explosive whumpf! was unmistakable, especially coupled with the sounds of shattering windows. It seems that the curtains weren't sufficiently thick to be bombproof.
As Nagata turned onto a smaller outlet road and slowed to the speed limit, I let out a small sigh of relief. No sirens were audible, and surprisingly nobody seemed to even be looking askance at a van trundling its way down a feeder road towards Prefectural Route 253. If we can break contact, our side of the mission will have gone perfectly. Hopefully, Squad 1 can say the same.
APRIL 7, 2016 ATB
SHITOKA, NIIGATA
1537
From my seat under the sheltering foliage of a cedar about two thirds up the hill behind the Shitoka recycling center and municipal incinerator, I was suddenly struck by the beauty of the broad Uono River valley spread out before me. A broad expanse of paddies, already green with the juvenile shoots of newly planted rice, broken only by the occasional farm or cluster of small buildings huddled around a crossroads, the simple pastoral scene seemed a world away from the claustrophobic streets of Shinjuku, to say nothing of my memories of mud and blood and thundering artillery. I stretched, my bare arms reaching out towards the rural scenery as my unshod feet pushed against the springy grass underfoot.
Behind me, my sweatshirt was hung out to dry on one of the cedar's branches, dripping with river water after an impromptu wash to try and scrub out the worst of the blood. My shoes likewise sat in a patch of sunlight, now mostly free of the receptionist's remains. It was a bit brisk, sitting out here in only a tank-top and trousers - winter still hadn't fully released its grasp on the mountains, and come night the temperature would drop below freezing once more – but after so long cooped up in the van, not to mention the exertions of the day, the cool air felt luxurious. I could hear splashing coming from the creek running down the hill from some hidden spring as Nagata did his best to salvage his garments and the members of Squad 2 did their best to likewise clean themselves off.
I sighed. Try as I might, it was impossible to shift the fact that, even now, three of my comrades were engaged in a desperate game of cat and mouse in the foothills to the southeast, from my mind for even a moment. No amount of pastoral scenery nor the crisp near-bliss sensitivity that came from surviving yet another conflict situation could distract me from the fact that my job was not done yet, that fighters under my command were still trying to break contact with the enemy.
No amount of cool air and warm grass could distract me from the fact that, for the first time in this life, people I had led into battle were dead. The brief report Yoshi had radioed in twenty minutes earlier had been straight and to the point; Squad 1 had successfully disrupted the attempt by the local Britannian magnate to deploy his mercenary force to the Minamiuonuma city center, but had not been able to successfully break contact with the Britannian opposition and escape via stolen car to the Shitoka meetup point to the north.
Instead, the three surviving members of the team had beaten a fighting retreat across the Kamakurasougo River and into the forested hills beyond, where they had dispersed into the trees. Fortunately, we had planned a secondary rendezvous point for just such an occasion, but it was impossible to tell if they would be able to escape from the Britannians and make their way individually on foot to the meeting point at Suwa Shrine.
Personally, I fully expected to see all three surviving members of Squad 1 at the shrine sooner or later. It might take them the better part of the day to travel the approximately four miles over hilly, forested terrain, especially if the Britannians were still actively trying to pursue them through the undergrowth, but I was confident that Major Onoda's lessons in scouting and stealth would see them safely to the shrine. What no amount of lessons could do was bring back the two comrades I had lost today.
Sumire... Manabu... I hadn't known either before I had hauled them and fifty-eight others out to The School. After months of training and instruction, I still couldn't claim to know either one in a personal capacity, not like how I knew Nagata and Ohgi, but I had made it my business to know a little about everybody in the Kozuki Organization.
Sumire had enjoyed singing, and frequently led her squad in song during runs. She had enjoyed painting and other forms of arts, and had displayed a talent for sketching caricatures on the pages of her notes and assignments, on the rare occasions that I collected written work. I wished I had thought to keep some of her caricatures, instead of burning them with all of the other completed assignments in accordance with the "no records" policy. She left behind a husband and a three year old son. She had been twenty eight.
Manabu had fancied himself an amateur wrestler, and had actually done a decent job backing up his claims of martial arts prowess during hand-to-hand training. Outside of training, he had been a fairly quiet guy, tending more towards being laid back instead of sullen. Apparently, he'd had a boyfriend he'd broken up with just before leaving for The School. He'd been nineteen.
I had never deluded myself into thinking that I was invincible, or that the men and women who followed me into battle were immortal. No plan survives contact with reality, to say nothing of the enemy, and I had been incredibly lucky that none of my comrades had died up until now, in any of my lives. That knowledge, that things always go wrong and that I had lucked out spectacularly already, should have made it easier to accept their deaths, but, somehow, it didn't.
It was a callous thought, but I found myself wishing that the first death under my command had happened back in my past life. I had deliberately kept my distance from the 203rd, doing my best to drive them away through harsh training to sabotage the rapid reaction force concept I had so foolishly proposed to General Zettour. While I had found myself almost reluctantly bonding with the men over subsequent missions, there had always been a degree of distance between myself and my command, with one notable exception. I had cared for them and been proud of them, but I hadn't truly been one of them, thanks to the expectations and pressures of rank. They had been treasured subordinates and excellent students, but with one exception I don't think I could have called them my friends. That cold shell of formality would have offered at least some small barrier, if I had lost my first subordinate in action during my second life.
In this third life, I had no such barrier. I was one of the members of the Kozuki Organization, an officer perhaps, but an officer in a band held together by the personal charisma of the leader and a shared goal. It was completely different from the institutional bonds of an industrial army, and it was impossible to remain aloof and still be an effective leader of guerrillas. I had eaten the same food from the same common pot, sweated through the same training exercises, slept on a bedroll identical to the ones issued to every trainee at The School... and during down time, when I didn't have to be an instructor, I had spent hours drinking watery tea and chatting with my future comrades, getting to know them and letting them get to know me. They had to trust me to do what was right for them, if I wanted them to obey me in the field, and so I had answered every question they'd asked about my life in Shinjuku to the best of my ability. In the end, between my instruction, my efforts at bonding with them, and my shared participation in training events, I had won that trust and, I liked to think, some measure of respect.
And I had used the shared bond of that trust to bring Sumire, Manabu, and eight other men and women to Niigata Prefecture.
"It's all just such a waste," I murmured aloud to the distant paddies, "such a waste. Each of them had decades of life ahead of them; decades of productivity, of innovation, of growth, followed by a slow decline until retirement." And what had they bought with their sacrifice of all of those years?
From some distant corner of my memories, it was impossible to tell if it came from my faded recollections of my first life or the razor-edged snapshots of my second, a scrap of poetry came unbidden to my mind. "For by my glee might many men have laughed, and of my weeping something had been left, which must die now." The grass whispered back in the susurrating wind as the next line came dribbling out. "I mean the truth untold, the pity of war, the pity war distilled. Now men will go content with what we spoiled. Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled."
Where had that come from? It must have been from some English class long ago and far away. For a moment, I had a memory of a classroom, warm and drowsy, golden motes of dust hanging in a sunbeam. I had memorized that poem to fulfill a requirement, and had read it aloud per my teacher's demand, but I hadn't truly read it back then, not in any way that provoked understanding. Now, lived experience gave me an undesired insight into that poem. I was no pacifist: I was unwilling to step back and simply let the world take from me and mine. I would fight until I had a life where I could be comfortable, both materially and within my own skin. Still, though... what price was too high to pay for that life?
I had been content to conquer Dacia and burn Arrene in my past life, acting in my capacity as a soldier of the Kaiser. Then, the responsibility for losses on either side, for the destruction of homes and businesses and places of worship and art and education, had been diffused among the thousands of people who had made such losses possible, from the politicians and generals at the top to the stubborn partisans who risen up and brought the hammer down on their city. It had been easy to shrug off any feeling of guilt; I may have penned the treatise that provided the justification for the Army's actions, but the General Staff had been the ones ordering its implementation. I was simply a gear in a vast machine, a soldier in an identical if specially tailored uniform, fighting for my salary and a cushy post in the rear.
But now, in this third life, there was no rear echelon. Just being Japanese was enough to justify summary execution, and attempting to live a peaceful life was simply conceding to a slow death by starvation. The only path to a safe life I had seen required the installation of a new, more sympathetic government, one where my blood and name wouldn't automatically bar me from advancement. To that end, I had shed blood and made deals to build an army, whose strength I would use to justify my post-victory appointment to high office. While I truly wanted a better life for all of my people, for everybody in Shinjuku and Saitama and the other urban ghettos, for all the farmers trapped in de facto serfdom, for all the woman and girls and boys taken and broken for the corrupt pleasures of evil men... I had joined this war to save my own skin. To look out for number one, to make sure I had all the chocolate and coffee I wanted and the safety to enjoy it in peace...
It would be hard to keep that entirely understandable selfish desire in mind, though, when I visited Sumire's family. I had a duty to discharge, and that was part of it. Part of the deal of leadership, of trust exchanged and loyalty freely given. I would tell her son that his mother had died for a free Japan, and I would try not to choke on my lie. I would do my best to make sure that he was taken care of, at the very least, that he and his father and all other survivors of the Kozuki Organization were taken care of as best as the Rising Sun's assets would allow.
It still wouldn't be a fair trade for a mother, for a wife. For up to six decades of mornings, noons, and nights. I don't even know if Manabu had a family... I hope Inoue has his next of kin on file.
I sighed, and got to my feet. I could, would, mourn the dead later; I had to focus on saving the living now. One day, if I can... I will come back here, back to Niigata... Sumire, Manabu... I'll build a cairn somewhere for you. I hope you will appreciate it, if Being X was unkind enough to deny you oblivion for some reason.
Deliberately, I turned my back on the view of the Uono River valley, and pulled my still soaked sweatshirt and shoes back on. "Mount up!" I called to my comrades, drawing their attention to me. "Everybody better be in that van in three minutes or less, or I'm eating all the dinner rations myself!"
APRIL 8, 2016 ATB
SARU, NIIGATA
0603
Suwa Shrine stood a world apart from the cities and towns of occupied Area 11, out on a meandering, crumbling road barely wide enough for a single vehicle. Although the cities that filled the valleys to the east and west of the mountain range had been carved up into the private fiefdoms of whichever Britannian lords Clovis had favored, this neglected shrine's grounds felt like a tiny fragment of old Japan.
While the outside world had clearly forgotten Suwa Shrine – the fact that it still stood, when the majority of shrines and temples had been burnt as "heathen nonsense" during the first years of Britannian administration, attested to that – the locals equally clearly had not.
The Komainu stone guard dogs were free of moss and twigs, and the inset brass plaques on their plinths were recently polished. A few wooden ema prayers clacked against each other and the tree from which they hung in the desultory breeze. The Torii gate's saffron paint was weathered and chipped, and on the windward side much of the timber was visible, but someone had taken the time to apply sealant to cracks in the wood. Most telling was that part of the Honden's wood shingle roof had looked suspiciously new and shiny before the sun had set beyond the mountains, indicating someone had patched the sanctuary up after a damaging storm.
It was heartening to see that some fragments of my people were making an active attempt to preserve this fragment of the culture we had once had. Even back in my first life, before I had the displeasure of meeting Being X, I had never been anything close to devout. I visited a local shrine at most twice a year, on New Year's and for the Spring Festival. My third life had been, if possible, even more estranged from the spiritual side of my native culture than my first; Being X's existence had increased the probability that something that could be called spiritual existed, and yet simultaneously demystified any such other world. After all, if spirits could be as petty and useless as Being X, why bother praying for good fortune at New Years?
It had surprised me, how badly it had hurt to stand before the smoldering remains of Naruko Tenjin Shrine the day after the Britannians had finally gotten around to setting it ablaze, almost three years ago now. The old priest had somehow been tied to one of the rebel groups of the time, the Britannians had claimed, and in order to "prevent the inspiration of future malcontents" the shrine had been burnt. I hadn't been at the street battle where the old man had died, but I doubted an eighty year old would have been involved in urban combat. In all likelihood, he had simply been caught in the crossfire. Either way, I had walked past the still smoking ashes of Naruko Tenjin on my way back from a job site the next day, and it had been disturbing in the extreme. Something about the shattered guard dogs, the broken remnants of the platform, the charred Torii... It had been monstrously wrong. That moment had made some unidentifiable part of myself ache deep inside.
Now, three years later, I shivered in a cramped delivery van tucked away behind another shrine, huddled up against Nagata and Tsubaki under a shared blanket. Spring might have officially come, but in the mountains of Niigata nights were still cold. Fortunately, we would not be here forever – Yoshi and his two squad mates had gotten back into radio contact two hours ago, when the handful of Britannian pursuers and their reluctant Honorary Britannian helpers had retreated back to the city with sundown. After checking in and reassuring us that they had successfully broken contact, all three had indicated that they were heading to the shrine with all haste. That sounds perfect if you want to break your leg, running through the woods in the middle of the night! I had instructed them to take their time, to remember their training, and to take breaks as necessary.
It had been an uncomfortable and sleepless night all around, despite everybody's best efforts. Every time someone needed to get out to take a leak, or to take their turn guarding, the rattling sliding door and the blast of cold night air had woken up anybody who had miraculously fallen asleep. The shared body heat could only do so much to heat up the van to begin with, and even my twelve-year old joints were stiff and sore as the first light of dawn broke over the mountains. At least I was out of the wind, unlike Squad 1.
Squad 1 had spoiled any sleep that hadn't already been ruined by physical discomfort. Try as I might, I couldn't stop my thoughts from endlessly circling back to the losses of the day before, and the three men who were still out of my sight, potentially in danger. I had, of course, known that I couldn't do anything for them at this point, that I should be trying to rest as much as possible, just in case the Britannians somehow managed to find us way out in the mountains, but I had simply been unable to relax. As long as my comrades were out in the cold night somewhere, some illogical part of my mind had refused to come off of duty. And so I had stared up at the roof of the van, trying my best to remain as still and as quiet as possible – after all, my own inability to rest was no excuse to deprive my comrades of their dearly earned sleep.
As the sun rose, my resolve to spend a second more in the van finally broke. I wriggled out from between my comrades, doing my best to move as gently and quietly as possible, and clambered up over the driver's seat and out the hopefully quieter driver's side door. My shoes, still somewhat damp from yesterday's wash, were immediately soaked once more by the dew pooling off the long grass. Quietly cursing as the accumulated moisture invaded my socks, I waved a polite good morning to the guard currently on duty. He bobbed his head back, his jaw working as he tried, and subsequently failed, to contain a yawn. I wished I could reassure him that there was coffee brewing, but I couldn't – breakfast would be ration bars choked down by, admittedly, fresh spring water, collected the day before at a mountainside seep.
I stepped away from the van and slowly walked my way around to the front of the shrine's grounds. The low stone stairs up to the Torii gate were also wet with early morning dew dripping from the surrounding weeds, but I managed to navigate my way up to the gate without issue. Unfortunately, the shrine's grounds were still empty of any of my wandering comrades. For some reason, the shrine felt tranquil under the dawn, not deserted, not abandoned. I found myself walking down the flagstones of the Sando, the pathway between the gate and the sanctuary hall. It was a short walk to the Honden, and seemingly before I knew it I was in front of the old cedar structure. Out of long forgotten habit, I looked around for a temizuya to wash my hands and face at, but none were present at this backwoods shrine. I turned again, facing forward, and took a pace to the left, so I would not be standing in the taboo spot directly in front of the Kami's entrance.
I licked my lips, dry tongue leaving only a trace of moisture behind, and felt like a fool as I bowed deeply, from the waist, and then again. I wondered why I was doing any of this as I clapped twice, but found myself... not praying, as praying was at best useless, but fervently hoping at the tiny sanctuary hall before me that my name was Hajime Tanya, and that I would be most thankful if my comrades arrived safe and sound, soon and without harm. Almost as soon as this hope crystallized in my mind, a treacherous train of thought butted in with the wish that the souls of Sumire and Manabu would find rest.
I shook my head and straightened back up, forcing my eyes open. When had I closed them? I was just fooling around here, when I should be starting to get breakfast organized. I almost turned away from the shrine, but a deep-seated impulse nailed me to the ground until, with an irritated sigh, I excused myself from the shrine with another deep bow.
Irritated with myself for my foolishness and exhausted from my sleepless night, I staggered back down the Sando to the Torii. Before I could set so much as a foot over the threshold separating the "sacred world" from the rest of mundanity, I froze. At the foot of the stone steps, streaked with mud, soaked with dew, stood Yoshi, unmistakable even with his bald head streaked with mud and sporting a long abrasion. Flanking him on either side were the two other surviving members of Squad 1, alive and unharmed.
Feeling like I was in a dream, I staggered down the stone steps. It felt like I'd had some kind of break with reality as I stared at the three apparitions standing before me. Did I fall asleep at the shrine...? Am I hallucinating...? To my sleep deprived and anxiety ridden mind, there seemed to be only one way to find out.
Moments later, I found myself with my arms wrapped around Yoshi's all too tangible belly, hugging him close. He was alive! They were alive! They were safe and alive! He staggered back a bit, swaying with fatigue and no doubt with surprise, and I suddenly realized what I had done. Dammit, Tanya! First you send two of them to their deaths, and then you can't even be a professional? Face burning with shame, I quickly let go of Yoshi and retreated three rapid steps back up the stairs, until I was roughly at a height where I could look the newly arrived trio in the eyes. Just seeing them here, after a night of worrying and internal recriminations... I couldn't help myself from smiling with relief.
I might have lost a full fifth of my command – a horrible loss, by any measure – but the remainder were safe and unharmed. I would do better, I would find out what had gone wrong and learn from my mistake, but here and now...
"Welcome back, Squad 1," I greeted them, and saluted, "You did all that I asked for and more."
Yoshi still looked poleaxed, and I found myself hoping that he hadn't been concussed by whatever had given him that scrape on his forehead, but one of his comrades, a young man with a mohawk and a red headband, raised his rifle over his head and let out a hoarse cheer. The second man had a grin spreading across his face that abruptly made him look a decade younger, the tension almost visibly flowing out of him.
"I'll want a report," I began to say, and the mood abruptly dipped until I hurried to say "later. In the meantime, there's ration bars for breakfast and all the spring water you can drink. Don't worry – we'll have a proper celebration once we get back to The School."
The triumphant warriors let out another weary cheer and staggered off in the direction of the parked van, Yoshi following the two younger men in an apparent daze. For my part, I turned and looked back through the Torii, back towards the Honden... It might have been foolish to think along those lines, since I had known that Squad 1 was due back at any moment, but... Gratitude is never foolish. I bowed towards the Honden in sincere thankfulness for the safe delivery of my comrades, in gratitude that none of them had gotten lost or injured during their long night-time trek. Thank you... Thank you... Japan will live again... I swear it.