WWI AU ficbits
Characters/Groups: KAT-TUN (including Jin, because it's AU and I needed all the people manning the tank that I could get), Ueda-centric. Also super-vague Kameda.
Genre: WWI AU
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, violence, references to STDs. Also lack of edits and general all-around fail.
Notes: For the New Year’s Ficathon 2010-11! Except this is a much bigger story than I had time to tell, so it’s just bits and pieces. 2550 words.
Other participants!
bubbly | debrogliewave | greatfountain | katmillia | miss_jelly | psychoniji | ryogrande | sashjun | snoozing_kitten | tatoeba | yuumei_nata
Akanishi was screaming something, but Ueda couldn’t hear him, couldn’t hear anything, could barely see through the smoke that surrounded them. He felt something hit the roof of the tank-grenade, probably-and prayed that the mesh on top sent it rolling away from them.
Someone grabbed his shoulder and shook it, hard. Kamenashi. His face was pale behind his mask and his hands flashed in a frantic pattern of signals. We’re stuck!
What? Ueda signaled back.
Taguchi. Left side. Kame’s eyes flickered back and forth between the narrow viewport and his controls.
Ueda shoved himself out of the tight confines of the commander’s seat and pushed his head and shoulders as far into the back of the tank as they would go. “Taguchi!”
“Stalled!” the gearsman yelled. He grabbed the starting handle and cranked it with a desperate energy, but the engine refused to start.
Ueda watched helplessly for a moment, then jerked as the tank shuddered from a nearby explosion. He twisted back into his seat and faced forward, blindly pulling at the controls in front of him-hoping that it might do something, anything.
Keep moving, keep shooting. That’s what Takizawa had said. Keep going…
…and whatever you do, don’t get stuck.
-----
Nishikido wouldn't have gone if Ueda had stopped him.
And Ueda wouldn't have gone if Nishikido hadn't died.
That was what happened in war, his father told him. Men died-and that was why Ueda should stay at home, keep learning the business. Or even keep writing those poems, if that was what he wanted to do. But he'd be damned if he'd send his only son off to die, to hell with what the crazy patriots in the streets said about their family.
Nishikido had gone because he'd been conscripted. Ueda had been too, had received a slip of paper identical but for the name at the top. But there were ways out of it, if your father was rich enough or there was something wrong with you, and Ueda Sr. was rich enough. Rich, and certain that he knew what was best for his son. Tatsuya Ueda, he had decided, would stay home and inherit the family factories and marry Kobayashi's daughter, once she came of age.
But then Ryo Nishikido had died-the letter to his family didn't say how-and nothing Ueda Sr. said would stop his son from volunteering.
And so, at the age of twenty-three, Tatsuya Ueda went to war.
-----
It had been a week since he’d taken command, and Ueda was pretty sure that there wasn’t a single member of his crew who actually liked him. Some of them maybe weren’t in a state of active dislike, but none of them were exactly friendly. The Michelle’s previous commander had been injured in one of the last actions, and Kimura had decreed that Ueda would be Takizawa’s replacement.
It wasn’t that Takizawa had been particularly well-liked by his men,but Ueda was an outsider, very suddenly placed in command. And an outsider relatively new to soldiering. The only member of his team that had less experience than he did was Koki, but Koki was naturally a mechanical genius while Ueda’s knowledge was limited to what he’d picked up in training.
He’d had some reluctant military instruction in university-for as much as Ueda Sr. had an interest in keeping his son alive, he also hadn’t wanted the boy to be a wuss. And so when Ueda applied for an officer’s commission they’d given it to him without a second thought.
With the country’s manpower continually sinking into the endless trenches, he’d only gone through eight weeks of preliminary training before the Powers That Be had shipped him across the Channel to the edge of the front. To Ypres, where his boots sank into the fresh mud and the lines of battle crept forward and back inches at a time and he never saw the face of the first man he killed.
After Ypres, someone (probably Captain Tsubasa) thought he’d done an exceptional job and sent his name back to the personnel division. He was given a lieutenant’s insignia and ordered south, reassigned to a unit in Doullens.
That was when he took charge of the Michelle-officially known as Mk-1 Tank 87-and her crew.
They were a motley bunch. Koki shared the position of gearsman with Taguchi, who’d apparently been a street performer before he joined up. When asked about it he shrugged and said soldiering was a better job than sleeping in the streets. “I miss entertaining people, though.”
While Koki and Taguchi got along reasonably well, the two gunners were constantly sniping at each other. Ueda wasn’t sure why Nakamaru and Akanishi kept butting heads, but the latter seemed to take great pleasure in riling up his counterpart for no reason, whether through childish pranks or less-than-subtle verbal insults. When Ueda mentioned that maybe he should try and get along better with Nakamaru, the gunner had looked at him with a glint of challenge in his eyes. “I’m bored. It’s fun. What do you want me to do, seeing as we’re stuck here in this damn camp with nothing to do but drill. The food is shit, they still haven’t delivered the rain slickers, and worst of all, there’s no women.”
Nakamaru, for his part, loudly declared Akanishi to be a waste of his time. But that didn’t stop him from pitching a fit every time his boots turned up hidden in a different section of the camp.
Finally, there was Kamenashi. Though he was the youngest of them, Kamenashi had by far the most experience. He’d been with the army since he was sixteen, but had somehow escaped the notice required for promotion. He was the most openly antagonistic towards Ueda, and unfortunately, his position as driver meant that the two of them were crammed together on the tiny driver’s bench every time they did drills.
“Don’t know what they were thinking,” Kamenashi had grumbled that first morning as they waited to begin exercises, “sending a wetback out here to work with the most sophisticated piece of equipment the British Empire has to offer. I don’t see why they couldn’t just pull someone from one of the other teams.”
Ueda had said nothing, focusing instead on the way Kamenashi’s fingers twisted deftly over the controls. The man had already been in the army for four years, despite being three years younger than Ueda. As he’d run through his new roster in his mind, though, something had seemed off.
“I thought the Mark 1 was supposed to have a complement of 8? That’s what the literature says.”
Kamenashi had given him a grim look. “See Koki’s rivet job over there? That’s where Koyama and Shige-and Lieutenant Takizawa-used to sit. A Jack Johnson exploded on that side, blew in the wall and sent the shrapnel right through them. Personnel hasn’t gotten around to replacing our gunners yet.”
He’d laughed at Ueda’s surprised expression. “Guess they didn’t tell you about that part, huh. Well, the only person who really matters in the tank is the commander, isn’t it. Who cares if two enlisted men get blown to bits if there’s a lieutenant who’s injured.”
-----
There was little to do, most of the time. Sometimes Ueda found himself wondering if they were still at war. The orders to keep holding were the only indication that there was anything beyond the muddy bounds of their camp and the sleepy streets of Doullen.
In the third week of drills without action, Akanishi modified one of the shells in Nakamaru’s load to hold an emergency flare. During that morning’s target exercises, Nakamaru screeched when his shell sent up a huge plume of smoke and started glowing a bright white light. Akanishi almost died laughing.
The gunner was furious. When the round ended and they all climbed out of the stifling interior of the tank to rest in the shade, he grabbed Akanishi by his shirtfront and shoved him up against one of the gun barrels.
“What the hell, Akanishi? If you’d done that in combat, we’d be dead!”
Jin was unfazed.”We’re not in combat. Everyone’s fine-I don’t see what the big deal is. But,” he snorted, “you should have seen your face!”
Nakamaru glared at him fiercely. “I don’t have time for your stupid games, Akanishi. Find someone else to play them with.” He shoved the other man away from him and stomped off.
Kamenashi poked Ueda in the shoulder. “Hey, commander, maybe you should actually try disciplining your troops.” When Ueda turned to look at him, he held up his hands defensively. “Just saying.”
-----
Ueda knew that he had to do something about his dysfunctional team-that it was his responsibility as their commander-but his two gunners had him at a loss. He’d pulled Akanishi aside and lectured him about proper behavior and use of equipment, but he wasn’t sure that anything had sunk in. Since then, Akanishi had been sulking and complaining loudly about the most trivial annoyances while Nakamaru simply fumed in silence. The pranks had stopped, but Ueda was pretty sure that it had less to do with a change of heart on Akanishi’s part than the threat of latrine duty.
Their group was still running sloppily in drills. There were three other tank crews assigned to their encampment and all of them worked together much more tightly. What was frustrating was that his crew wasn’t untalented-on the contrary, they were each excellent at their respective jobs. But the five of them-six, if he counted himself-seemed to be completely unable to work together. Kamenashi refused to consult with the two gearsmen and would just wrench the controls around however he thought he could best confuse their opponents with no thought to targeting. Koki and Taguchi, in response, didn’t pay particular attention to the gears. When the tank would break down, and Ueda would chew them out, they simply brushed it off. In live fire exercises, Akanishi and Nakamaru would frequently waste ammunition by gunning for the same target. The two weren’t speaking, and the atmosphere between them put everyone else on edge.
-----
"I just want to feel alive," Jin had said, and it was the result of that longing which had debilitated him now. Jin lay moaning on the dingy, tattered cot, clutching his groin while the medics hovered over him. The head doctor, a grizzled corporal, sighed. "If he'd just kept it in his pants, he'd be fine. Can't trust those pullhouse whores."
"I hope she was worth it." The pastyfaced ensign assisting snickered and tugged halfheartedly at Jin's arms. "Though the randy bastard probably doesn't care what they look like, as long as he gets his jollies before he goes back to sitting on his ass in the trench--"
Ueda heard something snap and then the ensign was on the floor, clutching his jaw and gazing at Nakamaru in shock. Maru's face was pale from exertion and pain, beads of sweat forming on his forehead and upper lip, but his eyes were clear and cold as he glared at the assistant. "Don't you judge him," he choked out. "You don't know him from Kitagawa. Don't you dare judge him unless you know what we go through--what he's gone through."
He gasped as he knocked his arm against the side of the bed, and Ueda reached to steady him, but Maru brushed him off and kept his eyes on the man on the ground. "You stay back here all day in this hospital--and maybe you think you know what it's like because you see all the wounded coming through. But if they're really injured and sent here, they're already dead or dying. You bastards don't ever see the gas kill your friends in front of you, so don't you judge him for wanting to feel something other than exhaustion and maybe keep his feet from rotting off in the trenches for a few hours.”
Once he'd finished talking, Maru seemed to deflate. He let Ueda steady him until he was leaning back against the headboard. The ensign picked himself up off the ground and started to brush his sleeves off self-importantly before a look from the doctor sent him off to help one of the other surgeons.
The old doctor moved his chair over in between Jin and Maru's beds. "You're a good friend, young man," he said to Maru. "I'm sure Lieutenant Akanishi appreciates it." He turned and fumbled a brown bottle out of his medicine bag. After opening the cap and inspecting the contents, he handed the bottle to Ueda. "You give these to the Lieutenant there. Antibiotics. He's never going to be able to get rid of it completely, I'm afraid, but this'll help keep the symptoms under control for now.
-----
The only one who wrote as many letters as Ueda did was Koki. One day when Kame had the watch and the two of them were sitting writing in his corner of the funk hole, Ueda asked him who he was sending all the letters to. The man looked embarrassed for a bit, but eventually he grunted and shoved the letter at Ueda.
"I have a younger brother. I write to him."
Kamenashi snorted as he lept back down into the trench. "Your brother? Oy, Taguchi"--kick--" take the watch. I have three brothers, and I sure as hell haven't gotten any letters from any of them."
"Well, do you write to them?" Koki asked, bristling.
"Well, no." Kame slung his gun off his shoulder and dropped it into his lap as he slid down in to crosslegged position.
"That's why then." Koki snatched his letter back frm Ueda and turned to face the opposite end of the trench. Kame looked thoughtful for a moment, until he noticed Ueda staring, whereupon he made a big show of cleaning his gun barrel with his sleeve.
-----
"You mean you could have gotten out of it?" Jin looked at him disbelievingly. "And you didn't?"
"Was she ugly or something?'
"Well, no" Ueda confessed. "Quite pretty, actually. I just...I didn't want to."
"You rich people are all crazy," Kamenashi muttered. "So, why'd you join up then, if your father could've gotten you out of it? Wanted to do some slumming?"
Ueda opened his mouth to defend himself, but Kamenashi just looked at him challengingly and he snapped his jaw shut. "Think whatever you like."
The other man raised his eyebrows and turned away.
-----
Kamenashi stretched out on the sparse grass beneath the oak trees. “Fine. You want me to be honest with you? I’m afraid. I’m fucking afraid. And I hate this job. You know what I heard? I heard-and no one told us this, mind you-that if that fuel tank breaks, that’s it. No injured, no nothing. You just burn to death. The whole damn tank burns up.
“When I put in a request for this postion, they told us this was the thing we were going to use to break this bloody war.
“But you know what I think? I think we’re gonna die in it. We’ll gonna die in her belly, like Koyama and Shige.”
Genre: WWI AU
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, violence, references to STDs. Also lack of edits and general all-around fail.
Notes: For the New Year’s Ficathon 2010-11! Except this is a much bigger story than I had time to tell, so it’s just bits and pieces. 2550 words.
Other participants!
bubbly | debrogliewave | greatfountain | katmillia | miss_jelly | psychoniji | ryogrande | sashjun | snoozing_kitten | tatoeba | yuumei_nata
Akanishi was screaming something, but Ueda couldn’t hear him, couldn’t hear anything, could barely see through the smoke that surrounded them. He felt something hit the roof of the tank-grenade, probably-and prayed that the mesh on top sent it rolling away from them.
Someone grabbed his shoulder and shook it, hard. Kamenashi. His face was pale behind his mask and his hands flashed in a frantic pattern of signals. We’re stuck!
What? Ueda signaled back.
Taguchi. Left side. Kame’s eyes flickered back and forth between the narrow viewport and his controls.
Ueda shoved himself out of the tight confines of the commander’s seat and pushed his head and shoulders as far into the back of the tank as they would go. “Taguchi!”
“Stalled!” the gearsman yelled. He grabbed the starting handle and cranked it with a desperate energy, but the engine refused to start.
Ueda watched helplessly for a moment, then jerked as the tank shuddered from a nearby explosion. He twisted back into his seat and faced forward, blindly pulling at the controls in front of him-hoping that it might do something, anything.
Keep moving, keep shooting. That’s what Takizawa had said. Keep going…
…and whatever you do, don’t get stuck.
-----
Nishikido wouldn't have gone if Ueda had stopped him.
And Ueda wouldn't have gone if Nishikido hadn't died.
That was what happened in war, his father told him. Men died-and that was why Ueda should stay at home, keep learning the business. Or even keep writing those poems, if that was what he wanted to do. But he'd be damned if he'd send his only son off to die, to hell with what the crazy patriots in the streets said about their family.
Nishikido had gone because he'd been conscripted. Ueda had been too, had received a slip of paper identical but for the name at the top. But there were ways out of it, if your father was rich enough or there was something wrong with you, and Ueda Sr. was rich enough. Rich, and certain that he knew what was best for his son. Tatsuya Ueda, he had decided, would stay home and inherit the family factories and marry Kobayashi's daughter, once she came of age.
But then Ryo Nishikido had died-the letter to his family didn't say how-and nothing Ueda Sr. said would stop his son from volunteering.
And so, at the age of twenty-three, Tatsuya Ueda went to war.
-----
It had been a week since he’d taken command, and Ueda was pretty sure that there wasn’t a single member of his crew who actually liked him. Some of them maybe weren’t in a state of active dislike, but none of them were exactly friendly. The Michelle’s previous commander had been injured in one of the last actions, and Kimura had decreed that Ueda would be Takizawa’s replacement.
It wasn’t that Takizawa had been particularly well-liked by his men,but Ueda was an outsider, very suddenly placed in command. And an outsider relatively new to soldiering. The only member of his team that had less experience than he did was Koki, but Koki was naturally a mechanical genius while Ueda’s knowledge was limited to what he’d picked up in training.
He’d had some reluctant military instruction in university-for as much as Ueda Sr. had an interest in keeping his son alive, he also hadn’t wanted the boy to be a wuss. And so when Ueda applied for an officer’s commission they’d given it to him without a second thought.
With the country’s manpower continually sinking into the endless trenches, he’d only gone through eight weeks of preliminary training before the Powers That Be had shipped him across the Channel to the edge of the front. To Ypres, where his boots sank into the fresh mud and the lines of battle crept forward and back inches at a time and he never saw the face of the first man he killed.
After Ypres, someone (probably Captain Tsubasa) thought he’d done an exceptional job and sent his name back to the personnel division. He was given a lieutenant’s insignia and ordered south, reassigned to a unit in Doullens.
That was when he took charge of the Michelle-officially known as Mk-1 Tank 87-and her crew.
They were a motley bunch. Koki shared the position of gearsman with Taguchi, who’d apparently been a street performer before he joined up. When asked about it he shrugged and said soldiering was a better job than sleeping in the streets. “I miss entertaining people, though.”
While Koki and Taguchi got along reasonably well, the two gunners were constantly sniping at each other. Ueda wasn’t sure why Nakamaru and Akanishi kept butting heads, but the latter seemed to take great pleasure in riling up his counterpart for no reason, whether through childish pranks or less-than-subtle verbal insults. When Ueda mentioned that maybe he should try and get along better with Nakamaru, the gunner had looked at him with a glint of challenge in his eyes. “I’m bored. It’s fun. What do you want me to do, seeing as we’re stuck here in this damn camp with nothing to do but drill. The food is shit, they still haven’t delivered the rain slickers, and worst of all, there’s no women.”
Nakamaru, for his part, loudly declared Akanishi to be a waste of his time. But that didn’t stop him from pitching a fit every time his boots turned up hidden in a different section of the camp.
Finally, there was Kamenashi. Though he was the youngest of them, Kamenashi had by far the most experience. He’d been with the army since he was sixteen, but had somehow escaped the notice required for promotion. He was the most openly antagonistic towards Ueda, and unfortunately, his position as driver meant that the two of them were crammed together on the tiny driver’s bench every time they did drills.
“Don’t know what they were thinking,” Kamenashi had grumbled that first morning as they waited to begin exercises, “sending a wetback out here to work with the most sophisticated piece of equipment the British Empire has to offer. I don’t see why they couldn’t just pull someone from one of the other teams.”
Ueda had said nothing, focusing instead on the way Kamenashi’s fingers twisted deftly over the controls. The man had already been in the army for four years, despite being three years younger than Ueda. As he’d run through his new roster in his mind, though, something had seemed off.
“I thought the Mark 1 was supposed to have a complement of 8? That’s what the literature says.”
Kamenashi had given him a grim look. “See Koki’s rivet job over there? That’s where Koyama and Shige-and Lieutenant Takizawa-used to sit. A Jack Johnson exploded on that side, blew in the wall and sent the shrapnel right through them. Personnel hasn’t gotten around to replacing our gunners yet.”
He’d laughed at Ueda’s surprised expression. “Guess they didn’t tell you about that part, huh. Well, the only person who really matters in the tank is the commander, isn’t it. Who cares if two enlisted men get blown to bits if there’s a lieutenant who’s injured.”
-----
There was little to do, most of the time. Sometimes Ueda found himself wondering if they were still at war. The orders to keep holding were the only indication that there was anything beyond the muddy bounds of their camp and the sleepy streets of Doullen.
In the third week of drills without action, Akanishi modified one of the shells in Nakamaru’s load to hold an emergency flare. During that morning’s target exercises, Nakamaru screeched when his shell sent up a huge plume of smoke and started glowing a bright white light. Akanishi almost died laughing.
The gunner was furious. When the round ended and they all climbed out of the stifling interior of the tank to rest in the shade, he grabbed Akanishi by his shirtfront and shoved him up against one of the gun barrels.
“What the hell, Akanishi? If you’d done that in combat, we’d be dead!”
Jin was unfazed.”We’re not in combat. Everyone’s fine-I don’t see what the big deal is. But,” he snorted, “you should have seen your face!”
Nakamaru glared at him fiercely. “I don’t have time for your stupid games, Akanishi. Find someone else to play them with.” He shoved the other man away from him and stomped off.
Kamenashi poked Ueda in the shoulder. “Hey, commander, maybe you should actually try disciplining your troops.” When Ueda turned to look at him, he held up his hands defensively. “Just saying.”
-----
Ueda knew that he had to do something about his dysfunctional team-that it was his responsibility as their commander-but his two gunners had him at a loss. He’d pulled Akanishi aside and lectured him about proper behavior and use of equipment, but he wasn’t sure that anything had sunk in. Since then, Akanishi had been sulking and complaining loudly about the most trivial annoyances while Nakamaru simply fumed in silence. The pranks had stopped, but Ueda was pretty sure that it had less to do with a change of heart on Akanishi’s part than the threat of latrine duty.
Their group was still running sloppily in drills. There were three other tank crews assigned to their encampment and all of them worked together much more tightly. What was frustrating was that his crew wasn’t untalented-on the contrary, they were each excellent at their respective jobs. But the five of them-six, if he counted himself-seemed to be completely unable to work together. Kamenashi refused to consult with the two gearsmen and would just wrench the controls around however he thought he could best confuse their opponents with no thought to targeting. Koki and Taguchi, in response, didn’t pay particular attention to the gears. When the tank would break down, and Ueda would chew them out, they simply brushed it off. In live fire exercises, Akanishi and Nakamaru would frequently waste ammunition by gunning for the same target. The two weren’t speaking, and the atmosphere between them put everyone else on edge.
-----
"I just want to feel alive," Jin had said, and it was the result of that longing which had debilitated him now. Jin lay moaning on the dingy, tattered cot, clutching his groin while the medics hovered over him. The head doctor, a grizzled corporal, sighed. "If he'd just kept it in his pants, he'd be fine. Can't trust those pullhouse whores."
"I hope she was worth it." The pastyfaced ensign assisting snickered and tugged halfheartedly at Jin's arms. "Though the randy bastard probably doesn't care what they look like, as long as he gets his jollies before he goes back to sitting on his ass in the trench--"
Ueda heard something snap and then the ensign was on the floor, clutching his jaw and gazing at Nakamaru in shock. Maru's face was pale from exertion and pain, beads of sweat forming on his forehead and upper lip, but his eyes were clear and cold as he glared at the assistant. "Don't you judge him," he choked out. "You don't know him from Kitagawa. Don't you dare judge him unless you know what we go through--what he's gone through."
He gasped as he knocked his arm against the side of the bed, and Ueda reached to steady him, but Maru brushed him off and kept his eyes on the man on the ground. "You stay back here all day in this hospital--and maybe you think you know what it's like because you see all the wounded coming through. But if they're really injured and sent here, they're already dead or dying. You bastards don't ever see the gas kill your friends in front of you, so don't you judge him for wanting to feel something other than exhaustion and maybe keep his feet from rotting off in the trenches for a few hours.”
Once he'd finished talking, Maru seemed to deflate. He let Ueda steady him until he was leaning back against the headboard. The ensign picked himself up off the ground and started to brush his sleeves off self-importantly before a look from the doctor sent him off to help one of the other surgeons.
The old doctor moved his chair over in between Jin and Maru's beds. "You're a good friend, young man," he said to Maru. "I'm sure Lieutenant Akanishi appreciates it." He turned and fumbled a brown bottle out of his medicine bag. After opening the cap and inspecting the contents, he handed the bottle to Ueda. "You give these to the Lieutenant there. Antibiotics. He's never going to be able to get rid of it completely, I'm afraid, but this'll help keep the symptoms under control for now.
-----
The only one who wrote as many letters as Ueda did was Koki. One day when Kame had the watch and the two of them were sitting writing in his corner of the funk hole, Ueda asked him who he was sending all the letters to. The man looked embarrassed for a bit, but eventually he grunted and shoved the letter at Ueda.
"I have a younger brother. I write to him."
Kamenashi snorted as he lept back down into the trench. "Your brother? Oy, Taguchi"--kick--" take the watch. I have three brothers, and I sure as hell haven't gotten any letters from any of them."
"Well, do you write to them?" Koki asked, bristling.
"Well, no." Kame slung his gun off his shoulder and dropped it into his lap as he slid down in to crosslegged position.
"That's why then." Koki snatched his letter back frm Ueda and turned to face the opposite end of the trench. Kame looked thoughtful for a moment, until he noticed Ueda staring, whereupon he made a big show of cleaning his gun barrel with his sleeve.
-----
"You mean you could have gotten out of it?" Jin looked at him disbelievingly. "And you didn't?"
"Was she ugly or something?'
"Well, no" Ueda confessed. "Quite pretty, actually. I just...I didn't want to."
"You rich people are all crazy," Kamenashi muttered. "So, why'd you join up then, if your father could've gotten you out of it? Wanted to do some slumming?"
Ueda opened his mouth to defend himself, but Kamenashi just looked at him challengingly and he snapped his jaw shut. "Think whatever you like."
The other man raised his eyebrows and turned away.
-----
Kamenashi stretched out on the sparse grass beneath the oak trees. “Fine. You want me to be honest with you? I’m afraid. I’m fucking afraid. And I hate this job. You know what I heard? I heard-and no one told us this, mind you-that if that fuel tank breaks, that’s it. No injured, no nothing. You just burn to death. The whole damn tank burns up.
“When I put in a request for this postion, they told us this was the thing we were going to use to break this bloody war.
“But you know what I think? I think we’re gonna die in it. We’ll gonna die in her belly, like Koyama and Shige.”