People start sharing beers. There’s general cheer, singing, and joyous proclamations. There’s actually real food. We’ve made it. I’ve made it. Wren gives me a warm hug, lifting me up. Everyone hugs one another. Botan gulps down beer like it was sugar water. Poet spouts bad haikus about the joy of endurance. Chieko arm wrestles anyone who challenges her and beats them handily. Spider reflects on the different beers he’s enjoyed throughout the world. I wish Griselda were here so I could celebrate with her.
* * *
• • •
After the festivities, I head to the barracks. I’m not too drunk, though I feel a light buzz after two cups of beer. It’s breezy outside, and I try to identify some of the stars. I spot Chieko and Wren running off together, holding hands. All of us suspected they were interested in each other, but this is the first time I see it for certain. I’m happy for them.
The loose sketch of celestial bodies above resembles the constellation Ohitsuji, and another series of stars has to be Ryouken. I notice someone waiting for me. It’s Sensei.
“You’ve been working hard,” she says.
“I want to learn as much as I can.”
“You’ve done a good job coming back from your injury.”
As it’s one of the first compliments I’ve heard from her, I’m delighted. “Thank you, Sensei. For everything.”
“You have a solid future in the RAMs. This also came for you. I don’t know the contents, but I’ll be honest. I recommended you. I think you’d make a good officer. I don’t know what their final decision was.”
She hands me a portical with a sealed message. I enter my personal code, curious who it is. It’s from BEMA.
I skip the opening salutations, speed past the notes about the request from Colonel Tachibana, and get to the point. “After a thorough reevaluation of your application, we have determined that we cannot offer you a place in the forthcoming class at BEMA.”
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or my shock, but I stumble. I have to lean against the wall to stabilize myself.
Sensei sees my expression, understands, and assures me, “You’ll get other opportunities,” putting her hand on my shoulder.
“Thank you,” I weakly reply. My legs feel like they’re going to give out under me.
“We’ll talk more in the morning. Good night.” She leaves, and I feel embarrassed she was present for my second rejection.
I sit on the ground and pick up dirt with my hands, letting it slide through my fingers. How stupid of me to think they would change their decision. It was naive to even entertain the idea that I could get into BEMA after how badly I did on the test. Spider was right. I don’t have the right connections. I feel like that dirt, recycled and tossed back out.
* * *
• • •
Most of us spend the next day resting. Botan has exploited everyone’s enthusiasm for the forthcoming graduation to wrangle together some Hanafuda card games. I spend most of the day feeling despondent. Our Crabs are being transported to the trains for our mission, so I can’t lose myself in one of them. Even running does little to wipe away my feeling of dejection. I went through all of this training in the hopes of improving my chances for BEMA. Now that the door is shut again, I wonder what it was all for.
Another part of me goes into a state of denial. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe they got me mixed up with someone else, and I was supposed to get accepted, but they sent the wrong message. I ask permission to check the portical again and read the letter from beginning to end ten times. No mistake.
I’m furious and want to meet the panel who made the decision, inquire of them directly even though I know it’s pointless. I failed the test and got average grades. What else could I have expected? A few hours later, I’m running myself into mental knots that leave me weary. Meanwhile, Botan has won the first week’s pay of everyone who played.
Everyone’s too loud, and I feel aggravated by their complaints.
Suddenly, Chieko punches me in the shoulder.
“What’s that for?” I yell at her.
“I hate this moping. What the hell’s wrong with you?” she demands.
“We should be celebrating, man!” Wren says.
“Don’t tell me you lost all your money to her,” Chieko says to me, pointing at Botan.
I don’t know if I should tell them the truth and am about to. Spider’s arrival seals my silence as I couldn’t stand it if he knew he was right when he told me earlier that I had no chance. “Sorry, still a little hungover from last night,” I lie.
“You barely drank!” Chieko yells, and laughs.
Spider says, “Best cure for a hangover is food. You get enough to eat?”
“I’m fine,” I state. “Just need some sleep.”
But when I get to my mat, all I can think about is the rejection.
06
Early next morning, we’re given our RAMDET uniforms. They already have our measurements, so it’s only a matter of making sure the individual pieces aren’t too tight or loose. They’re similar to army uniforms but are colored black, and our insignias clearly mark us as nonmilitary. I put on the long-sleeve shirt, pants, and a vest to provide nominal protection in case of turbulence on the mecha. We’re also given a RAMDET-issued portical to be used for official business only, but I already see the others checking personal messages and reading news sites.
The Ida Train Station is heavily guarded. There is a mural of the Emperor on the massive portical display in the main hall. The domed ceiling is glass that also serves as a portical display and will occasionally change to station updates. I see four Sentry mechas through the glass towering above. Banners of the rising sun are draped above many of the hub’s gateways. Terminal 8 is a ribbed hallway colored ivory, and there are thousands of people rushing to the connecting subways. The speed trains on the border go everywhere, from the technological wonders of Bogota to the underwater structures of Takeshi Ciudad.
We hop on board our train. We’re in the fifth passenger car from the front. Half of us split off so that minimal crews remain in the four Crab tanks for emergencies. They’re on their wheels and tied by hawsers to both sides of the train to provide convoy support. If anything does happen, it’s easy for us to access the Crabs. A fifth Crab tank is positioned on the final flat car and acts as aft guard. The locomotive has cannons in its front in case of trouble. More than three-quarters of the train cars are cargo freights carrying shipment from the USJ. They were loaded earlier in the day, and I don’t know what their contents are.
Inside our room, there’s a portical display set to a military channel. The famed Colonel Yamaoka is actually visiting Dallas and giving an inspiring speech while conducting an inspection of the border.
“While we’re disturbed by reports that the Nazis are stirring up trouble with the NARA, be assured that we’re on top of every operation they’re planning.”
Before we can leave, we have to have our fingerprints scanned. Sensei gives the inspectors our identification. After confirming everything is in order, the train speeds out. Dallas Tokai is a blur, and within seven minutes, we’ve left the city borders.
Sensei informs us, “If all goes according to plan, we’ll reach Texarkana Fortress without any problems. Our duty is minimal today, and we’ll stay there overnight. Once we enter the Fortress, keep conversations to a minimum and assume everything you say will be recorded. Our official mission begins tomorrow. Our client, Sanshouo Enterprises, has asked us to escort their new shipment back to Tulsa first, then to the Bokujin Air Base at Wichita Falls. The first part of the trip to Tulsa leads us through a long stretch of the Quiet Border, which is why we’ve been asked to escort the train. All Crab tanks will be fully manned throughout the duration of the mission, and I’m sending you optional briefings if you want to know more about the region.”
“What’s the cargo?” Chieko asks.
/> “That is confidential information.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“No.”
According to the briefing, the terrain and climate in the Quiet Border have changed drastically in the last decade. We’ve engaged the Germans in battle multiple times in the zone. Each time, the destructive forces used have reshaped the geography. I look out the window. It’s more like a desert now, with the long expanses of sand. The dust storms are blindingly strong. There are said to be the ruins of cities underneath. Ash fertilizes the seeds for more decimation.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” Poet asks us.
“Of course not,” I laugh even though I get terrified just thinking about them.
“I’ve seen ghosts along the Quiet Border,” he says.
“I eat ghosts for dinner,” Chieko states, and everyone laughs.
“Where in the Quiet Border?” someone asks Poet.
“I’ve ridden the border trains twenty times and seen shadowy figures outside on half of those trips,” Poet replies. “I’d blink, and they’d be gone.”
I try to nap in my seat and block out anything Poet is saying. I’m susceptible to ghost stories and don’t want to hear anything that’ll scare me. Still, when he talks about the ghost train full of dead Nazi and USJ soldiers, killing everyone they see, it freaks me out. Outwardly, I act indifferent to it, but everyone is absorbed in the stories and urban legends they’ve inspired.
Truth is, I can sense they’re as curious and wary of seeing the German side as I am. We’ve heard so many horror stories about the death camps and mountains of corpses that are still standing as warning against dissidence.
It isn’t very far to the fortress, a little less than three hundred kilometers, but we’re going slower because of our heavy load.
Spider and Botan talk with Sensei the whole way there. I overhear them converse about different teas from around the world.
I stare at the border, wondering how many dead are buried out here.
* * *
• • •
The hours pass slowly. Just when I’m about to ask Sensei how much longer it’ll be, a voice over the speaker politely informs us, “We are entering the German Americas.”
Texarkana Fortress has a wall extending as far as I can see. There’s barbed wire nestled on top and mounted guns on guard posts. There are cages everywhere, connected like the skeleton of an enormous snake whose skin has rotted off. They’re composed of rounded bars rising from the rusted-metal floors. They’re filled with people, captives of all ethnicities and gender. They don’t look at us. Most of them are bony, emaciated, covered in scars and sheaths of dirt. I spot a scuffle, captives fighting over breathing space. There must be thousands of prisoners trapped inside, the scorching sun causing their skin to peel and dehydrate like dried fruits. The stench of suffering is limited on the train but still jarring, with its essence of decay and inhumanity. Most of us look away, realizing not much separates us from them.
I ask Sensei, “What is this?”
“That’s Goering’s audience. Traitors, enemies, and anyone who displeases him gets sent here.”
“For how long?”
“Till they die.”
“What do they eat?”
“Each other.”
Gauleiter Goering is one of the most popular officers in the Germanic Americas. He is the ideal Aryan, tall, blond, and photogenic. He also has an angelic voice that has made him a celebrity, even in the United States of Japan.
When he starts his nightly singing, it is broadcast over the entirety of the fortress and even in our train. His German sounds divine, and I could swear it’s a religious hymn. Only, it’s a love song to Hitler, and though I don’t understand the words exactly, the primary lyrics are those of worship.
“He sings like this every night?” I ask.
“Every night I’ve visited,” Sensei replies.
The voice is hypnotic, aside from the occasional “Fuehrer” that’s thrown in. I want to ask Griselda what she thinks about the Gauleiter.
We pass a deep moat. Wren points at it, and tells us, “Alligators down there. Haven’t seen them personally, but I’ve heard they’re mutated to be three times their normal size. Shipped in from Florida.”
“Alligator meat tastes pretty good if you fry it,” Chieko says. “Key is how you season it before you dip it in the flour.”
“You know what tastes good?” Wren asks. “Alligator and kimchee. I swear, it’s the best combo ever.”
“You think adding kimchee makes everything taste better,” Chieko points out.
“It does, doesn’t it?”
Rising above the city is the most enormous statue of Hitler I’ve seen. It almost blots out the sky and casts a shadow down on the tracks. The Fuehrer is not wearing his hat but is gazing toward the USJ. He has a pensive, almost meditational look, his eyes as fiery as the old footage we’ve seen of him. It’s as though he sees beyond, wondering in disappointment what is keeping the Nazis from global dominance. How about mechas that are equally big, ready to bust Hitler’s statue up into a billion pieces?
The depot is full of Reich flags and statues of naked men holding swords. They’re carved by sculptors from the school of Josef Thorak, which was purportedly Hitler’s favorite. Soldiers are clad in black uniforms with their swastika armbands that look like blood tattoos carved into charred flesh. The business workers get off first. The quad mechas are deployed from the rear trains. Spider leads our crew aboard the Crab to help transport their cargo off the train into a convoy truck. Several Nazi officials receive us. Sensei chats fluently with the merchants in German.
I coordinate with the other Crabs, but there’s not much I need to communicate. This part of our mission is over pretty quickly. It’s actually disappointing how little we have to perform.
We park our Crabs in specially designated spots adjacent to the tracks and exit.
The security wall reminds me of an ancient castle with the cobbled roads and stone fortifications. I’m so used to the bright neon of the USJ, it’s a grim contrast. The adjacent square has a massive guillotine, which is surprising considering how antiquated it is as a method of execution. Almost everyone we see is a Caucasian soldier. I’m one of the few Asian people present, and the absence of other ethnicities is jarring. No matter where we go, the Hitler statue is visible.
We’re stationed at a hotel next to the wall. Dinner is a somber set of bratwursts and sauerkraut. We don’t cheer, don’t talk, don’t comment on our surroundings, as Sensei advised. Even without her warning, I don’t think any of us are in the mood for it. I can’t stop thinking about the people in those cages.
Wren and I share a room. He falls asleep as soon as he hits his bed and snores loud enough to wake the dead. I think his snore is a good charm against scrupulous ghosts as well.
I toss and turn. It takes me a while to drown him out, but I eventually fall asleep. It’s only a few hours later when there’s a loud banging on my door—our wake-up call. I feel like I need five more hours of sleep.
Spider and a few others are already at the train station, equipping our Crabs with the proper air filters when we arrive. A hundred or so people board the train. I don’t know if they’re civilians, military, or contractors like us. Our Crabs are still adjacent to the train.
“If anyone needs to use the bathroom, do it now,” Sensei orders.
I go use the restroom. The first Asian I see on this side of the border is a janitor who is sweeping quietly and avoids my eyes. I wash my hands and exit. Just as I’m about to hop back on board the train, I see Sensei in a heated discussion with a Nazi officer.
“Makoto?”
I’m surprised that someone calls me by my name and turn. Behind me is a tall German with long blond hair and blue eyes. Oddly enough, I recognize him, but I’m not sure from where.
“You
are Mac, aren’t you?” he asks me.
“Yes. Do I know you?”
“I’m Dietrich. You ran with us one morning last year,” he states. “Griselda is my cousin.”
“Oh,” I say, and laugh, embarrassed about the memory. That’s when I notice the mark of a crimson panther, meaning he’s military.
I wonder which branch.
“Have you seen Griselda recently? She transferred to Dallas a few months ago.”
I don’t know whether I should tell the truth or not. “We bumped into each other,” I say.
“How was she?”
“Good, I think.”
He stares at me pensively. “Perhaps I can show you around the fortress. You can return to Dallas tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry, but I have a mission today.”
“Lot of nasty NARA activity out there. Maybe you should skip this mission?”
Does he doubt my ability because I ran so poorly last year? “I appreciate your concern, but I’ve dealt with them before. I’ll be fine,” I reply to him, snappier than I intended.
He shifts his feet uncomfortably. “Be careful,” he tells me.
I climb up to the top of the Crab but feel uneasy. Was he trying to tell me something? But this is just a convoy mission, and we’re heading away from Texarkana.
Spider is adjusting his seat, running diagnostics across the Crab to make sure everything is in order. “You all ready for this?” he asks.
“No,” Wren replies, echoing our fatigue.
“I know why you’re not ready,” Spider says in an insinuating tone we all know refers to Chieko.
He smiles abashedly. “I didn’t see her last night. You can ask Cream.”
“Switch to tread mode,” Sensei orders us. “Once we enter the Border, no more audio communications unless it’s an emergency. Everything will be encrypted through text that your communication officers will relay. We’ll remain tied by hawsers to the train. It’s 422 kilometers, and more than two-thirds will be through the Quiet Border. There hasn’t been any reported activity along this way for the past year, so we’re not expecting difficulties. But if there are, you’ve been trained to deal with it. Remember, our primary objective is to defend the train, not engage enemies. Over.”
Mecha Samurai Empire (A United States of Japan Novel) Page 15
