Girl Rides the Wind

by Jacques Antoine

  “Maybe you can address her as Sensei,” Ishikawa said.

  “What the hell are you talking about, Dice?”

  “I guess you didn’t notice how Durant-u speaks to her.”

  “How’s that?” Moon asked.

  “He calls her Sensei,” Kano said. “And that guy’s no paper soldier.”

  “So what if he’s charmed by a pretty face?”

  “You think she’s pretty?” Ishikawa said. Moon’s blush brought the first bit of levity to the entire evening. Dice rolled out of his lotus position on the desk and smacked him on the back of the head. “She’s too tall for you anyway. What would your parents say?”

  “Enough fooling around,” Kano barked through a smile he tried to squeeze back. He found her attractive, too, and absolutely didn’t want Dice and Moon to know. He could barely admit it to himself, though being taller than the others made his fantasy at least less preposterous.

  “Maybe we’ll find out what sort of sensei Durant-u thinks she is at the karate competition tomorrow,” Ishikawa said.

  “You mean because of their morning training sessions?” Moon asked. “I’d think that’d make him the sensei.”

  “If you think he’s training her, you’re mistaken there,” Kano said.

  “You’ve been keeping tabs on them, Tak?”

  “I’m just saying he’s the one who does all the bowing.”

  “Are you still up for fighting him, Dice,” Moon said, “I mean, knowing his trainer is a girl?”

  “Obviously you’ve never heard the legend of wing chun,” Ishikawa said with a snort. “That style is supposed to have been invented by a girl.”

  “The Chinese are such jokers.”

  * * *

  Emily crept into Lt Otani’s quarters, trying not to wake her, since she’d been gracious enough to accommodate her. The ride back from Roppongi had taken longer than she expected, and she just wanted to find her bed without making any noise. As it was, she might only get four hours of sleep, even though she had managed to steal a few winks in the back of the van, which she figured Tsukino would take to mean she was a skank – fushidarana on na. But she had no time to care about him or anything else that might keep her awake.

  “Michi-san, is that you?” a groggy voice whispered out of the darkness.

  “Just me, Kiku-san, don’t worry. Go back to sleep.”

  “Too late, I’m awake now. I don’t think I was ever asleep. Why are you so late returning?”

  Kiku flicked on a reading lamp, and Emily squinted and crouched down to set up her bed. Rolled out, the futon fit nicely in a nook behind the desk, with the pillow away from the wall so she could see her host as they talked.

  “Ishikawa and Durant got into a singing contest. It took forever to herd them back into the van.”

  “No trouble from the authorities, I hope.”

  Emily slipped into synthetic running shorts and a light mesh shirt—pajamas for the humid climate; anything heavier would be oppressive, and this outfit streamlined getting up to run in the morning.

  “We got away without alarming the police, though I’m not sure about the tourists who had to hear their street opera.”

  “I envy you, Michi-san,” she said, out of the blue.

  “What for?”

  “You are not afraid to socialize with the men.”

  “Are you trying to insult me, Kiku?”

  “No. Please forgive me. It’s just that I could never do that, and that’s why they’ll never accept me as a soldier.”

  “I’m pretty sure most of them won’t accept me either, at least not as a soldier.”

  “I think Durant-u accepts you.”

  “Perceptive,” Emily had to admit, under her breath, and wondered how dangerous Durant’s behavior might be. Would the others be able to understand how she’d earned his respect?

  “That’s nothing,” she said, opting not to unfold their history for Lt Otani.

  “He trains with you, and I’ve seen him bow to you out on the field. None of the men would ever bow to me like that. They would only bow because of protocol.”

  “What makes you think Sergeant Durant was doing anything different with me?”

  “Because Americans don’t bow, and even Japanese don’t bow like that.”

  If Kiku had noticed, that meant others would, too, if they hadn’t already. She hoped it wasn’t too late to warn him to tone it down.

  “Run with me in the morning, Kiku-san. Durant will probably join us, if he doesn’t have a hangover. Maybe he’ll bow to you, too.”

  “I could never do what you do, Michi-san,” she said through reddening cheeks. “You practice karate with him.”

  “You’ve had open-hand training. Come with us. Durant won’t mind, even if you show him a new kata.”

  “I can’t imagine doing such a thing,” she said with a blush. “But you’re so confident and strong.”

  “Kiku-san, that’s what practice does for you.”

  Of course, Emily knew Kiku would never agree to train with them, and she didn’t wish to press too hard, or to embarrass her. But she did enjoy pressing a little bit, if it forced Kiku to admit that no one but herself stood in her way. Emily rolled onto her back and watched a patient spider work through the seemingly endless task of stringing a web from the overhead light-fixture to a nearby window frame. Spin out the filament, bind it to a transverse thread and stretch it across the gap. Swing and dangle from the trap, all the while pulling a sticky curtain across a dark corner. The next day would reveal what had been entangled, for good or ill, and show where the reweaving must begin.

  Kiku switched off the light, and Emily waited for her eyes to adjust so she could find the spider’s handiwork again, now hiding in its natural element, the darkness. A sudden breeze brushed up against the windows, and Emily imagined the invisible web waving, like a tell-tale atop the mainmast of a corsair, or a sashimono fixed on a pole to a soldier’s back and fluttering above his head to declare the clan he serves. She followed it down the mountain, watching it pitch back and forth as he ran. Her bare feet found the cool dirt and the not-yet trampled grass in the interval between the standard-bearer and the dozens of soldiers who charged behind him. An enemy dug in on the hillside leveled their weapons in anticipation of the clash, and the men running behind Emily dodged as best they could the volley of arrows that whistled through the air. Still, many of the barbed shafts found a mark, though most were not fatal, glancing off the iron and leather piecework of their armor, or tearing idly at the flesh of elbow or shoulder joints. A few found the soft skin of the throat, ripping open an artery; others pierced the groin, where armor was thinner to make running possible, leaving victims to claw the ground in agony.

  Another volley brought down a few more soldiers, but plenty of them made it through, the lowly ashigaru lunging in with sharpened yari, trusting the seven-foot pole to keep the enemy at a distance while they stabbed at them with the steel tip. Samurai crashed through the line after them, swinging from horseback with a long sword, the curve keeping the blade from catching on bone or muscle; they slashed at necks and shoulders, sprays of blood blossoming behind them as they went, bellowing a cry in honor of the emperor as their enemies shrieked out the same cry.

  Calm amid the mayhem, Emily turned to step through the center of the battle, placing heel in front of toe, breathing slowly and feeling the grass crinkle under her feet and between her toes. Casting her eyes to one side or the other, a red mist collecting on her cheeks, she watched men kill, or be killed, and walked on by. Even as the sun warmed her face, she saw dark clouds rolling toward the battlefield, swirling around the combatants. In the center of a whirlwind dark as thunder, with rain pelting in all directions, she spied the little girl gazing down at her from on high, smiling serenely as she held out a hand as mighty as the wind.

  With outstretched arm, Emily rose up on her toes to reach for the girl, and just before their fingers touched, a spark leapt across the gap. When she opened her eyes, sh
e felt the warm sun on her face again, and insects with long, broad wings flitted over the grass, and she heard water babbling nearby. The voice of the Queen of Heaven hadn’t come to her in several years, and she didn’t expect to hear it now, but the little princess had haunted her dreams with increasing frequency of late, even though Emily was no longer permitted to visit the Togu Palace.

  Before the first rays of the sun could peek under the window shade, she shook the last wisps of the dream out of her brain and rolled off the futon to find a pair of running shoes.

  “C’mon, Kiku-san,” Emily whispered into Lt Otani’s ear. “The sun is up. Time to run.”

  “Mrrmph,” Kiku groaned, and rolled over to the other side of her pillow.

  Emily let the door click shut behind her, and jogged over to the main field, where the “Fast-Rope” chopper exercises were held. As expected, Durant waited for her there, in olive green shorts and a t-shirt.

  “Sensei,” he grunted.

  “No, it’ll cause trouble. Stick to protocol.”

  “LT, then?”

  “Check, Sarge.”

  Chapter 4

  A Distinguished Personage

  In the hot and humid season, merely standing in formation while a party of dignitaries made speeches could be torture. Emily managed to peek over at Oleschenko and Durant, both of whom had begun to sweat through their fatigues. A bit further along the line, she caught a glimpse of Ishikawa in similar straits, but Tsukino and Kano managed to put a brave face on the whole situation, even as the beads formed on their faces. She felt one hanging from her own nose.

  “Man, this is interminable,” she whispered. “Why can’t a breeze find us on this infernal base? Is that too much to ask?”

  Durant couldn’t suppress a snort at her words, and Oleschenko glowered at the two of them. “Shut it, you two,” he hissed.

  Eventually, the proceedings on the shaded podium drew to a close, and several well-dressed people made their way across the front of the formation, accompanied by Colonel Kamakura, commander of the first Airborne Brigade, and Admiral Crichton, Commander of Fleet Activities at the naval base in Sasebo, and the officer in charge of the US contingent of the operation. The command to stand “at ease” made its way around and Emily’s platoon assumed a slightly more comfortable posture, feet apart and hands behind their backs.

  “The tall one is Mr. Saito,” Oleschenko whispered. “He’s the Deputy Minister of Defense.”

  “Who are the other two?” Durant asked.

  “I imagine we’ll find out in a moment,” Emily said. She could just make out what they said to Kano’s unit. Praise for their service in the recent evacuations after the typhoon up north, and encouragement for the tournament to be held later that day.

  “Thank you, Heiji-san,” Kano said to the smaller of two women flanking Mr. Saito, before making a deep bow.

  “Your family must be proud of your achievements, Tsukino-san,” said the other woman, and he bowed deeply in return. “Your predecessors at the Atsuta-jingu will be honored to receive you into their order, once your tour in the Jietai is complete.”

  “You are too generous, Soga-san,” he replied.

  “They’re so polite,” Durant whispered, and Oleschenko shushed him.

  Mr. Saito said something in a few, clipped Japanese phrases to Capt Oleschenko, and he immediately glanced at Emily, who supplied a translation.

  “Thank you, sir,” Oleschenko replied, with a little bow. “We are honored to have the opportunity to serve side by side with the Ground Self Defense Force.”

  “We have heard a great deal about you, too, Tenno-san,” one of the women said.

  “This is Heiji Gyoshin, my Industry Liaison,” Mr. Saito said. “And allow me to introduce Soga Jin,” he continued, gesturing to the taller woman. “She is the Vice President of the Takenouchi Corporation.”

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Heiji-san,” Emily said. “And I am honored to meet you as well, Soga-san.”

  “Your reputation as a martial artist precedes you,” Soga Jin said. “Will you participate in the tournament?”

  “Fighting is a man’s game,” Emily said. “We have several very capable fighters, including Durant-san.” She pointed to Durant with a flourish that left him tongue-tied, and he bowed nervously.

  “What was that all about?” he asked, once the dignitaries had retreated to the artificial shade of the stands, and the troops had been dismissed, and various units had begun to disperse across the parade ground.

  “You mean the big muckety-mucks coming to our little shindig?” Oleschenko asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” Durant said. “But, really, why were they making such a big deal out of Tsukino over there? I thought I heard one of them say something about him serving at a shrine, like he’s some sort of priest?”

  “You’ve picked up a bit of Japanese,” Emily said. “Impressive, Sarge.”

  “Did I get that right, then?”

  “The Atsuta-jingu is a shrine, outside of Nagoya, and the priests in charge of it come from a few families. That’s the way it tends to be at the major Shinto shrines. I guess he’s a member of one of those families.”

  “He doesn’t strike me as the priestly type,” Oleschenko said.

  “And did I hear you say you won’t compete today, Sensei?” Durant said, before catching himself. “I mean, LT.”

  “Of course, she’s not competing,” Oleschenko said. “Why the hell would she?”

  “Whatever you say, sir,” Durant said, with a glance at Emily, who said nothing.

  “What would be the point anyway?” Oleschenko continued. “It’s not like she can win, and she could get hurt, which wouldn’t be good for unit cohesion. The men trust her to fly the choppers, and I don’t want to mess that up.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tenno said. “Never seek a fight, that’s a lesson I learned the hard way.”

  Oleschenko eyed her, no doubt puzzling over what she’d said, which she knew wasn’t exactly consonant with the sentiments he’d just expressed.

  “Look, Tenno, I know the sergeant thinks you’re tough, but you don’t belong in this donnybrook.”

  “Absolutely, sir. But I hope you realize this won’t be like your usual Marine mud-brawl. That’s not how the Jietai thinks about morale. It’s more likely to be some sort of single-elimination, one-on-one tournament.”

  “Are you saying you want to fight?”

  “No, sir. I prefer watching from the sidelines.”

  “All due respect, sir,” Durant began, and then paused to consider his words. “It’s just, Tenno’s no ordinary lady-Marine.” Emily glowered at him and gave a slight shake of the head, but he’d gone too far down this line of thought to stop now. “I mean, if you’d seen her at Quantico…”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Oleschenko cut him off. “I know all about Quantico, and the way I heard it, she was lucky not to get killed. You had no business competing with the men,” he said directly to Emily. “Other people could have been hurt. Whose brilliant idea was that, anyway?”

  “Don’t worry, sir. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  She glanced at Durant as she said this, hoping he’d let the matter drop, even if it meant swallowing the captain’s preposterous notion that she’d endangered Marines by competing. Someone had been hurt at that tournament all right, namely Jiao Long, the assassin who’d snuck a knife into the ring and tried to stab her through the eye with it. She’d stripped his life away with his own weapon, the whole scene soaked in a spray of blood from a severed artery in his neck, as a hundred stunned Marines watched from the side. She’d learned the hard way not to seek a fight, at least partly because you can’t control how others will interpret the results.

  In the event, Emily turned out to be correct about the tournament, much to the consternation of the Marines, who would have preferred to fight en masse, rather than be exposed to the hazards and potential embarrassments of single combat. That was how they thought about camaraderie and unit cohesion…
not to mention that, given the fact they were generally larger than their Japanese counterparts, they’d probably have fared better in a brawl, if only by dint of sheer mass and muscle. But the isolated and formalized structure of a tournament served Kano’s men better, and though a few of the Americans did well enough, like Lance Corporal Antonio Colón, who won several matches in a row, mostly they lost to smaller and more skillful opponents.

  In each case, the winner of a match held the ring, and the next challenger chose the weapons, if any. After LCpl Colón lost to First Private Uchida in a grappling match, finally forced to tap out of a chokehold, Durant got his chance, winning four matches in a row, twice in karate-style fighting, twice with a bo staff. When Ishikawa entered the ring, Emily heard the tail-end of Tsukino’s instructions.

  “He’ll drop his guard if you make him block after a kick-combination.”

  He was right, of course—she’d seen the truth of it before, and even tried to break Durant of the habit—but the fact that Tsukino had seen it, too, impressed her. He had the strong hands of someone with considerable training in martial arts, and he had sharp eyes as well. The intensity with which he observed the matches also struck her, and seemed almost to suggest something intemperate in his character, a bitterness he might not be able fully to control. Or perhaps she had merely let the fact that he so obviously disapproved of her color her perceptions.

  In the end, Ishikawa lost—Durant was simply too quick and strong for him, even though he dropped his guard a couple of times—and the two singing partners shook hands in the ring.