Mecha Samurai Empire

by Peter Tieryas

  First class of the day is Battle Theory. Professor Onodera, who served in Afghanistan during one of our proxy wars, teaches the class. He doesn’t bother with introductions and dives into the lessons. “Courage, coupled with stupidity, is worse than foolhardiness. We are the best army in the world not because of our bravery but because we couple courage with intelligence. The IJA can trace its philosophical roots to a Prussian officer, Major Jakob Meckel. He was an idiot and nearly destroyed the IJA with his idiocy. He believed tactics weren’t as important as élan. His theories did help us in the short run. But, as we found out in the Nomonhan Incident, all the spirit in the world didn’t help us against the Soviets in 1939. It was a catastrophic defeat. What’s worse is that so many of those who died did so because of a stupid regulation that first aid couldn’t be applied to fellow soldiers without direct orders from an officer. Countless soldiers needlessly hemorrhaged to death. Because of our defeat there, our forces were very reluctant to engage them when the Germans asked for our aid against the Soviets during Operation Barbarossa. If the Germans hadn’t taken Moscow, we most likely would have driven into Southeast Asia. Who knows how the war would have gone if we’d taken that course.

  “We had to adapt,” Professor Onodera continues. “The mecha didn’t become a focal part of our forces until after the Great Pacific War, so all the courage in the world was useless when our forces rushed like fools into streams of gunfire, believing their ‘spirit’ could save them. Fifty cowardly soldiers who are trained to point and fire a rifle are worth more than three hundred brave soldiers without guns. Army staff issued a directive after our defeat in Nomonhan, ordering research for a supertank to be used on the Manchurian Plains. They built a hundred-ton prototype, but the technology couldn’t support the weight. So they went back to relying on ‘spirit’ again.

  “The key to battle is to dispel your illusions about what helps win wars. Spirit counts. But logistics, which many would consider boring, are the key. Your ability to understand how technology changes the political landscape is vital as well. In 1888, the Army Inspector of the time, General Yamagata, understood Asia would become the focus of the western forces. Do you know how he knew that?” He looks at all of us rhetorically, expecting no one to know. No one does except Chieko, who raises her hand.

  The professor points at her. Chieko stands, and answers, “General Yamagata was referring to the construction of the Panama Canal, the Canadian-Pacific Railroad, and the Trans-Siberian Railway.”

  “So not every one of you in here is an idiot. Those three monumental efforts meant access to Asia would become easier than it ever had been. Do you know what the national disease during the Meiji Period was and its relationship to the rations that were provided?”

  “Beriberi was the national disease,” Chieko replies. “The imperial doctors introduced a rice mixed with barley to reduce beriberi rates among soldiers, but the perception was that mixed rice was prison food, so it was not utilized as much as it should have been.”

  “Very good. And very dumb of them. Do you also know why our officers decided to change uniforms from white trousers to khaki ones?”

  “During the Boxer Rebellion, all the blood staining our soldier’s uniforms lowered morale. Bloodstains on khaki aren’t as visible,” Chieko replies.

  I had no idea about any of this. It’s fascinating to realize how integral our food menu is to our health, as well as the psychological effect even the color of a uniform can have on a soldier. Seems obvious when pointed out to us, but battle theory is much more practical than I’d anticipated. I feel like I’m back in high school again, generally ignorant about pretty much everything.

  “You will meet some of our scholars who will attempt to assuage, even reduce the reported number of casualties during war. It’s not because they believe it. It’s because they want to camouflage the horrors of war with the mental equivalent of khaki uniforms. But make no mistake. War is horrible. Many civilians are killed. Soldiers, who in peacetime would be afraid to kill a fly, will butcher unarmed people. The better you understand that, the better officer and soldier you’ll be. There is a human cost, a psychological toll, and those who try to mask that are worse than cowards. They’re liars.”

  As he continues, I think again about the Quiet Border. I look over at Chieko. She too has a pained expression on her face. Is she also thinking about the battle? She spots me looking at her, and I realize she must see her emotions reflected in me because there’s a calm that washes over her. We both take solace knowing we survived together.

  * * *

  • • •

  Japanese Literature and Rhetoric is mostly a reading class. We get assigned the works of classic authors like Shirow, Kishiro, Fujii, Mishima, Gunpei, Anno, Miyazaki, and others. “Get your head out of the portical games and read more,” are the professor’s first words, which sums up our entire class. The cadets get excited when they hear one of the authors who’s also a professor, Kojima, might visit to give a talk. He is clearly a class favorite as his works are so compelling, mixing war drama and interesting characters with existential questions about reality in epics that have become very popular throughout the Empire.

  Right before lunch, we have physical-training exercises. We have a martinet for an instructor who yells so loud, I think he hurts his own ears. Fortunately, his routines are only an hour long, which is nothing compared to what we had to do as RAMs. Math (my worst subject), calligraphy (my handwriting has always been sloppy at best), military history (I get all the names mixed up and can’t tell which officer did what), and chemistry (my second worst subject and a class where I space out the moment the professor begins to speak science jargon) follow.

  Promising first day.

  Right before our last class, Noriko catches up with the two of us.

  “How you both doing?”

  “Tired,” I reply.

  “Exhilarated,” Chieko answers at the same time.

  Noriko laughs at our contrasting responses. “What’s next?”

  “Kenjutsu.”

  “It’s probably one of the most important classes you’ll take,” Noriko tells us. “You’ll learn all the fundamentals of sword art, which’ll be key for you as mecha pilots. There isn’t a better instructor anywhere in the Empire than Professor Sugiyama. She used to be an imperial mekiki.”

  Mekikis are experts at judging swords, but many are also the top blade fighters in the world. To be an imperial mekiki is an extraordinary honor.

  I keep Noriko’s words in mind when we enter the dojo-styled classroom. Professor Sugiyama is a middle-aged woman with blond hair and is 180 centimeters tall. Her eyes are covered by a white bandanna with the red rising sun in the middle. She is holding a bokutou, though her wooden sword looks more robust than the ones I’ve normally seen.

  “You all want to be mecha pilots,” the professor says. “But do any of you know how to fight without a robot? If not, you have no business in a mecha. In my class, you’ll learn all the different ryus, from the Koto-eiri school of swordsmanship, to Aisaka, Shinto, Shinkage, and Nen. Your katana will be an extension of your will, and you will learn how wielding a sword is much like wielding a mecha. If you become one with it, you will be invincible. The Western countries lived by the sword until they met the Empire, where they quickly learned that no one can outclass a samurai with a sword. Rather than soporific introductions that don’t mean anything, I will learn who all of you are by the way you fight. I want everyone to grab a bokutou and attack me. There is no shame in defeat, and you will be defeated. It’s how you fight that interests me. Who wants to go first?”

  The first ten students are defeated immediately, the bokutou flying out of their hands. It’s Chieko’s turn. She moves in slowly. I notice Sugiyama does not attack. Chieko’s posture is impeccably poised yet loose and serene. There isn’t any tension in her, the way I sense in the students who want to attack. Sugiyama just waits, list
ening to the footsteps of her opponents, gauging their breath, and maybe even being able to extract their state of mind from their agitated motion. Chieko takes her time attacking. When she does, her blow is quick and powerful. But Sugiyama anticipates this and parries the attack easily, about to sweep her off her feet. Chieko was hoping for this and grips the professor by her right arm, getting in close for another attack. It’s a wrestler’s feint. Just as she’s about to flip her, the professor sidesteps Chieko entirely, knocking her back with the bokutou and causing her to stumble. Chieko loses, but it’s the first time we see the professor nod approvingly. “Interesting,” she notes.

  The remaining students fall much faster. It’s finally my turn. I hold my wooden sword, but knowing she won’t attack, I remain still. I even try to hold my breath, but that lasts only a minute before I’m gasping for air. I take a lot more breaths before she takes a step forward. I take a corresponding step back. She takes another step, I repeat my step back, wanting to keep my distance. We continue this stepping game until I’ve moved her around so that her back is against the wall. This is her contest, her rules, her plan, so I have to mix it up a little to stand a chance. Last time I did this in practice was with Sensei almost a year ago, and she had me on my back. Not this time. Sugiyama will most likely expect me to attack right now. I begin to sprint, but not toward her. Rather adjacent to her. She moves in, and as she does, I strike. She blocks, and I know she’s going to try to do a counterattack with a turn or a slicing attack, using an evasive turn on her knee. But before she does, I withdraw again. Let her think I’m scared or supercautious. I do this two more times. On the third, I pretend to withdraw. She overcompensates by stepping in closer. I do a spin around her and her back is vulnerable to my attack. I swing down, but as I do, her back foot catches my neck and knocks me against the wall. She turns around, wooden sword about to hit me in the neck. I duck, and the bokutou hits the wall. I strike her leg, and just as I’m about to swing again, she kicks me hard in the head.

  When I wake up, my head is in a daze.

  “How many fingers do you see?” Professor Sugiyama asks.

  I look up and reply, “Three.”

  She nods. “I’m impressed. No student has ever hit me on their first try.”

  “It didn’t do much good. You still gave me a whooping.” I look around, but the dojo is empty. “Where is everyone?”

  “Class ended thirty minutes ago.”

  “I was out the whole time?”

  She nods and lifts up an unsheathed katana. “There are several schools of thought when it comes to the forging of swords,” she says. “Some believe in the sam-mai, a ‘three-plate style’ where you wedge a plate of steel between two iron plates with steel along the edges. It’s adulterated, but cheaper and quicker to create. The more pure form would be the tsukuri style, which only uses pure steel.”

  “Which do you prefer?” I ask.

  “Tsukuri¸ of course. You are steel, Makoto, even when you pretend not to be.”

  She puts on her sandals and leaves.

  * * *

  • • •

  They don’t take roll call, and I haven’t seen Kujira the whole day. It’s possible he has a completely different schedule from mine, but I still stop by his dorm room before dinner. I knock, but there’s no answer. I hear some noises from within, though. The door isn’t locked so I enter. He’s in his room, playing portical games.

  “Hi, Kujira,” I say. “You feeling sick?”

  He doesn’t answer. I don’t know if he even heard me.

  I want to see what kind of game he’s playing. Is it a new type of simulation or strategy game? I can understand being addicted to a compelling narrative, wanting to know what happens to the characters. Or maybe it’s some type of new mecha simulation? I missed quite a few classes in high school doing the same.

  I peek at his portical screen and am disappointed to see a bunch of brightly colored hexagons. Rokkakkei is one of those mindless games that requires you to match hues in combos that cause layers to vanish. That results in more crystalloid hexagons appearing, forming an even more labyrinthine maze. This is all against the backdrop of cheesy music and cute pets cheering players on.

  “You can’t be serious,” I say to him. “This is what you’ve been playing this whole time?”

  He hits pause. “Why are you here?”

  “Did you go to class today?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “I just wanted to make sure you were ‘okay.’” There’s that word again. Odd how often it comes up throughout the day. Why are so many of us so concerned with being “okay”?

  “I saw the class list, and they all looked boring,” Kujira informs me. “So I decided not to go.”

  It’s not the answer I was expecting, mainly because tedium is the last reaction I’d thought anyone would feel on the first day of class.

  When I think about it, it pisses me off.

  “So you’re too good for BEMA?” I ask him.

  “Absolutely. I don’t want to be here. It’s a waste of my time. Sooner I’m done here, happier I’ll be.”

  “What’s with the hostility?”

  “Did I touch a nerve? So sorry, sir. Would you like an apology? Sumimasen,” he says in a mocking tone.

  “You don’t have to give me an attitude.”

  “You already got your congratulations from the superintendent. What more do you want?”

  “If you’re so unhappy here, why don’t you quit?”

  “I tried. But Akiko insists I give it a try. Says I can learn a thing or two ’bout piloting here. Doubt it. But she has a way of being very persuasive. Any other questions? I’m busy.”

  He’s back at his game again.

  * * *

  • • •

  At dinner, I’m more annoyed than I should be. Noriko and Chieko have grabbed bento boxes. I poke at my ika and kani rolls. There’s some type of Spanish casserole they’ve included that smells good. But I’ve lost my appetite.

  “The worst sushi in the main island is still better than the best ones in the USJ,” Noriko says.

  “Sushi snob,” Chieko replies to her.

  “I’m not a snob if it’s true. It doesn’t take a connoisseur to appreciate good sushi.”

  “What do you think?” Chieko asks me.

  “Food is food,” I mutter, indifferent to the debate.

  But seeing the raw fish makes me feel ill. I don’t want to seem thin-skinned, but I can’t stand the sight of uncooked flesh and the way it reminds me of a person with their skin peeled away.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  I complain to them about Kujira.

  Noriko laughs at me. “You’ll get a chance to show him up in three weeks.”

  “You mean the mecha competition?”

  “Yep. That’s how the instructors will know your skill level.”

  “What it’s like?”

  “It’s tournament style and runs the whole week, depending on how long you last. The top group in the Tadakatsus are the Five Tigers. I’m second of five. We’ve lost three members because they were in the senior class. That means we’ll be recruiting the top three cadets from next week’s tournament. I expect both of you to make it. And I’m sure you’ll meet Kujira on the way there. Teach him some humility,” Noriko says. “If either of you wins, you’ll face me.”

  From that moment on, all I think about is the competition.

  I can’t deny a part of it is a desire to fight against Kujira, the son of the legendary mecha pilot. But I know most legends don’t live up to the rep. It’s primarily a desire to redeem myself. Last time I was part of a test, it was back in high school, and I failed miserably. I won’t let that happen again. I have way more experience than almost anyone here. I have to dominate to honor those who passed away and show that their sacrifice had meaning
.

  10

  The first three weeks of class are informative, and my favorite by far is kenjutsu. I enjoy learning all the different stances. The techniques are split up into kiri (cutting) and tsuki (thrusting), used in conjunction with defensive moves, of which there are countless varieties. Professor Sugiyama emphasizes the importance of iatjutsu, the moment when you first draw your sword.

  We practice the iaijutsu by squatting with our bokutou sheathed. She rings a bell, which is our cue to draw. I stand, attack, put the sword back into the sheath, and squat back down. We do this a hundred times a day, which causes my thighs to feel like bricks.

  It’s not so much the act itself, she tells us. Rather precipitating the strike, choosing the right moment and position from which to launch.

  “Most duels are over before they begin,” Professor Sugiyama pounds into us. “Even with the most skilled sword wielders, you have to know what they’re going to do. If you can anticipate that, you’ll most definitely catch them off guard. All it takes is a short lapse to be defeated. There is no second place in a fight to the death.”

  I absorb her lessons, considering how best to incorporate them into our battles.

  “Styles have evolved since the end of the war,” she informs us. “What I teach is different from what you’d learn in Tokyo, Los Angeles, or even at a local dojo. There is no single right way. It’s not a method to be repeated like a factory line. Kenjutsu is an art you develop for the duration of your life.”

  As we learn the fundamentals, I notice the subtle way the sword stops being a weapon external to myself, and more, an extension of my arm. The parts about the importance of breathing and mental balance are harder to grasp when I think about them but come as a by-product of practice.