[FIC] Class Act (part 13)
Posted: Thu Mar 18, 2004 10:33 pm
Sousuke had the great fortune to join a small privileged group of men and women---he had a chance to wander through the new Peace & War wing before its official opening. There wouldn’t be a lot of time, but at the very least he could identify the areas he wanted to concentrate on later when the crowds surged in.
At one point he stood overwhelmed, unable to make a decision. There was so much to look at. There were rare and unusual items mixed in with the commonplace and illustrative materials. If this series of rooms had been open on his arrival, he would have sneaked away from the rest of the group and spent the whole time here.
There was full coverage of Japanese military history, but there were just as many exhibits from the western world and from ancient civilizations. Not only that, but the perspective was commendable, as it was generally unbiased, even regarding the highly sensitive subject of the second World war. Gone were the assertions that Japan joined the war to free the oppressed Asian nations from the yoke of colonial rule. The United States was not vilified for starving the nation of possible economic resources.
Likewise, the exhibit about Hiroshima and Nagasaki---with its models of the Enola Gay, Bock’s Car, Little Boy, and Fat Man---presented both sides of the story. One plaque described the revisionist view that Japan would have surrendered without letting the atomic genie out of the bottle. Directly adjacent, a second plaque told the opposing view, detailing the threats facing innumerable POWs and civilian captives, and giving recently declassified CIA estimates on the number of casualties both sides would have faced during a concerted attack on mainland Japan.
Sousuke was not simply a fan of history, wartime politics, and military doctrine, he was also an afficianado of military memorabilia and hardware. He was in heaven. Suspended from one end of the high ceiling was a perfectly restored KATE. The walls and cases around it showed uniforms, medals, and letters from the Japanese air force. A large section on Kamikazes provided insightful information and touching personal stories. Many of those men had followed the spirit of the samurai, giving up their lives to follow many of the sayings found in the Hagakure.
Time seemed to slow as he stared at a thermojet-powered Ohka. The aircraft was for all extensive purposes a piloted flying bomb. When Sousuke strapped on an M9, death could be ready to tap him on the shoulder at any moment. But, to know for certainty that your death was coming? Could he do that? Would he do that for Kaname?
Looking across the way, he saw a venerable HELLCAT, in excellent condition. Further down the aisle, an ME-109 hung close to an immaculate Spitfire. Bombs, rockets, bullets, cutaway models and full scale power plants added to the impact of the famous aircraft.
In no way was the ground war or naval battles given the short end of the stick. A Japanese midget submarine was present, as was an American torpedo and a number of German floating mines. A small movie booth told the story of the USS Indianapolis, ill-fated ship that delivered the components of the first atomic bomb. Sousuke shivered, not wanting to know what it must have been like to be adrift in those shark-infested waters, seeing ones friends taken, wondering who might be next. The captain of the torpedoed heavy cruiser was the only commanding officer to be court-martialed during WWII for loss of his ship.
Sousuke’s heart rate went up. The museum had one of the few remaining Ho-Ni tanks. The Japanese fighting vehicle, with its 75mm gun, was designed for the defense of the home land, but never saw actual combat. Only sixty were built, and they did not suffer the poor engine, defenses, or weaponry of the other armored vehicles that the nation had used in foreign lands. Spectacular. This alone was worth the price of admission for him.
Another tank loomed around the corner. An M4A3 Sherman. The reliable but woefully under armored tank that helped defeat the Nazi forces by benefit of sheer numbers. It had faired much better in the pacific against lesser opponents. It was in tremendous shape, looking ready to rush off its platform and into combat. Indeed, Sousuke thought he caught the odor of petrol. Strangely enough, there had been a hint of diesel fuel in the air near the Type 3 tank.
A small auditorium was showing Grave Of Fireflies on an endless loop, the light from the film dancing across scores of propaganda and recruiting posters from a number of nations. Sousuke nodded his head. The horrors of war should never be glossed over. The trails and tribulations of the soldiers should be kept in mind, but the tragedy facing civilians was no less poignant or significant.
The full weight of large scale war threatened to suffocate Sousuke as he walked through the area set-up to teach about World War I. The facts and statistics about gas warfare were disturbing. He’d rather fight a brace of RK-92s on his own than face the terror of Mustard gas and more horrendous chemical agents.
The mock-up of a military hospital made him truly appreciate the wonderful facilities that Mithril had to offer. Reading a number of letters home from soldiers, even more of the luster of battle wore off for him. It was difficult to read a letter home to a wife, girlfriend, or child, then learn the terrible fate of the man who sent it. The men he had fought had deserved to die---he was certain of that much. But, how many of them had families who grieved?
Sousuke was not totally devoid of personal pride, when it came to the land of his birth. Too many texts tried to paint Japan as a ‘jackal nation’ in WWI, contributing little, but rushing in to grab a lion’s share of the spoils in the Far East. He was glad to see mention of the work done by the Japanese Mediterranean squadron alongside the ships of other allied nations. And, it while it was clear that the nation did not participate in the war for altruistic reasons, neither did Great Britain, France, Italy, or Russia. The acquisitions made by Japan were in line with the sacrifices made and the assistance rendered to friendly nation.
As time was running out, Sousuke spent less time in the other areas. He spent a few moments in the area depicting the Russo-Japanese War, the conflict that established Japan as a major world power, shocking the Western world. He passed by the exhibits on the first and second Sino-Japanese Wars of the 1890s, but would return to them later for certain. There were important lessons to learn that were pertinent today. The Chinese had been defeated because they had failed to modernize adequately. He doubted that Mithril would ever fall prey to that mistake. Likewise, he would try to find time to view the materials associated with the Battle of Sekigahara, the Summer and Winter Sieges of Osaka, and various internal conflicts from the Azuchi-Momoyama period.
On his way to join the curator, who had called everyone to order, Sousuke stopped to look at a display case filled with modern weapons. At one time or another, he had used every type of weapon present. Given the other things he had seen earlier, it made him take pause. Just what did that fact say about a teenage boy who had yet to finish high school, and who hadn’t even had his first date or first real kiss? Deep in thought, his eyes were still keen. There were a fair number of ammunition clips on display, and they all seemed full. Dummy bullets? It would be dangerous to keep live ammunition near weapons that could use it. Either by oversight, or by intention.
************************************************************
The podium was a veteran of as many opening ceremonies as Sousuke was of battles. The venerable structure was a bygone of days long past, holding on to its usefulness as the people who once made use of it passed into history and obscurity. Tucked away in one corner, Sousuke was grateful that he only had to cut the huge golden ribbon that stretched across the entryway to the Hall of Military Antiquities and criss-crossed the first antechamber dealing with Medieval Europe.
Lift the scissors. Open the scissors. Close the scissors smoothly and perpendicular to the ribbon. Hand the scissors back to the curator. He could do this. He would do this. His teacher and fellow students were watching. Kaname was watching. Then again, maybe not---when Sousuke found her in the crowd and saluted, she turned her back on him.
The first opening remarks, made by the curator himself, were pleasant, pertinent, and precise. The next men who spoke had donated large sums of money to the new wing, or bequeathed significant display items to the exhibits. Their long-winded and meandering narratives did little more than call attention to themselves.
Finally, it was Sousuke’s moment. Opening a long mahogany box, the curator took out a large brightly polished pair of shears. They too were veterans of countless grand openings and dedications. As he began to hand them to Sousuke, he was interrupted.
“Wait a moment, Mr. Shioda. If I may be so bold, I would like to say a word here. I may merely be an artist, but the young man I wish to introduce is all that and more.” Mr. Valentin took the steps up the platform three at a time.
“Very well. Ladies and gentlemen…honored guests…I present to you Mr. Valentin, distinguished painter and sculptor. He in turn wishes to introduce the young man who will be cutting the ribbon." The curator stepped back and yielded to the younger man.
“Artists come and go,” Mr. Valentin began. “While a deft eye and a skillful hand are not gifts that every man has, the man of art is not truly a rare and endangered beast. But, true blinding inspiration---a gift from the gods---is rarer than a flower blooming in the dark.”
“I hope you're not talking about Sousuke!” a voice called out. Kaname’s voice.
Mr. Valentin stood on his tip-toes, trying to identify the speaker. The crowd mumbled and whispered.
“We have with us today, a rather remarkable young man. A man of peace like none I have met before. A true master of insight and feeling. Though still in high school, this person helped create a number of pieces of art that you will see today, and contributed to other works that will make their debut in the future.” The artist was interrupted yet again.
“Now I KNOW you’re not talking about Sergeant Senseless!” Kaname again.
Mr. Valentin clapped his hands and pointed to a number of ushers, sending them to look for the person who threatened to ruin the ceremony.
“Sousuke Sagara,” the artist said, giving the young soldier a large and dramatic hug, holding it for the cameras. “I doubt that I am the only one here who would like to here a few words from the man of the moment. How do the rest of you feel?”
A round of polite applause ran through the crowd, nearly drowning out an obnoxious feminine “B-O-O-O…”
“Well then, Mr. Sagara, we all await your choice and witty words. If they resonate with the purity and rightness that your art does, we may wish to engrave them in a plaque, to commemorate this fine event. The floor is yours.”
Unarmed in a room full of wild dogs. Knife in hand, facing an RK92. Tied to a chair, electrodes jabbed deep into muscle, bamboo slivers under the fingernails. Sousuke could thinki of any number of preferable situations.
“How about ‘Pull pin…throw grenade…blow everything sky high’? That about says it all.” Kaname ducked down and hid behind a wall made by Kyouko, Ryo, Maya, and Mizuke. Ren just stood there and shook her head.
Miss Okibasu walked over and handed Kaname a piece of paper she had taken out of her purse and written on. The overly vocal girl stammered in response. The paper read: Remedial Assignment. Due in two weeks. Military discoveries that improved civilian life. Ten reference minimum.
“Who is that annoyance? The voice sounds familiar.” Mr. Valentin was upset, rightfully so.
“That is Miss Kaname Chidori, sir. You painted the two of us together this afternoon.” Soususke never stopped to think whether or not it was advisable to answer that question.
“Ahhh! Now I understand. The naked girl. Eve to your Adam. She’s still upset that your teacher was staring at the snake instead of the apple!” Mr. Valentin laughed. The crowd ooohed and ahhhed. Miss Okibasu tried to turn invisible. Kaname turned bright red
“Naked?” Kyouko asked helpfully.
“With Sousuke?” Maya asked, smirking.
“Whose snake?” Mizuke asked with a knowing grin
“How big a snake?” Ryo asked innocently.
“Did it rattle?” Shinji got a kick in the knee for his query.
If it wasn’t for the circulating ushers, five high school students would have ended up in Intensive care.
“PLEASE! Please. If you will direct your attention to Mr. Sagara, I believe he has something to say.” The curator had turned up the gain on the microphone.
The room went dead silent. All eyes were on Sousuke. Even if he had a week to write, he doubted that he could have come up with something that wouldn’t make him look like a fool. What did he know about public speaking? He could call out an enemy…dress down some new recruits…do a reasonable job at a mission briefing. But THIS?!!” All he could do was speak from the heart. His experience must be good for something.
“I am not truly a speaker. And I am not really an artist. I am merely a young man trying to understand life. I have seen war first hand. I have lost friends and family. War can always be renewed. The people cannot. I shall never forget that. But, I have seen people refuse to fight, and discard the right to defend the things they had. They are as dead as those who fought and died. The difference was, when they died, the way of life they led died as well---for themselves, and for those who chose as they did. “ Sousuke paused a moment. The words were personal. While he felt no groundswell of emotion, his throat tightened.
The crowd waited quietly, respectfully.
“Sometimes, a hero fights, even though he knows he may die. Other times, a hero speaks out, even though his defiance may cost him his life. Not only soldiers are heroes.” Sousuke thought of past comrades who had died. And, the recent walk through the military exhibits helped fuel his speech. Many in the crowd nodded their heads. Others had something to think about.
“War should not be glorified. But, when it is necessary, it should not be condemned. That doesn’t men it should be blindly supported, when its only purpose is for personal or national gain. I think you will all see examples of each approach as you walk these halls today.”
A resounding round of applause followed Sousuke’s words. The polite affirmation was cut short by gunshots and the sound of breaking glass. Engines turned over, and a low level rumbling could be heard elsewhere amongst the exhibits and displays.
Holding a submachine gun, ‘Mr. Mishka’ walked up to the platform, pushing the curator down the stairs, and kicking Mr. Valentin over the railing. He kept one eye on Sousuke as he addressed the crowd.
“A stirring speech. Brought tears to my eyes. Truly.” The ex-GRU member guffawed loudly, giving hand signals to men stationed around the room. “Please. Don’t let me interrupt the deserved round of applause.” He began clapping slowly, but the stunned crowd did not join him. “I SAID CLAP” He fired a couple of rounds into the ceiling.
The milling crowd of visitors, a literal captive audience, rushed to follow his lead.
“Good. Very good. It is always nice when the people without the guns listen to the people with the guns. More survive that way.” The Russian smiled. It was the look that a predator gives its prey. “First, I must contradict young Mr. Sagara. I think you all should support our little war here, even though it is clearly a matter of personal gain. We get what we want. Most of you get to live. An even trade, wouldn’t you say?”
The crowd was quiet. The word ‘most’ rang with frightful uncertainty and dreadful finality.
“I ASKED A QUESTION!” More shots.
The crowd answered in the affirmative.
“Good. Perhaps a lot of you will live after all.” The bear-like man looked around the room. “That was a joke!”
The crowd rushed to show they were quick learners. Everyone one laughed a false laugh. Their fear took priority. Shock, confusion, and disbelief could wait.
“It’s wonderful to see that you are all my friends now. Unfortunately, my associates are not as amiable as I am. I believe they wish to speak now. I suggest you listen well. They will tell you what we all expect from you. They will tell you how to remain intact.” Alexandr Svyatogor stepped down from the podium.
Mr. Kimutaku walked up with a swirl of his robes. Before facing the crowd, he gave Sousuke a pat on the cheek. “Suki, it’s nice to see that boyish face again. Such a stirring speech. The blood left my head.”
Miss Krieger walked up as well. “Yes, it is wonderful to see you again, Sagara. I hope to see more of you later, though I may have to negotiate with the other tour guides for that chance.” Her laughter no longer held any pretense of sanity.
“We can all save the reunions for later. We shouldn't keep these fine people waiting. It is time we get down to business.” Mr. Kimutaku raised his hand.
The rumbling noise, overlooked amongst the chaos, grew in volume. Definite revving sounds could be heard, along with the characteristic squeaking noise of a tank’s treads. No. Two tanks’ treads.
************************************************************
The men were well organized, under control, without a tendency for gratuitous violence or pointless power games. They had a goal. They had a plan. They wanted success more than they wanted anything else.
“Don’t be getting any hopes that the Security forces will be coming to your rescue. They should be preoccupied about now, dealing with a rowdy bunch of strapping young lads, all running amok amongst the other galleries, with spray paint cans and crowbars. You may consider yourselves in our debt. Should they cross our paths, they would no doubt be routed in rather dramatic fasion---in the process, priceless exhibits would be damaged, and innocent bystanders would die.” The look that Mr. Kimutaku gave Sousuke suggested that the younger man was already a casualty.
“Yes, and I should add that it would be in the best interest of the police not to cross our paths, lest they meet with a rather unpleasant surprise.” Katja Krieger waved her arm towards an archway leading to the next room. “I suggest you all take a number of steps back. You may wish you count your toes, for insurance purposes. And if you have an unwanted spouse, parent or child, a little shove might do wonders.” She smiled as the sound of approaching armor grew ever louder.
The museum’s Type 3 tank came through the acrhway, taking out a few feet of wall on either side. The driver, his hatch open, gave Kimutaku, Krieger, and ‘Mr. Mishka’ a jubilant thumbs up and a bawdy salute. Engine roaring, the advancing vehicle tore up the fancy floor tiles, enroute to the great outdoors. Turret traversed to the rear, the Ho-Ni crashed through huge glass windows, tearing up great chunks of turf when it entered the beautifully landscaped Japanese peace garden.
“That ought to prove an amusing diversion for the brave and dedicated men of the police. Of course, we would be better of if it were a T-34, or a KV-1, but not everything can be a Russian tank.” ’Mr. Mishka’ had everyone’s attention. “The gentlemen you will see walking amongst you in the red jackets, their word is law. Never forget that. They are your escorts and new best friends. Go where they tell you, as soon as they say. Some of you will enjoy a wonderful ride on Soviet-made helicopters. Others will find that the storage facilities here at the museum are a fascinating and memorable place to stay while you await rescue.”
“And some of you will warrant rather special treatment.” Miss Krieger scowled when she grabbed hold of one of Sousuke’s arm. Mr. Kimutaku already had a firm grip on the other.
“Yes.” The ex-Spetsnaz operative smiled. He had plans for a blue-haired girl.
The crowds were waved back again. A recently-restored Opel truck in Afrika Korps markings followed the path that the Japanese tank had taken. The cargo area was filled with priceless art and artifacts, some held up by rejoicing thieves and kidnappers. Men with guns walked behind it. Some stopped by the podium.
Sousuke quickly assessed the men he faced. Some of them appeared professional, while others looked to be criminals enlisted as gunmen. Not all of the weapons were modern but all were highly effective. One man held a Thompson submachine gun, while another confidently cradled a Bergmann 1920. A nervous looking man held a Sten gun clumsily, while the woman next to him expertly checked the action of a Russian PPsh41 automatic. There was an M-16, an AK 47, and a late model UZI. More modern weapons included a Bizon PP-19, FN P90, and Steyr MPi69.
A few ’collectors’ also carried swords, axes, and a rather wicked looking flail. One man wore a large metal gladiator’s helmet. Another had a poorly assembled suit of Samurai armor of the Gusoku type. They must be very confident, Sousuke thought. Or very unprofessional.
After the groups of captives had been sorted, those with resale value were marched outside, the Sherman tank following at their heals like a herder’s dog.
Sousuke dared not move. Miss Krieger was clearly armed, lovingly caressing a well-oiled HK submachine gun. Mr. Kimutaku looked to have a pistol tucked inside his robe. And, it is best to act like a high school student. For a little while longer.
“Looks like they have things well in hand, Kimi old girl” Svyatogor laughed, drawing an angry glare from Mr. Kimutaku. “I figure we have a little while before the helicopters land and load up. I’ve decided to go and show my appreciation to a young lady who made my task as a tour guide so rewarding.” He waved to a number of seedy looking men. They dragged Kaname into view. The one time GRU soldier took a rather large combat knife out of its sheath. “I was always partial to redheads. But, sometimes a man must make do with what he has. Death sounds the same in the dark.”
The look that a gagged Kaname gave Sousuke froze him to the very depths of his soul. She needed him.
“But…” Miss Krieger let go of Sousuke. She looked at him, then Kaname, and back again. “I…” She was obviously faced with a difficult decision.
“Go ahead, dear. I won’t be offended. You won’t either, will you Suki, precious?” Mr. Kimutaku’s snicker sent shivers down even Mr. Mishka’s spine. “I’m certain our rather expressive friend there will let you play with Miss Chidori, too.” The one time assassin waved a couple of burly men over. One carried a Steyr TMP. The other had a fancy Persian scimitar, a princely weapon with an emerald-encrusted golden hilt. The flamboyant killer was not about to underestimate Sousuke.
“OK. Do what you want to him, but save the kill for me. Please. I will give you something out of my share for him.” Miss Krieger never forgot a slight or insult. And, she made it a point to personally deal with anyone with a penchant for getting under her skin. Sousuke had done that in spades.
“Certainly, my sweet. Though, some of the tortures I have in mind are a bit risky. We all must take risks, I suppose. Now run along, we don’t have all day.” Mr. Kimutaku laughed as his two compatriots dragged off a struggling Kaname. “I do so love to see people who know how to savor life. Don’t you Suki?”
Sousuke didn’t answer. It was time to act. Eyes darting about the room, he formulated a plan.
The sound of a 75mm cannon firing could be heard. It was accented by the chatter of automatic weapons fire. Obviously, the well tought out plot didn't involve just 'plants' amongst the tour guides. There must have been 'sleepers' in exhibit procurement and set-up. Naturally, the curators never checked. Who would bring live ammo or fuel into a museum?
"Oh my, looks like the police have a few over-achievers in their ranks. Well, not for too much longer!" Mr. Kimutaku tittered, flush with excitement. The plan had come together so well.
Sousuke clenched his jaw. He hoped the tank was indeed up against men in uniforms. JDSF uniforms. Worn on the backs of Mithril troops.
"There is a saying about chickens," Sousuke said. "One should wait until the eggs hatch before counting."
"Oh? I have a saying too, Sousuke." The slender man cracked his knuckles. "Pleasure before business. Grab his arms boys...."
************************************************************
It wasn’t about the museum now. That was in the hands of his fellow soldiers.
It wasn’t about the hostages. Not even his classmates. Time was on their side.
It wasn’t about his own safety. Whatever would be, would be.
It was about Kaname. She was in danger. Every moment counted..
There was a need for action, now. If that meant recklessness and throwing caution to the wind, so be it! The essence of Yamamoto Tsunetomo's words came to him then. Perhaps they were the last bit of bravado from a dying breed. The ‘Way of the Warrior‘ may have come and gone. Nonetheless, the moment the thoughts crossed his mind, Sousuke felt a great strength within him.
The way of the samurai is death. To say that that dying without reaching one’s goals ia a dog’s death is the frivolous way of sophisticates. There is no shame in this. When pressed with the choice of life or death, it is not necessary to gain one’s aim. But, living after failing to gain one’s aim is cowardice. If by setting one’s heart as if he is already dead, one will succeed in his calling. When meeting difficult situations, one should dash forward bravely and with joy.
Sousuke did just that.
He moved. Fast. With purpose.
Time slowed. People and things were viewed in discontinuous flashes.
A hard elbow to the gut gave notice to the fancy man that he had a fight on his hands. A vicious kick to the head sent the man with the sword flying over the rail. A well-aimed chop the throat and twist and lift of the knee sent a gun flying and had the third man gasping for breath. The man’s shot missed.
Sousuke grabbed the TMP and prepared to roll and fire. His opponent was no slouch, however. A small knife appeared in the back of Sousuke’s hand. He fired, missing Mr. Kimutaku. The older man’s foot struck hard, sending the gun spinning out of reach.
“So Suki, you really are full of surprises. I think I’d rather have you join us, than have to kill such a beautiful boy. How about it? Riches. Excitement. Whatever your little heart desired!” It was merely a ploy. It fooled no one.
“All I want is Kaname back. To get that, you will have to die.” The sincerity in Sousuke’s voice was chilling. “Quickly.”
Had Sousuke’s punch connected, his opponent would lay unconscious. Instead, Mr. Kimutaku was four feet above him, clinging to an ornately carved column, a cloud of white powder billowing forth from his robe. Sousuke knew enough to close his eyes and hold his breath, but before he could retract his arm, a weighted chain hit him on the side of his head and knocked him to his knees. A follow-up kick sent him bouncing down the stairs.
“Much too slow, Suki darling. Time to say farewell.” Mr. Kimutaku’s hands were each dressed with a wickedly clawed glove. Dark liquid clung to the tines. Poison. “Up!” The cat burglar leaped.
“No!” Sousuke replied. One of his shoes, thrown with great force and accuracy, hit the left hand of his adversary. That hand went on to scratch its owners leg.
Mr. Kimutaku landed, turned, and ran to gain time and distance. He had no immunity to this substance. He needed to break out the antidote. Fast. "Damn y-o-o-o-u-u-u!"
Sousuke needed a weapon. No gun was near enough. Mr. Kimutaku would reach the TMP before he could.
The nearest case held the weapons of a Samurai. After smashing the glass, Sousuke tossed short and long swords onto the floor. He grabbed a handful of shuriken. He ran after Mr. Kimutaku, just now throwing away an applicator..
“You will pay, you nasty little prick!” The assassin kicked the submachine gun in the air, caught it, and brought it to bear on Sosuke. He pulled the trigger. “Kiss kiss. Bang bang!”
The words of Lord Naoshige rang true.
The Way of the Samurai is desperateness. Ten men or more cannot kill such a man Common sense will not accomplish great things. Simply become insane and desperate.
The young soldier continued straight for his adversary. The TMP fired repeatedly. The shots did not find their mark. Sousuke flung himself sideways as he acted. The first shuriken grazed a ducking head, throwing off the gunman’s aim. The second blade cut deep into the back of the hand holding the gun. The third, thrown with the most velocity, buried itself in Mr. Kimutaku’s groin.
“Ahhhhh!” the false tour guide cried. “Ohhhhhh Ooooooooh” Blood covering the hand pressing at his privates, Mr. Kimutaku sped away, spattering small drops of blood as he ran. "Suuukkkiii...you...bastard...." He knew Sousuke wouldn’t follow. There wasn’t time.
There was no time to rest. The sound of metal scraping across the floor was worthy of attention. One thug was down, dead or near to death, his airway usesless. His comrade, holding the saber, ran at Sousuke. Three shots from the TMP ravaged the wild man’s abdomen, but the wounds were not rapidly fatal. A continual pull on the trigger produced no effect. The clip was empty.
The man advanced, silent as Death himself. The sword he held was ancient. It was razor sharp.
Sousuke needed a weapon. One of the Samurai blades, an unusual Koto Mouromachi period sword mounted in a walking stick, was within his reach. He grabbed it and fled. He would outrun the man. Kaname needed him now.
As it turned out, the other man’s presence was moot. A burst of .50 caliber machine gun fire cut him down. The spray of bullets proceeded to shred festive banners, explode display cases, and advance towards Sousuke. At Mr. Kimutaku’s command, the Sherman had pulled back into the building, swung its turret around, and fired its coaxial gun.
Making it behind a pillar just in time, Sosuke knew he couldn’t sit still. No doubt the wounded man was angry enough to instruct the gunner to fire the cannon. He probably didn't care if Mr. Mishka or Miss Krieger were in danger or not. It was payback time.
Sousuke ran faster than he ever had before.
The tank fired. A High Explosive round sped on its way.
************************************************************
Things had happened so quickly. Kaname couldn’t believe what had taken place. First, even though it made her feel petty, she had been heckling Sousuke. He deserved it! Then, the stuffed shirt Valentin had totally embarrassed her. Men ALWAYS stick together. Bastards! Next, gunshots, and those three ‘tour guides’ were in charge. I was right in disliking them!
It was like a nightmare. Could she be dreaming? Or was she in Sousuke’s dream? This was all like something his otaku imagination might think up! ‘Potential this. Conspiracy that. You could be in danger, Kaname.’ Big idiot!!!
However, this time, Sousuke was correct.
Before she knew it, she was being dragged painfully along, each arm in the grasp of a dangerous lunatic---Fraulein Freakazoid on one side, and that smelly Russian on the other. She needed to fight back, but was too firmly held. Every fiber in her body wanted to scream out, but who would come running? Sousuke was in dire straits himself. Security was off chasing hired hoodlums. Miss Okibasu and the class had been herded away.
“Let…me…go…” Kaname spat out. “I didn’t DO anything!”
“Oh, so modest, so demure.” ‘Mr. Mishka,’ aka Alexandr Svyatogor chuckled. “I should think that blue hair would be cause enough; but, Katja and I have our own personal reasons, do we not, Miss Krieger?”
“Yes-s-s-s!” Heidi Ackermann came close to hissing gleefully. “I really wanted to show my appreciation to the Sagara boy, but that old Gecko claimed him. Still, I haven’t given up hope. While I wait, you’ll do just fine, right?” The eagerness in the woman’s voice was a palpable thing. “But, if you think I ‘belittled’ and ‘abused’ people before….”
“And I must find a suitable way to thank you for my fine new scent, and for the unexpected bath you gave me.” The Russian’s clothes were still damp and clinging to his body. “But, it will be so very difficult to choose,” he continude, as they pulled Kaname down a hallway lined by manikins dressed up in various types of armor. “There is so much I’d like to do to you, but so little time.”
“But, nothing I did deserves this….” Kaname knew it was useless to try and dissuade single-minded people. Sousuke had taught her that. Still, it was only natural to try.
“True,” ‘Miss Krieger’ replied. “But, you can’t begrudge us a little fun, can you. It’s one of the perks that old pervert promised. Besides, I had my hand in the Srebrenica massacre. It tought me the true meaning of equality. Women can be brutalized just as well as men. It was a woman who cost me my teaching job. If I can’t have her, you’ll do just fine.”
“Now you’ve done it. You’ve started her talking shop!” ‘Mr. Mishka’ kicked open a door into a small conference room. “We really can’t have that. The time, remember?” He flung Kaname hard against a wall, watching with satisfaction as she crumpled onto the nearby couch. He took off his belt and unbuttoned his trousers. “The women in Chechnya were likely more satisfying, but as Miss Krieger said, you’ll do.”
In the distance, they could hear gunfire. A submachine gun.
“Go check that out,” the ex-GRU soldier said. “It might just be Kimi finishing off the boy. But, that’s NOT his usual thing.” The man’s voice was dripping with contempt. It took a lot to make him cringe. “I’m busy. We don’t want to disappoint the young lady.” His pants fell down to his ankles.
“YOU go check it out. We may not have time for your self-indulgence. And, I’m not your secretary or servant!” Heat crept into the mercenary’s voice. “If we have to hurry, then it’s MY turn for fun.” She slipped a pair of brass knuckles on her hand. They were spiked. “Why are men so quick to take their pants off? The experience is so overrated.” She loaded a clip into a Luger she had appropriated. The sound brought the Russian up short.
The two ersatz tour guides stared each other down. Kaname wondered if the gunshots meant Sousuke was dead, or whether he might be on his way to help. “S-O-U-S-U-K-E-!-!-!” She called out in hope and desperation.
A terrific explosion threw ‘Miss Krieger’ and ‘Mr. Mishka’ to the floor. Paintings fell of the wall, and a small glass decanter was knocked off of a desk, shattering on the hard tiles. A tall potted plant fell over, spilling its soil.
“What the F@CK?” Aleksandr Svyatogor cursed, holding a hurt wrist. “What the Hell are those IDIOTS up to?!”
“We’d better just kill the little bitch and haul ass out of here, before some bright boy decides to bring the whole place down.” ‘Miss Krieger’ intended to do just that.
The door to the room flew off its hinges.
************************************************************
End to part 13
At one point he stood overwhelmed, unable to make a decision. There was so much to look at. There were rare and unusual items mixed in with the commonplace and illustrative materials. If this series of rooms had been open on his arrival, he would have sneaked away from the rest of the group and spent the whole time here.
There was full coverage of Japanese military history, but there were just as many exhibits from the western world and from ancient civilizations. Not only that, but the perspective was commendable, as it was generally unbiased, even regarding the highly sensitive subject of the second World war. Gone were the assertions that Japan joined the war to free the oppressed Asian nations from the yoke of colonial rule. The United States was not vilified for starving the nation of possible economic resources.
Likewise, the exhibit about Hiroshima and Nagasaki---with its models of the Enola Gay, Bock’s Car, Little Boy, and Fat Man---presented both sides of the story. One plaque described the revisionist view that Japan would have surrendered without letting the atomic genie out of the bottle. Directly adjacent, a second plaque told the opposing view, detailing the threats facing innumerable POWs and civilian captives, and giving recently declassified CIA estimates on the number of casualties both sides would have faced during a concerted attack on mainland Japan.
Sousuke was not simply a fan of history, wartime politics, and military doctrine, he was also an afficianado of military memorabilia and hardware. He was in heaven. Suspended from one end of the high ceiling was a perfectly restored KATE. The walls and cases around it showed uniforms, medals, and letters from the Japanese air force. A large section on Kamikazes provided insightful information and touching personal stories. Many of those men had followed the spirit of the samurai, giving up their lives to follow many of the sayings found in the Hagakure.
Time seemed to slow as he stared at a thermojet-powered Ohka. The aircraft was for all extensive purposes a piloted flying bomb. When Sousuke strapped on an M9, death could be ready to tap him on the shoulder at any moment. But, to know for certainty that your death was coming? Could he do that? Would he do that for Kaname?
Looking across the way, he saw a venerable HELLCAT, in excellent condition. Further down the aisle, an ME-109 hung close to an immaculate Spitfire. Bombs, rockets, bullets, cutaway models and full scale power plants added to the impact of the famous aircraft.
In no way was the ground war or naval battles given the short end of the stick. A Japanese midget submarine was present, as was an American torpedo and a number of German floating mines. A small movie booth told the story of the USS Indianapolis, ill-fated ship that delivered the components of the first atomic bomb. Sousuke shivered, not wanting to know what it must have been like to be adrift in those shark-infested waters, seeing ones friends taken, wondering who might be next. The captain of the torpedoed heavy cruiser was the only commanding officer to be court-martialed during WWII for loss of his ship.
Sousuke’s heart rate went up. The museum had one of the few remaining Ho-Ni tanks. The Japanese fighting vehicle, with its 75mm gun, was designed for the defense of the home land, but never saw actual combat. Only sixty were built, and they did not suffer the poor engine, defenses, or weaponry of the other armored vehicles that the nation had used in foreign lands. Spectacular. This alone was worth the price of admission for him.
Another tank loomed around the corner. An M4A3 Sherman. The reliable but woefully under armored tank that helped defeat the Nazi forces by benefit of sheer numbers. It had faired much better in the pacific against lesser opponents. It was in tremendous shape, looking ready to rush off its platform and into combat. Indeed, Sousuke thought he caught the odor of petrol. Strangely enough, there had been a hint of diesel fuel in the air near the Type 3 tank.
A small auditorium was showing Grave Of Fireflies on an endless loop, the light from the film dancing across scores of propaganda and recruiting posters from a number of nations. Sousuke nodded his head. The horrors of war should never be glossed over. The trails and tribulations of the soldiers should be kept in mind, but the tragedy facing civilians was no less poignant or significant.
The full weight of large scale war threatened to suffocate Sousuke as he walked through the area set-up to teach about World War I. The facts and statistics about gas warfare were disturbing. He’d rather fight a brace of RK-92s on his own than face the terror of Mustard gas and more horrendous chemical agents.
The mock-up of a military hospital made him truly appreciate the wonderful facilities that Mithril had to offer. Reading a number of letters home from soldiers, even more of the luster of battle wore off for him. It was difficult to read a letter home to a wife, girlfriend, or child, then learn the terrible fate of the man who sent it. The men he had fought had deserved to die---he was certain of that much. But, how many of them had families who grieved?
Sousuke was not totally devoid of personal pride, when it came to the land of his birth. Too many texts tried to paint Japan as a ‘jackal nation’ in WWI, contributing little, but rushing in to grab a lion’s share of the spoils in the Far East. He was glad to see mention of the work done by the Japanese Mediterranean squadron alongside the ships of other allied nations. And, it while it was clear that the nation did not participate in the war for altruistic reasons, neither did Great Britain, France, Italy, or Russia. The acquisitions made by Japan were in line with the sacrifices made and the assistance rendered to friendly nation.
As time was running out, Sousuke spent less time in the other areas. He spent a few moments in the area depicting the Russo-Japanese War, the conflict that established Japan as a major world power, shocking the Western world. He passed by the exhibits on the first and second Sino-Japanese Wars of the 1890s, but would return to them later for certain. There were important lessons to learn that were pertinent today. The Chinese had been defeated because they had failed to modernize adequately. He doubted that Mithril would ever fall prey to that mistake. Likewise, he would try to find time to view the materials associated with the Battle of Sekigahara, the Summer and Winter Sieges of Osaka, and various internal conflicts from the Azuchi-Momoyama period.
On his way to join the curator, who had called everyone to order, Sousuke stopped to look at a display case filled with modern weapons. At one time or another, he had used every type of weapon present. Given the other things he had seen earlier, it made him take pause. Just what did that fact say about a teenage boy who had yet to finish high school, and who hadn’t even had his first date or first real kiss? Deep in thought, his eyes were still keen. There were a fair number of ammunition clips on display, and they all seemed full. Dummy bullets? It would be dangerous to keep live ammunition near weapons that could use it. Either by oversight, or by intention.
************************************************************
The podium was a veteran of as many opening ceremonies as Sousuke was of battles. The venerable structure was a bygone of days long past, holding on to its usefulness as the people who once made use of it passed into history and obscurity. Tucked away in one corner, Sousuke was grateful that he only had to cut the huge golden ribbon that stretched across the entryway to the Hall of Military Antiquities and criss-crossed the first antechamber dealing with Medieval Europe.
Lift the scissors. Open the scissors. Close the scissors smoothly and perpendicular to the ribbon. Hand the scissors back to the curator. He could do this. He would do this. His teacher and fellow students were watching. Kaname was watching. Then again, maybe not---when Sousuke found her in the crowd and saluted, she turned her back on him.
The first opening remarks, made by the curator himself, were pleasant, pertinent, and precise. The next men who spoke had donated large sums of money to the new wing, or bequeathed significant display items to the exhibits. Their long-winded and meandering narratives did little more than call attention to themselves.
Finally, it was Sousuke’s moment. Opening a long mahogany box, the curator took out a large brightly polished pair of shears. They too were veterans of countless grand openings and dedications. As he began to hand them to Sousuke, he was interrupted.
“Wait a moment, Mr. Shioda. If I may be so bold, I would like to say a word here. I may merely be an artist, but the young man I wish to introduce is all that and more.” Mr. Valentin took the steps up the platform three at a time.
“Very well. Ladies and gentlemen…honored guests…I present to you Mr. Valentin, distinguished painter and sculptor. He in turn wishes to introduce the young man who will be cutting the ribbon." The curator stepped back and yielded to the younger man.
“Artists come and go,” Mr. Valentin began. “While a deft eye and a skillful hand are not gifts that every man has, the man of art is not truly a rare and endangered beast. But, true blinding inspiration---a gift from the gods---is rarer than a flower blooming in the dark.”
“I hope you're not talking about Sousuke!” a voice called out. Kaname’s voice.
Mr. Valentin stood on his tip-toes, trying to identify the speaker. The crowd mumbled and whispered.
“We have with us today, a rather remarkable young man. A man of peace like none I have met before. A true master of insight and feeling. Though still in high school, this person helped create a number of pieces of art that you will see today, and contributed to other works that will make their debut in the future.” The artist was interrupted yet again.
“Now I KNOW you’re not talking about Sergeant Senseless!” Kaname again.
Mr. Valentin clapped his hands and pointed to a number of ushers, sending them to look for the person who threatened to ruin the ceremony.
“Sousuke Sagara,” the artist said, giving the young soldier a large and dramatic hug, holding it for the cameras. “I doubt that I am the only one here who would like to here a few words from the man of the moment. How do the rest of you feel?”
A round of polite applause ran through the crowd, nearly drowning out an obnoxious feminine “B-O-O-O…”
“Well then, Mr. Sagara, we all await your choice and witty words. If they resonate with the purity and rightness that your art does, we may wish to engrave them in a plaque, to commemorate this fine event. The floor is yours.”
Unarmed in a room full of wild dogs. Knife in hand, facing an RK92. Tied to a chair, electrodes jabbed deep into muscle, bamboo slivers under the fingernails. Sousuke could thinki of any number of preferable situations.
“How about ‘Pull pin…throw grenade…blow everything sky high’? That about says it all.” Kaname ducked down and hid behind a wall made by Kyouko, Ryo, Maya, and Mizuke. Ren just stood there and shook her head.
Miss Okibasu walked over and handed Kaname a piece of paper she had taken out of her purse and written on. The overly vocal girl stammered in response. The paper read: Remedial Assignment. Due in two weeks. Military discoveries that improved civilian life. Ten reference minimum.
“Who is that annoyance? The voice sounds familiar.” Mr. Valentin was upset, rightfully so.
“That is Miss Kaname Chidori, sir. You painted the two of us together this afternoon.” Soususke never stopped to think whether or not it was advisable to answer that question.
“Ahhh! Now I understand. The naked girl. Eve to your Adam. She’s still upset that your teacher was staring at the snake instead of the apple!” Mr. Valentin laughed. The crowd ooohed and ahhhed. Miss Okibasu tried to turn invisible. Kaname turned bright red
“Naked?” Kyouko asked helpfully.
“With Sousuke?” Maya asked, smirking.
“Whose snake?” Mizuke asked with a knowing grin
“How big a snake?” Ryo asked innocently.
“Did it rattle?” Shinji got a kick in the knee for his query.
If it wasn’t for the circulating ushers, five high school students would have ended up in Intensive care.
“PLEASE! Please. If you will direct your attention to Mr. Sagara, I believe he has something to say.” The curator had turned up the gain on the microphone.
The room went dead silent. All eyes were on Sousuke. Even if he had a week to write, he doubted that he could have come up with something that wouldn’t make him look like a fool. What did he know about public speaking? He could call out an enemy…dress down some new recruits…do a reasonable job at a mission briefing. But THIS?!!” All he could do was speak from the heart. His experience must be good for something.
“I am not truly a speaker. And I am not really an artist. I am merely a young man trying to understand life. I have seen war first hand. I have lost friends and family. War can always be renewed. The people cannot. I shall never forget that. But, I have seen people refuse to fight, and discard the right to defend the things they had. They are as dead as those who fought and died. The difference was, when they died, the way of life they led died as well---for themselves, and for those who chose as they did. “ Sousuke paused a moment. The words were personal. While he felt no groundswell of emotion, his throat tightened.
The crowd waited quietly, respectfully.
“Sometimes, a hero fights, even though he knows he may die. Other times, a hero speaks out, even though his defiance may cost him his life. Not only soldiers are heroes.” Sousuke thought of past comrades who had died. And, the recent walk through the military exhibits helped fuel his speech. Many in the crowd nodded their heads. Others had something to think about.
“War should not be glorified. But, when it is necessary, it should not be condemned. That doesn’t men it should be blindly supported, when its only purpose is for personal or national gain. I think you will all see examples of each approach as you walk these halls today.”
A resounding round of applause followed Sousuke’s words. The polite affirmation was cut short by gunshots and the sound of breaking glass. Engines turned over, and a low level rumbling could be heard elsewhere amongst the exhibits and displays.
Holding a submachine gun, ‘Mr. Mishka’ walked up to the platform, pushing the curator down the stairs, and kicking Mr. Valentin over the railing. He kept one eye on Sousuke as he addressed the crowd.
“A stirring speech. Brought tears to my eyes. Truly.” The ex-GRU member guffawed loudly, giving hand signals to men stationed around the room. “Please. Don’t let me interrupt the deserved round of applause.” He began clapping slowly, but the stunned crowd did not join him. “I SAID CLAP” He fired a couple of rounds into the ceiling.
The milling crowd of visitors, a literal captive audience, rushed to follow his lead.
“Good. Very good. It is always nice when the people without the guns listen to the people with the guns. More survive that way.” The Russian smiled. It was the look that a predator gives its prey. “First, I must contradict young Mr. Sagara. I think you all should support our little war here, even though it is clearly a matter of personal gain. We get what we want. Most of you get to live. An even trade, wouldn’t you say?”
The crowd was quiet. The word ‘most’ rang with frightful uncertainty and dreadful finality.
“I ASKED A QUESTION!” More shots.
The crowd answered in the affirmative.
“Good. Perhaps a lot of you will live after all.” The bear-like man looked around the room. “That was a joke!”
The crowd rushed to show they were quick learners. Everyone one laughed a false laugh. Their fear took priority. Shock, confusion, and disbelief could wait.
“It’s wonderful to see that you are all my friends now. Unfortunately, my associates are not as amiable as I am. I believe they wish to speak now. I suggest you listen well. They will tell you what we all expect from you. They will tell you how to remain intact.” Alexandr Svyatogor stepped down from the podium.
Mr. Kimutaku walked up with a swirl of his robes. Before facing the crowd, he gave Sousuke a pat on the cheek. “Suki, it’s nice to see that boyish face again. Such a stirring speech. The blood left my head.”
Miss Krieger walked up as well. “Yes, it is wonderful to see you again, Sagara. I hope to see more of you later, though I may have to negotiate with the other tour guides for that chance.” Her laughter no longer held any pretense of sanity.
“We can all save the reunions for later. We shouldn't keep these fine people waiting. It is time we get down to business.” Mr. Kimutaku raised his hand.
The rumbling noise, overlooked amongst the chaos, grew in volume. Definite revving sounds could be heard, along with the characteristic squeaking noise of a tank’s treads. No. Two tanks’ treads.
************************************************************
The men were well organized, under control, without a tendency for gratuitous violence or pointless power games. They had a goal. They had a plan. They wanted success more than they wanted anything else.
“Don’t be getting any hopes that the Security forces will be coming to your rescue. They should be preoccupied about now, dealing with a rowdy bunch of strapping young lads, all running amok amongst the other galleries, with spray paint cans and crowbars. You may consider yourselves in our debt. Should they cross our paths, they would no doubt be routed in rather dramatic fasion---in the process, priceless exhibits would be damaged, and innocent bystanders would die.” The look that Mr. Kimutaku gave Sousuke suggested that the younger man was already a casualty.
“Yes, and I should add that it would be in the best interest of the police not to cross our paths, lest they meet with a rather unpleasant surprise.” Katja Krieger waved her arm towards an archway leading to the next room. “I suggest you all take a number of steps back. You may wish you count your toes, for insurance purposes. And if you have an unwanted spouse, parent or child, a little shove might do wonders.” She smiled as the sound of approaching armor grew ever louder.
The museum’s Type 3 tank came through the acrhway, taking out a few feet of wall on either side. The driver, his hatch open, gave Kimutaku, Krieger, and ‘Mr. Mishka’ a jubilant thumbs up and a bawdy salute. Engine roaring, the advancing vehicle tore up the fancy floor tiles, enroute to the great outdoors. Turret traversed to the rear, the Ho-Ni crashed through huge glass windows, tearing up great chunks of turf when it entered the beautifully landscaped Japanese peace garden.
“That ought to prove an amusing diversion for the brave and dedicated men of the police. Of course, we would be better of if it were a T-34, or a KV-1, but not everything can be a Russian tank.” ’Mr. Mishka’ had everyone’s attention. “The gentlemen you will see walking amongst you in the red jackets, their word is law. Never forget that. They are your escorts and new best friends. Go where they tell you, as soon as they say. Some of you will enjoy a wonderful ride on Soviet-made helicopters. Others will find that the storage facilities here at the museum are a fascinating and memorable place to stay while you await rescue.”
“And some of you will warrant rather special treatment.” Miss Krieger scowled when she grabbed hold of one of Sousuke’s arm. Mr. Kimutaku already had a firm grip on the other.
“Yes.” The ex-Spetsnaz operative smiled. He had plans for a blue-haired girl.
The crowds were waved back again. A recently-restored Opel truck in Afrika Korps markings followed the path that the Japanese tank had taken. The cargo area was filled with priceless art and artifacts, some held up by rejoicing thieves and kidnappers. Men with guns walked behind it. Some stopped by the podium.
Sousuke quickly assessed the men he faced. Some of them appeared professional, while others looked to be criminals enlisted as gunmen. Not all of the weapons were modern but all were highly effective. One man held a Thompson submachine gun, while another confidently cradled a Bergmann 1920. A nervous looking man held a Sten gun clumsily, while the woman next to him expertly checked the action of a Russian PPsh41 automatic. There was an M-16, an AK 47, and a late model UZI. More modern weapons included a Bizon PP-19, FN P90, and Steyr MPi69.
A few ’collectors’ also carried swords, axes, and a rather wicked looking flail. One man wore a large metal gladiator’s helmet. Another had a poorly assembled suit of Samurai armor of the Gusoku type. They must be very confident, Sousuke thought. Or very unprofessional.
After the groups of captives had been sorted, those with resale value were marched outside, the Sherman tank following at their heals like a herder’s dog.
Sousuke dared not move. Miss Krieger was clearly armed, lovingly caressing a well-oiled HK submachine gun. Mr. Kimutaku looked to have a pistol tucked inside his robe. And, it is best to act like a high school student. For a little while longer.
“Looks like they have things well in hand, Kimi old girl” Svyatogor laughed, drawing an angry glare from Mr. Kimutaku. “I figure we have a little while before the helicopters land and load up. I’ve decided to go and show my appreciation to a young lady who made my task as a tour guide so rewarding.” He waved to a number of seedy looking men. They dragged Kaname into view. The one time GRU soldier took a rather large combat knife out of its sheath. “I was always partial to redheads. But, sometimes a man must make do with what he has. Death sounds the same in the dark.”
The look that a gagged Kaname gave Sousuke froze him to the very depths of his soul. She needed him.
“But…” Miss Krieger let go of Sousuke. She looked at him, then Kaname, and back again. “I…” She was obviously faced with a difficult decision.
“Go ahead, dear. I won’t be offended. You won’t either, will you Suki, precious?” Mr. Kimutaku’s snicker sent shivers down even Mr. Mishka’s spine. “I’m certain our rather expressive friend there will let you play with Miss Chidori, too.” The one time assassin waved a couple of burly men over. One carried a Steyr TMP. The other had a fancy Persian scimitar, a princely weapon with an emerald-encrusted golden hilt. The flamboyant killer was not about to underestimate Sousuke.
“OK. Do what you want to him, but save the kill for me. Please. I will give you something out of my share for him.” Miss Krieger never forgot a slight or insult. And, she made it a point to personally deal with anyone with a penchant for getting under her skin. Sousuke had done that in spades.
“Certainly, my sweet. Though, some of the tortures I have in mind are a bit risky. We all must take risks, I suppose. Now run along, we don’t have all day.” Mr. Kimutaku laughed as his two compatriots dragged off a struggling Kaname. “I do so love to see people who know how to savor life. Don’t you Suki?”
Sousuke didn’t answer. It was time to act. Eyes darting about the room, he formulated a plan.
The sound of a 75mm cannon firing could be heard. It was accented by the chatter of automatic weapons fire. Obviously, the well tought out plot didn't involve just 'plants' amongst the tour guides. There must have been 'sleepers' in exhibit procurement and set-up. Naturally, the curators never checked. Who would bring live ammo or fuel into a museum?
"Oh my, looks like the police have a few over-achievers in their ranks. Well, not for too much longer!" Mr. Kimutaku tittered, flush with excitement. The plan had come together so well.
Sousuke clenched his jaw. He hoped the tank was indeed up against men in uniforms. JDSF uniforms. Worn on the backs of Mithril troops.
"There is a saying about chickens," Sousuke said. "One should wait until the eggs hatch before counting."
"Oh? I have a saying too, Sousuke." The slender man cracked his knuckles. "Pleasure before business. Grab his arms boys...."
************************************************************
It wasn’t about the museum now. That was in the hands of his fellow soldiers.
It wasn’t about the hostages. Not even his classmates. Time was on their side.
It wasn’t about his own safety. Whatever would be, would be.
It was about Kaname. She was in danger. Every moment counted..
There was a need for action, now. If that meant recklessness and throwing caution to the wind, so be it! The essence of Yamamoto Tsunetomo's words came to him then. Perhaps they were the last bit of bravado from a dying breed. The ‘Way of the Warrior‘ may have come and gone. Nonetheless, the moment the thoughts crossed his mind, Sousuke felt a great strength within him.
The way of the samurai is death. To say that that dying without reaching one’s goals ia a dog’s death is the frivolous way of sophisticates. There is no shame in this. When pressed with the choice of life or death, it is not necessary to gain one’s aim. But, living after failing to gain one’s aim is cowardice. If by setting one’s heart as if he is already dead, one will succeed in his calling. When meeting difficult situations, one should dash forward bravely and with joy.
Sousuke did just that.
He moved. Fast. With purpose.
Time slowed. People and things were viewed in discontinuous flashes.
A hard elbow to the gut gave notice to the fancy man that he had a fight on his hands. A vicious kick to the head sent the man with the sword flying over the rail. A well-aimed chop the throat and twist and lift of the knee sent a gun flying and had the third man gasping for breath. The man’s shot missed.
Sousuke grabbed the TMP and prepared to roll and fire. His opponent was no slouch, however. A small knife appeared in the back of Sousuke’s hand. He fired, missing Mr. Kimutaku. The older man’s foot struck hard, sending the gun spinning out of reach.
“So Suki, you really are full of surprises. I think I’d rather have you join us, than have to kill such a beautiful boy. How about it? Riches. Excitement. Whatever your little heart desired!” It was merely a ploy. It fooled no one.
“All I want is Kaname back. To get that, you will have to die.” The sincerity in Sousuke’s voice was chilling. “Quickly.”
Had Sousuke’s punch connected, his opponent would lay unconscious. Instead, Mr. Kimutaku was four feet above him, clinging to an ornately carved column, a cloud of white powder billowing forth from his robe. Sousuke knew enough to close his eyes and hold his breath, but before he could retract his arm, a weighted chain hit him on the side of his head and knocked him to his knees. A follow-up kick sent him bouncing down the stairs.
“Much too slow, Suki darling. Time to say farewell.” Mr. Kimutaku’s hands were each dressed with a wickedly clawed glove. Dark liquid clung to the tines. Poison. “Up!” The cat burglar leaped.
“No!” Sousuke replied. One of his shoes, thrown with great force and accuracy, hit the left hand of his adversary. That hand went on to scratch its owners leg.
Mr. Kimutaku landed, turned, and ran to gain time and distance. He had no immunity to this substance. He needed to break out the antidote. Fast. "Damn y-o-o-o-u-u-u!"
Sousuke needed a weapon. No gun was near enough. Mr. Kimutaku would reach the TMP before he could.
The nearest case held the weapons of a Samurai. After smashing the glass, Sousuke tossed short and long swords onto the floor. He grabbed a handful of shuriken. He ran after Mr. Kimutaku, just now throwing away an applicator..
“You will pay, you nasty little prick!” The assassin kicked the submachine gun in the air, caught it, and brought it to bear on Sosuke. He pulled the trigger. “Kiss kiss. Bang bang!”
The words of Lord Naoshige rang true.
The Way of the Samurai is desperateness. Ten men or more cannot kill such a man Common sense will not accomplish great things. Simply become insane and desperate.
The young soldier continued straight for his adversary. The TMP fired repeatedly. The shots did not find their mark. Sousuke flung himself sideways as he acted. The first shuriken grazed a ducking head, throwing off the gunman’s aim. The second blade cut deep into the back of the hand holding the gun. The third, thrown with the most velocity, buried itself in Mr. Kimutaku’s groin.
“Ahhhhh!” the false tour guide cried. “Ohhhhhh Ooooooooh” Blood covering the hand pressing at his privates, Mr. Kimutaku sped away, spattering small drops of blood as he ran. "Suuukkkiii...you...bastard...." He knew Sousuke wouldn’t follow. There wasn’t time.
There was no time to rest. The sound of metal scraping across the floor was worthy of attention. One thug was down, dead or near to death, his airway usesless. His comrade, holding the saber, ran at Sousuke. Three shots from the TMP ravaged the wild man’s abdomen, but the wounds were not rapidly fatal. A continual pull on the trigger produced no effect. The clip was empty.
The man advanced, silent as Death himself. The sword he held was ancient. It was razor sharp.
Sousuke needed a weapon. One of the Samurai blades, an unusual Koto Mouromachi period sword mounted in a walking stick, was within his reach. He grabbed it and fled. He would outrun the man. Kaname needed him now.
As it turned out, the other man’s presence was moot. A burst of .50 caliber machine gun fire cut him down. The spray of bullets proceeded to shred festive banners, explode display cases, and advance towards Sousuke. At Mr. Kimutaku’s command, the Sherman had pulled back into the building, swung its turret around, and fired its coaxial gun.
Making it behind a pillar just in time, Sosuke knew he couldn’t sit still. No doubt the wounded man was angry enough to instruct the gunner to fire the cannon. He probably didn't care if Mr. Mishka or Miss Krieger were in danger or not. It was payback time.
Sousuke ran faster than he ever had before.
The tank fired. A High Explosive round sped on its way.
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Things had happened so quickly. Kaname couldn’t believe what had taken place. First, even though it made her feel petty, she had been heckling Sousuke. He deserved it! Then, the stuffed shirt Valentin had totally embarrassed her. Men ALWAYS stick together. Bastards! Next, gunshots, and those three ‘tour guides’ were in charge. I was right in disliking them!
It was like a nightmare. Could she be dreaming? Or was she in Sousuke’s dream? This was all like something his otaku imagination might think up! ‘Potential this. Conspiracy that. You could be in danger, Kaname.’ Big idiot!!!
However, this time, Sousuke was correct.
Before she knew it, she was being dragged painfully along, each arm in the grasp of a dangerous lunatic---Fraulein Freakazoid on one side, and that smelly Russian on the other. She needed to fight back, but was too firmly held. Every fiber in her body wanted to scream out, but who would come running? Sousuke was in dire straits himself. Security was off chasing hired hoodlums. Miss Okibasu and the class had been herded away.
“Let…me…go…” Kaname spat out. “I didn’t DO anything!”
“Oh, so modest, so demure.” ‘Mr. Mishka,’ aka Alexandr Svyatogor chuckled. “I should think that blue hair would be cause enough; but, Katja and I have our own personal reasons, do we not, Miss Krieger?”
“Yes-s-s-s!” Heidi Ackermann came close to hissing gleefully. “I really wanted to show my appreciation to the Sagara boy, but that old Gecko claimed him. Still, I haven’t given up hope. While I wait, you’ll do just fine, right?” The eagerness in the woman’s voice was a palpable thing. “But, if you think I ‘belittled’ and ‘abused’ people before….”
“And I must find a suitable way to thank you for my fine new scent, and for the unexpected bath you gave me.” The Russian’s clothes were still damp and clinging to his body. “But, it will be so very difficult to choose,” he continude, as they pulled Kaname down a hallway lined by manikins dressed up in various types of armor. “There is so much I’d like to do to you, but so little time.”
“But, nothing I did deserves this….” Kaname knew it was useless to try and dissuade single-minded people. Sousuke had taught her that. Still, it was only natural to try.
“True,” ‘Miss Krieger’ replied. “But, you can’t begrudge us a little fun, can you. It’s one of the perks that old pervert promised. Besides, I had my hand in the Srebrenica massacre. It tought me the true meaning of equality. Women can be brutalized just as well as men. It was a woman who cost me my teaching job. If I can’t have her, you’ll do just fine.”
“Now you’ve done it. You’ve started her talking shop!” ‘Mr. Mishka’ kicked open a door into a small conference room. “We really can’t have that. The time, remember?” He flung Kaname hard against a wall, watching with satisfaction as she crumpled onto the nearby couch. He took off his belt and unbuttoned his trousers. “The women in Chechnya were likely more satisfying, but as Miss Krieger said, you’ll do.”
In the distance, they could hear gunfire. A submachine gun.
“Go check that out,” the ex-GRU soldier said. “It might just be Kimi finishing off the boy. But, that’s NOT his usual thing.” The man’s voice was dripping with contempt. It took a lot to make him cringe. “I’m busy. We don’t want to disappoint the young lady.” His pants fell down to his ankles.
“YOU go check it out. We may not have time for your self-indulgence. And, I’m not your secretary or servant!” Heat crept into the mercenary’s voice. “If we have to hurry, then it’s MY turn for fun.” She slipped a pair of brass knuckles on her hand. They were spiked. “Why are men so quick to take their pants off? The experience is so overrated.” She loaded a clip into a Luger she had appropriated. The sound brought the Russian up short.
The two ersatz tour guides stared each other down. Kaname wondered if the gunshots meant Sousuke was dead, or whether he might be on his way to help. “S-O-U-S-U-K-E-!-!-!” She called out in hope and desperation.
A terrific explosion threw ‘Miss Krieger’ and ‘Mr. Mishka’ to the floor. Paintings fell of the wall, and a small glass decanter was knocked off of a desk, shattering on the hard tiles. A tall potted plant fell over, spilling its soil.
“What the F@CK?” Aleksandr Svyatogor cursed, holding a hurt wrist. “What the Hell are those IDIOTS up to?!”
“We’d better just kill the little bitch and haul ass out of here, before some bright boy decides to bring the whole place down.” ‘Miss Krieger’ intended to do just that.
The door to the room flew off its hinges.
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End to part 13
