Read United States of Japan Online
Authors: Peter Tieryas
United States of Japan (8 page)
“What brings you to our lovely neck of the war, Major Wakana?”
The Otay Mesa base was not big, though it held an important strategic position in San Diego and had its own barricade with guards and Czech hedgehogs along the perimeter. Visitors were prohibited and all military personnel had to go through security scans. The main building was five stories tall and Major Wakana had made his way to the command station to find it empty, except for two young lieutenants playing a card game on their porticals. They had both put them down and were standing to bow.
Thirty-six year-old Major Wakana twirled his mustache, leaned on his ivory staff, and said, “Colonel Doihara was killed an hour ago in a terrorist attack.”
“Have they caught the terrorists, sir?” the one with the name sign Nomoto asked.
“It was a kamikaze attack,” Wakana said. “A white wig was found near the explosion.”
“A George Washington,” Nomoto said. “They should all be rounded up and shot.”
“We’ve tried. But this is the eighteenth attack in the past month,” the major said. “And they don’t seem to be stopping anytime soon.”
“Like I was saying, round them up and shoot
all
of them, sir.”
“Where are your commanders?”
The other lieutenant, who had the nametag Ishimura, replied, “Not in yet, sir. Most were celebrating last night for anniversary week.”
“Then perhaps you can help me. Do you have an officer in your service named Shigeko Yoshioka?”
“Yoshioka is one of our best soldiers,” Nomoto said.
“He’s also killed many civilians and is to be arrested for war crimes under USJ Regulation 3432.23. Where is he?”
“Captain Yoshioka is not on the base at the moment, sir.”
“Where can I find him?”
The two lieutenants looked at each other. “We don’t know, sir.”
“Who does?”
“Captain Yoshioka tends to follow his own orders. He disappears at times and shows up when he pleases,” Nomoto explained. “He could be anywhere.”
“I see. So someone already told him I was on my way,” Wakana said. He leaned on his staff again and looked at Ishimura. “You look familiar.”
“I was in your Guerilla Tactics class at BEMAG,” Ishimura replied.
“Yes, I remember now. Beniko Ishimura. You were always late.”
Ben bowed embarrassedly. “Yes, sir.”
“Lieutenant Nomoto. Go call Lieutenant Colonel Mutsuraga. Tell him I need to talk to him.”
“He doesn’t arrive until ten today, sir.”
“Tell him to hurry. Tell him I insist.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nomoto saluted and left.
Wakana put his arm on Ishimura. “Was Yoshioka here this morning?”
Ishimura hesitated.
“I understand you don’t want to rat him out. How long have you been stationed here?” Wakana asked.
“Three years now, sir.”
“So you’ve been here since the beginning of the insurrection. How is morale?”
“It’s good among the ranks, sir. Among the Americans, it’s complicated. Governor Ogasawara has made steps to improve conditions when she outlawed comfort companions and decreased the punishment term for breaking segregation laws. I feel she’d go further if Command allowed it.”
Wakana grinned. “Never thought a bunch of religious fanatics would pose so much trouble for us, did you? These George Washingtons are mean, tough, and absolutely devoted to their cause. Do you know what is it that they seek?”
“Independence.”
“Yes. Independence from the Empire. Can you imagine that? After how generously we’ve treated them, they’ve spit at our generosity. Do you know why that is?”
“Because they’re stupid and ruthless.”
“If they were stupid, they would not have lasted three years. Do you think us being Asian arouses their ire? If we were white like them, would they even blink if we went to war and annihilated other countries?”
“Respectfully, sir, the British and the Germans looked like them, but they still fought them.”
Wakana nodded. “True. Very true. So perhaps these Americans can never be tamed. I’ve heard they’re giving the Germans one hell of a time in Manhattan. Have you heard about the Hitler wing in the Louvre?”
“No, sir.”
“Hitler has a whole hallway dedicated to his personal paintings. There are cameras that record people’s expressions and anyone who laughs or makes a derisive gesture gets arrested. The French Resistance broke in and vandalized the paintings, but did it so none of the cameras could spot the problems. The officials didn’t know because anyone who saw it was afraid of getting arrested if they reported something and it turned out to be something the Fuehrer had intentionally painted.”
“How did they eventually find out?”
Wakana tapped his staff against the ground. “They still haven’t.”
Ishimura’s surprised reaction pleased Wakana, who laughed heartily. “You know where Yoshioka is, don’t you? Don’t answer. Perhaps later, you and I can have lunch as professor and student. You can take me to a place where we may happen to run into a subject I am looking for.”
“Perhaps, sir.”
Nomoto entered and said, “Lieutenant Colonel Mutsuraga will be arriving shortly. He asks that you wait in his office.”
Wakana twirled his mustache again. “Lead the way.”
10:08AM
Wakana waited almost two hours. He reviewed personnel reports during his wait. The lieutenant colonel’s office had photos of himself, his wife, and their daughter, traveling to various places throughout the USJ and Asia. His wife was a jovial brunette named Meredith who was half-Italian, half-Japanese. Her father served as a trade official at the Long Beach Ports and her mother had been one of the main administrators for the
tonarigumi
(neighborhood association) in the area. Mutsuraga’s daughter, Claire, was considered a genius with porticals, much like her father. There was a general theme of mahogany, the walls covered by maps of the USJ and the Germanic Americas as well as obscure programming equations.
Lieutenant Colonel Mutsuraga had a stern look about him when he arrived. His hair was grizzled and he possessed a sturdy frame like a bear. The breast of his uniform was covered with accolades and commendations, and he wore both his ceremonial swords. He had grim eyes, thick hands, and an overbearing confidence in his steady pose. He said in a booming voice, “You can’t be serious about closing all my interrogation rooms.”
“I’m very serious,” Wakana replied. “Command told me to deal with the George Washingtons, sir. Your torture chambers are an impediment to that.”
“Those chambers have been an invaluable source of information.”
“Much of it faulty. Under torture, anyone will confess to anything, including lies.”
Mutsuraga frowned. “How does putting one of my soldiers on trial help us win?”
“By listening to what the GWs want. They’ve asked for five things. Closing the torture chambers was their highest priority. Justice for those massacred at Balboa Park was their second. I am going to give them Yoshioka, sir.”
“Yoshioka’s one of our best soldiers.”
“He had over two thousand civilians killed. Unarmed civilians, sir. If they’d been soldiers, I’d be handing him an award.”
“What’s to be the result of the trial?”
“There is overwhelming evidence of his guilt. If it can be disproven, he will be freed.”
“If not?”
“Execution, sir, per regulation 3432.23.”
Mutsuraga took out a cigarette. “Are you out of your mind?” he snapped. “Executing an officer of the USJ for firing on the natives? There’s a battle going on here, major.”
“And, respectfully, you’re not winning, sir. Short of massacring all of them, you’re in for a long, debilitating conflict unless you start working with the ‘natives’.”
“You realize who Yoshioka’s uncle is?”
“My loyalty is to the Empire and the Emperor, not any admiral, sir.”
“What do you think will happen if you execute Yoshioka?”
“In conjunction with meeting four of the other requirements demanded by the George Washingtons, I’m hoping for a dialogue.”
“A dialogue?”
“In good faith.”
“You want to negotiate with traitors and sacrifice our own soldiers in the process?”
“Your own gaming simulation predicted this would become inevitable, sir,” Wakana pointed out. “And there are honorable ones among them. They are courageous, resourceful, and resolved, and some have reached out in the hopes of negotiation. Fortunately, their demands are not unreasonable. But they refuse to talk without resolution on the Balboa Park matter. Yoshioka disobeyed orders. He was specifically told not to provoke the crowd and, most definitely, not to fire on them.”
“You are an unusual breed of officer, Wakana,” Mutsuraga said.
“Where is Captain Yoshioka?”
“He’s away on a mission.”
“Where?”
“At this moment, that mission is classified. When he becomes available, I will let you know.”
“Sir, that’s–”
“He’s on a mission that is of the utmost importance to the Empire!”
“But, sir–”
“Know your place, major,” the Lieutenant Colonel barked.
“Yes, sir. Forgive me, sir,” Wakana said, bowing.
“I will notify you when Yoshioka returns. You may do with the interrogation rooms as you please.”
Major Wakana stood up and bowed gratefully. “May I make one more request, sir?”
“What is it?”
“I would like to place Lieutenant Ishimura under my direct command for the duration of my stay here.”
Mutsuraga laughed. “I don’t think the Washingtons would want Ishimura executed.”
“Why’s that, sir?”
“He’s a coward who’s more concerned about women than his duty.”
“So you have no objection to me taking him?”
“You’re going to have him executed too?”
“No, sir. He was a former student and I’d like his help in coordinating leisure activities for some of my soldiers that are being transferred in.”
“That’s fine.”
“Thank you for your patience, sir,” Wakana said. He turned around and left, shutting the door behind him. As he did, he thought about the Kempeitai report that Mutsuraga’s wife was having an affair with a George Washington leader who called himself Andrew Jackson. Her presence, and absence, was aggravating him and clouding his judgment. It troubled Wakana to think of it. He never wanted to be in a position where he had to question the people he loved.
11:25AM
“The steak salad there is incredible, sir,” Beniko said.
“First of all, drop the sir. Second, I’m not a big fan of salads.”
“They will make you a convert. Seared ribeye, roasted potatoes, cremini mushrooms, shaved parmesan, sliced Asian pears, and a lemon Dijon vinaigrette served over mixed greens. Toasties makes the best damn salads I’ve ever had.”
“If only my grandfather could have lived to have seen this. He used to talk about how much they had to ration during the War,” Wakana said. “Every week, they’d run out of basic goods like flour or sugar and they never saw any more again until after the War.”
“To the victor cometh the food.”
Tijuana District had been a tourist destination until the civil revolt broke out. Even now, abetted by heightened security, it was a popular place to party. There were two security checks, both heavily guarded. Despite riding in a military issued vehicle, they were scanned. Bomb-sensitive dogs patrolled between the cars and there was a group of people that had been arrested sitting in steel cages, handcuffed and gagged. Beyond, there were fancy resorts, Japanese signs among all the high-rise hotels and discotheques. Soldiers, random security inspections, looming mechas, and helicopter sweeps were reminders of the chaos outside of its borders.
“Have you been to the Cancun?” Ben asked.
“No, what is it?”
“One of the top resorts. It has the biggest indoor swimming pool in the world and dolphins to paddle along. It’s amazing.” Ben pointed to another hotel that looked as though it was a gigantic diamond and had huge crowds. “That’s the Gemini. It has all sorts of roller coasters inside. The lines aren’t too bad because it’s still early afternoon. By night time, you’ll have to wait two hours for every ride.”
“The whole area is going to get busier?”
“There’s going to be triple this in the evening and more are flying in to celebrate for the holidays,” Ben said.
“Aren’t they worried about the rebels?”
“They aren’t going to let some rebels ruin their fun.”
Toasties was in a shopping mall. Ben parked their car in the Japanese section that was near the entrance and next to hundreds of scooters. Men and women were dressed in sporty summer wear in the resort environment, many just wearing swimsuits. Tourists from the mainland snapped photos of everything via their porticals and Wakana found himself amused by their gawking commentary and their awed voices. “
Sugoi
,” or “awesome,” he kept on hearing.
“They have a whale show at the Sea Palace that’s pretty impressive,” Ben said. “I know one of the trainers and she can give us a backstage tour. You’d be surprised how smart the animals are. She thinks it’s wrong for us to keep them in captivity as show animals.”
At Toasties, Beniko talked to the hostess, an attractive woman in short jeans and a bikini top. “I thought you were going to be out of town for the holidays?” she asked Ben.
“Change in plans,” he replied. “I’m showing the major around town.”
She shook her head. “There’s a lot we need to talk about.”
“I know. Later.”
Her arms were crossed. “I’ve been trying to reach you the whole week.”
Ben offered an awkward simper. “My portical is messed up on base. The Washingtons are scrambling all our lines.”
She led them to their table. The restaurant was packed. She pinched him. “Don’t leave without talking to me,” she said, before returning to the front of the restaurant.
“Friend of yours?” Wakana asked.
“Something like that,” Ben said, in a tone of helplessness. “She’s too wild for me, sir.”
Wakana laughed.
The waiter brought green tea and the menu. Another waiter carried meat colored black and white.
“What is that?” Wakana asked.
“Fried skunk,” Ben replied. “That over there is grasshopper skewer and it lies heavy on those monkey brains. I heavily recommend those if you’re into something a bit experimental.”
“I used to cook grasshoppers,” Wakana said. “When I was eight, we’d go out to a forest behind the rail tracks near my school. We captured a dozen grasshoppers, cut off their legs. They couldn’t get away and we’d grill them. I loved eating them with wasabi.”
“You want me to order some for you?”
Wakana shook his head. “Why don’t you recommend something for me?”
Ben ordered for them both.
“So Yoshioka likes this place?” Wakana asked.
Ben shook his head. “Captain Yoshioka’s taste in food is very simple – soy sauce, rice, and a boiled egg. He views anything else as an unnecessary extravagance.”
“Then why did you bring me here?”
“I thought you wanted a good lunch.”
Wakana laughed again. “You enjoy being an officer?”
“I try, s–” He stopped himself from saying “sir.”
“And Captain Yoshioka? Does he enjoy being an officer?”
“For different reasons.”
“Such as?”
Ben stirred the tea in his cup. “I’m not sure, but I don’t think it’s the food.”
Wakana sipped on his tea. “I tend to have simple tastes as well.”
“Oh?”
“I eat whatever my wife cooks me.”
Ben chuckled. “Is your wife stationed in San Diego?”
“She’s raising my two boys in Kauai.”
“Do you see her often?”
“Not as much as I’d like. It’s tough for her because she gave up her career and I’ve been away most of the last four years in Vietnam.”
“How are things going there?”
“Officially, everything is wonderful. Unofficially, classified.”
“That bad?”
“Worse. Command wants to make sure we avoid that kind of quagmire here, especially as Tijuana is such a popular destination. There’s hope for a peaceful resolution. No one wants a repeat of Saigon.”
“What do
you
want here?”
Wakana looked at Beniko. “What any good soldier wants. Peace.”
The waiter brought the salads. Wakana stared at his askance, then took a bite. His face lit up. “This is excellent.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“No, seriously. I’ve never had anything like this.”
“You should take some for the road.”
“I might do that.”
Wakana ate his steak and savored the mushrooms. “Have you seen much of Mutsuraga’s war simulation?”
“We all have.”
“It’s amazing to think he began programming this at BEMAG, a perfect war game measuring all the parameters of a situation to predict the outcome.”
“Statistical likelihoods,” Ben said. “It’s susceptible to serious margins of error.”
“But still impressive.”
“Very impressive.”
“How exactly does it work?”
Ben took out a portical from his pocket and flipped it open. An interface up showed in green text against a black background. It read: “Operation San Diego.”
“How are you able to connect to the kikkai without a wire?” Wakana asked.
“New tech developed just south of BEMAG. Wireless porticals that pick up the kikkai so you can take them anywhere.” Ben typed in his name and password. “Right now, the graphical power of the porticals are limited, but you can see it represented by this soldier.” There was a cartoony depiction of a Japanese soldier. “I can input the date, the type of enemies I’m expecting, psychological factors, weather conditions, geographical data, any anomalies that pop up, even the eating habits of the officers.” He punched in random variables, not being selective about his choices, concentrating on getting through the long list of options. “That’s the bare minimum for a scenario. When we do our actual simulation for battle, we spend days, even weeks, planning. Then we let it play out and study what the AI does.”
“Is it as accurate as they say?”
“Nowhere near what they want. But they’re working on the programming and by the end of the year, it’s supposed to support fifty thousand more variables.”
On the portical, soldiers fought across buildings. Men and women dressed as “George Washingtons” with their white wigs killed themselves, blowing up buildings and cars with them. “Were you here during the first volley?”
“I only saw it on the news,” Ben answered.
Wakana thought of the thousands dressed in the colonial wigs, charging San Diego’s City Hall and blowing themselves up. A black man claiming to be the Founding Father, George Washington, made one demand. “Hand San Diego over to us or we will fight until all of us are dead.”
“What do the simulations say about our chances of winning?”
Ben finished his tea. “I’m not involved with that part of the planning.”
“It predicted either the GWs will destroy the city, or we will have to kill three hundred thousand people to impose total control, executing indiscriminately in the hopes of wiping them out.”
“The program could be wrong.”
“It could be.” Wakana cracked his knuckles. “It’s fascinating that in Mutsuraga’s school records, programming was one of his weakest subjects. There were even those who doubted whether Mutsuraga really wrote the thing himself.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, sir,” Ben said. Wakana took note of his unconscious “sir” and the way he lowered his gaze when he answered.
“Of course not. I’ve heard they want to make a consumer version of the game and let people play out various battles,” Wakana mused.
“I’ve heard that too. The graphical leaps on porticals are accelerating at a rate no one expected.”
“Who would have thought? Our wars played out by children as ‘portical games’.”
“It’s effective propaganda disguised as entertainment.”
Wakana looked over and saw the hostess staring in their direction. “What’s she want to talk to you about?”
“Leaving her boyfriend.”
“For you?”
Ben rubbed his head. “I think so.”
Wakana wagged his finger. “You are a troublemaker, lieutenant.” He finished his salad. “Are you going to help me find Captain Yoshioka?”
“Have you visited the Musashi Temple yet?”
“No, though my father told me I should visit while I’m here.”
“It’s only a ten minute walk away. It’s worth a trip,” Ben said.
“Let’s pay our respects.”
“Do you mind if we take the back exit?”
“Not at all.”
12:43PM
The Musashi Miyamoto shrine was split into five areas. Wakana and Ishimura were in a section that had small waterfalls, fountains, and steps designed to evoke a semblance of liquid armor. There were statues of samurai, deities, and swords. The temple was made entirely from glass with water flowing between the panes, kanji characters explicating the old warrior’s philosophy. They reached the altar and Wakana grabbed a stick of incense.
“Do you remember your Musashi?” Wakana asked Ishimura.
Ben shook his head. “I’m worthless with the sword.”
Wakana placed his staff against a column, took out his sword, held it with both hands in front of him, and bowed. He quietly murmured some words and bowed again.
“My father made me study Musashi every morning,” Wakana said.
“He was a soldier?”
“A farmer,” Wakana replied. “But he raised me to be a soldier.”
“Why?”
“So that farmers like him wouldn’t have to suffer at the hands of soldiers.”
A group of monks entered the temple and began chanting.
“Have you ever visited the Ise Grand Shrine?” Wakana asked.
“Not yet.”
“They rebuild it every twenty years as a remembrance of the ephemeral nature of all things –
Wabi-sabi
. Before we won the Pacific War, we fought for dominance on the mainland. Now, we control territory from one end of the earth to the other. And yet, we cling to our idiosyncrasies, not acting like rulers.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We rule the Pacific Ocean. The Great American Republic and the Chinese Empire are under our control. Shouldn’t we be magnanimous with the locals? It’s their gods that have abandoned them, not ours.”
“Their God urges them to fight through George Washington,” Ben said.
“Their God is a symbol of archaic values, a morality that favors the masses with illusions to make suffering more bearable now. Heaven is Tijuana without consequences. Endless feasts, a perpetual state of ecstasy induced by holy drugs, and the rest, a vague flood of light.”
“If we lost the War, do you think the gods would be different?”
“We didn’t lose the war,” Wakana said. “The Greeks believed the worst sin wasn’t murder, not even infanticide, but hubris. Is a man who sets himself up as a god committing the ultimate sacrilege?”
“Not if he
is
a god.”
“Who determines that?”
“The victor?” Ben posed as both answer and question.
Wakana laughed. “Yes. The victor. How many have we killed in our march to empire?”
“I don’t know.”
“Every great empire has a mountain of corpses underneath it as its foundation. The Romans, the Chinese – even the Americans wiped out millions of Indians and enslaved the African natives. No one remembers those who were sacrificed. It’s like our earthquakes that wipe away the glories of the past. We’ve used the atomic torpedo on the Americans three times and they were all launched on the same day. There’s still fierce debate about whether it was even necessary. The Americans were ready to surrender.”
“I’d always thought we used them to spare our soldiers from ground combat since the Americans were going to fight to the death.”
“We’d already broken all their ciphers and knew they were going to wave the flag, especially with most of the east coast overrun. They had a few minor conditions, but nothing unreasonable considering the circumstances.”
“Why didn’t we accept them?”
“Because we wanted to scare the Germans, make it clear this was our turf and we’d do anything to defend it. It was supposed to be a political statement and a surefire way of ending the war. Hundreds of thousands of Americans were killed. Mostly civilians. There were many rallies against the use of the atomics. Even now, there are many who’ve gathered in Kyoto to protest against our conflict with the George Washingtons, demanding a peaceful resolution.”
“Why?”
“I’ve wondered the same thing. Do you think the world would have had more peace if the Empire had been defeated?”
“That’s hard to say, sir. I watched a portical film about Musashi a few years ago,” Ben said. “He killed a lot of people. Maybe it’s in our blood.”
Wakana was amused by the comment. “One of the tactics he teaches is called the Glue and Lacquer Emulsion Body. You stick to the enemy with your head, body, and legs and you’re so closely attached, there isn’t the slightest gap between you.”
“Like a lover?”
Wakana guffawed. “Is everything about love to you?”
“Not everything.”
“There are many questions about you that I find perplexing,” he said.
“Me?”
“Forgive me if I’m blunt, but almost every report I’ve read about you is negative. This dates back to your time at BEMAG and the ensuing years. And yet, everywhere Lieutenant Colonel Mutsuraga goes, he specifically requests you come – in fact, insists on it. You would have been shipped off to Africa or Vietnam a long time ago if not for him. Why is that?”
“I didn’t know the lieutenant colonel was the one keeping me near him.”
“You must have noticed. Your academy reports say you failed basic officer’s field training for your inability to use a sword properly.”
“Like I said, I’m worthless with a sword.”
“And yet, here you are.”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
Wakana put his blade away and leaned on his staff again as they walked away from the temple. When they were a distance from the altar, he asked, “How much do you know about the lieutenant colonel’s relationship with his wife, Meredith?”
“Not much.”
“You mean you don’t want to say?”
“The lieutenant colonel’s personal life is his own,” Ben answered.
“Do you think his personal life is affecting his judgment as commander?”
“I’m not sure. As a lieutenant, I rarely deal with the lieutenant colonel.”
“Yes, and your official job is censoring messages people send via their porticals. So you must have read the lieutenant colonel’s private correspondence.”
“I-I have.”
“And?”
“Their relationship is their own personal business.”
“Not when it affects the Empire.”
“But–”
“I’m going to have to pull rank and remind you I have the authority of Tokyo Command behind me.”
“I feel it’s inappropriate talking about the lieutenant colonel’s personal life.”
“Even if the stability of the USJ could hinge on it?”
Ben hesitated. “Their relationship is strained,” he admitted, putting it as diplomatically as he could.
“Why is it strained?”
“The-the lieutenant colonel believes Meredith is having an affair.”
“Did he order you to watch her?”
Ben shifted his feet, discomfited. “I’ve been monitoring all her portical activity.”
“And what have your portical eyes told you?” Wakana inquired.
“That she’s having an affair with a GW.”
“Have you told the lieutenant colonel?”
“Just recently, I confirmed it for him.”
Wakana looked back at the statue of Musashi in a combat pose, growling fiercely while holding his sword.
“This ability to monitor someone else’s portical activity. Is this something you got from the Kikkai Department?”
Ben shook his head. “It’s something I… Lieutenant Colonel Mutsuraga helped me to develop.”
“Why are we at this shrine, Lieutenant Ishimura?”
Ben’s eyes looked past the major to a gaunt-looking male who wore a hat with a logo on top of it. Huge sunglasses covered half his face and he was clad in an army green trench coat that he’d buttoned up. It was Captain Yoshioka. “How’d you know he’d be here?” Wakana asked.
“I’ve been monitoring his portical activity through lunch. Should I call for backup?”
“I hope we won’t need to.”
Captain Yoshioka bowed in front of the shrine, both arms out in front of him in obeisance. Twice, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, wiping away tears.
“What do you think he’s praying about?” Wakana asked.
Ben scanned his portical. “I think Lieutenant Colonel Mutsuraga ordered him to kill someone.”
“Someone?”
“Someone named Andrew Jackson.”
Wakana cursed under his breath. “I wish I’d known about your device so we could have spared ourselves a lot of trouble.”
“You know Andrew Jackson?”
“Andrew Jackson is the GW that is sleeping with Meredith Mutsuraga. The lieutenant colonel probably promised to take care of Yoshioka’s family if he went out on one last suicide attack. But Andrew Jackson can’t die.”
“Why not?”
“He’s the staunchest supporter of compromise with us among their ranks. Meredith has convinced him that the George Washingtons should negotiate, that the Empire is here to stay, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
“Is she a double agent?”
Wakana shook his head. “This would all be easier if she were. Still, peace is peace.”
“But at what price?”
“A price that’s going to have to be paid.”
“The loss of face for the lieuten–”
“Is nothing in service of the Emperor. Think of the lives that’ll be saved. We have to protect Andrew Jackson, even if it means he gets a military guard,” Wakana said.
Ben stared at Wakana. “Are you here for Captain Yoshioka, or the lieutenant colonel?”
Wakana snickered. “And they said you weren’t sharp.”
Yoshioka’s prayer ended and he walked briskly away, a paranoid turn of his head to make sure he wasn’t being followed. When he saw the two of them in uniform, he broke into a sprint.
“Captain!” the major yelled. “Captain!”
Yoshioka stopped. When he turned around, he held a pistol in his hand.
Wakana did not let it hinder him and approached closer.
“How did you find me?” Yoshioka asked. His eyes were black holes and his lips were a dry mess of torn flesh. He had a huge Adam’s apple that bounced back and forth as he spoke and a big nose that protruded into several dull ridges. He glowered at Ben. “You gave me up, Ishimura?”
“We would have found you eventually,” Wakana said. “Let’s talk. I’m Major Wakana, sent by Tokyo Command.”
“I know you’re here to take me away. But I won’t be executed for following orders!” he shouted.
“No one said anything about an execution. I just want to ask a few questions.”
“Like what?”
“At Balboa Park, did someone give you the order to fire on the civilians?”
“They attacked me first. I have witnesses. The officers told me I’d be OK. You can’t kill me for defending myself.”
“You’ll be given a fair trial.”
“What about my mother? Who’ll take care of her if I’m gone?”
“Your mother will be taken care of by the Empire.”
“Families of executed officers are never taken care of,” Yoshioka said. “You think I don’t know how it is?”
Wakana twisted his staff in place, wondering if there was some way he could placate Yoshioka.
“If you get closer, I’ll kill you!” Yoshioka threatened. Glaring at Ben. “You don’t even have the loyalty of a dog.”
Wakana raised his arms in the air to show he was unarmed and stepped forward. “I’ve read your past record. You’ve always been a loose cannon, Captain. You shouldn’t have been put in charge there in the first place. I know that.”
“It’s not my fault. Someone threw a bottle at one of the soldiers. I thought I heard a gunshot. I had to protect my men.”
“Did Lieutenant Colonel Mutsuraga order you to kill someone?”
Yoshioka lowered his head.
“Did he promise to take care of your mother in return?”
“Step back!” Yoshioka yelled, then opened up his jacket. He was covered with explosives.
Ben flinched. Wakana did not. “You want to kill me, that’s fine. But you’ll answer my questions first.”
“W-what questions?”
“How many people have you killed?”
“I don’t know.”
“Before Balboa Park?”
“Seventeen.”
“Enemy combatants?”
Yoshioka nodded.
“It was different this time, wasn’t it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“This time it was innocent people.”
“They weren’t innocent! I warned them to disperse!”
“Shigeko. Do you mind if I call you that?”
“Whatever. I don’t care.”
“Shigeko. Who do you see when you go to sleep?”
Ben was confused by the question, but Yoshioka’s eyes began to tear up.
“I know there’s someone. Maybe one person. Maybe two,” Wakana said. “They’re always there. You try to distract yourself, but right before sleep, there’s nowhere to hide. That’s why you haven’t slept in weeks.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Yoshioka said. “I told them to go home.”
“I know. Who is it you see?”
Yoshioka shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I have someone I see too,” Wakana admitted.
“How long ago?”
“When I first started, decades ago.”
“So it never… it never goes away?”
“Mutsuraga told you to blow yourself up for the Empire. But you just want it to end.”
Yoshioka wiped the mucus dripping from his nose. “She was so young. Couldn’t have been more than eight. I didn’t see her until it was too late. One of the GWs brought her as a human shield. How could they bring a little girl there, knowing it was a combat zone?”
Wakana stared at him for a long time. “There are soldiers who don’t feel an ounce of remorse for killing even the innocent. At least you still have a conscience. The Americans believed there is redemption for everyone as long as you believe in their God.”
“I don’t believe in their gods.”
“You think blowing yourself up will be your redemption?”
“I will kill enemies of the Empire,” Yoshioka affirmed.
“You mean Andrew Jackson?”
Yoshioka was startled. “H-how did you know?”
“The lieutenant colonel neglected to tell you the real reason he wants Jackson dead is because Jackson is having an affair with his wife. This is a personal vendetta, not a mission for the Empire. Am I right, Lieutenant Ishimura?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been tracking his messages. The–”
“Shut up, Ishimura! I don’t want to hear another word from you!”
