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Lifetimes of Change (Historical Vignettes set from 1891 - 2011)

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Daitō:
Home againIsahaya Ward, Shinkyō
UTC 1400
December 29, 1914

Haruto stepped off the train and onto the platform, back where he had started after just over four months. His uniform was left ragged, damaged by the elements up in the Tanzawa Mountains and and by enemy fire. Just four months, and already he was sent home. What 'luck' he had, being sent home, likely to be transferred out to Toshikawa alongside the rest of his unit. Adjusting his kit-bag so that it rested well on his back, he then straightened his cap as he walked towards the exit. Just four months alone had been enough to change the city drastically; sure, there were still many people, but you couldn't take a few steps without running into a newspaper reporting on the latest events of the war.
   "Haruto! Over here!" A voice called out. Haruto looked around, trying to find who was calling him. Then, he saw him. His elder brother, Jiro, was leaning against a column, kitted out in his naval uniform as he smoked a cigarette.
   "Jiro, what are you doing here?" Haruto asked in response, a nearly child-like joy overtaking him as he walked over to join him. "It's been, what, six months since we last saw each other?"
   "Seven months as of last Tuesday, as a matter of fact." Jiro corrected him with a nod, offering a cigarette, which Haruto accepted. "As for your question, father asked that I get you."
   "Ah, fair enough. How's he doing, by the way?"
   "Not too badly, all things considered. Doctor says his arm's mending rather well, after the accident I mean."
   "Right, well, I'm sure he'll be happy to get back out on the water soon." Haruto said, lighting his cig as he glanced around the area; more and more troops boarding trains and less civilians, and those civilians who were present were boarding last. "That reminds me, how's life on the Tochigi? I'm sure you're getting to spend your days in the tropics, living a life of leisure." He asked in a joking manner.
   "Yeah... It's quite wonderful. Up in the Kyne, the 'rain' is so nice. In fact, some say it's to die for." Jiro responded in turn. "Seriously though, it could be better, but it could be a lot worse. It's the kami's providence that we can get out of port without getting attacked." He pointed out as he checked his watch; they really needed to get going soon. "In any case, lets get you home, huh?"
   "Yes, lets." Haruto nodded as the two left the station before catching a trolley towards home.

As the trolley pulled into Kashiwa-Dōri, the pair stepped off and continued walking. Their stop wasn't far from home, just a block away. His mind went over what he might say as they approached the door. Truthfully, he didn't know who would be there when he got home; it was just about three in the afternoon, after all, so not everyone was likely to be home by now. He only wished he could've gotten home sooner. Still, he could only imagine the look on his mother's face when she saw him, especially with the fresh new scar near his eye.

Daitō:
The LetterIsahaya Ward, Shinkyō
UTC 0730
January 04, 1915

Cold air swept the streets of Shinkyō early in the morning of the fourth of January. Haruto found himself reading the morning paper, getting caught up with the war before he was supposed to ship out, or at least, so he thought. He glanced down at his lap, where a letter rested, already opened, but he wanted to keep his mind off of it for the time being. It was a lot to take in, after all. So instead, here he sat, reading the latest on the war. Apparently, not even a week ago, Mount Ushiro had finally been taken, and yet once again, the Empire's finest were stuck in a stalemate just a few kilometers from the Yamanori valley. At this pace, it'd take at least another two years before they'd be in Saito, if they were lucky. Thankfully, they had the kami on their side, unlike Gripus, but he wasn't so sure if that would be enough.

It felt like every day, they heard about how a ship had been lost or some far-flung town on the peninsula had been seized, and yet, there was still a certain optimism among the people that victory would be achieved. Perhaps it was the defiant Yamato-damashii—the Ōnishi Spirit—which drove them forwards, as had been drilled into his mind since he was a mere child, or perhaps it was merely a desire to exact vengeance for the disaster of 1859. Whatever the case may be, it was hard to see how it could get worse now. Now, all that was left was to see the sun rise through the clouds once more. He just hoped, no, he prayed that he would live to see it for himself.

The sound of footsteps drew closer, not on the street but from behind him, within the house. Who could it be, Haruto pondered for but a moment, as he continued to study the paper, looking for news on the Peninsular theatre, hopeful that, at least somewhere, the tides of war were favorable. Alas, that was not the case. Like in the Tanazawa mountains, a stalemate had fallen across the frontlines, with neither side able to achieve any major gains but rather trapped in a quagmire of trenches and wire. In a word, based on how it was described, it was hell. He couldn't help but feel glad that he wasn't there and that he had been sent this letter, for if he were, he was certain he would perish. His thoughts on this were soon interrupted though, for as he turned the page, the door slid open and out stepped a man in his early fifties, his arm in a sling following an accident a few months back.
   "O-tōsan.[1]" Haruto said with a nod as he glanced to look. "You heading to your appointment?"
   "Yep. Doc said this'll be my final appointment and then I can get out of this sling and back to work." Daisuke—His father—replied with a smile as he glanced down at his son and at the paper. "Y'know, I never got to ask, what's it like out there. On the frontlines, I mean."
   "Why?" Haruto asked, confused by the question, or rather, by why he was asking.
   "Well, you see, some of my friends are saying that the papers aren't telling the whole truth, so I thought I'd get it from someone who had be-"
   "With all due respect, father, I'm not particularly comfortable talking about it." Haruto said, cutting his father off as he looked down at the ground.
   "That's alright." Daisuke said, his brow pulled together. "At any rate, you give any thoughts about what you want to do when this is all over?"
   "Honestly, I haven't given it much thought. I know Jiro will be taking over the business once you retire, but as for me? I really don't know." Haruto lied, not specifically to his father but rather to himself. "I mean, I got a letter... It said I've been accepted into the academy, but... I don't know if I could make it through, if I'm actually cut out for it."
   "W-why didn't you say that sooner?" His father, exasperated by the revelation, asked.
   "I don't know if I'm going to accept it." Haruto noted as he picked it up from his lap. "It's at least another ten years in the service if I do."
   "Perhaps, but even so, the pay must be really good at that point. You'd be able to choose any life you'd like after that, especially if—no, when—you get promoted."
With a sigh, Haruto admitted "...that's a good point." as he looked back at his father. He could finally match Jiro, a lieutenant in the navy, even if it meant he would be responsible for a great many people. "Okay. Against my better judgement, I'll do it."
   "That's my boy." Daisuke said, patting his son's back before walking off. Before he left, he would wave and shout for Haruto to pick up something for dinner, given what a momentous occasion this was to be.
 1. "O-tōsan" is an honorific term for one's father.

Daitō:
FarewellIsahaya Ward, Shinkyō
UTC 1800
April 13, 1916

Haruto stepped towards the station, the silver star on twin bars of red that adorned his collar glistening in the evening sun. Having made it through the academy, he was being assigned once more to the western front, where a breakthrough had been made nearly a year back. Finally, after nearly two years, the army was in the great Yamanori Valley, a great plain nestled between the Tanzawa and Ryōhaku mountains, whereupon the city of Saito lay nestled along the coast. Fifty-seven years it had been since it was taken, and he would get to take part in its liberation, or die trying. Either way, he felt duty-bound to serve the Empire in this most noble pursuit.

He turned back as he approached the steps to the door, a shaky smile upon his face as he looked back on his family, which had gathered to see him off. Well, everyone who could, anyways. His brother was out at sea again, no doubt giving the Ardians hell after the Battle of Miyakejima last February, which saw a great many ships lost on both sides but Daitō and her allies attaining a strategic victory. He walked over to them one last time, wishing to say his final goodbyes before he was off to the front. Oh how he hated goodbyes; he was never good at them, but now, he wasn't even sure if he would return.
   "O-tōsan..." He said, turning to his father. "Thank you for everything. I wouldn't be able to have this opportunity were it not for you."
   "Take care, son." His father said, his voice soft and fragile. "Make sure you write us once in a while, I'd love to know how the Army's treating you."
   "I will see what I can do." Haruto said before turning to his mother. "O-kāsan, I promise, I will come home." He said, offering a hug for a moment as he thought of what else there was to say.
   "I'll be praying for your safe return, Haruto." Etsuko—His mother—said in a calm manner, though her eyes betrayed a sense of worry for her son, soon to go off to war once again. She wouldn't say anything else, for what else could be said?
   "Ayuka... Stay strong, for me." He finally said to his sister before turning away, making his way back towards the station, waving as he walked.

He passed through the door, looking up at the sign which read "Isahaya-eki", Isahaya station, a sight which was so very familiar to him now. He boarded his train, and soon he was off to the front, to Saito. Either glory or death awaited, and he was ready for either. As the city began to fade away, he looked down at a card he had been given before he left, the sender unknown, likely a friend of the family, which read something along the lines of
   "Though we may not see each other again alive, know that you are forever in our prayers so that peace may one day be yours."
He chuckled as he placed the card aside, content to watch the countryside go by. Many stops would be made as more and more soldiers boarded the train, but in time, fields and rivers, cities and roads, gave way to mountains and valleys, and soon, they would arrive.

Daitō:
Under Ashen Skies9km outside of Saito
UTC 1100
April 20, 1916

The sky was gray with smoke, mixed with the clouds as artillery thundered throughout the land. Where vibrant green grass once grew, the ground was left scarred and brown, and one could've struggled to imagine that anything had ever lived here. The smell was horrible, a mix of rotting flesh, smoke, and sulfur among other things which, no matter where you went, you could never quite escape for long. Haruto had never seen anything like this outside of the photographs shown during his time in the academy, and certainly never in such vivid detail as this. Nonetheless, he and a party of other men continued their way through the snaking trenches, eventually reaching one of many dugouts on the line. There, they were greeted by the commanding officer of their company, one Captain Sakichi Umezaki.
   "So, you're the replacements, huh?" Sakichi said, his voice gravelly; he was, by comparison to Haruto and a few of the other men in the unit, rather short, his hair black and cut short, and his skin was tanned and rough. In spite of what he had said, it was clear, given the expression he wore, that he was far more welcoming than may have been expected. "What's your name, son?" He asked Haruto first.
   "Haruto Kimura-shōi, sir!" Haruto shouted, his eyes forwards as he almost instinctively snapped to attention.
   "At ease, Kimura-shōi. And you?" He said, asking the corporal next to Haruto.
   "Atsuya Sugeno-gochō, sir." The Corporal—Atsuya—replied. Sakichi would continue to ask the same question as he went through the group, five in total, after which he would move on from simple introductions.
   "Okay, now that that's done, lets set some ground rules." The captain said as he grabbed a sheet of paper off his "desk", which was little more than a makeshift wooden table in the corner of his dugout. "Lets see... First of all, and this should go without saying, keep your heads down at all times. Second, keep your feet dry. I've seen enough people have the mud eat their feet clean off to know that much. And of course, follow your orders when given them. You do all of that and you may just make it. Understood?"
   "Yes sir!" The group said at once.
   "Good. One last thing, in about a week, we'll be transferring back to the secondary trench, then back to the reserve trench a week after that. Then we're back here. Best of luck, and... try not to get yourselves killed."UTC 0500-1900
April 22-September 21, 1916

Haruto had awoken early, or at least, early by the standards back home. Here, waking up at three in the morning was normal for someone on his shift, allowed him to be ready should he be needed. Now, however, as the sun began to rise, he and his men had been ordered to "stand-to", to guard the frontline from any potential attack by the Ardians. Of course, given the nature of the war, it was decided a while back, before he had been transferred here, that the soldiers would exchange fire, no doubt to remind Gripus that they were, in fact, still there. This lasted thirty minutes, after which, given that there was thankfully no assault, they had inspection and then breakfast, alongside their daily ration of liquor, typically rum, but sometimes other spirits snuck in. Then it was onto various chores; thankfully, Haruto found himself filling sandbags instead of having to repair the trench or worse.

Shells as always rained down around them, even as the previous watch retired for the day so that they could take over in the evening. It was like an orchestra of death, the mortars whistled like flutes and struck like drums. It was a shame Haruto thought, that there was no stringed instrument to go along with it, at least, he thought that until he was reminded of the razor wire, at which point he would realize it was probably for the best. Of course, the shouts for people to take cover were the vocal performance in this maddening symphony. Lunch would provide a brief respite from it; even if the food itself was, in a word, awful, it took his mind off of what was going on around them, at least until a shell inevitably struck nearby sending everyone looking for cover.

Unfortunately, nothing good ever seemed to last, and inevitably, the characteristic shouts of "Medic to the front!" and "Help!" meant that someone had been wounded or worse in a process known to the men as "wastage". A great many people died each month; in June alone, Haruto counted at least sixty men either wounded or killed in his battalion alone, and he was certain similarly high casualties were common elsewhere along the line as well. It was a shame to see so many go, as most were still practically kids, barely old enough to serve. They had spirit, but spirit alone didn't win wars. If it did, they'd already be halfway to the Ardian capital by now. Far too many times, he had found a newcomer blown to bits, to the point that he'd have to put them in sandbags simply to bury them. It was only right that they were frequently rotated off the line; if they weren't, then by the kami, Haruto swore he would've gone stark mad.

As days turned to weeks and weeks to months, Haruto began to settle into the monotony of life on the trenches, never moving forwards, save for the occasional raid which he was never included on and the occasional defense against an Ardian assault, but rather holding their position until the order to attack was given. He would find himself, whenever he got the chance, sketching the things he saw, a world turned on its head under the ashen skies above, but also the natural beauty of the countryside whenever he had leave. Though he wouldn't consider himself an artist by any means, his men rather liked it, and if it meant a boost to morale, then that was just fine. However, on one morning in September, everything was to change. The future had come, and he would be taking part in the charge.

Daitō:
Over the TopWarning: This post contains: violence. If this bothers you, turn away now.9km outside of Saito
UTC 0500
September 21, 1916

The shelling had steadily increased since the seventeenth; once a "mild annoyance", though any newcomer would see it otherwise, now not a moment went by that some explosion was heard nearby as a previously quiet section of the front came to life. It never seemed to stop, just going on and on into the wee hours of the night and beyond, from sunrise to sunset, from midday to midnight. Haruto often noted that he felt as though he could feel his heart pounding against the ground whenever a shell fell short of its target, the Ardian-built and held Fort St. Michael, which was soon to be attacked. Every so often, he would find a fragment of jagged iron or some other metal, nearly red-hot and weighing nearly half a kilo, landed in the trench. He would also frequently see shrapnel shells burst in the air, spraying bullets on the poor troops below as though they were a shotgun. These sights and sounds only increased on the night of the twenty-first.

Haruto could see, off in the distance, hundreds and hundreds of flashes from the guns, shining through the early morning fog. The ground shook like it were a most dreadful earthquake, the air roared like a tempest. It was when everyone had been asked to hand over their personal belongings to Captain Umezaki that he knew, quite simply, that today was the day that they finally went over the top. He stood at the firing line, near one of probably thousands of ladders and tens of thousands of men, waiting for the signal. Today would see Daitō's new army make history, a test of tactics which would, with any luck, break this stalemate at long last. He occasionally heard someone ask how many would live to see the next sunrise, a question he could not answer, nor did he wish to think of it, for to consider their losses would've made him sick.

He couldn't say he felt fear; he knew what was coming, had accepted that he might not make it. After all, it was never hard to die. Rather, it was just another job for him, so if his death came, then it came. Sooner or later, he was going to get killed or wounded, so why give it thought now? It could wait until then. Perhaps the least pleasant part of the wait was simply that he had nothing to do, nothing but to think about what had led him to this point and how he was going to achieve the task at hand. The shells rose to a crescendo, setting both the sky and his mind on fire as they passed overhead. All of a sudden, somewhere down the line, someone broke, started crying, screaming, really. The officer in charge of that segment shouted something along the lines of "Find that man and shoot him! Shoot him!" No doubt, he thought that his wailing would be a danger to the rest of his men, though Haruto couldn't help but feel somewhat sympathetic. Not everyone could handle the rigors of the war.

He turned to look to the man at his side, to Atsuya Sugeno, the corporal who had joined him when they arrived back in April. He was glad to see that he was still alive, and he hoped and prayed that he would survive. He cleared his throat as he rested his right hand on his pistol, an Akizuki Type 33, and his left on his sword, a badge of office and a handy weapon in close quarters.
   "Hey, Atsuya." He said, leaning slightly against the wall of the trench, frequently blinking not out of any anxiety but due to the dust that had been kicked up.
   "Hm?" Atsuya looked up at him as he was cleaning his rifle. "What do you need, sir?"
   "Oh, nothin'. Just checking on you." He said as he patted his back. "Stick with me, we'll stand a better chance of making it through this together."
   "Sounds good. Now, if you don't mind." Atsuya replied as he went back to cleaning.
   "Oh, right. Sorry." Haruto said before turning back to the ladder.UTC 0700

Everyone found themselves stand at attention on the line, waiting for their orders to be given. Today would be a test of new tactics, rather than striking across the line in a great human wave, they would target weak points in the line, bypassing strongpoints, saving both blood and time, while cutting them off from their headquarters and supply depots, while a force would charge them for a few hours so as to serve as a diversion. This would be achieved alongside new weapons, from air-dropped bombs and great metal beasts (tanks) to flamethrowers and a few machine pistols, which would give them a further edge against their foe. Soon, a call came down the line: it was time.
   "Fix bayonets!" Captain Umezaki shouted off in the distance.
   "This is it..." Haruto said as he readied his weapon. "Finally, we're advancing."
   "Company! One pace forwards!" The officer said, and they stepped forwards. "Stand ready!"
   "Here's hoping we make it home." Grumbled one soldier. Another was reciting a prayer, but most remained silent. Nothing they did would change what was to come.
   "On my signal, company will advance!"
   "Okay, lets get this over with." Haruto said as he grabbed his whistle. A few seconds later, along the line, such whistles sounded, and he would say "Best of luck, everyone." before blowing his as well. With a great roar, everyone charged up the ladders and into no-man's land, where many were cut down. When they said it was a weak point they were charging, that never meant it would be easy to actually make the breach.No Man's Land
UTC 0710

It was like hell had opened up, releasing horrors beyond comprehension as Haruto and his men rushed forth. Machinegun bullets came at them like hailstones, shells fell like raindrops. As Haruto looked around, he saw men dropping all around like flies, just fading away on all sides. He thus made the decision, like he and his men had been trained, to advance from cover to cover, either in a shell-crater or behind a boulder. At one point, he saw a man fall beside him, the top of his head blown clean off, matter exposed in the crisp morning air. On another occasion, he saw a lad who had been hit in the leg, who continued with great effort, hopping along on the one leg. It was horrible, yet he wasn't too bothered at this point; whether it was simply his fight or flight response kicking in or just because he was desensitized to the violence, he couldn't say, not that it mattered now. What mattered now was to survive, and if that could be achieved, to achieve their Day One objective.

It would not be too long before they reached the enemy line, at which point, Haruto and a few others readied their grenades. On his signal, they tossed them, and a few moments later, a loud *BANG* could be heard, followed by the agonized screams of the foe. Then, with a great yell, they charged into the trench, stumbling over the dead. The few who survived put up a brief fight, but beyond that, the trench was poorly defended. Their intel was correct, and they could commence with the next phase of the operation. The next few hours would see Daitō's finest surge forth, capturing command posts and supply depots while encircling the Ardians in their positions, to be mopped up by the regulars. A nearly perfect operation, and now, the path forwards lay open, to encircle Saito and slowly but surely take it. It seemed like the war could actually be on the verge of ending, and with a decisive victory too, but that was not to be. And yet, Haruto survived, as did Atsuya and Captain Umezaki, too. If they could survive that, then perhaps, they could survive anything.

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