I do not know what grudge they hold, but on a day with a wind like this, the horse-bandits are bound to emerge. To them, foul weather is the signal for a feast.
Just as raptors swoop down from the mountains to snatch their prey from the earth, the bandits who dwell in the peaks descend upon the villages, plundering the lambs of the farmers to serve as appetizers for their drunken revelry.
This is a lean stretch of land, bordering the desert, and to make matters worse, it is plagued by raiders. I am convinced this land is cursed, punished for some irreparable sin committed eons ago by the primitives who once lived here—or perhaps by the beasts that roamed these plains in an even more ancient time. On days like today, Hiejima, while out on patrol, cannot help but feel this way.
Grit-laden frost, whipped by the gale, batters his skin through the layers of his heavy winter gear. Fine dust permeates every gap in his clothing.
Upon returning to the garrison, Hiejima parks his prized Type 97 sidecar motorcycle in the garage and applies Kure 5-56 to the gears and chain. He then conducts a foot patrol, checking the perimeter of the barbed wire for any breaches.
Afterward, in the changing room, he strips off his sand-caked coveralls and washes away the dust from his skin—which had become as dry as powdered chalk—under a warm shower.
In this region adjacent to the desert, water is a precious commodity. Drinking water is pumped up by hand from an aquifer drilled deep into the earth. Rainwater is collected in underground tanks, allowed to settle so the sand can precipitate, and then filtered for showers and laundry. During the dry season, even this reserve can run low. The luxury of soaking in a bathtub is a privilege reserved for general officers—though it is rare for a Field Marshal or a General to ever set foot in such a remote backwater.
As he steps from the bath into the dressing area, the wind has died down, and stars have begun to twinkle in the twilight. He wondered if he had spent five years gazing at this wilderness. There may be nothing more beautiful than the night sky over a windless, clear wasteland. Yet, there is also no worse combination than sand and storm. He longed to escape this wretched place as soon as possible.
“Coming in,” a voice called. A soldier opened the door and snapped a salute to Hiejima.
“I have been ordered to return to the main body next week. It was a short stay, but I am grateful for everything you’ve done for me. Please, accept this small token of my appreciation.”
He handed over a paulownia wood box containing a white porcelain bottle filled with baijiu—a potent white liquor.
Fifty percent alcohol.
“Ho. This looks like an expensive bottle. Thank you. Now, let me see… you are…”
“Fukakusa, sir.”
“Right, right. Fukakusa. Forgive me, I completely blanked on your name. Sorry about that. You lot cycle through here so quickly that you’re gone before I can even memorize who’s who. I’m afraid I haven’t been much of a mentor to you.”
“On the contrary, sir, I wish I could have been drilled by you for a while longer.”
The tone was unusual for a superior and subordinate; they sounded more like old friends. Hiejima gave Fukakusa a light pat on the shoulder with a wry smile. The youth had a face riddled with acne, and while he was lanky and tall, he lacked any real muscle.
“Is this a liquor from your hometown?”
“Yes, sir. A specialty of Wuchuan Province.”
“Mind if I open it now?”
“Please, sir. Be my guest.”
“In that case, stay and have a drink with me.”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Don’t be like that. I have some oysters caught at the mouth of the Lulü River. I’d like to hear more about your home.
Or can you not drink?”
“No, sir. I can drink as much as anyone.”
“Is that so? Then pull up a chair.”
Hiejima gestured toward the seat.
“Thank you, sir. I gratefully accept your kindness.”
“This liquor has a fine aroma,” Hiejima remarked.
“It does, doesn’t it?”
“Whereabouts in Wuchuan are you from?”
“Qiyang, sir. Born and raised in Qiyang.”
“And what’s good in Qiyang?”
“Well… the mapo tofu, the gan-shao xia—shrimp in chili sauce—and the shao-mai.”
“Meat dumplings?”
“Chicken breast, so they’re healthy. There’s a shop known only to locals that always has a queue. If you ever have the chance to visit Qiyang Castle, you must stop by. There’s a banner hanging in the small alley at the end of the bridge over the Qishui River; you can’t miss it.”
As he spoke, Fukakusa pulled a notebook from his breast pocket, scribbled a map and an address, tore out the page, and handed it to Hiejima.
“Wuchuan, eh? That’s quite a distance. I’ll try to visit if I don’t forget.”
Hiejima stuffed the slip of paper into the pocket of his nightclothes. He knew it would likely emerge as a tattered scrap the next time he did the laundry.
“Sir, when you were my age, you were an officer candidate, weren’t you?”
“Yeah. I suppose I was.”
“Why did you decide to become an officer?”
Hiejima traced back through distant memories, things he had nearly forgotten in the fog of his daily routine.
“I loved mechanics. Especially motorcycles. I dreamed of becoming a technician, a man whose hands were always stained with machine oil. I didn’t want a job where a necktie would strangle me. But my family wasn’t wealthy enough to afford a proper engineering education.”
“I see. So you thought that by becoming a technical officer, you’d gain the status to ride motorcycles freely.”
“Exactly. And as it happened, there was an opening for a technical officer. I took the candidate’s exam and passed by a stroke of luck. I simply drifted into the role of a candidate.”
“There is one thing I’ve always wanted to ask. Please forgive my insolence, sir… but why is a man of your caliber stationed in a frontier like this, acting as a trainer for raw recruits?”
“Don’t overestimate me. What on earth do you think I am? I’m just an engineer.”
“You don’t look down on people. You don’t boast. You teach with patience and kindness. You are a good superior. I want to be an officer like you, sir. You are my ideal.”
“A superior who doesn’t boast is like mustard without the sting, or salt without the saltiness. In a crisis, he has no authority. He’s useless.”
“Perhaps,” Fukakusa replied, “but if I may… you aren’t just a plain chili pepper. You’re like a masterfully blended shichimi—full of depth and flavor. Not just salty salt, but a fine, aged soy sauce. That is how I see you, Private First Class Hiejima.”
“Good grief. Stop flattering me.”
“I’ve graduated from the academy and gained practical experience. Once I return to headquarters, I’ll be a non-commissioned officer. I’ll likely be a Corporal. Why is it that you have remained a Private First Class?”
“A Corporal is called such because he leads five men. Even if it is only five, the lives and deaths of those subordinates are the Corporal’s responsibility. Those five men each have parents, perhaps lovers. If they survive, imagine how many other lives they might touch. To hold the power of life and death over five living souls… can you truly endure the weight of that responsibility?”
The young man, Fukakusa, fell silent, a look of solemnity crossing his face.
“You can see it yourself—those recruits. They mistake this garrison for a school trip. They won’t understand what real combat is until it happens. And it could happen tomorrow. It could happen right now. When that time comes, as an officer, you will be the one to send those men to the front and let them die. You will force them to kill.”
Hiejima stopped there. He felt an uncertainty ripple through him, wondering if he himself had ever truly been prepared for such a thing. He fell silent.
“Well, regardless, I am a Private First Class. Strictly speaking, I have no subordinates. I’m just an acting officer, a trainer. It’s a comfortable position. I was a Corporal once. Then, when I was promoted to Sergeant, my superior, Endo, told me: ‘Hiejima, I’m the one who made you a Sergeant. I’ll make you a Sergeant Major soon, so you’d better do everything I say.’ If you were me, how would you answer?”
“Well… generally speaking, even if it is an order from a superior, one is not required to obey orders that violate military law or international law. This Mr. Endo sounds… rather strange.”
“The army is a difficult place for those who notice when things are strange. And that’s exactly what happened. I told him, ‘I cannot obey everything, even if it comes from a superior.’ He told me I was unfit to be an officer, demoted me to Private First Class, and exiled me to this godforsaken outpost.”
Fukakusa looked bitter. “I didn’t want to hear that. To think our army is still such a primitive, irrational organization.”
Hiejima gave a wry smile. “I don’t want to sound arrogant, but choose your superiors wisely. When you serve under someone, mind your tongue. It’s better to be too cautious than not cautious enough. At least, if you plan on staying in the army for a long time.”
Hiejima had been entrusted with the entirety of the defense of Songxiacun Village, in Yunxi County, Lingbei Province.
“Entrusted” was perhaps the wrong word. Since he wasn’t an officer, he held no legal command. Yet, in practice, the site’s operations fell entirely on his shoulders. It was a completely absurd organization.
The Songxiacun garrison existed to protect the residents of Yunxi from the nomads and raiders of the surrounding area. However, it lacked the manpower and armament to engage in combat even if a foreign army invaded. In fact, since there wasn’t even a commissioned officer stationed there, it was little more than a glorified neighborhood watch.
Therefore, in the event of an emergency, his orders were simple: do not fight; retreat. In other words, run away as quickly as possible without resistance.
The soldiers took turns standing watch on a lookout tower that was barely more than a village bell tower. Situated at the crossroads of two highways, the garrison also served as a sort of military gas station and auto repair shop. In reality, the duties amounted to nothing more than training raw recruits.
Songxiacun sat on the border of Yunxi. The road leading north disappeared into the sands from here on. To the east lay Yundong; crossing a high mountain pass and the Lulü River, which flowed into the North Sea, led to the capital of the Penglai Empire, Yingtian Prefecture, and the military city of Xiangwu. To the west lay the townscapes of Yunxi, beyond which stretched endless mountain ranges. The mountain path to the south crossed the Jiaolong Gorge, passed through Lingnan Province, and reached the fertile plains of the neighboring Kongwu Empire—the heartland of East Asia.
Hiejima received reports from the sentries via intercom. Whether day or night, his duty was to wake and respond whenever a report came in. However, since Songxiacun was a place where exiled men trained recruits, it remained remarkably peaceful.
In the Penglai Empire, men were called up at eighteen. Those who passed the conscription exam first underwent ten months of basic training at various bases across the country, followed by two months of practical experience at a front-line garrison to complete their one-year service. Those sent to Hiejima were mostly these inexperienced, young soldiers. Those who came from the academy for practical training, like Fukakusa, were officer candidates—the seeds of professional soldiers. They did not discharge or enter the reserves; they moved straight into becoming NCOs (non-commissioned officers) and then commissioned officers.
“I was exiled here at twenty-seven; I’m thirty-two now. There’s no prospect of promotion if I stay in the military. I’m thinking it’s about time I discharged, moved to the city, and opened a garage. The only thing I’ve truly mastered in the army is fixing bikes and cars. But the army won’t let me go easily. Technical officers cannot simply discharge or enter the reserves at will. The cost of providing specialized training to turn a recruit into a full-fledged technician is considerable. They believe you cannot leave until you’ve paid that debt back through service.”
“What about requesting a transfer? To a department without a superior like Mr. Endo?”
“Don’t be naive. Superiors are the same in every department. Besides, I’m not looking for a promotion.” Hiejima felt the habit of complaining surface as the alcohol took hold. “Oiling the engines is enough for me. I want as little to do with people as possible. Truth be told, I don’t even want to deal with the recruits. I’m only telling you this because you’re leaving.”
“Do you have a wife, sir?”
“When I became a Sergeant at twenty-five, I had plenty of proposals. A colleague’s sister, a superior’s daughter, family acquaintances… but now, nothing. There are no encounters in a backwater like this. I’m still single.”
“I see. I have a fiancée. I’m returning to Qiyang next week to hold the wedding ceremony.”
“Is that so? Well, congratulations.”