Letters Home: Correspondence 6/17
“So who’s the girl, Sena?” Juumonji demanded during breakfast that morning. The company was sitting together in the mess tent waiting for orders. Everyone was enjoying their gruel, well as much as one could enjoy gruel. To pass the time, Juumonji had taken to teasing the other members of the team (except Hiruma). Sena, the poor kid, was often the number victim of any teasing in any situation.
“N-none of your business!” Sena sputtered back and pulled his letters away in an attempt to be brave.
“Is she pretty?” Munakata asked, sounding innocently curious.
“Not telling!” Sena huffed, blushing madly.
“Here’s a fucking picture.” Hiruma pulled an abused photograph out of his pocket and handed it to the other people at the table. There were only four people in the picture of the Anezaki’s café. Hiruma was sitting in his usual spot brooding about something or another, Sena and Suzuna were sitting at a table, each with a cup of coffee and a smile, and Mamori was behind the counter lecturing at Hiruma as to why he should smile more often. It was pretty obvious who ‘Suzuna’ was.
“Wait a minute!” Monta protested. “Is that the Sergeant!?” He was pointing at the back of Hiruma’s head (as that was what was displayed in the photograph).
“Yes.” Hiruma answered and sipped the black piss they called coffee.
“…Oh that’s right you and Private Kobayakawa are from the same town, aren’t you?” Yukimitsu recalled, having had a conversation with Sena about it.
“So, Sergeant,” Doburoku began, “who is this lady in the picture?”
Hiruma ignored the question. Doburoku frowned.
“That wasn’t an optional question, Sergeant.” Doburoku told Hiruma flatly.
“That’s rank abuse.” Hiruma pointed out blandly.
“And do you think anyone around here will actually listen to you if you try to report it?” Doburoku snorted. “I’m not abusing rank anyways, I’m just subjugating problems. Now answer the damn question, Sergeant.”
Hiruma paused and looked up from his coffee to look at the other faces at the table. Everyone was anxious and Sena looked thoroughly harassed. Keeping them curious wasn’t going to help their nerves, Doburoku knew this well enough.
“Mamori Anezaki, her parents own the fucking café.” Hiruma answered simply.
“Does she actually try and teach you manners?” Takekura asked, trying to suppress laughter.
“I dunno why she tries to fucking do that.” Hiruma muttered, shaking his head.
“Wait, wasn’t she the girl that wrote you earlier?” Kuroki asked, having recalled the mailing dispatch earlier.
Hiruma glared at Doburoku’s shit eating smile.
“Suzuna isn’t sharing her letters with Anezaki, so she writes me to inquire about little Sena’s welfare.” Hiruma answered, sounding bored. It was actually the truth, but not the full truth.
“She doesn’t!?” Sena gasped.
“Looks like you’re girlfriend’s a selfish little gossip.” Hiruma observed blandly and made everyone go back to harassing Sena.
But judging from the looks Kurita and Takekura were giving him, Hiruma was far from off the hook on this matter. He finished his food quickly and remarked that he was leaving to go to his tent and catch a ‘fucking nap’. Not that anyone would blame their Sergeant for seeking a bed, he looked like hell warmed over.
Though Hiruma did go into his tent and enjoy the ‘comforts’ of his own personal cot, he was not sleeping. Especially after that shit they claimed was coffee. Instead he stared at the tent ceiling and pulled out the bootlace and good luck charm. It was such both were simple things, without much value, but all the sentimental strength in the world.
Thinking about her last letter, Hiruma shut his eyes, imagining Mamori’s worried, crying face. He shuddered unhappily at that notion. No, he didn’t want to see her upset.
With a groan, Hiruma sat up and started to write his letter. The sort of naïveté of her words distressed him, so he decided to set her completely straight. Of course finding the right words and the right amount of reality wasn’t easy for him. It took three drafts to produce a letter to his liking.
Fucking Idiotic Woman-
Since you’ve asked so fucking nicely, I’m going to give you a fucking reality check.
I’m spending ever god damn day in a fucking trench wondering if I’m going die that fucking day. I’m spending every god damn day killing other people so that I don’t fucking die. And I spend every god damn day doing my drunken superior’s job because this fucking war’s broken him so bad that the only damn thing he can do anymore is drink!
You’re trying to keep the town’s spirits up? I’m trying to salvage what’s left of our fucking moral! There’s nothing here but fucking death, fucking disease, and total hell.
You, little miss fucking sheltered, need to send me my fucking coffee now.
-Sergeant Y. Hiruma
Hiruma frowned as he glanced to his left hand. It had been clutching her bracelet the entire time and even now it would not let go. Shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath Hiruma sealed up the envelope and sent some sort of menial private out to put it in the post. He laid back down on the cot and unknowingly cried.
Why unknowingly? Because the rest of him felt heavy and hurt with a new kind of pain he couldn’t quite explain. Because on the back of his eye lids he saw himself in that little café getting lectures and coffee. Because his ears were hearing those lectures, that beautiful voice of hers.
Opening his eyes to look at the tent ceiling, Hiruma felt small and hopeless. Was there even a point to all this fighting? Was there even a point to living in his hell hole?
Fucking war.
It was pouring rain in the week that followed. They were trudging through the resulting muck. The ground here seemed to soak up water all too quickly, causing several inches, to entire feet of mud to hinder their march. On top of that the ground was littered with empty shells, corpses, and other war debris. Everyone was cold and wet, not having been completely dry since the start of the march. It would be a real miracle if they didn’t get sick.
Eventually they reached their next checkpoint, a small outpost. They were greeted with fire, something none of the company had been allowed to indulge in the entire march. Even Hiruma shamelessly huddled around the warm light, beneath the large tent.
“I have a letter for Sergeant Hiruma.” One of the men from the outpost announced as he came into the tent full of newcomers. Hiruma simply looked up and took the letter from him and began to read it by firelight. His men were too exhausted to harass him about it, in fact half of them were already asleep.
“Private Toganou, keep your comrades from falling into the fire pit.” Hiruma reminded the bespeckled private. The man nodded and leaned both Kuroki and Juumonji away from the flame.
Hiruma turned his eyes back to the letter and returned to reading it.
Youichi-
I’m sorry, I had no idea it was that bad. They only glorify it on the radio.
I had to sneak this behind Father’s back. It was supposed to be his coffee this morning.
Lots of love,
Mamori A.
With wide eyes Hiruma opened the envelope a little more to see the typical pouch of ground beans. He turned to the nearest local solider and demanded he put the kettle on and get him a fucking mug.
By now, of course, only Takekura and Kurita were really awake. They watched as Hiruma waited with childish impatience for that water to boil. And when it finally did he carefully set up his filter and grounds and began to make himself some coffee.
The two soldiers watched as their old friend and comrade sipped that coffee. They watched a small, truly happy smile cross over his features and a small blush adorn his cheeks. When you lived in hell-on-earth, it was the simplest things that reminded you there was still some hope left.
And Mamori had done just that, she had relit the hope in those emerald green eyes….
_=_=_=_=_
Yay for Mamori!
“N-none of your business!” Sena sputtered back and pulled his letters away in an attempt to be brave.
“Is she pretty?” Munakata asked, sounding innocently curious.
“Not telling!” Sena huffed, blushing madly.
“Here’s a fucking picture.” Hiruma pulled an abused photograph out of his pocket and handed it to the other people at the table. There were only four people in the picture of the Anezaki’s café. Hiruma was sitting in his usual spot brooding about something or another, Sena and Suzuna were sitting at a table, each with a cup of coffee and a smile, and Mamori was behind the counter lecturing at Hiruma as to why he should smile more often. It was pretty obvious who ‘Suzuna’ was.
“Wait a minute!” Monta protested. “Is that the Sergeant!?” He was pointing at the back of Hiruma’s head (as that was what was displayed in the photograph).
“Yes.” Hiruma answered and sipped the black piss they called coffee.
“…Oh that’s right you and Private Kobayakawa are from the same town, aren’t you?” Yukimitsu recalled, having had a conversation with Sena about it.
“So, Sergeant,” Doburoku began, “who is this lady in the picture?”
Hiruma ignored the question. Doburoku frowned.
“That wasn’t an optional question, Sergeant.” Doburoku told Hiruma flatly.
“That’s rank abuse.” Hiruma pointed out blandly.
“And do you think anyone around here will actually listen to you if you try to report it?” Doburoku snorted. “I’m not abusing rank anyways, I’m just subjugating problems. Now answer the damn question, Sergeant.”
Hiruma paused and looked up from his coffee to look at the other faces at the table. Everyone was anxious and Sena looked thoroughly harassed. Keeping them curious wasn’t going to help their nerves, Doburoku knew this well enough.
“Mamori Anezaki, her parents own the fucking café.” Hiruma answered simply.
“Does she actually try and teach you manners?” Takekura asked, trying to suppress laughter.
“I dunno why she tries to fucking do that.” Hiruma muttered, shaking his head.
“Wait, wasn’t she the girl that wrote you earlier?” Kuroki asked, having recalled the mailing dispatch earlier.
Hiruma glared at Doburoku’s shit eating smile.
“Suzuna isn’t sharing her letters with Anezaki, so she writes me to inquire about little Sena’s welfare.” Hiruma answered, sounding bored. It was actually the truth, but not the full truth.
“She doesn’t!?” Sena gasped.
“Looks like you’re girlfriend’s a selfish little gossip.” Hiruma observed blandly and made everyone go back to harassing Sena.
But judging from the looks Kurita and Takekura were giving him, Hiruma was far from off the hook on this matter. He finished his food quickly and remarked that he was leaving to go to his tent and catch a ‘fucking nap’. Not that anyone would blame their Sergeant for seeking a bed, he looked like hell warmed over.
Though Hiruma did go into his tent and enjoy the ‘comforts’ of his own personal cot, he was not sleeping. Especially after that shit they claimed was coffee. Instead he stared at the tent ceiling and pulled out the bootlace and good luck charm. It was such both were simple things, without much value, but all the sentimental strength in the world.
Thinking about her last letter, Hiruma shut his eyes, imagining Mamori’s worried, crying face. He shuddered unhappily at that notion. No, he didn’t want to see her upset.
With a groan, Hiruma sat up and started to write his letter. The sort of naïveté of her words distressed him, so he decided to set her completely straight. Of course finding the right words and the right amount of reality wasn’t easy for him. It took three drafts to produce a letter to his liking.
Fucking Idiotic Woman-
Since you’ve asked so fucking nicely, I’m going to give you a fucking reality check.
I’m spending ever god damn day in a fucking trench wondering if I’m going die that fucking day. I’m spending every god damn day killing other people so that I don’t fucking die. And I spend every god damn day doing my drunken superior’s job because this fucking war’s broken him so bad that the only damn thing he can do anymore is drink!
You’re trying to keep the town’s spirits up? I’m trying to salvage what’s left of our fucking moral! There’s nothing here but fucking death, fucking disease, and total hell.
You, little miss fucking sheltered, need to send me my fucking coffee now.
-Sergeant Y. Hiruma
Hiruma frowned as he glanced to his left hand. It had been clutching her bracelet the entire time and even now it would not let go. Shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath Hiruma sealed up the envelope and sent some sort of menial private out to put it in the post. He laid back down on the cot and unknowingly cried.
Why unknowingly? Because the rest of him felt heavy and hurt with a new kind of pain he couldn’t quite explain. Because on the back of his eye lids he saw himself in that little café getting lectures and coffee. Because his ears were hearing those lectures, that beautiful voice of hers.
Opening his eyes to look at the tent ceiling, Hiruma felt small and hopeless. Was there even a point to all this fighting? Was there even a point to living in his hell hole?
Fucking war.
It was pouring rain in the week that followed. They were trudging through the resulting muck. The ground here seemed to soak up water all too quickly, causing several inches, to entire feet of mud to hinder their march. On top of that the ground was littered with empty shells, corpses, and other war debris. Everyone was cold and wet, not having been completely dry since the start of the march. It would be a real miracle if they didn’t get sick.
Eventually they reached their next checkpoint, a small outpost. They were greeted with fire, something none of the company had been allowed to indulge in the entire march. Even Hiruma shamelessly huddled around the warm light, beneath the large tent.
“I have a letter for Sergeant Hiruma.” One of the men from the outpost announced as he came into the tent full of newcomers. Hiruma simply looked up and took the letter from him and began to read it by firelight. His men were too exhausted to harass him about it, in fact half of them were already asleep.
“Private Toganou, keep your comrades from falling into the fire pit.” Hiruma reminded the bespeckled private. The man nodded and leaned both Kuroki and Juumonji away from the flame.
Hiruma turned his eyes back to the letter and returned to reading it.
Youichi-
I’m sorry, I had no idea it was that bad. They only glorify it on the radio.
I had to sneak this behind Father’s back. It was supposed to be his coffee this morning.
Lots of love,
Mamori A.
With wide eyes Hiruma opened the envelope a little more to see the typical pouch of ground beans. He turned to the nearest local solider and demanded he put the kettle on and get him a fucking mug.
By now, of course, only Takekura and Kurita were really awake. They watched as Hiruma waited with childish impatience for that water to boil. And when it finally did he carefully set up his filter and grounds and began to make himself some coffee.
The two soldiers watched as their old friend and comrade sipped that coffee. They watched a small, truly happy smile cross over his features and a small blush adorn his cheeks. When you lived in hell-on-earth, it was the simplest things that reminded you there was still some hope left.
And Mamori had done just that, she had relit the hope in those emerald green eyes….
_=_=_=_=_
Yay for Mamori!