Besieged
Vilnius
Vilnius was under siege for at least the third time in as many months. Olga’s rifle sat in the corner, ready to go. But today, Boris didn’t feel like fighting. He sat at his desk, poring over reports from the front lines. Things had taken a turn for the worse recently. The unconditional surrender coming out of Tingvalla several hours ago had dealt a massive blow to the morale of his troops. Although the Scandinavian navy vowed to fight on, their naval presence in the Gulf of Riga had collapsed, allowing Jerusalem to attack Riga through its harbor. Forming a hammer to the anvil of the main army coming in from occupied Russia, they encircled almost the entire Land Force in Riga. Before communications were severed, he heard at least a dozen divisions had surrendered, and twenty more had been completely annihilated. Riga was as good as lost now. Tallinn would probably fall soon as well. Vilnius was now the last major city still securely in Livonian hands. But that damned General Engelbert von Haynau was trying to change that.
Curses be on the name of the Butcher of Lithuania. That monster will stop at nothing to destroy my people. We’ve all heard the rumors of what he did in the west, after Konstantinov pushed him out the first time. Where the hell is Konstantinov, even?
Boris put his face in his hands and sighed in frustration. Today’s work was tedious and demoralizing. The navy was scrambling to reposition itself in preparation for Holy Marine reinforcements. After that unexpected surrender, Denmark immediately fell under Jerusalem’s control. Although Jerusalem couldn’t project power into Sweden and Norway yet, the Holy Marine regained access to the Baltic Sea. A fleet was likely on its way to the Gulf of Riga.
No, I can’t worry about that right now. Von Haynau is the bigger threat.
His eyes wandered over to a map of Vilnius. Once again, von Haynau’s forces had pushed deep into downtown from the south and west. This time, without the Russians to push them back, they had established footholds north of the Neris. He meant to encircle Boris and the palace in the Old Town. A bold strategy, taking advantage of the Land Force’s comparative weakness and the absence of the Russians. Konstantinov was aware of the crisis and was heading back east as fast as he could, but it would take time for him to get there.
I hope he gets here in time. I’m not sure if we can hold out that long.
Kowalski entered the office. “Sir, we managed to connect to Isfahan.”
After an hour? Better than nothing, I suppose. “Great, are they on the secure line?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks, Kowalski.”
“Of course, sir.” Kowalski saluted and left.
Boris picked up the phone. “Uh…hello?”
For the first time in many months, a voice crackled through the speaker. “Speak the frak up. Are you a kid or something?”
I recognize that voice. “Ah, Gunduz. You’re as outspoken as ever.”
“Cut the flattery.”
“Anyways, how are things in Persia? We haven’t heard much from the outside world since Russia fell and the satellites went down.”
“We’re doing fine, all things considered,” Gunduz said, “Could be worse.”
Boris looked out the window, watching explosions level some buildings in the outer neighborhoods. “Yeah, you could’ve been suffering like us here.”
“Jerusalem giving you trouble as well?”
“You could say that.”
“Frak, how bad is it over there?”
“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary, just
half my capital’s fallen into enemy hands and I’m staring total collapse right in the face,” Boris said, “So yeah, business as usual for us Livonians.”
“You need help or something?”
“Oh, no, I can handle myself over here
just fine, yeah, I can, NOT! We’re dying over here and need reinforcements ASAP! Though I don’t think you’re in any position to send troops to the other side of Europe, so frak me, I guess.” Boris shrugged, even though Gunduz would not see it.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Gunduz said.
“Thanks, it’s much appreciated,” Boris said, “So, how’s Persia?”
“We’re doing fine, as I said when you first asked that question,” Gunduz said.
“Come on, you can’t at least give me more details? The line is secured.”
“You know me, Boris, I don’t trust secure lines these days. I’m not even letting you-know-who talk to you right now.”
“You-know-who—oh.” Boris caught on. “I see. That
is important. I trust you know what to do with that information?”
“Who do you think I am? Of
course I know.”
Static creeped around the edges of the call, obscuring parts of Gunduz’s voice.
“We’re losing the connection,” Gunduz said, “I don’t think we’ll have much time left. So, uh…I’m sorry I can’t help you that much right now, but…good luck.”
“Thanks, Gunduz,” Boris said, “And, uh…can you tell you-know-who that I said hi?”
Gunduz laughed on the other end, her voice breaking through the intensifying static. “Sure thing. Take care, Bradziunas.”
“You too, Gunduz.”
The call finally cut off. Boris kept the phone at his ear, listening to the end of call tone. Once again, he was alone in the room.
I wonder when’s the next time I’ll be able to call.
Delhi - January 24
They had been here since the first nukes fell. At first, plenty of people kept Jayasimha company down here. But as casualties mounted and the battle raging above took turn after turn for the worst, their numbers dwindled. Ranjit and Banda were doing all they could, but they were outnumbered and outgunned. Repeated use of chemical weapons had devastated their troops, while Jerusalem had shipped in large amounts of reinforcements. They were fighting a losing battle. Every day, Delhi’s defenders suffered losses they couldn’t replace, while Jerusalem could afford to draw on an infinite supply of cannon fodder to make up for any casualties. It was paradoxical. In normal circumstances, the defenders should have the advantage in manpower, not the besiegers. So this was what it was like to fight the Reich. For a thousand years, the Reich made sure to be superior in all aspects on the battlefield: tactics, logistics, technology, and numbers. Jerusalem now brought all that to bear against poor India.
Jayasimha hated his bunker. He hated being stuck inside a box of concrete for months. He hated how the Crusaders had effectively trapped him in here for so long. He hated how this was the same bunker that the cursed Gandhi had spent his final days in. He hated how the bunker had been barely cleaned up from when he was last here, because that idiot Shah wanted to “preserve the memory.” He hated how he was forced to remember what happened to him in this bunker, especially while he was still confined to his wheelchair. And he hated how Lakshmi had to suffer with him.
“Grandpa,” Lakshmi said, “When can we go outside again?”
She’s asked that every day since we came down here. “I…I don’t know.”
And I always reply the same way.
“I miss outside. I miss the sky.”
She wouldn’t be saying that if she saw the sky today. “I miss it too.”
How do I cheer her up? She hasn’t smiled in months. But I’m at a loss too.
“Why, Grandpa?”
“Why what?”
“Why are they doing this?”
Uh…it’s complicated. How am I supposed to explain everything to a child? “I don’t know.”
Lakshmi looked at him. “Is it because of me?”
Jayasimha did a double take. “Why would you say that?”
“Because they say I’m a monster. I’m an abomination.”
Is she really saying that? Jayasimha shook his head. “And why would you say
that? You’re not a monster, Lakshmi. You’re my granddaughter.”
“I was remember what Chancellor Han said,” Lakshmi said, “He said we’re stupid for believing I’m who I say I am. That nothing will change who I was born as.”
Is she still dwelling on Han’s comments? I swear, once this war’s over, I’ll have to talk to him again. “Don’t listen to Han. That man doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s not your grandpa.”
“But isn’t he right? I can’t change who I was born as?”
Han really got to her, damn him. I have to change that. “Actually…he’s wrong.”
“How?”
“Han thinks gender is something you can’t change, but he’s wrong about that. In the old stories, even the gods and heroes changed between male, female, neither, and both.”
Lakshmi’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Yes.”
I should’ve listened to Grandma Sita’s stories better. “In one story, Shiva and Parvati fused into a single deity known as Ardhanarishvara, ‘the lord whose half is a woman’, because they were both male and female. In another story, your namesake Lakshmi and her husband Vishnu also merged as Lakshmi-Narayana.”
“Even the goddess Lakshmi was like me?”
Jayasimha smiled. “Why else would I have suggested that name after your transition? You’re not alone. Despite what Han tells you, people like you are nothing new. They’ve been a part of India since the beginning. Even the old philosophers identified what they called
tŕtīya-prakŕti, the third gender, though I have to say that category covered a lot of things back then. It just wasn’t legally recognized and defined until we passed the law.”
That’s why people could put “T” on their drivers’ licenses, for a time. Until the committee steamrolled us in 2034 and installed the Hindutva idiots.
“So don’t feel like you’re a monster, Lakshmi. You’re just trying to find out who you are. And I think you finally did. You’re not crazy. If anything, I think you’re brave.”
“Brave?” Lakshmi said.
In China and Jerusalem these days, “brave” would mean saying obviously racist stuff without regard for the consequences. I hate that. It’s time we reclaimed that word. “Yes, brave for choosing to acknowledge who you are and not hiding it. You’re an example to the people of India, encouraging many of our fellow citizens to also be brave and accept who they are. You walk in the example of the gods and heroes. That is what makes a good Samrat. Or should I say, Samrajni.”
“Some example I am now, hiding in a bunker.”
“It can’t be helped in the current crisis, but once we get out of here, I’m sure things will be different. You’re going to be a great Samrajni after me.”
“Really?”
“I know you will be,” Jayasimha said.
For the first time in months, Lakshmi smiled. “Thanks, Grandpa.”
“Anything for you, Lakshmi.” Jayasimha smiled in response, his mind eased for now.
Edo - January 25
It was all over. President Hayabusa stared out the window of his office, watching what remained of Edo burning around him. He wasn’t in his usual residence at the shogun’s old palace, which had been leveled with much of downtown in November. The rest went up in flames as Sakamoto’s National Liberation Army advanced. Hayabusa’s army was almost nonexistent now, having been largely destroyed at Shizuoka. There weren’t enough men left now to mount a counterattack against Sakamoto, unless he began conscripting from the general population, which he had refused to do. There was no denying it. The war was over, and he had lost. All he could do was have his remaining soldiers—at least those who hadn’t defected or mutinied yet—evacuate civilians to the north and away from the front lines, but he feared it was a lost cause. Ainu Mosir had surrendered yesterday after Sakamoto dropped Jerusalem-supplied nerve gas on Sapporo, wiping out 70% of its population in a single day. Why he hadn’t done the same to Edo remained a mystery.
Perhaps he wants to take this city the old fashioned way.
The flames and explosions grew closer. It wouldn’t be long before Sakamoto’s army took his headquarters, which would spell certain death for him. But he wasn’t leaving. Not until he finished up what he needed to do. Hayabusa turned away from the window and faced the other two people in the room. One was a balding Japanese man in his forties, with scars on his face and hands. He wore a black suit, tie, and sunglasses, like a stereotypical government bodyguard. In a way, Tetsuya kind of was his bodyguard.
“Are you sure,
aniki?” Tetsuya said.
I’ve known Tetsuya since our days running errands for the old Takamiya clan. The Takamiya patriarch took us in after finding us on the streets of Yokohama. How long ago was that? Thirty years? Time sure flies.
“Yes, Tetsuya,” Hayabusa said, “It’s time.”
“You know I can’t leave you here.”
“You have to. We’ve talked about this already.”
Tetsuya crossed his arms. “And I’ve objected to it every time we talked about it.”
They both looked at the third person. She was a little girl, about five or six years old. She wore the outfit of a regular kindergartener, with a blue rain jacket and white and blue dress. Underneath a yellow hat, her hair had been done in twintails. Her tiny hands clutched a rabbit plushie. She stared at them with wide eyes. Hayabusa lowered his voice.
“You know how important she is? We cannot let her fall into Sakamoto’s hands.”
“I know, I know, but…I can’t just let you do this, Hayabusa.”
“I know the feeling,” Hayabusa said, “Remember that raid in Kobe?”
Tetsuya laughed. “Yeah.”
“It’s just like that. Only this time, it’s my turn.”
“Please, Hayabusa, think about what you’re saying. You know what Sakamoto will do to you.”
But Hayabusa was adamant. “I’m prepared for it. What matters is Yuki must live.”
“Is that what we’re calling her now?” Tetsuya said.
Because I found her shivering outside covered in snow. No sign of her parents anywhere—all she had were her clothes and the rabbit plushie. But we both know who they probably were.
“It’s for her safety,” Hayabusa said, “When the time is right, you can tell her.”
“Wait a minute, I haven’t agreed yet.”
“We don’t have much time. You need to take her and go.”
Tetsuya siged. “If only you’d found her last month, we wouldn’t be rushing like this.”
“Well,
shikata ga nai,” Hayabusa said, “I’m lucky I even found her at all.”
An explosion threw up flames three blocks away. Tetsuya shook his head and scoffed. “Hayabusa, you’re as stubborn as ever. I always told you it would get you killed someday.”
“You’re right, Tetsuya,” Hayabusa said.
“Alright, fine,” Tetsuya said, “I’ll do it. I could never convince you otherwise.”
The one thing I’m better than him at.
“You have no idea how much that means to me,” Hayabusa said, “You’re looking after the future of Japan. Our last hope for defeating Sakamoto.”
“Please don’t make it sound so important,” Tetsuya said, “You know I hate pressure.”
Another explosion shook the headquarters, this one much closer than the last.
“So tell me, Hayabusa,” Tetsuya said, “Why are you even doing this? We could’ve come up with a better plan.”
“I have to atone for what I’ve done,” Hayabusa said.
“Atonement?” Tetsuya laughed. “Ah, so that’s what this is about. I told you we shouldn’t have gone into politics.”
“And I should’ve listened to you,” Hayabusa said.
“See, this is what I’m talking about when I say you’re too stubborn.”
“But you forget one thing. Sakamoto would’ve attacked no matter who ran Edo, whether it was me or the shogun or some other Paulluist cadre. It was pure luck that I found Yuki when I did. If I was merely lucky, then would anyone else have found her? It’s just as likely she would’ve been killed by a bomb or worse.”
“So you’re saying it was fate Yuki was saved only because you were in charge?”
“Perhaps, but we may never know. All I’m saying is…my stubbornness may have given us one last way out of this mess. Even if Edo falls and all of the islands of Japan fall under Sakamoto’s rule, Yuki might ensure the dream we’ve all been fighting for lives on.”
“Please, not the pressure!” Tetsuya said. “What did I just tell you?”
“Sorry,” Hayabusa said, “That’s the politician in me talking.”
Another explosion rattled the room. This one was almost on top of them.
“It’s time,” Hayabusa said, “You two should get going.”
Tetsuya stood up and held out his hand to the little girl. “Come on, uh, Yuki…we should go.”
Yuki nervously stood up and took Tetsuya’s hand. It was tiny and pale compared to Tetsuya’s large and callused fist, hardened from years of street fights.
“So…I guess this is it,” Tetsuya said, turning to Hayabusa.
“Yes it is,
aniki,” Hayabusa said.
They shook hands. Tetsuya’s grip remained strong and resolute, just as it always had been.
“Good luck,” Hayabusa said.
“You too,
aniki.”
Tetsuya turned and left, leading Yuki through the doorway and leaving Hayabusa alone in his office. Accepting his fate, the former president sat on his rug and crossed his legs in the lotus position. He took several deep breaths and cleared his mind.
I haven’t done this in years. The Takamiyas were your run of the mill yakuza clan, but the patriarch was a spiritual guy. He studied the teachings of Shaku Sōen, a Zen monk in the late 19th century who was part of the first independence movements against China, and he passed those teachings down to us. Sōen always said we must face our deaths without fear, for that is the way of the samurai. We accept that we will die, but we ourselves decide how we will die. That way, we can defeat not only our external enemies but also our inner enemies, the shinma
, demons of the mind. It’s time I faced my impending death without fear, like a true samurai. The south has long forgotten the old ways, cast aside by the traitor Sakamoto who murdered the descendants of Amaterasu, but here in the north, we remember. We may have made many mistakes. I made plenty of them myself. But I want to repent for them. I want to atone for everything I’ve done. I can no longer apologize to the shogun. I can no longer make things up to him. But I still have a chance with Yuki. As long as she survives, my death today will not have been in vain.
National Liberation Army soldiers burst through the doorway, their guns pointed at Hayabusa. “Are you the so-called President Hayabusa of the illegitimate northern republic?”
Hayabusa didn’t budge. “Thus I have heard.”
As the old Buddhist texts always begin with.
“Are you?!”
“If that is what you believe, then by all means.”
“Know that your puppet state is at an end, and Japan will once again be free!”
“Will it?” Hayabusa raised an eyebrow.
“Uh…
hai, it will!”
“And that concerns me how?”
“Because you have lost!”
Hayabusa inhaled and exhaled. “From a certain point of view, yes. From another, no.”
“What—what are you talking about?”
“Form is emptiness, emptiness is form,” Hayabusa said, “Our lives have no meaning beyond what we give them. My life’s work was originally leading the Republic of Japan, but that is no longer possible. So I have found a new meaning. A meaning you cannot take away from me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not telling you,” Hayabusa said, “You’ll have to find out on your own.”
“We’re going to kill you now.”
“Then go ahead,” Hayabusa said, “I’m no longer afraid of dying. I don’t think I can say the same about you, though. What has Sakamoto brought about in the south? Stamping out the samurai and our other traditions? Killing the emperor and his family when he could have just confined them to Kyoto? And he claims to be the one protecting such traditions. Empty statements. All empty.”
The leading soldier’s gun wavered. “Shut up!”
“Have you realized it yet?” Hayabusa said. “You may destroy my country, conquer all of Japan, but you will never win. This war will only end when Sakamoto falls, and I’m telling you, he will fall in the end. Because he is afraid. He is afraid of his own death. He cannot devote his whole self towards defeating his physical enemies as he is preoccupied with his
shinma. Thus he is fated to lose.”
“Liar! You coward, trying to trick us with your lies and propaganda!”
“I’m not lying,” Hayabusa said, “I’m just recalling something my old patriarch told me many years ago. I should’ve listened to him better.”
One soldier pressed the tip of his rifle against Hayabusa’s chest. “Any last words, traitor?”
“Yes, but of course,” Hayabusa said, “I know this is rich, coming from me after what I did. I know this may not make up for all that I’ve done. I know this may be an empty gesture, at least for now. But I don’t care.
TENNO HEIKA BANZAI!”
The soldiers opened fire. He fell back, his blood staining the rug.
“I’ve done what I could…” he whispered with his dying breath. “The rest…is up…to you…
aniki…and Yuki…”
Thus ended the Republic of Japan, and with it went it any hope of restoring the Shiba Shogunate.
