Yuusaku’s headplate was smaller than Tsurumi’s. It was set off to the side, overtop the entry wound Ogata had given him. He would’ve preferred it dead between the eyes or through the back of the skull—through the back would’ve been best. But it hadn’t happened that way, and now Yuusaku’s forehead was criss-crossed by leather straps holding a headplate in place above his right eyebrow.

He left the garrison in uniform, no longer in a hospital gown, though where he was going he wouldn’t need it. Word among the ranks was that Yuusaku was going back to their father’s house to finish recuperating on an extended leave of absence. It was unclear whether he would ever return. Tsurumi wouldn’t want him back, of course, now that he had Koito under his thumb, but Ogata wasn’t sure to what extent Tsurumi was willing to act to ensure Yuusaku stay out of his way, or whether he would count on Yuusaku’s brush with death to be enough of a disincentive on its own.

The men had lined up to see Yuusaku off as he made his way out of the infirmary to a waiting carriage. He was walking on his own, though out of bed it was obvious how much weight he’d lost and his steps were slow and unsteady. A medical officer walked by his side, not quite helping him, but clearly ready to pick him up should he collapse. Lucky for Yuusaku, his help wasn’t necessary. He picked his way across the parade grounds, nodding and waving with a tired smile, until he passed Ogata in the crowd.

Ogata was standing behind another private, only visible over the man’s shoulder, but it was enough. For the second time, their eyes met across the distance. For the second time, Ogata didn’t have to wonder if Yuusaku had seen him. Yuusaku’s chin lifted a little higher when he saw Ogata, so there was no mistake. His eyes were clear and full of resignation. Ogata had never been looked at that way by anyone—not Tsurumi, not Sugimoto. Yuusaku’s face was free of anger where his gaze should have been full of it, and yet so cold.

Ogata understood then more clearly than he could have if Yuusaku spoke it in words that they had nothing more to say to each other. He had said everything he wanted to with a bullet, and Yuusaku had kept his secret. Still a fool, even now. An attempt at revenge would have been preferable. Ogata wouldn’t have gone willingly, but he would’ve understood it. He had no use for mercy, Yuusaku’s or anyone else’s.

Yuusaku turned away from him, towards the waiting carriage. Ogata looked away before the door had even shut behind him.

-

Later that evening, the First Lieutenant called Ogata to his office by night. The dark walk to the officer’s wing was almost nostalgic. He didn’t get these kinds of summons much anymore, since he’d told Tsurumi none too subtly he needed to learn how to call less attention to them both back at Port Arthur. But time was running thin, and Tsurumi was no doubt feeling like he had better things to do with his time than invent excuses to get Ogata alone and out of sight. There was a time Ogata hadn’t minded if the others noticed, even if it gave them cause to add to the list of unsavoury epithets he’d accumulated over the years. It didn’t bother him much. Everyone wanted a piece of Tsurumi’s attention; Ogata, at least, sometimes got it. These days, though, the idea of word getting around among the troops was more trouble than it was worth.

Tsurumi’s office was unchanged from how it had looked before deployment. Upon entering the room Ogata felt, for a moment, the familiar thrill of anticipation he always had upon coming when Tsurumi had called him. That residual, childish feeling seemed to linger in the room, dripping off the walls. Years of heeding Tsurumi’s summons and wondering if this would be the night Tsurumi would look at him and decide he’d earned it, earned his touch—it wasn’t easily left behind, even as, tonight, Ogata sat across from him with more curiosity than longing.

“I’ll make sure you have everything you need with you when you arrive. The white robes, the tanto, all the necessary things. I managed to acquire a floor plan of the house, as well—make sure you commit it to memory.” Tsurumi pushed a few sheets of paper towards Ogata across the surface of the desk.

Ogata picked them up and glanced over. All the entrances and exits were neatly labelled, as was the servants’ wing, his father’s office, and his private quarters. Interesting—Tsurumi must have bribed it out of some servant. He really was an excellent intelligence officer.

Meanwhile, Tsurumi went on: “I’m sure you have many of your own ideas about how things should go, and I trust your judgement. We should assume your brother may be on the premises, though he’s bound for the ancestral home in Kagoshima within the fortnight. It may complicate things, but we can proceed how we would have were he still incapacitated. If you run into him and have to dispatch him as well, make it look natural. Shock can do terrible things to an already-weakened constitution.”

Ogata turned the sketches of his father’s house around in his mind. He could imagine it: wide and spacious, full of imported furniture and framed photographs of Yuusaku, whole and smiling and stupid and loved. “I’ll be careful.”

“Did Yuusaku ever give you any idea as to your father’s favourite dish? A last meal is part of the process, as you’re probably aware.”

Ogata could have made anglerfish nabe in his sleep. He rarely cooked, having been in the army for as long as he’d been out of his grandparents’ house, but he’d watched his mother prepare it hundreds of times. “Yes. I know exactly what he would choose.”

“Excellent. Shall I leave that up to you to take care of, then?”

“Yes.” Broth. Flesh of the fish and some extra liver. Enoki mushrooms; omit the shiitake. Cabbage, tofu, long onion, and the rest, whatever could be found.

Tsurumi nodded. He had his face propped up in one of his palms, and he drummed his fingertips against his cheek. “You’ll be his kaishakunin! How fitting. And what an exemplary second you’ll be.”

Ogata gave Tsurumi only a crooked smile in response, though it wasn’t one he had to force. The thought was a warm one. Even so, he had to be careful not to give Tsurumi too much ground. Any words he might say Tsurumi could pluck out of the air and make dance for him. Better to keep as much to himself as possible, volunteer little, confirm and deny as needed.

Tsurumi, at least, didn’t seem concerned about Ogata’s reticence. He reached out with a single long finger and tapped the house plans where they rested on the desk in front of Ogata, and went on. “Your father’s house is here in Asahikawa, of course, but I’ve given it some thought and decided that, in order to deflect suspicion, we won’t make a move until the relocation of the unit to Otaru has gone through successfully. We’ll come back for a quick visit, just the two of us. Off the books, of course.”

It took effort for Ogata not to let his irritation show. The last time they’d talked about it, over Yuusaku’s bedside, he’d been led to believe all this would be taken care of before the division left Asahikawa. The scheme with Sugimoto assumed that Ogata would have settled all his debts before they struck out on their own. Was it a choice between revenge or escape, then? A series of potential changes to the plan ran through Ogata’s mind, while across from him Tsurumi had picked up a fountain pen and stack of writing paper.

“The last thing, of course, is your father’s last words.” Tsurumi’s pen hovered over a blank sheet. “I’ll compose a suicide note; we need to make sure he takes responsibility for his failings in the campaign in a way that still allows public opinion within the military to turn on the men of the 7th Division. I’d also like to leave a few letters behind; perhaps you could help me with those?”

“What kind of letters, sir?”

“Oh, to friends and close associates. It’s an opportunity to decide how his legacy persists. Whatever he did in life is almost secondary in importance to how he’s remembered in death, and you, as his eldest son, ought to have a hand in shaping that.”

“Will we mention Yuusaku?”

“It would be hard not to, don’t you think?”

Ogata’s trigger finger itched. He’d thought shooting Yuusaku would set things to rights, but nothing about that had gone as planned, and here he remained, the anticipation building under his skin unabated. He wanted the clarity of the easy transition from life to death—even if there was a little squirming in between—, the knowledge that what would happen was happening because of him, in a sequence he could control. If he couldn’t get that with Yuusaku, he could at least orphan the both of them.

How would Yuusaku feel without his father’s love, when he was just as alone in the world as Ogata had always been? It was the least Yuusaku deserved. He hadn’t earned his blessing, so why should he be allowed to keep it?

“I don’t care what the rest of the letter says. I don’t know him well enough to know what he’d write. But if you mention Yuusaku, you should say that he preserved the honour of his utter fool of a father.”

Tsurumi looked at him hard and long, smiling almost fondly, before he put nib to paper. The movement of his hand across the page was elegant, his script completely passable for an upper-class gentleman. It made Ogata vaguely infuriated.

When he at last set aside his pen, Tsurumi cast a glance towards the clock on the wall. “You’ll have to forgive me for keeping you so late. You don’t mind staying a little longer, do you? Until we’re quite satisfied with how we’ve left things.”

Like the collaboration itself, this was amusing. Did it suit Tsurumi to pretend they were partners, now? Their relationship had never been more than superior and subordinate, for all the secret meetings and gestures towards apprenticeship. Ogata wasn’t deluded enough to believe he was anything more than a pawn to him, or that, whatever Tsurumi said or implied, Ogata would ever be anything else in his eyes.

Tsurumi got to his feet and began to pace, hands folded behind his back. Ogata remained standing in front of the desk as he had been before. “We’ve served together a long time, haven’t we? You’ve always been an exceptional soldier I’ve been proud to have under me.”

It took effort for Ogata not to physically roll his eyes, even though Tsurumi couldn’t see his face. “You’re not a bad leader yourself, sir.”

“I would hate for you to feel as though your hard work and loyalty have gone unnoticed.” Tsurumi had migrated in a slow arc around the room; he now approached Ogata, who turned around to face him a little too late. By the time Ogata was looking Tsurumi’s way, Tsurumi had him boxed in against the desk. He could move quietly when it suited him.

Tsurumi extended his right hand to rest his fingertips against the surface of the desk as if to steady himself, almost close enough to touch; as it was, all Ogata felt was the brush of Tsurumi’s sleeve against his hip. “Of course not, sir.”

“You’re one of the best and brightest the division has.” Tsurumi took another half-step closer to him and Ogata took the hint; he shifted back onto the balls of his feet, which allowed him to prop himself up to sit on the edge of the desk. Tsurumi waited for him to get comfortable in his perch before stepping into the space between Ogata’s knees. “I can’t tell you how much I look forward to what we’ll accomplish together.”

“Anything I can do, sir,” Ogata replied, testing the way the words felt on this tongue. Not too long ago Ogata would’ve crawled on his knees for this. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want it now, but Ogata couldn’t see past the strings attached in the way he once would have. It turned his mouth bitter.

If Tsurumi noticed that Ogata was less than swooning at his attentions, he didn’t let on. He smoothed his hands over the front of Ogata’s jacket as if preparing him for inspection, and then leaned in closer.

“You’ve been waiting for this a long time, haven’t you, Hyakunosuke?” Tsurumi ghosted his way down the side of Ogata’s neck, the hair of his whiskers scratching against his skin. Ogata thought he felt a hint of teeth along the skin overtop his jugular vein; he wondered whether Tsurumi was foolhardy enough to bite down and leave him with a visible mark, and felt distaste at the thought. “You’ve earned some special treatment, don’t you think?”

He used to look at Tsurumi and wonder whether there were any times he wasn’t commanding. At night, in the dark, was he just as flesh-and-bone as any other, or was he like an automaton that never grew rusty or needed sleep? The image was easier to keep up before Ogata had seen him like this. Lust made all men the same. Their hunger made them weak.

As for Tsurumi’s babble, Ogata would play along to a point, but Tsurumi couldn’t make him respond, at least not at this stage of the proceedings. Thankfully Tsurumi seemed to expect the lack of verbal response. That, or he was content just to talk them both to orgasm or die trying. A hand slid up under his shirt, up and across his belly to his ribs. Despite his skepticism, Ogata’s pulse jumped at the touch.

Tsurumi’s hands were smooth and oddly cold. They roved across Ogata’s skin without lingering on any specific place, like Tsurumi was searching for imperfections, manufacturing flaws. It was the same way Ogata would stroke the stock of a gun he was handling for the first time. The detachment was intoxicating, in a way. He wasn’t even a person in Tsurumi’s evaluatory eye, just a weapon, a piece on a shogi board. No need for Ogata to come up with genuine responses where there were none, like some men wanted to hear; spontaneity had nothing to do with this. Tsurumi wanted nothing more than for Ogata to play the part he’d been given, and now that his role had shifted into the desperate recipient of Tsurumi’s attentions, all he needed to do was let himself be seduced according to the script.

How, exactly, would this go? Would Tsurumi want him on his hands and knees like a yoked animal, or would he pull Ogata into his lap and make him call him Father before he’d give Ogata so much as a hand on his dick? He knew Tsurumi too well to think there was a chance he could avoid being made to talk. Could he get away with, “Oh, like that, First Lieutenant,” spoken emotionlessly enough for Tsurumi to understand it as the jab it was? Likely not. Tsurumi would put him through his paces.

The right-angle edge of the polished wood under his ass was uncomfortable enough to steady him some. The desk was thick and well-made and didn’t creak under his weight, even when Tsurumi leaned forward even further, their chests touching through clothing, making Ogata tilt himself further back.

Tsurumi had never been so close to him before. He could smell Tsurumi’s aftershave and whatever it was he put into his hair, and feel the erection pressing through his trousers, as if it weren’t obvious already just how much this was getting to him. Ogata almost laughed. He used to lie awake imagining what it would take for Tsurumi to be satisfied enough with Ogata’s performance to finally stop teasing and give him what he wanted, and this is what it took. It was hardly about him at all. He was the means to an end, and it was the end that had Tsurumi in his current state. Ogata turned his head to the side, theoretically giving Tsurumi more access to his neck but in fact twisting his face away from Tsurumi’s vision.

It wouldn’t be worth it, Ogata thought, and then reassessed. For the first time since he could remember, Ogata had something Tsurumi wanted and didn’t yet have, and he was less than compelled by the prospect of giving it up.

Tsurumi’s other hand crept over Ogata’s knee and across the length of his thigh. It would be so easy to lay back and succumb to Tsurumi’s will. Tsurumi would, he was sure, know exactly how to make him come so hard he’d want to hurt something. But even so, Tsurumi offered nothing without a price, especially not this. Just before Tsurumi reached Ogata’s crotch, Ogata laid his hand on Tsurumi’s forearm firmly enough to halt his progress. Not one to miss a trick, Tsurumi paused his movement there but continued to mouth at Ogata’s neck until Ogata cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m feeling quite tired.”

Tsurumi pulled back just far enough to scan Ogata’s face. Ogata thought it was the most confused and least commanding he’d ever seen him, at least for the half-second before Tsurumi cleared his expression back into equanimity. The evidence of Tsurumi’s uncertainty sent more heat through Ogata’s gut than any touch he’d yet given him.

“Of course, Private. Are you feeling well?” Tsurumi’s mouth was set quizzically. Ogata blinked, slowly, giving him nothing in his face to work from.

“It’s just been a long day, sir,” Ogata inched forward so he could drop off of the desk and to his feet, and Tsurumi swept back to give him room. Tsurumi immediately turned away from him and idly straightened his papers. As if Ogata couldn’t still see the evidence in his pants that the nonchalance was an act.

Ogata headed for the door and glanced back at the sound of Tsurumi’s voice as he was almost at the door. “Thank you for meeting me at such a late hour, Ogata.” Tsurumi was still standing, but had turned back around to face Ogata’s retreat. His eyes twinkled with inky curiosity.

On his way back to the barracks from the officer’s wing, Ogata passed by a couple privates standing in a huddled half-circle, slacking off on their evening watch shifts. The lit ends of cigarettes moved with their hands as they talked. In the pale glow he could see their eyes track him as he went. Murmurs just short of audible sprung up in his wake. He folded up the copy of the floor plan of his father’s house until it was a tiny, flattened square, and tucked it in his breast pocket. He would take what he could salvage from his time in Tsurumi’s tutelage. He wouldn’t miss him. And, as parting gifts went, it was the best he’d ever been given.

He smiled to himself and wondered whether Sugimoto was still awake.

-

Sugimoto was awake, but not in the barracks where Ogata could find him; he was out on watch duty, and Ogata fell asleep before he returned.

The next day passed without much incident. They were both too busy to talk until their evening visit to the baths. On the way out of the bathhouse, Ogata tugged Sugimoto by the elbow into the narrow passageway between two outbuildings. Sugimoto went, but when Ogata turned around to face him once they were out of sight, he knew from the look on Sugimoto's face that what was coming next wasn't going to be an easy sell.

“Have you got all your things packed?”

Sugimoto and Ogata had spent most of the week preparing their exit. Underneath the slats of the stairs behind the kitchens they hollowed out a compartment where they kept the spare ammo they ferreted away during exercises and the slower-to-rot food they smuggled out of the mess hall at mealtimes. Sugimoto wasn’t much of an actor, and it was clear that the closer they got to the day of the departure to Otaru the more agitated he became. He had always been sullen. It was likely that only Ogata had gotten close enough to him to realize this was more than the usual level of irritability. He was keeping his distance even from Ogata, not talking to him about anything but logistics or similar. Though it didn’t necessarily mean anything, it was enough to make Ogata wary.

“Of course I do. I'm ready. Are you?”

Ogata nodded tersely, scanning around them to make sure they weren't being watched. The chatter of various men passing to and from the baths and the barracks drifted through the night air, but none of it was out of the ordinary, and no one seemed to be coming for them in the dark corner they'd hidden away in. “I think we should make a change to the plan.”

Sugimoto crossed his arms over his chest and took a cue from Ogata, glancing around the field of vision. “What kind of a change?”

“I don't think we should go straight towards Otaru.” Ogata glanced at Sugimoto's face, still turned away from him. “I think we should loiter around Asahikawa for a few days. Just to make sure we don't cross paths with the division while they're on the way to Otaru.”

“I thought we were going through the woods, rather than the roads. How are they going to cross paths with us? And how does that put us in a position to beat the division to the convicts, if we let them get a head start?”

“We can still move faster than an entire division on the march can. We'll make up the time.”

“Why are you only bringing this up now?” Ogata opened his mouth to reply, but Sugimoto cut him off. He had turned back to him at last, and his eyes were cold. “What are you planning? I'm not stupid, you know.”

Ogata tilted his head to the side. “What are you talking about?”

Sugimoto fisted a hand in the back of Ogata’ collar. He pulled Ogata until he was wedged between Sugimoto’s chest and the wall. Ogata first assumed that Sugimoto had finally shaken off his sulk, but the set of his jaw told Ogata a different story. They weren’t really very far apart in height, but Sugimoto could make it count when he wanted to.

“I saw your brother. Right after he woke up. He called for me.”

Ogata’s throat threatened to close up, but he forced his voice to remain steady. “And what does that have to do with anything? What did he say? Was he able to string a full sentence together? I've heard a long time out of consciousness can leave a man scrambled.”

“If there’s something you’re not telling me, I want you to know that I—” Sugimoto cut himself off like he was biting his own tongue.

The first time he ever made Sugimoto come, Ogata had knelt in the dirt and put Sugimoto’s cock in his mouth while artillery fired in the distance. That encounter had started much the same as this, though Sugimoto’s anger had been duller, more diffuse. Back then, Ogata hadn’t thought his anger anything other than amusing. Anger was easy to work with. Men liked to show dominance when they were pissed off, which meant they’d respond exactly how he wanted them to, one way or another. He didn’t find Sugimoto amusing now. Ogata clucked his tongue. “Hmm? You might as well spit it out.”

Sugimoto looked like a bull moments away from charging. Droplets of water dripped off of the tip of his nose and onto Ogata’s shirt. “Just because I—we… I haven’t forgotten what you’re like, you know.”

“What am I like, Sugimoto?” Ogata's patience was growing thin. He placed his hand over Sugimoto's where it was fisted in his collar and dug his nails into Sugimoto's skin.

“Untrustworthy.”

If this had been any other circumstance, Ogata wouldn't have minded coming up against Sugimoto like this. It was familiar territory. But time was running thin, and there had been too many unexpected changes of plan already. Ogata couldn't afford Sugimoto to start surprising him, too. He'd picked a poor time to start thinking for himself. “A bit late to think about that now. If I wanted to sell you out to Tsurumi, there are easier ways.”

“Should I be afraid of what you’re going to do one day when you get bored?”

“Yes. But I’m afraid of you, too. I don’t have any doubt you’d run me through if you thought you had to. You’re not someone it pays to cross.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Doesn’t change anything, so I don’t know why it matters.” Ogata curled his hand around Sugimoto’s forearm. “We’ve come too far to have second thoughts now, don’t you think?”

“All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t get too comfortable. I’ve got my eye on you, and if I think—if you give me any reason not to trust you, you’ll regret it.”

“Very generous, but I think I’ll take my chances. We’ll keep each other on our toes, how about that?”

Sugimoto’s lip curled. “You piss me off more than anyone sometimes.”

“You can tell yourself anything you like if you still get what you want, isn’t that right?” Ogata laid his free hand over the spot on Sugimoto’s chest where he still remembered the shape of a bullet wound, though it was long since fully healed. “But I know who you are. I know what you are.”

Sugimoto’s grasp on him didn’t falter, but his gaze dropped away for a moment and his mouth moved without sound coming out, like his body wasn’t ready to speak whatever it was he had to say. Coming towards them from around the corner were the echoes of voices, laughing, jostling at each other, three or maybe four of them. Ogata prodded the scar under Sugimoto’s shirt and hoped it twinged before letting his hands fall free. Sugimoto let him go a half-second later, stepping back into what passed for an appropriate amount of personal space. The voices and footsteps rose and then ebbed as they passed them by without looking at their meagre hiding place.

Before Sugimoto could walk back out into the fading sunlight, Ogata hissed, “Stay if you want, but I’m leaving. You can have Tsurumi, if you want to be a pet so bad.”

Sugimoto didn’t look back at him, but Ogata thought he could make out the tightening of his shoulder blades beneath his shirt.

-

The morning of the raid on the armoury of the Asahikawa garrison dawned like any other. The sky was overcast, the kind of weather that made you sweat under your clothes and squint despite the absence of real sunlight.

The men of the 27th had been awake since before sunrise. They had turned in early the night before, after dinner. The other three regiments were operating on their regular schedule. Ogata was with a crew wheeling empty supply wagons from the depot to the armoury loading bays when the first glow begun to creep over the horizon.

During the time on the front, Ogata got used to the quickness with which the body could shift into battle. The change came over near-imperceptibly, though after feeling it himself one could learn to identify it on others. Perhaps it was a change in their smell that only the sleeping, animalian part of the mind could detect. Nothing on their bodies visibly changed, but something like an electrical current passed through the air. For most of them, it took the sound of shell-fire to bring it upon them. Ogata had been dwelling in it for the better part of a week. Every corner he turned he half-expected an ambush.

Ogata was part of the crew transferring crates of ammunition from the storage rooms of the armoury to the loading bay. Even as part of a coordinated effort and without any of the actual hazards of wartime transport, it was nothing short of back-breaking.

As he set down a crate in the yard, Ogata looked up and saw Sugimoto, who was with a couple other guys wheeling some wagons towards the main road. They hadn't hitched up the horses yet. Raiding an armoury was one thing and stables another; the guns weren't any more likely to go off if they smelled fear in the air.

Nothing remained of the supply cache under the stairs. All there was left to be done was to wait for the right opportunity to make the break for it.

The men of the other regiments were largely absent; the parade grounds were much emptier than usual, though the amount of noise and activity was more than you'd usually see on a day where the 27th was joined by the 26th and 28th Regiments, with whom they shared the garrison. To Ogata's understanding, Tsurumi had arranged it so the other regiments were both on a field training expedition a few days out of Asahikawa. Tsurumi had leverage against Lt. Col. Yodogawa for all those wartime slip-ups, but it was still much easier to pull off an illegal seizure of arms from the rest of the 7th if there was no chance of delusionally heroic non-coms getting inspired to try and stop them

Ogata met Sugimoto's eye as they passed each other. Sugimoto looked somber, rooted, like he was ready to parry a strike. Not so much so that anyone looking at him would notice, especially considering the tension in the air as they prepared to commit treason and steal property of the emperor, but Ogata knew him well enough to recognize it. Before Sugimoto could follow the others he'd come over with, who had already started to walk back to the depot to wheel over the next caravan, Ogata called, “Sugimoto. Come here, we need another hand in the armoury.”

The corner of Sugimoto's mouth twitched upwards, and he nodded. One of the other privates Sugimoto had been with shot them a backwards glance, but otherwise Ogata wasn't questioned. Sugimoto walked over to him and Ogata made his way back into the building, counted to thirty under his breath, and then looked back out the door to make sure Sugimoto's crew were far enough away they weren't going to turn and look back at them. The armoury men had already moved everything that was easily accessible from the front of the and had made it to the back of the store-rooms, to the older supplies that had been there since before the war, so they had a minute or two until the next load came back, though they had probably already noticed Ogata's absence.

“You think now is the time to go for it?” Sugimoto muttered, eyes scanning the courtyard, where 150-odd men were packing up most of the evidence the 27th had ever been stationed at Asahikawa to begin with.

Ogata kept his gaze on the hallway further into the armoury building, ears trained for the heavy footsteps of men carrying rolled-up bundles of rifles. “I don't know that we'll get a better chance. They've already gotten most of it loaded up. They'll start preparing to march soon.”

“If someone spots us and you get shot, don't count on me to carry you.”

“I’m honoured you value me so much.”

“Just try not to look suspicious. Come on. Let's go. Walk in a straight line and no one will look at us twice.”

Sugimoto stepped out of the armoury building first, and then Ogata after him, walking in quick time with their heads down, like they were on their way to deliver a message to someone on the other end of the trench and they had no choice but to cut through no man's land. Ogata scanned the parade ground reflexively for Tsurumi's presence, but he couldn't make him out anywhere in his field of vision. Tsukishima was, likewise, nowhere to be seen. If Ogata had to guess, they were inside the officer's wing overseeing the move of the contents of Tsurumi's office, making sure none of Tsurumi's toys and secrets were left behind where they could fall into unwanted hands. Koito was about 100 metres off, in the opposite direction from where Sugimoto and Ogata were walking, and he was facing away from them.

The main gates of the garrison were open, to allow for the supply caravans to come and go as needed. It was peacetime now, anyway, for everyone but Tsurumi's unit, at least. There wasn't much to fear, even if two privates on foot could slip out, too, among all those wagons of cargo.

No one said anything to either of them until they stepped out of the gates. About a dozen men stood outside, but thankfully they were distracted. One of the waterproof tarpaulins had slid off one of the waiting transport vehicles and they struggled to re-affix it. Only one, a second-class private Ogata barely recognized, was acting as a sentry, and his eyes passed over them without much suspicion before he turned back to look at the road ahead. From the gates it was a straight shot of about 50 metres into the woods that pressed up close to the garrison walls on one side, but 50 metres was more than enough distance within which to get shot in the back, and running would attract more attention than walking would.

Ogata felt Sugimoto's eyes glance over and land on his face. He didn't turn to look back at him, instead walking up to the soldier on guard duty.

“Corporal Tamai needs you at the parade ground. All of you.”

The sentry shifted in place, his brows twisting. “But Corporal Tamai put us on duty here.”

“We’ll take over from you. Unless it takes ten of you to tie down some raincovers, it almost looks like you’re trying to get out of doing any work.”

Some of the men exchanged glances. One of them, another superior private like themselves, let go of the lashes holding down the tarp and hopped down from the wagon bed to the ground. He took a couple steps toward Ogata, brows furrowed. “What does he need us for on the parade ground?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to find him for you so we can compare orders, or would you rather do as you’re told and stop wasting all of our time?”

“Watch your mouth. Your brother isn’t around to protect you anymore, and I’m sure a busy man like Lieutenant General Hanazawa has too much to do to step in when you get the shit kicked out of you.”

Before Ogata could respond, Sugimoto took a step forward into the space between Ogata and the other man. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerously calm. “We don’t have time for this. We already told you that orders have changed. If you still want to fight, let’s get on with it. I’ve got places to be.”

The man gave Sugimoto a long, hard look. Ogata was almost about to pull his rifle down off his shoulder and try to pick off as many of them as he could before they had time to react when the man spat out a gob of saliva on the ground next to him and gestured to the others. “Come on. Let’s go see what Tamai wants.”

As he passed Ogata by, he sent Ogata a dirty look that was probably meant to say he would pay for this when Sugimoto wasn’t around, or something equally pathetic. Whatever revenge fantasies he was spinning out inside his head were going to be disappointed. The whole group of them made their way back into the garrison; once they were about 30 paces away from the gate and their backs were turned, Sugimoto tugged on Ogata’s forearm and muttered, “Let’s go. Before they figure out we’re full of shit.”

They started out for the treeline at a brisk walk, Sugimoto in front, Ogata half a pace behind. After about 20 metres it became a jog, and when they closed in on it, when they were close enough Ogata could see the individual needles on the trees, they broke into a run. The blood rushed through his ears so loudly it would’ve been hard to hear if they were being chased.

As they reached the treeline, Sugimoto craned his neck back to look at the garrison they were leaving. Ogata spared a glance over his own shoulder; nothing looked amiss, but still, at that distance he felt nothing but an overwhelming need to be rid of it already.

Ogata pressed the flat of his hand against Sugimoto’s back and pushed him toward the trees. “Go. Go!”

Sugimoto went.