The Hearts in Darkness

1. Akagami

Akagami - or Red Paper - is a nickname, given to new guys in units. The name comes from the color of a draft ticket, and it became colloquial with green newbies, who either just got recruited and sent to a training camp, or who came fresh out of there and were sent to India. Nobody in India likes red papers. They're the synonym of trouble.

Since the start of that war in the February 1967, many soldiers finished their tours, and many more replaced them on the field. It usually takes from 1 to 3 months for akagami to get killed. They just don't know how to stay alive, so it seems to more experienced squadmates of theirs. However, those who survive India for more than 3 months finally become "adults" in this world that is the Imperial Japanese Army. They have some grasp on things like surviving, paying attention to details, reacting in time and et cetera. If they live for more than 1 year, they become the seasoned veterans, both feared and respected by their peers. Soldier's tour lasts 2 years. Some people been wondering if any single frontline trooper ever survived for this long.

I served for 2 years and 4 months already. A surgeon's assistant at the IJA field hospital, although I'm not even really a part of the Army, strictly speaking. But I ended up here since the very first day of the Indian Civil War. Many things happened, and I volunteered to be a medic for the Army. Most expected me, a 16 years old schoolgirl, to quit after a month. To be honest, I can't blame them. Before, I only had a grasp of what the Army really was, and at first it was very hard for me to, well, be here. The stress, the pressure, the things I saw. Going home would probably be something every other girl in my place would do.

But I made a promise.

The unit I got assigned to was quite far away from the "frontline", brakes for that was hard to call a frontline in a traditional sense. After bitter months of meat grinding, front zones were established, where both sides had a considerable presence, but neither of them could take on each other. For every komi offensive, we would destroy the offenders with the overwhelming fire support. For every allied offensive, komi would start a massive counteroffensive, fending us back to our fortified bases. Whatever side attacked, there always were casualties.

Wounded IJA soldiers would be quickly transported to the nearest infirmary, where the severity of their wound would be measured. Where I was stationed, they sent the soldiers in critical condition. Every day after another big clash of two forces, my daily routine was accompanied by the sounds of agony of wounded soldiers. The distribution of morphine and other painkillers was very strictly watched by the medical personnel, as these things were always in big demand and short supply, never really enough for the wounded to quiet down.

Two years and four months. That is a lot of time. When I tell my stories to newcomers from the Home Islands, they all say "You've been here to long." or "You've seen things you weren't supposed to see.". I guess they're right, in a sense.

Whenever people at school were describing me, they used such words as "compassionate", "kind", "gentle", and even "cute". Hanekawa-sensei refered to me as "An exemplary yamato-nadeshiko". She wasn't wrong, as my appearance still holds up to it - rather short, 1.65 meters tall, black eyes and black hair, cute face, small chest, slim figure. Before the war, just as all my female classmates, I had my long hair in a one sweet braid. I soon learned about one problem with long hair - it takes time and effort to keep it clean. Had to cut it down a bit to save time and trouble. I had it better than army grunts - they had to shave their heads clean.

Well, the "cute" part...

India does things to people. Or, rather, stress and the lack of sleep. My head was a mess, and my face was like that of a deadman. 'Yeah, cutie'. I smiled at my pocket mirror with sarcasm.