Good Luck, Yukikaze

by Chohei Kambayashi

  “You’re telling me that Jonathan Lancome betrayed us?”

  “We know for a fact that he was mentally unstable. He was probably sick. Just couldn’t take being grounded anymore. So he ended up committing a destructive act—”

  “He wasn’t that sort of person!” Mayle said.

  “I wonder if your naivety might not have caused this. I can’t directly check up on the mental condition and daily attitudes of everyone on this base. It’s your responsibility to keep up with what’s happening with the men under your command. You probably don’t have suspicions about anyone in your squadron. Maybe you were too close to the problem, and the SAF knew Lieutenant Lancome better than you did. That’s the part that really irks me. That those people aren’t just spying on the JAM but also on what’s going on in here.”

  “Do you realize how crazy you sound right now?”

  “I think I’m seeing this more coolly than you are, Lieutenant Mayle. Your squadron’s planes suffered some sort of electronic attack by the JAM, or engine trouble. I’m not going to deny the results of the official inquiry. What I just told you now are my personal feelings as a farewell gift. Now go to that retraining unit. It’s just the place for you. Dismissed.”

  The man had started out sounding like he was praising Mayle, only to start tearing him down. He acted so understanding, only to reveal his distrust. Personal feelings, huh? What the hell had he been playing at? Mayle couldn’t understand his intentions at all, and his commander’s ambiguous manner had pissed him off. Even so, he couldn’t just blow up at him. It would have been foolish to risk a firing squad by trying to go up against a man who took his own self-protection as seriously as the CO did. Besides, considering there was a chance that Mayle might return here in an even higher position than his commander, he managed to choke his anger at the man’s indecipherable attitude down to mere annoyance, and exited the office.

  The men under Mayle’s command were sorry to see him go. At least, they seemed so. No, he knew that their feelings for him were genuine, but as far as this squadron was concerned, Lieutenant Mayle was no longer a part of it. That was driven home to him by their attitude when he announced that Lieutenant Gargoyle was to be their new acting team leader. Gargoyle might have still technically been Lieutenant Mayle’s subordinate, but it was clear that his executive officer was now their leader, their boss.

  “Take good care of this squadron, Lieutenant,” Mayle had said. Gargoyle had nodded and then replied.

  “Actually, Lieutenant, I was promoted to captain yesterday. I just haven’t put my new rank badge on yet.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Do your best too, Lieutenant. And don’t worry about things back here.”

  I’ll worry about whomever I damn well want to worry about—No, Mayle couldn’t turn on his men like that. This was the squadron he’d nurtured and protected, and now he no longer belonged there. The loss he felt made him miserable, then angry. If Lieutenant Gargoyle had managed to force him out of the squadron on his own merits, Mayle still wouldn’t have liked it, but at least he’d have been able to understand it. But that wasn’t the case here. Why just me? he wondered. The entire squadron had gone down, so shouldn’t they all be candidates for this retraining unit? He could understand if he was being sent there as the representative for the entire squadron, but his orders hadn’t mentioned that. He was leaving and not expected to return.

  The higher-ups were completely ignoring all of his accomplishments, and Lieutenant Mayle didn’t like that one bit. What was the point of everything he’d been doing up till now if this was how they were going to repay him? Logically, he could understand that things like this happened in large organizations, but now that he was actually in this situation, he could only see it as being completely unfair. Logic could do little to assuage his emotions.

  As Gavin Mayle unpacked his bags in the room where his new life would begin, all he could think was that he’d just end up a loser unless he did something about this. He had no intention of being content with the fate that all these other people had been handed. No, he was going to have to make a fresh start and begin clawing his way up again. If he wanted to feel even a little better, he’d have to keep himself at least half a head higher than the others. And if anyone got in his way, well…they had better not.

  Before he could finish his unpacking, an announcement came over the intercom—all hands were ordered to a staff assembly.

  Their schedule was broken down into a minute-by-minute menu. We’re being treated like raw recruits, Lieutenant Mayle thought. It irritated him, but he didn’t defy his orders. Those who were late to arrive would be punished, and while the punishment might not be very severe, Mayle realized that even a punishment “game” would probably reveal the personality of their new commander. Coming to his senses, he was the first man out of the room.

  They gathered at an aircraft hangar rather than an auditorium. Four Systems Corps training jets were lined up in a row. They were Fand light attack fighters, older models than the Fand IIs now in use. Still, this model had been modified and improved over its long years of service and was highly reliable, Lieutenant Mayle thought. The paint job on them looked brand-new: light gray with broad red, white, and blue stripes. They almost looked like the markings you’d see on an aerobatic team.

  They were lined up according to their barracks assignments. Mayle’s group was the very last room, and he stood at the end of his row. Each room had eight men assigned to it, but his group had six. Seeing that he was the last man, Lieutenant Mayle grew irritated again. His room only had six people in it, so there was nobody behind him. Dammit, what the hell was going on? he wondered. Were they implying that he was the lowest man on this totem pole?

  The man in charge of the retraining unit was a Major Karman, the director of test pilot training for the Systems Corps.

  “Gentlemen, here you will be receiving the highest level pilot training,” the major said. “It’ll last for two months. Now, usually it’d take about six months, but you people aren’t amateurs. I’m sure that you’ll be able to keep up with the pace. Once your training is complete, you all will be the best fighter pilots on this or any world. Don’t forget how much money has been invested in each one of you. You people are the elite, and the FAF expects great things of you. I want you all to give this your very best.”

  The major then carried on with an outline of the curriculum, which was to involve both theoretical study and practical training. The theoretical part would start off with a foundation of the physics, mathematics, and physiology related to flight and go on to tactical air combat theory and the study of the mechanics of FAF fighter aircraft. The practical training would involve flight simulator training, flight training in actual planes, physical strength training, and frequent physical examinations.

  Lieutenant Mayle thought it strange that, aside from the abbreviated time period, this course was identical to official test pilot training. From Major Karman on down, not one person said anything to imply that they were losers for having been shot down by the JAM. Mayle was actually starting to believe that the FAF was training them to be an elite force.

  That wasn’t the only thing he found strange. It was also how seriously everyone gathered here was taking this. He couldn’t believe that he was the only man there who felt like a loser. Either these guys are a bunch of idiots without a thought in their heads, or else they’re even more brilliant than I’d ever expected, thought Lieutenant Mayle. He wasn’t going to lose to them.

  As soon as their orientation session was over, they moved straight into training. The entire day was spent completing every sort of paper test Lieutenant Mayle could have imagined. It started with a review of the FAF military regs he’d memorized upon entering the service and tests on his general knowledge of math and physics, before moving on to a monotonous and seemingly endless list of questions for a psychological test. It was, in a word, torture.

  Testing continued till dinnertime. After eating, it was
back to his quarters to write a report on his impressions of the day’s coursework, and then he had to do homework to prepare for the next day’s classes. Risking my life in combat would be preferable to two months of this, Lieutenant Mayke thought without a hint of irony. His roommates simply sat silently at their desks, studying without uttering a word of conversation. It was unbearable. What the hell is with these guys?

  Mayle didn’t feel like taking the initiative to introduce himself. He hadn’t introduced himself to his teammates during the assembly in the hangar either, and so he had no idea what units they were from or what their prior roles had been. But now, here in their quarters, the silence was choking him. I guess I’ll have to be the first to open up here, Lieutenant Mayle thought. And so he announced to his roommates that he’d come from the 505th TFS at TAB-15 and then asked where they were from. The only response he got was from the room monitor—their de facto squad leader—who replied that it wasn’t time to take a break yet.

  “Are you serious?” Lieutenant Mayle asked. “C’mon, we’re all friends here, right?”

  “I don’t want to end up washing out,” the man replied. “I don’t have time to chat with you. I won’t permit a roommate to sabotage my work here.”

  “Is that your order as room monitor?”

  “It is.”

  “And when did you run for the position? When did we vote on it? Who named you?”

  “I suppose we didn’t vote on it,” the monitor said. “Still, if you don’t like it, surely you can see that it’s too late to do anything about it now.”

  Lieutenant Mayle had lost his appetite for any more conversation.

  As he wondered who this guy was, Mayle suddenly recalled that there’d been a roster of the men in his quarters mixed in among the rest of the mountain of paperwork he’d received that day. He dug around and finally found it. The room monitor was at the top, his name circled. Neither his rank nor his former unit attachment were written next to it. It was just his name. Come to think of it, he wore no rank insignia on his uniform, just a name tag. Lieutenant Mayle scanned the roster, looking to see if there was anyone he knew in one of the other rooms.

  There was one. Then the relief of recognition turned to shock. The name Lieutenant Mayle had found was that of a dead man. Jonathan Lancome.

  No, it couldn’t be. It had to be someone with the same name. The Lieutenant Lancome who’d served under him had been killed by the SAF, dying instantly when some unmanned fighter called Yukikaze had opened fire while he was performing maintenance duty on the ground. He’d seen Lancome’s remains with his own eyes. There hadn’t been enough meat left to put back together. It’d been horrible.

  He wondered where this slightly healthier Lancome had come from. At any rate, the guy didn’t have a very lucky name, that was for sure.

  “Any of you guys know someone named Jonathan Lancome?” Mayle asked. This time his roommates didn’t ignore him, either answering no or shaking their heads. The room monitor, however, answered that yes, he did know him.

  “Was he a friend of yours?” Mayle asked him, to which the monitor replied that no, he wasn’t.

  “There was someone named Jonathan Lancome at TAB-15,” he said. “You must have known him better than I did.”

  Wait, so this guy knows which base I’m from, while I still know nothing about him? Lieutenant Mayle didn’t like this one bit.

  “I’m asking because this man here has the same name. The Lieutenant Lancome who served under me died in combat. But how did you know that he was one of my men?”

  The answer to that question wasn’t anything Mayle could have expected.

  “Because it was my plane that killed Lieutenant Lancome,” the man said.

  “I beg your pardon?” Lieutenant Mayle said after a long pause.

  “I was Yukikaze’s flight officer. She was flying unmanned then, wasn’t she?”

  “You’re here from the SAF? What’s your name?”

  “Second Lieutenant Burgadish,” the man said.

  Yes, that was the name on the roster. But now that Lieutenant Mayle knew that Burgadish was a crewman from Yukikaze, the plane that had killed Lieutenant Lancome, Burgadish was more than just a name on a list. This was Lancome’s murderer, or if not the actual killer, then someone who needed to be held responsible for his death, wasn’t he? How could Burgadish be saying all this so calmly?

  “What’s wrong?” Burgadish asked, tilting his head inquisitively. “Do I have something on my face?”

  “Why…? Why did the SAF kill Lieutenant Lancome?”

  “Well, about that…”

  Mayle expected him to reply that he didn’t know, but the man calling himself Lieutenant Burgadish betrayed those expectations.

  “Simple,” he said. “Lieutenant Lancome was a useless human being, and so they had him killed.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “You don’t seem to know anything, Lieutenant Mayle. Why not go see for yourself?”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?”

  “You can ask Jonathan Lancome directly. His name’s on that roster, isn’t it?”

  “What are you saying? Lancome is dead. The guy listed on the roster is somebody else,” Mayle said.

  “I only know one man named Lancome.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You asked me if I knew him, and I answered you.”

  “You’re talking bullshit,” Mayle said.

  “You were the one who asked me if I knew him,” Burgadish said.

  Lieutenant Mayle silently turned away from him. This guy was clearly nuts.

  “It wasn’t the JAM who got us,” the room monitor went on. “The one who hurt us was the FAF. It’s given us all a raw deal. You think so too, don’t you, Lieutenant Mayle? You know exactly how I feel. It’s the FAF we need to take revenge on, and this will be the perfect chance for us to do it. We’re going to show the FAF just how much malice we bear toward them.”

  Every man in the room nodded at his words. Lieutenant Mayle was getting a very bad feeling about this, increasingly convinced that he’d come to someplace he definitely didn’t belong. He felt like he’d missed something important somewhere. These men here had come without any doubts about why they were there or what they had to do. He was the only one who didn’t know why. But how could that be? And what was all this talk about malice and revenge? These people were nuts, and more than that, they weren’t aware of it.

  Lieutenant Mayle went back to his desk and drew a bottle of whiskey out of his bag. It was a going-away present from his old squadron. He used the cap in place of a glass and drank a shot. The other men in the room glanced at him but said nothing.

  I’ve just come to a place I’m not used to yet and I’m getting an attack of homesickness, Lieutenant Mayle thought. Why had these other guys in the room so quickly and wholeheartedly devoted themselves to their task? He just couldn’t get himself to feel that way.

  I’m the normal one here, he thought. It’s everyone else that’s weird. They must have been brought here due to psychological problems. That had to be it. He must have been transferred here by mistake. There was no other explanation. Tomorrow, he’d see the commander and lodge a protest. There was no way he could accept this situation like the others here were. That was just normal…wasn’t it?

  The whiskey began to work its intoxicating therapy and gently calmed Mayle’s nerves. Right, there was nothing for him to worry about. He’d straighten out whatever screwup had been made. Tomorrow, he’d be heading back to his unit. That was just common sense. As he drank shot after shot, he felt better and better. Lieutenant Mayle forgot all about tomorrow, and he stopped caring about the present as well.

  He remembered finishing the bottle off and then crawling into bed to sleep. When he next opened his eyes, his surroundings were dark. Not totally dark, though. A night light cast a dim glow. For a moment, Lieutenant Mayle didn’t know what the light was. It seemed to move as he followed it with his eyes,
like the running lights on consort planes flying with him in a night formation. But as he focused, he realized that it was just a night light on the ceiling, and he had gotten very drunk. His breath stank of alcohol. He was thirsty and needed to take a piss badly.

  Lieutenant Mayle sat up in bed and shook his light head to clear it. The world wobbled unsteadily. He was still drunk. His head ached a bit, but it wasn’t too bad of a hangover. He had a tough liver, and Lieutenant Mayle was confident that he’d be able to hide that he’d been drinking.

  Still, there was the smell of booze on him. Mayle took a deep breath and held it. What was this smell? He must have vomited while he was passed out drunk. But the empty bottle had been placed neatly on his desk. The desktop was clear, the chair upright and clean. There wasn’t a sign of any filth on his bed or sheets either.

  Lieutenant Mayle inhaled again and then felt like vomiting. It was a smell like rotting kitchen garbage. It was this smell that had awakened him, he realized, not the urge to urinate. This wasn’t the smell of his own vomit. Something in the room was rotten.

  He climbed out of bed a little unsteadily, keeping a hand on it to support himself. How the hell could his roommates sleep with this stench? The man in bed next to him was sound asleep, not moving an inch.

  What was making this smell? Finally getting up from the bed, Lieutenant Mayle looked around. Nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary, but this smell wasn’t ordinary. He looked over at the man in the bed next to his, thinking of waking him up. His face looked black in the weak glow of the night light. Lieutenant Mayle walked around his own bed to get a closer look. He didn’t recall that this guy was a black man. His face looked bluish-black, and his hair was standing up straight in a wild tangle. Mayle suddenly realized that his own hair was doing the same thing. Every hair on his body was standing on end.

  The man in the bed next to him had no eyes in his head, just two black, gaping sockets. He wasn’t alive. It was a rotting corpse. Moving aside the blanket that covered him, Lieutenant Mayle suddenly clapped his hand over his own mouth. The stench from the half-burned corpse was overwhelming. It seemed to be clad in a charred flight suit, and its belly was swollen.