shaaaaaa crash boom psssshoom pshh dun

A steady orange flame fluttered through the spokes of the right engine and left a trail of smoke in the sky. The young pilot’s grip tightened on the steering. The only options left were the enemy ahead and the gnashing maw of the ocean below. 

300 meters to target…

…

Those who will not volunteer, step forward now! The rest who love their fellow countrymen and intend to defend this land to the dying breath, remain in rank.

After any other day of training, the announcement finally came. The Emperor wanted to see their unit on the frontlines. There were always rippling waves of rumors about needing more soldiers on the warfront, so the real sign had been that their commanders started considering them a touch more carefully. Some were bold enough to stare you in the eye, size you up. A fiery look that stirred the patriotic hearts of his better peers but struck fear into the weak and the traitorous. With others there was no two way exchange. You could feel the eyes on your back, because there was no point in them ever wondering aloud if these boys were strong enough, ready enough, to fight like men. Because they weren't. None of them were.

Hayate's place in line had been front and center since he arrived at camp. All the way in the back, it was easy to become complacent. Right under the tip of your commanding officer's nose was the place where even a scoundrel or lowlife had a chance of being polished into an honorable and dignified man. Or at least, that was what his father had told him. Meet the pressure head on and you become someone capable of withstanding a monsoon of raging tides. Cold words of encouragement coming from a man who would be getting a bonus on his annual stipend when his only son died at sea. 

There wasn't a pair of eyes that missed it as Hayate shuffled in line. Their senior had actually considered it for a moment. Hayate's steady frame was an easy point to watch for the other boys in line. The stoic unflinching son of a decorated war hero that already behaved like the perfect soldier. If you could keep up with him at training, then maybe you could take it as a sign that you too could keep your head held high as you represented your country. But today, something cracked. A boot shifted out place, a slight twitch in his posture from stiff attention. 

Hayate didn't think he wanted much. He didn't even go through with it- There was no point. The thought of smearing his father's sterling reputation had tempted him for a moment, but he wasn't delusional enough to believe that opting out was a way to go home unscathed. This whole song and dance was just a formality. He figured their names were all already down as willing "volunteers", lest their superiors face scorn from their superiors. Hell, Hayate wouldn't have a home to go back to if he tried to worm his way out. Really for an insult like that, Hayate would have been shocked if he made it back to his bunk in one piece, forget any home.

…

How long was I-

Another explosion went off, this time further above his head. His ears were already blocked and ringing at the same time and his body was already straining against the violently sputtering motors in the plane to stabilize, yet the bombs still managed to throw off what little grounding he had. Was his nose bleeding?

Hayate's head lulled forward again and slammed into the console. How far- time- His vision swam. Too much to tell apart an enemy or ally plane, but all he had to do was find the hulking mass of grey in the middle of all the blue-

Smoke-

…

"Fukuzawa! What was that? Always too good for us, weren't you. Turns out the guy with the biggest ego was all hot air to hide the truth from the Major General. That you're a fucking coward-" 

Fighting between recruits was strictly forbidden. Hayate had abandoned the usual spot where he ate his dinners to find somewhere a little more secluded. He knew what was coming, and he wanted to eat one last meal in peace before everyone turned on him. But of course that meant he was giving an excuse to the officers on duty who could now easily turn a blind eye when Hayate was hunted down and beaten. 

Hayate's fist collided with the jaw of the talkative one, and he almost went down in that one blow. The others were stunned for a moment and didn’t react. Hayate supposed they were "pilots". Why bother properly training fodder.

Unfortunately, the first wasn't the only one with a grudge. The past few months, Hayate let people interpret his standoffish attitude however they wanted, he didn't care. He would have never guessed that so many of these idiotic boys riled up and excited for war would have such massive inferiority complexes centered around him. Somehow he had a reputation for looking down on people, but that really wasn't it? 

Hayate flew through the motions of hand to hand like it was second nature, his years of training in advance over the others inevitably shining through. But as more of them grit their teeth and joined in, even Hayate couldn't avoid every attack. They weren't the strongest punches he'd ever taken, but one person landing the first hit brought an avalanche of confidence raining down on him. A broken lip, a whole myriad of future bruises, even a bleeding cut on his cheek bone. Hayate wasn't sure what to guard so he'd still be able to fly a plane soon. It didn't seem to matter much. He could still muster a little wry amusement in proving them wrong. The Hayate crawling on ground trying to guard his soft spots and keep his dinner down was much more ubiquitous to his life than the short lived "reign" of the tough, cold Hayate his juniors wanted to have leading in the front. 

By the time they tired themselves out, or got bored of Hayate’s nonreaction to being pummeled, Hayate was feeling pretty dizzy. Digging his palms into the gravel and barely up on his knees and he was already swaying back towards the ground. It had been a while since he’d been the target of a whole group like that. Throwing the first punch might’ve been uncharacteristically reckless in retrospect, but there was no point in regretting it now. Maybe a good concussion was what he needed to take the edge off before tomorrow. He’d heard stories of gruesome weapons that made a person’s brain slowly rot and leak out of their ears, another that made your skin eat itself and corrode away permanently. Hayate never wanted to learn whether those rumors were true, because those boys were right about one thing. He was a coward, down to his very core. He was afraid of dying, and only if he was lucky would it be quick. Their commanders were always very vague when recruits quietly asked if they’d be killed immediately on impact. Because far worse were the realities of fatal burns, suffocating on smoke, drowning trapped in the cockpit, and of course worst of all, being taken alive. 

…

Hayate could no longer feel the rumbling roar of the engine, and that relief made it difficult to force himself back up. The hazy numbness that settled in his limbs and core was the only sensation other than dull pain exacerbated by movement. Something had jolted through him hard enough to reopen most of his wounds. All he could hear was his head pounding and ringing, so he tried checking the gauges instead but someone’s- his blood was blocking the display. Fuck- what could’ve- where-? Desperately trying to focus on anything out the domed window that could be made out through the smoke-...

A high scraping sound and a low groan echoed off the deck as the wing snapped off and caught fire. The body of the plane was still intact, so there was a good chance the pilot inside was still alive… Regardless, they still needed to address the fire.

Hayate could feel his strength escaping, but that was the sign he needed to force his way out now. His thoughts were still confused and scattered, but as usual his body could move on its own to do what needed to be done. Clumsy efforts to force the release and woozy attempts to break the glass yielded nothing, but Hayate still had one card up his sleeve. A parting gift and a friendly suggestion for any soldier that was reluctant to fly the mission, but he was sure even his father would be shocked to see him use it now.

Hayate’s trembling hands choked by bulky gloves fumbled to open and load the tiny revolver. He wasn’t quite cognizant of the danger he was in, but he could feel the heat radiating off his right side. Leaning against the curved metal frame on the opposite side to try and steady himself, he roughly jammed the weapon back together and released the safety.

Hayate’s dazed expression peered down the barrel a moment, briefly curious as one had to be. It would be the quick death he’d longed for- Even in this state, Hayate could manage not to fuck it up. Never endure the shame of being a prisoner. What little he knew of the true horrors of war, it was one of the few principles drilled into their heads that Hayate didn’t have a good counter for. But there was another element of those droning speeches that resonated just a little more. Repeating the moment of drawing strength back into his limbs and lifting his head back up off the ground too many times to count. If he could do it in this very instant, then it could be the last time and end of the loop that all his struggling had been leading toward.

Hayate pointed the gun at the canopy and fired. Fight to your dying breath. Hayate felt the recoil, but the familiar ring of the bullet and the sound of it smashing through the glass was missing. There wasn’t enough time to wonder though, shards of glass spilled down and he climbed right through it. 

Sure enough, this was the target. Hobbling out of his wrecked plane and slipping into the smashed open deck house on the American aircraft carrier he was supposed to sink. Leave it to Hayate to botch the easiest mission by living an impossible landing. The hostile voices shouting in an unfamiliar language were much too close for comfort, so he didn't stop moving, but somehow they didn't seem to be shouting at him. 

Hayate hated to admit it, but in this state he wouldn't have been able to put up a fight if even just one enemy soldier tried to stop him. If he stopped to assess his injuries, he was sure he wouldn't like the results. It would only take a moment to subdue him, yet there seemed to be something so pressing that he wasn't a priority. Downright insane to ignore an enemy plane crashing on your deck by Hayate's mark, even if the pilot was half dead. Whatever strange decision this was, Hayate wasn't going to stop and wonder about it any longer. 

Dragging himself deeper and deeper into the ship’s hull, it was too… warm. Hayate could understand it when he was trapped in his plane, but why now. Does it really matter? He was just a walking corpse, trying- likely in vain- to navigate the maze of passageways to find… an engine room- or something he could sabotage to make this hunk of metal easier to sink. Incredibly patriotic of me, I know, you’re welcome. Hayate couldn’t actually tell if he said it aloud or not when he half-spat half-warbled it at the ground. No point in admitting he was a little delirious. 

The alarm lights were flashing, and the best he could do was follow them down the hall. At this point, Hayate had already accepted that he had no idea where he was going. Luck had gotten him this far. He actually spotted someone once when he turned a corner, but they didn’t seem to have seen him before they ran in the opposite direction. 

A few more minutes passed and Hayate finally collapsed. So there it was, his best effort. With his stamina spent, it was strange to notice that his full body of injuries just hurt in a slightly different way now that he was draped across the floor. 

Murky ocean, hidden danger, sinking debris. The harsh grip on his limbs was nothing compared to the icy waves robbing his warmth or the salt of the sea getting in every wound. The latter eked out an audible groan of pain. For a moment, Hayate could have sworn he was staring past the metal grated floor and directly into the water below. 

If I'm lucky, I'm already dead. 

Hayate's body dropped back to the floor. It was a solid surface. But he could feel it just beneath his mangled body. No amount of ugly man-made machinery would be enough to get in the way. The ocean was anticipating him.