====================
||Chariots of Fire||
====================

Based on Rumiko Takahashi's Ranma 1/2

Certain characters, locations and references in this fanfiction are
copyrighted by their respective creators and/or owners.  These characters
and other associated concepts thereof are presented in a way that may
conflict with their creators' original intentions. 

The characters in this fanfiction are fictitious.  Any similarities
between characters and (non)living persons are coincidental. 

This fanfiction is the intellectual property of Myungsu Suh.  Any usage,
storage and presentation of original characters and plot are prohibited
unless receiving the writer's consent. 

My personal thanks to the prereaders, especially to WindDance, Gary Kleppe
and J. Austin Wilde.  Without their help this fanfiction would have
withered into dust. 

Myungsu Suh
wx721@netcom.com

==

This is a darkfic.  That means:  angst, depression, hate, racism, death,
curses, etc.  Most especially, the reality of life. 

#1:  I'm not trying to stereotype Japan (or America).  

#2:  I'm trying to give two viewpoints of WWII -- from the Japanese and
American perspectives.  Fact:  both sides used A LOT of propaganda.  In
crude terms:  Brainwashing. 

#3:  Cliche warning.  War is hell. 

For authenticity, a great deal of time and effort were spent on research. 
I gave my best effort to keep close to the FACTS; however, any portrayal
of the past, present or the future has its flaws.  C&C will be VERY
appreciated. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 
			WARNING LABEL 
If suffering from suicidal depression or any afflictions of mood after
reading this fanfiction, take some happy drugs, become cheerful like
Kasumi and hip-hop to theme of Barney.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



+++===+++
Prelude:  The Dark Wood of Error
+++===+++

"Midway in our life's journey, I went astray
from the straight road and woke to find myself
alone in a dark wood.  How shall I say

what wood that was!  I never saw so drear,
so rank, so arduous a wilderness!
Its very memory gives a shape to fear."

The Divine Comedy, Canto I (1-6)

==

Cradling the rifle in his arms, Private Second Class Hibiki Ryoga lay flat
on the frozen mud and peered cautiously at the plane wreck several hundred
meters away.  He could smell the pungent aviation fuel from his position. 

The huge silvery plane was smoking from small fires that illuminated the
dark field with their orange glare. Several figures dressed in drab flight
suits scurried away from the wreck and unknowingly crawled toward Ryoga's
squad. 

Ryoga felt a tug on the rope tied to his waist.  Lt. Kido, the honorable
squad leader, crept next to him and hoarsely whispered instructions. 
"Stay put.  Rest of us will capture these Anglo-American pilots.  Watch
for Chink guerrillas.  Don't wander off this time!" 

Without waiting for a reply, Lt. Kido stealthily melted into the night. 
The rest of the fanatic squad followed Kido's example.

Biting his tongue, Ryoga shifted his body and sat on the ground.  He hated
being a soldier.  He served only because the Japanese Empire needed young
people like himself.  Relying on a gun humiliated Ryoga, though it was
more effective in killing. 

Adding to the insult, he was tethered on a leash like a senseless dog,
receiving the same treatment given to the dirty Chinese and the garlic
smelling Chosenjin.  The Imperial Army passionately hated anyone or
anything lacking the correct right-wing military fervor.

Ryoga tighten his grip on his rifle, causing it to crack.  If he hadn't
blundered into an army camp in Manchukuo, he might have been protecting
Akane from Ranma.  How could he have known China was right next to Kyoto?

Ryoga tried stifling his depression and failed miserably.  He desperately
worried for Akane, knowing that Ranma would irritate her, or even worse,
make her cry.

Ryoga gnashed his teeth.  He had to go back to the Tendo Dojo.  It would
mean desertion -- a taint on his honor -- and possible capture by the Army
as a traitor, but honor be damned.  Maybe he could just leave...  As of
late, Ryoga's honor as a martial artist was very tenuous.  He had
committed very questionable deeds as a soldier.

Ryoga shuddered despite his winter coat.  Wails of Chinese villagers
haunted his nightly dreams.  On certain nights, after 'sanitizing' Chinese
'bandits,' Ryoga would dream of his first killing -- bayoneting a hapless
prisoner.  That dream would be followed by another in which Lt. Kido cut
off the heads of prisoners with his Showa sword while commenting which
neck was best for a clean cut.  Lt. Kido was drenched by the two fountains
of blood from the necks in these dreams, a far cry from his spotless
uniform in reality.

During the day, leaden eyes of that strange, beautiful girl from western
China bore into Ryoga's obscured conscience.  When the girl and others
like her had arrived on the special train the troops had taken turns with
them.  The girl hadn't even whimpered.  Some of the others, a mix of
Japanese, Chinese and Chosenjin, though dead drunk, had laughed and
shrieked for hours. 

Ryoga grew faint at the images burned into his mind.  He felt the crimson
fluid trickling down his nose.  Struggling to keep conscious, Ryoga
fiercely bit his lower lip.  Pain.  Good.  It kept him from fainting. 

Ryoga muttered feverishly to himself.  "No one would know back in Nerima. 
It'd be the same when I go back.  No one would know.  Akane won't know. 
Ukyou won't know.  Ranma-- " 

Ryoga paused.  Would have Ranma done the same, if he had been a soldier? 
Yes, he would have.  No one could have resisted the pressure, not even
Ranma. Yamato damashii demanded it.  As Lt. Kido fervently lectured, the
Spirit of Japan will win the war.  Everyone must be willing for the
ultimate sacrifice. 

A loud explosion jarred Ryoga.  The plane -- Lt. Kido mentioned it as a
new enemy bomber -- vanished in a giant fireball.  The flames must have
reached the fuel tanks.

Shoving aside his thoughts, Ryoga stood up and scanned the vicinity while
tightly clutching his damaged rifle.  The wintry field was dark, only
dimly lit by the bright orange flames of the wreck.  Near the smoking
debris Ryoga saw his squad surrounding the dazed Americans, most of whom
had their hands up.  Some of the troops pummeled a resisting airman with
their rifle butts.

Ryoga sickened, but hardened his heart.  Seeing defenseless people beaten,
raped and killed used to anger him.  Not anymore.  He could not spare pity
while Japan, while Akane suffered.  Yes, he protected Akane by doing
this... but... Ranma...  No.  Lt. Kido said only by fighting could he save
Japan... meaning Akane would be safe.  Only if Ranma--

A succession of sharp cracks echoed through the air.  Ryoga dropped his
rifle.  In dazed curiosity Ryoga felt his chest and found bloody holes. 

Pain. 

He slumped to the cold ground, blood gushing from his wounds.  He
struggled to stand, only to be kicked down by shadowy figures. 
Guerrillas. 

Pain. 

The muzzle of a gun pressed against his bandanna.  Ryoga heard the low
rapid talk of the guerrillas. 

Pain. 

Ryoga knew it was over.  He would never see Akane's face again.  It never
crossed his mind to say his death cry, as Lt. Kido forced him to practice
everyday. 

(Tenno Heika Banzai!  Tenno Heika Banzai!) 

Instead, all he could think of was Akane's smiling face, hundreds of
kilometers away, in Japan.

"A-Ak-a--n- L--ov--" 

A shot answered his last words.  The Communist guerrillas spat on the
bloodied body and grinned as other guerrilla units mopped up the Japanese
devils.  The American airmen were saved.