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- Хироши Сакуразака
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That
number
was
my
closest
friend
,
and
so
long
as
it
was
there
,
I
had
no
fear
of
dying
.
It
didn
’
t
matter
if
Rita
killed
me
.
I
would
never
have
made
it
this
far
without
her
anyway
.
What
could
be
more
fitting
than
redeeming
my
savior
with
my
own
death
?
But
if
I
gave
up
now
,
everything
would
be
gone
.
The
guts
I
’
d
spilled
on
that
crater
-
blasted
island
.
The
blood
I
’
d
choked
on
.
The
arm
I
’
d
left
lying
on
the
ground
.
The
whole
fucking
loop
.
It
would
vanish
like
the
smoke
out
of
a
gun
barrel
.
The
159
battles
that
didn
’
t
exist
anywhere
but
in
my
head
would
be
gone
forever
,
meaningless
.
If
I
gave
it
all
I
had
and
lost
,
that
was
one
thing
.
But
I
wasn
’
t
going
to
die
without
a
fight
.
Rita
and
I
were
probably
thinking
the
same
thing
.
I
understood
what
she
was
going
through
.
Hell
,
she
and
I
were
the
only
two
people
on
the
whole
damn
planet
who
could
understand
.
I
’
d
crawled
over
every
inch
of
Kotoiushi
Island
trying
to
find
a
way
to
survive
,
just
as
Rita
had
done
on
some
battlefield
back
in
America
.
If
I
lived
,
she
’
d
die
,
and
I
’
d
never
find
someone
like
her
again
.
If
she
lived
,
I
would
have
to
die
.
No
matter
how
many
different
ways
I
ran
it
through
my
head
,
there
didn
’
t
seem
to
be
another
way
out
.
One
of
us
had
to
die
,
and
Rita
didn
’
t
want
to
talk
it
through
.
She
was
going
to
let
our
skill
decide
.
She
’
d
chosen
to
speak
with
steel
,
and
I
had
to
give
her
an
answer
.
I
picked
up
my
axe
.
I
ran
to
the
middle
of
the
cafeteria
and
tested
its
weight
.
I
found
myself
standing
almost
exactly
where
Rita
and
I
had
gone
through
the
umeboshi
.
Ain
’
t
life
funny
?
It
was
only
a
day
ago
,
but
it
felt
like
a
lifetime
.
Rita
had
beaten
me
at
that
,
too
.
I
think
it
was
fair
to
say
she
had
a
gift
for
competition
.
Rita
’
s
crimson
Jacket
advanced
one
step
at
a
time
,
sizing
me
up
.
She
stopped
just
outside
of
axe
range
,
her
gleaming
weapon
gripped
tightly
in
her
hand
.
The
sounds
of
the
fighting
outside
intruded
on
the
quiet
of
the
cafeteria
.
Explosions
were
the
beat
of
distant
drums
.
Shells
tearing
through
the
sky
were
the
high
notes
of
flutes
.
Automatic
rifles
played
a
staccato
percussion
.
Rita
and
I
brought
together
raucous
cymbals
of
tungsten
carbide
.
There
were
no
cheering
onlookers
in
the
crumbling
ruins
of
the
cafeteria
.
Piles
of
tables
and
overturned
chairs
were
our
only
spectators
,
silent
observers
to
the
deadly
dance
of
our
crimson
and
sand
Jackets
.
We
moved
in
a
spiral
,
as
Rita
always
did
,
tracing
a
pattern
in
the
concrete
floor
.
We
were
dancing
a
war
ballet
,
wrapped
in
the
pinnacle
of
mankind
’
s
technology
,
our
crude
weapons
singing
a
thousand
-
year
-
old
dirge
.
