Cincinnatus

Cincinnatus

Colonel Hargrove feels the heat today, sweltering in his fatigues as he and Gunnery Sergeant Michaels pull their jeep to a stop in front of an old farmhouse. Michaels puts the behemoth in park, and pops open his door. The two exit at the same time, converging in front of the hood.

The yard before them is fairly simple, the only real decorations being a hitching post, a Toyota pickup, and a large oak tree with a tire hanging by a rope. Their man had certainly done a good job of distancing himself far away from the hustle and bustle of camp life.

"Is he going to talk to us, sir?" asks the 6-foot Gunny as they approach the covered porch.

"Hell if I know, Gunny." Hargrove knocks on the door three times, backing away to await a response.

Nothing. He knocks again, pursing his lips in dismay and concern. Scarcely after he finishes knocking, the door swings open, and a short, black-haired woman peers through. "Hargrove? What are you doing here?" the woman asks incredulously. Like her husband, Nikki's no longer an active member of the Resistance, only occupying herself with a clinic in town. Behind her is a short, fair-haired toddler tugging at her sleeve. "Mama? Who's that?" the boy asks before being hushed by his mother. "What do you want?" She asks more bluntly, folding her arms.

"We're here to see the Major, ma'am," Michaels pipes from behind Hargrove. "It's very important that we talk to him." His original statement now redundant, Hargrove smiles warmly. "We just need a few minutes of his time," he tries to assure her, removing the ball cap from his head.

Nikki leers at them skeptically, then sighs. "Great," she mutters, then gestures for them to move out of the way as she steps out the door and off of the porch. "Come on," she beckons impatiently. Her boy follows them with a cheerfully ignorant gape on his face, imitating the purposeful stride of the two soldiers.

The rear of the house is hardly more adorned than the front. Only a picnic table and a child's plastic gym sit here. A path bisects a considerable plot filled
with a variety of crops. About 15 meters out, a man can be seen standing in the midst of a partially assembled shed, hammering away with a distant tot-tot-tot-tot.  Raising her hands to her mouth, Nikki calls, "Masa!"

The hammering continues, then stops. Eventually, they hear a faint cry of "Hai?"

Nikki cries out again. "Resistance is here to see you!"

The figure pauses, drops his tools into a metal bucket, and makes his way toward the group. As he draws near, they recognize the face of Major Masayuki Sakamoto, glistening with sweat in the summer heat. Wiping away some of the moisture with his forearms, Masa comes to a stop, eyeing Hargrove and Michaels with apprehension. "Hargrove...Michaels...Good to see you," he says, offering a callused hand to be shaken. Hargrove takes it, beaming at the sight of his old friend. "Good to see you, Masa." Michaels instinctively salutes the man, eliciting a faint chuckle of amusement. "Don't salute me, Gunny, I work for a living," the Japanese man reminds him.

Looking back to Hargrove, he gestures toward the house. "Please, come inside," he says, grasping his son under the arms and hoisting him onto his shoulders. Nikki moves briskly past them to open the back door, almost ushering the pair inside as if they were paratroopers exiting a burning plane. As Hargrove steps inside, he can hear her and Masa's rapid muttering.

"...Don't think this is a good idea..."
"Just let me talk to them and figure out..."

The interior of the Sakamoto house is much more inviting than the exterior would suggest. The brick and stone hearth sits at the side of the room, and all furniture is oriented relative to it. Hargrove moves forward to examine the hearth more closely.

The mantle is adorned with pictures, trinkets, and books. A well-used katana is mounted above on a wooden frame: Hargrove couldn't read the characters etched in iron, but he knows they refer to Masa's great-grandfather.

The centerpiece is a group photo of the 132nd in front their bunker, taken before their legendary assault on Sector 12. Someone has written "The Best Family" in the margins in bold black marker. Many of those young men and women in the photograph are no longer living, having died either in the battle or subsequent operations in Nevada or Oregon. Hargrove doubted if Masa has forgiven himself for-

"Would you like anything, Jim-san?"

Hargrove spins around, caught by surprise. Masa is standing behind him, hands behind his back in a non-assuming posture. At this distance, it was easy for Hargrove to see gray beginning to overtake his jet black mustache. But aside from that, the man seemed hardly any different from the officer that had arguably led Tech-Com in its finest hour.

He shook his head. "No, Masa, I'm fine...But we need to talk." Already, he could see Masa begin to lose eagerness, but Masa gestures to the dining table with a warm smile. "Please, have a seat." In the other room, the toddler can be heard giggling as he interacts with the muffled voice of Michaels.

Pulling up a wooden chair, Hargrove sits down, interlacing his fingers in front of him. Masa follows suit, grunting lightly as he lowers himself via his bad leg. He curses quietly, then returns his attention to Hargrove. "So, my friend...What do you want from me?" He asks, the friendliness in his voice being punctuated by obvious spikes of pain.

Hargrove clears his throat. "We need you back at Command, Masa-"

"No."

The Colonel pauses, taken aback by his sudden refusal. "We lost a lot of good people in Vegas and Reno Two," he continues. A lot of our old command staff and NCO's bought it in Carson City when they detonated the tac nuke. The new guys we have don't have combat experience and no one to advise them. They won't stand a chance."

"Jim-san, I won't," Masa says with a shake of the head. "You know why I left, you know why I won't come back."