"A War Worth Fighting"

Written By: SkyLark

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gundman Wing, or its characters. I just love playing with them.

Pairings: Eventual 1x2

Warnings: Swearing, angst, violence, angst, torture, did I mention angst?

Betaed by ShenLong Deb *hugs*

Archives: http://www.gundam-wing-diaries.150m.com/gw/SkyLark/gwSkyLark.htm and
http://www.mizunoamy.bravepages.com/skylark/skylarkfics.html

Rating: R

Summary: Duo is fighting in the second World War when he's captured by the enemy.

To view the pic by shiyasim that inspired this fic; click HERE

"A War Worth Fighting"

He had no idea why he was doing this.

Something compelled him into it, but he did not know why... Maybe he did know, but was not about to admit to it.

And for whatever reason he was denying, Heero had ordered the cooking staff to make themselves scarce for a few hours that he may have the kitchen to himself. Furthermore, no one was to disturb him unless it was an emergency. If anyone saw what it was he was doing, he would never hear the end of it.

When he was finished, he actually sighed in relief that all looked to be well and took up the heavy tray. Pushing the door open with his backside, he moved out to the hallways and towards his office.

One of the nice things about having less than half his usual staff was not running into anyone at a time like this. What few soldiers remained were occupied with the main holding area and not so much the office section.

That was a detail that he had yet to share with a certain braided American. Last thing he needed was to wonder whether his charge would get up the nerve to attempt an escape, knowing that there would not be armed guards waiting just past the door.

Just as expected, opening the door to his room was a challenge with the tray he was carrying. But the wide-eyed look and sharp gasp from Duo that he earned was worth it.

Cautiously crawling to the closest wall of his cell for a good look at the sergeant and his bearings, the private sputtered, "I-is that really what I think it is?"

Smirking, Heero headed over to his cleared desk and lowered the tray bearing a tiny cooked turkey, stuffing, rice, vegetables, plates and silver wear. "Well, I thought that I would show a little hospitality since you've been on your best behavior," he commented while pulling up a second chair across from his own.

As he headed over to the cage with his keys, he shrugged, "So, Happy Thanksgiving." Unlocking the padlock and tossing the chain aside, he opened the door and gestured for his prisoner to join him at the 'table'.

In a daze, Duo hurried to his feet and lowered himself down. His violet eyes drank in the meal that had been prepared. "I-I don't know what to say, he breathed when he looked up into the cobalt eyes across from him.

Cutting into the turkey, the officer suggested, "Then perhaps you should eat instead of speaking before the food gets cold. It was not easy for me to come up with all of this, so I would hate to see it go to waste."

Not needing another prompt, the braided soldier quickly gathered his plate and began filling it.

After a few bites of the meal and stuffing made from scratch, he complimented, "This is great. Your mom taught you how to cook like this?"

"Yes," Heero answered after a brief hesitation. Reaching over to his water storage, he filled two plastic cups and handed one over. "My mother is American and my father was Japanese. We celebrated both cultures' traditions in our home."

Quietly taking in the information provided, Duo swallowed his mouthful of food and nodded. So now he knew which parent had which bloodline. Taking up a helping of rice, he grinned, "That's how you knew about today. I'll bet it was something to grow up in a household like that."

The sergeant paused before shrugging, "I enjoyed learning two different ways of life and seeing how they worked together. My parents had their challenges in being accepted, but they loved each other too much to be bothered by what other people thought. I always admired that about them."

Seeing the opening for further conversation, the private took the opportunity. As he cut into the meat on his plate, he asked, "How did they come to meet, anyway?"

Heero lowered his cup after a long gulp and replied, "My mother came from a very wealthy family that moved here for a flourishing business opportunity. She and my father met at the college they attended together." A small smile tugged his lips as he said, "One of those love-at-first-sight things."

"Nice," Duo smiled wistfully. "If your mother's eyes are as striking as yours, I can see how your father would be smitten." His violet eyes widening along with the cobalt watching him, he forked a helping of stuffing into his mouth before he said anything further.

Letting the compliment slide as nothing more than a friendly comment, the officer smirked, "Well, my father did say that was one of the things he found to be the most alluring. And yes, I do have the same eye shade as my mother."

With a deep breath, Heero frowned, "It always hurt me whenever her eyes cried. It was a rare thing since she was always strong. So when she did cry, it was heart-wrenching."

Clearing his throat, he lowered his fork to stare off and share, "The day my father died was one of those instances. He was training in aviation to someday be a fighter pilot. Then, on what should have been a routine session, his plane's engine failed."

Duo lowered his own utensils with a deep frown of his own. A sincere sadness filled his gaze as he whispered, "Gods, I'm sorry, 'Ro." Swallowing past a lump in his throat, he bit his lip and stated, "I know how rough that is."

The First Sergeant blinked his eyes back into focus and responded, "That is why I figured I could tell you." Slowly shaking his head, he sighed, "Anyway, my father's devotion to joining the military is why I was so determined to do the same. I knew I could never fly without thinking of what happened to him and so I joined
the army."

Leaning forward, the private smiled sadly, "I'm sure that he's proud of you… wherever he is." At a loss for words at the moment as he collected himself, Heero could only nod in appreciation for the sentiment.

"Is it all right if I ask where your mother is now?" Duo questioned.

Over the initial discomfort of discussing himself by then, Heero felt no reserve in answering, "She is still here in Japan, keeping a low profile… fretting over me, I'm sure. She was pretty broken up the day I left for the service."

Snickering quietly, his company commented, "Much like my mom." Their eyes meeting, Duo stated, "Seems you and I have more in common than we thought."

Helpless to prevent the grin on his face, the sergeant admitted, "So it seems."

A shudder suddenly ran through Heero and his smile faded. It was that nagging thought that haunted him day in and day out ever since his guest had arrived at Muroran. Wondering what his mother would think of him and the things that he was responsible for.

Then something remarkable happened. Something flashed in the violet eyes watching him… something akin to realization. And Duo smiled. Folding his arms on top of the `table,' he reassured, "No one in this war is innocent, `Ro. I've done things that I hope my own mother never learns of."

His jaw hanging open, the officer stammered, "H-how is it you understand me so well? How do you know just what to say?"

Sitting back in his seat, the private smirked and shrugged, "Like I've said before- when all you do is sit in a cell all day, you have a lot of time to think. When you don't think, you observe. When you don't think or observe, you put together what you've thought of and observed."

Instantly picking up on the unease settling by the tension in his companion's shoulders, Duo gathered his cup and changed the subject. "So," he began, "since it is Thanksgiving… what are you thankful for?"

Grateful and almost taken aback by the new topic, Heero blinked and took a moment to really consider his answer. "I think… I think I'm thankful for being different for the first time in my life," he breathed.

Slowly raising his head, he added, "Thanks to you. I never really appreciated what separated me from everyone else until I met someone that appreciated what made them unique. It's… a nice change to be content with myself."

It was Duo's turn to blink in surprise. Cutting his last helping of turkey, the sergeant questioned, "And what are you thankful for?"

A wide grin spreading on his face, Maxwell replied, "Well, even though the situation is fucked up… I'm thankful for the first real friend that I've had in a long time."

"Friend?" Heero repeated in little more than a whisper, hardly believing his ears. He had never heard anyone refer to him as a `friend.' It was such a foreign thing that he was certain he misunderstood.

Only smiling all the more, Duo nodded firmly, "Yes, friend. Despite the fact that you're holding me to be used for some bastard's sick pleasure, you're the first person outside of my family that every treated me decently. I've had more pleasant conversations with you than any of my own brothers in arms. So, yes. I consider you a friend."

When he really thought about it, Heero knew that he thought of the other soldier as a friend as well. His first friend.

And what the hell kind of a friend was he for locking the only person he trusted away? What kind of friend would allow the horrendous fate that was to befall his only ally to happen without blinking? If Duo were in his shoes, would he sit back and accept he was to be used for someone's sick pleasure?

Raising his glass in the form of a toast to break the sergeant from his thoughts, the private grinned, "Happy Thanksgiving, `Ro."

The officer followed the gesture and responded quietly, "Happy Thanksgiving, Duo."

For the remainder of the meal, the pair ate in silence. Just outside, the sky was changing as the sun began its descent below the horizon. Not a cloud or warplane marred the heavens the rest of that evening.

Even with the odd circumstances and with the world going to hell around them, it was the best Thanksgiving either soldier had in quite some time.

* * * *

November 25, 1944.

Hanging on a wall was a map of Japan and all the islands surrounding it. The continent itself and one particularly tiny piece of land were covered in small dots from where darts had penetrated the paper.

One dark eye closing as he lay on his back atop his mattress, Wufei took aim on that tiniest of islands. Letting his weapon fly, he made a direct hit on his target. Smirking, he whispered, "Gotch ya."

Iwo Jima.

The one island that he, and the entire Air Force, wanted more than any other. From a strategic standpoint, it was ideal with its landing strips and air bases to approach Japan's mainland for bombings.

Along with that, a large amount of Kamikaze pilots flew from that little dot. Losing that would mean the attacks would have to approach from further away, running the risk of wasting their fuel before they even reached the American fleets.

For months, talks had taken place over a possible assault on Iwo Jima. For months, nothing came to fruition.

Pushing himself up and onto his feet, Wufei headed over to the map on the opposite wall. His arms folding as he stood before the image, he stared at the tiny piece of land with the end of his dart jutting out. "I want that island," he muttered to himself.

Soon. There would have to be an attack soon. Anyone could see the advantages in containing the island, so there would eventually have to be an assault.

Whether his patience could hold out was the question.

Just as he was about to return to his bed, the pilot was nearly knocked from his feet with a sudden, deafening explosion that seemed to shake the whole of the ship. Eyes wide and with a startled cry, he gripped the edge of his desk to steady himself.

The moment the ground was steady enough, Wufei ran to throw his door open and charged through the halls along with those other soldiers that had been below deck. Frantically climbing to the surface, he and his comrades froze at the sight that greeted them.

On the other side of the ship, there was a gaping hole in the deck of the Essex to reveal the water down below. The remainder of the runway was engulfed in flames as the remains of fighter planes that had been fueled and ready to take off could be seen through the blinding light. The smell of burning carcasses assaulted the air,
making everyone around flinch at the initial smell of it.

In the bright sky overhead, there was a series of plane dogfights taking place as the American pilots that were lucky enough to get airborne fended off the swarm of Japanese attempting to fall into the ships. Guns from the carrier and fighter ships were firing rapidly to assist their wingmen. Several times, Wufei and those on the deck had to duck to avoid stray bullets flying through the confusion.

All around, blood-curdling screams and more explosions could be heard from the entire fleet sailing close to one another. The Cabot and the Independence decks were also ignited in tongues of red, orange and yellow.

His skin paling, Wufei breathed, "Shit." Instantly, he forced himself to run towards where the fire was scorching on the deck. Grabbing onto a free water hose, he aided those fighting back the fire.

Before long, every extinguisher and fire hose was in use as the soldiers finally began to push the burning wall back. Along the way, little eye contact was made on those blackened, scorched bodies of the ones who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Looking up at the sound of a plane plummeting, Wufei's eyes widened as he hissed, "Fuck! There's another one!" Other cries of the like were made as the crew helplessly watched a Japanese plane that made it through the fighters nose-dive just past their craft and into the side of the Independence not far from them. [1]

At the impact, bodies flew into the air along with the debris and flames. Burning gasoline and other chemicals could be smelt for miles.

Wufei glared up to the continuous fight in the air as he gritted, "Just get me in a goddamned plane." Focusing back on his work, he helped his comrades kill off the last flame.

There was a mad scramble to clear off as much of the runway as possible while planes collided and were shot down from the heavens around the massive fleet. Shouts of 'Look out!' and 'Not again!' went up as more Kamikaze were lucky enough to shake their opponents long enough to strike their targets in their suicide dives.

Finally, after nearly a half-hour, the Essex runway was free of any debris and ready for use. Wasting no time, Wufei threw on his leather coat and grabbed the gear of a dead man that he passed along the way to board one of the planes that survived the strike. Right behind him, other pilots were climbing into the cockpits of the
other planes.

Crewmen that were on the runway began scattering and running when the planes roared to life and turned to their starting point. Leading the pack, Wufei secured his goggles in place and glared ahead to the horizon. The moment the lane was clear, he pushed forward on his controls and was sent forward in a rush.

Pulling back just as the plane reached the edge of the carrier, the Chinese pilot went right for an oncoming Japanese plane. Hand on the trigger, he pressed down and sent a barrage of bullets whizzing for his target.

Unable to maneuver himself away from the newest addition from the sky, the first of the enemy crafts flew right into the trap. Almost instantly, the falling plane exploded almost a mile from making its hit.

"That's one!" Wufei yelled to himself over the buzz of his propellers. Right behind, his fellow airmen were falling into formation to make a wall around the fleet while going after those Japanese planes left.

Both the sea and sky became a mass of flames and implosions. Before long, however, enough American pilots had made it to the skies to become yet another shield for their fleet.

An hour later, there was not another oncoming enemy plane for as far as one could see. Face coated with sweat, Wufei panted in trying to catch his breath following the onslaught.

Never before had there been a surprise attack like that.

From his place high above the fleet, Wufei had a good look at the damage to the ships. It became evident that there were torpedo hits along with the suicide dives. No doubt there had been a great amount of losses suffered on board.

Turning his eyes towards the direction of Japan, the young man growled deeply, "You won this round, you bastards." Quickly, he returned his plane to the damaged Essex to refuel so that he could head to the heavens to resume his careful watch.

With the others from his team not far behind, Wufei knew no one would be resting well for the next few days and nights.

TBC

[1] Here is a webpage that talks about this 'Day of the Kamikaze'-November 25th, 1944. And the ships mentioned in the fic are the same in history that had been damaged this day.
http://www.dayofthekamikaze.com/hancock.html

chapter 12

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