To Live by the Sword

tw - light racism/use of slur, light gore

“I can’t believe they’re making us go out there.” One of the men mused. The rhythmic beating of the engine pushing the dinghy echoed off a large concrete hangar on the shore. The water in the harbor was still, reflecting the first pink stripes of the horizon as dawn crept in. Truby steered the boat in silence from the small cabin at the front. His eyes were resting on the large ship anchored in the deep harbor half a mile dead ahead. A Fletcher-class Destroyer, jutting out of the water mirror like the Mitten Buttes above the valley floor back home. He breathed deeply and calmly, the summer air sweet with a warm dew and gasoline. Watching the ship, the world seemed so still that he could feel the slow drum of his heart in his chest. Behind him, one of the two gasts stirred and continued.

“I mean they haven’t found who did it. What if he is still out there, some crazy stowaway with a machete.” The words broke Trubys gaze away from the ship, glancing at the speaker in the reflection of the cabin glass. It was a tall and burly man, sitting hunched over in a pair of oil-stained overalls. 

“Quit whining. The whole crew was taken to the detention center in Okinawa. And they searched through the ship.” His friend was lying on the bench across from him with a bomber cap pulled over his face. His blond hair was splayed out like a greasy halo, his lean physique draped in the oversized work clothes. Truby’s attention locked on to the conversation as they spoke, though he gave no outward sign of it.

“That’s what I mean. They couldn’t pin it on the crew. So it’s messed up having us go out there.” 

“Just cause they haven’t yet. They were at sea when it happened. Of course it’s someone from the crew.” The blond man replied. 

The first man grumbled and stared down the front of the small boat. There was a brooding over the man's face as Truby watched him. A fear, a respect for the events that had led the ship to its current resting place. The other man, dozing off, showed no such insight. Their conversation had ceased, though they had barely scratched any meaning it could have had. Truby’s eyes switched back and forth between the two men as the silence grew longer. Finally he pitched in.

“What makes you so sure?” He spoke in a monotonous voice.

“Huh?” The blond man pulled his cap aside and eyed the boatman.

“What makes you so sure it was the crew?”

“Just told you, didn’t I? Couldn’t be anyone else.”

“Your friend said they couldn’t tie the crew to the murder of the captain.” Truby continued. “Do you know why they couldn’t?”

“I don’t man, they’re probably covering for each other. It doesn’t matter anyway, 'cause no one else could have been aboard.”

“You don’t know that.” The burly man replied. “Could be someone snuck aboard.”

“Snuck aboard miles out at sea? And then what? Swam a hundred miles to shore?”

“Snuck aboard in the harbor. And then hid on the ship.”

“What, just to kill the captain? That makes no sense.”

Truby felt a pang of annoyance as the two men bickered. They were focusing on all the wrong details, all the wrong motivations.

“It was the murder weapon.” Both men looked up as Truby cut in. “Japanese make, a type of katana used for executions. It had been used in traditional style, severing halfway through the neck of the victim.”

The blond man scrunched his face in disgust and shrugged.

“So? That could have gotten here any number of ways. The men have money you know. That doesn’t prove anything. One of these soldier guys just went…”

“Sailors” Truby interrupted.

“Huh?”

“They’re called sailors when they’re navy.”

”Sure. One of these sailor guys just went nuts, and his buddies are covering for him.”

Truby felt a pinch in his chest at the conclusion.

“It still seems weird to me.” The burly man replied. ”And the guy was killed in traditional style. Why would one of the sailors do that? Maybe it’s some sort of assassination. Has to be. Now he’s just waiting there for someone to come so he can chop their guts up as well.”

“What are you a military strategist now? Why would they do that? Why not just sink the ship then? Even if some Jap did sneak aboard and off the guy he wouldn’t stick around for the crew to come back and find him.”

“Japanese.” Truby sternly replied. ”They’re not called Japs. You should respect your enemies.”

“Man, what is it with you?” The blond man sat up. “Does it matter what they’re called?”

Truby did not answer.

“And as for you, stop making up ghosts. There’s no one on that ship.” He laid back down while mumbling something to himself.

Silence ensued as they glided through the water. Truby eyed the two of them, but they showed no sign of picking up the topic again. He remembered the captain. He had met him at the sailor's bar outside the naval base just a few weeks prior. A brash, respectless man who controlled men and ensnared women. He had lived without honor, and so had died without it. Truby shut the engine and drifted the rest of the way, laying to by a metal ladder.

“Aren’t you curious?” Truby queried as he secured a rope to a cleat.

“About what?” the blond man scoffed.

“Why they did it?”

“No. I couldn’t care less. Some guy just went crazy. The sea does that to men.”

“A crazy man would have killed randomly. This was personal. A measured killing to preserve honor.”

“Sounds crazy to me, killing your captain over some idea of honor. Doing some weird ritual as if that makes it meaningful. Maybe the captain was a prick, maybe he wasn’t. Whoever killed him sure as hell was though.”

Truby’s pulse quickened at the words. The blond man slung his toolbag across his back and started up the ladder. The burly man followed, but Truby stood behind in the boat, finding his fist clenched around the pistol on his hip.

“You coming, boatman? Can’t fix the engines if you don’t let us in.” the blond man shouted from the deck of the ship. Truby relaxed his grip and took a set of keys hanging from a nail in the small cabin. With clenched teeth he followed up the ladder.

Harsh electric lamps lit narrow halls as the three men made their way down through the ship. Truby’s thoughts circled the morning's conversation like a shark. Why was the blond man so eager to dismiss the murder? Could he not see the importance of it? He had no understanding of its meaning. Worse yet, he scorned it as a derangement of the mind. 

He eyed the blond man as he led them further aft, down into the ship. His jaw clenched and released with his thoughts, and his heart pounded harder in his chest. They finally got to the engine room where the two men went to work.

Truby stood in silence for two hours as he watched them. The air of the engine room was clammy and thick with oil, and, having been inactive for a few days, far colder than the summer air outside, though he barely noticed, absorbed instead by the figures walking to and fro before him. Their movements danced on his retinas like puppets in a shadow theater. If he stared hard enough, maybe he could see the true forms behind the screen. Were they afraid of the murder that had happened just decks above them? Envious of the murderer? Did they have the capacity to understand it?

“And you?” Truby directed himself towards the burly man. The blond one was working further below, out of earshot. “You believe that the man who killed the captain had his reasons?” Despite his efforts, his voice came out with a hint of excitement.

The man was closing up a disassembled piston chamber.

“I guess it seems strange. Like someone in the crew should have noticed something.” He packed up his tools as he thought.

“Maybe it was mutiny or something.” he shrugged and gave Truby a blank stare. “I guess no one is here though, which is all that matters.”

“No, no. The reasons, that’s the important part. You were afraid the murderer would still be on the ship. If you know someone’s reasons, you would know where to find them.”

“I guess you’re right. I guess whoever it was just wanted the captain dead, and so he would have left the boat.”

Truby furrowed his brow.

“You have to look deeper than that. Why did he want the captain dead? That’s the importance of it.”

A metallic clang came from the grated metal floor as the blond man ducked up.

“You still going on about that?” he shook his head. “We’re done here, let's get going.”

They made their way up through the halls, Truby closing the doors behind them as they went. 

“You know, there is importance in intention.”

“Will you cut it out man? You’re starting to get on my nerves” the blond man barked. Truby’s heart pounded still harder in his chest. The man turned and continued up the hall. Truby’s eyes were fixed to him. 

Between locking doors, he felt his hand rest on his pistol. The two men had started talking about something, but he couldn’t focus on the words. They came into the fresh air on deck. He walked behind the men towards the ladder. Finally he drew, silently raising the gun. The men kept talking, oblivious to the threat pointing at their back. Truby kept pace a few feet behind them. His heart was pounding like an engine in his chest. Excitement shot through his body. His honor had once more been trampled, and for the second time, he would remove the boot that had done it.

“You know I told you. I told you that you should respect your enemies. If you don’t try to understand them you disrespect their power.” 

The two men started to turn around.

“What the hell are you talking about.. Woaw hey what the hel..”

A gunshot rang through the late morning air. The burly man let out a shriek and stumbled, falling onto his back. His face contorted in confusion and he looked frantically around. The blond man lay silently on the deck, his hair splayed out behind him as it soaked up the blood. One eye was wide open in an expression of disbelief, the other a pool of blood and bone fragments. His hands lay passively by his side. His lips were ajar, but no words lept from them. Far away on the docks voices shouted.

“What..? wha.” The remaining mechanic breathed too fast to get a word out. Truby held the gun on him as he backed away towards the ladder. His heartbeat tapered as excitement flowed through his body. 

“Now you see it, right?” Truby looked expectantly at the distraught mechanic. “You understand why.”

The man stared blankly at Truby. His mouth opened and closed without making a sound. A low moan started to emanate from his throat. Truby took in the sight, waiting for some revelation, but was met only with the sights of shock. He lowered himself down and freed the boat. Glancing up at the railing, he listened to the sobs floating through the still air. In time the man would understand. The small boat's engine drowned out the cries, and Truby’s heart slowed to a steady pulse.