Ural

“This is going to be harder than I thought.”

How hard did Hiroki think this was going to be? Kanamaru had already made it sound like a risky proposition. The Russians were still running convoys of soldiers into Ginza to enjoy the Katyusha bars, but they were under heavy escort now - from both Allied and Russian MPs. Getting close while the curfew was in effect was always going to be a problem.

“Should we try another place?”

“This is probably the only one open right now. You see any others lit up?”

Sure enough, Cafe Nezhnost was the center of activity in an otherwise lifeless Ginza. The curfew had shuttered the bustling nightlife of the district, leaving only a few exceptions to cater to the Allied and Soviet forces maintaining the night watch. A parade of soviet trucks was parked out front, their massive frames blocking the entire side-street. The entire area had been cordoned off by a pair of American MP Humvees blocking the alley - preventing any of the Soviets from wandering off and potentially starting a fight that might escalate into a full-blown war.

“Should we run for it? The MPs aren’t looking.”

No, it was too risky, especially for what we were wearing. Hiroki and I had both dug up our old middle school gakuran. The blazers we wore at Akiba North would be too obvious a tell, even if we modified them. They didn’t match Ayasa’s school either- there, the students wore green sailor-style outfits regardless of gender. The old middle school uniforms were at least generic enough to be believable as transfer student attire- at least, that’s what we hoped. We had apparently both grown enough in the last few months that the uniforms were tight around the legs; tight enough that we wouldn’t be able to run very fast.

“Let’s look for another way. That bar must have a backside on the other street.”

Sure enough, it did. There was a small door sunk into the street-unmarked except for a small “staff only” sign. The MPs didn’t seem to notice us sneaking into the alley- their attention was focused on keeping the Soviet trucks penned in.

“You’re not thinking of just walking in there, Nishizawa! We’ll get spotted-”

“Listen. Can you hear that?”

The heavy door was muffling most of it- but the atmosphere inside was raucous. We probably could walk straight through without attracting much attention.

“We walk straight through. If anyone asks us to stop, we don’t.”

Yes. It was just like the last time I had gone over the wall- well, under it, really. Just keep walking and don’t stop to doubt yourself.

The door was unlocked. We hustled through a dimly lit staff room- empty except for a 20-something woman dressed as a French maid who was napping in the corner. The music was getting louder - it sounded like singing.

Sure enough, it was. The floor of the club was a frenetic mess of waitresses in kitschy Russian-themed cosplay and Soviet soldiers, all in uniform. The soldiers were all drunkenly singing along to some kind of folk song- I didn’t know the title, or what the lyrics meant, but they sounded melancholic and homesick. Perhaps that was just my projection.

Nobody noticed Hiroki or me as we slipped through the crowded hostess club. A few times it felt like there were people watching us, but each time we slipped further into the din without a peep. Everyone was having too much fun to care about the two middle schoolers creeping towards the front of the bar. Perhaps it was because our uniforms weren’t all too different from those of the soldiers- the color was different, but our uniforms were buttoned the same way as the garrison jackets of the Soviet troops. In the dim light of the club, we might be mistaken.

We made it to the front of the bar before encountering our first real obstacle. A noticeably sober Soviet officer was trying to check the papers of men stumbling out.

“Shoot. What now? That’s the only way out front.”

Hiroki thought quicker than I did. He grabbed a bottle of unopened champagne waiting on one of the trays up front.

“I’ve seen them do this on TV.”

He shook the bottle a little and then loosened the cork a little bit. Hiroki was concentrating intensely as he made precise ballistic calculations in his head. He set it down on a decorative holder that looked like a bear eating salmon and angled it at the officer checking papers.

“Get back!”

Hiroki shoved us both back into the darkness. Then, pop! The cork exploded outward, missing the officer. The shower of champagne didn’t, though. The officer stormed over to inspect the device, demanding something in Russian- probably searching for the culprit of this prank. The soldiers hooted and hollered at the sight of the champagne-drenched commissar.

“Now. Go, go, go!”

We slipped out the door and up the stairs. There was no one else on guard duty, save for the Allied MPs sitting in their trucks a few hundred meters down either side of the alley.

“Not the first one. Pick one in the middle.”

Hiroki had remembered Kanamaru’s instructions. Good.

“Where do we hide?”

We picked a truck right in the middle of the column. The cab was off limits. The bed of the truck was better, but in a few hours it would be filled with dozens of soldiers. There were few other places to hide on a truck of this size.

“In here!”

Hiroki pointed to a large tool locker hanging below the cargo bed. It was just barely large enough for one person to fit if they curled into a little ball.

“I’ll pick the one on the other side. Stay there until we’re across. When you hear three taps- I’m getting off!”

Hiroki ducked under the truck to hide in the tool cabinet. I hoisted myself up and into the tiny space. A few tools clattered around as I twisted into the position I would need to be in to close the lid. Thankfully, nobody heard.

I waited there for an interminable amount of time. It must have been hours, curled up into that tiny little ball. Finally, the diesel engines began to roar to life, one after the other. I cracked the lid of the tool locker open, just enough to see outside. Drunken soldiers dragged themselves to the back of the truck, slamming themselves down on the bed. After a little while of this- a lurch. The truck had begun to move.

The truck wound its way through the deserted streets under heavy guard. I could hear the motor of an American truck keeping pace with the convoy I was in- making sure there would be no unscheduled stops. The trucks finally stopped at a well-lit area. I couldn’t see much through the tiny crack in the lid, but we must have been at the checkpoint.

A pair of boots strode by, then another. Flashlight beams scanned the truck several times. I could hear an argument - half Russian and half Japanese. It seemed like the truck driver and a border policeman were arguing about something, but I couldn’t hear well enough to tell.

A pair of boots stopped in front of the locker. Shit. Was this it for me?

A beam swept over the front of the locker. I stopped breathing.

Then, it was over. The boots turned, distracted by a stream of Russian profanity coming from the truck’s cab. The Soviets and the BorPol guards REALLY didn’t like each other.

The truck lurched forward out of the checkpoint and back onto the darkened streets. The convoy started to wind into a narrow section of the streets.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Three loud raps of metal in succession. That was the signal- but the truck was still moving. I had to risk it. I flung the cover open and rolled out. The impact with the ground shook me hard, but I had to keep rolling, lest the next truck in line run me over. I rolled into a pile of garbage bags.

The convoy had passed by before I had recovered. Apparently nobody had noticed the body that had just rolled into a pile of trash. The stench was putrid. Was it impossible to get to the North without something that stunk getting all over you?

“You made it!”

Hiroki was standing above me. He seemed to have timed his roll out of the truck better- there didn’t appear to be a scratch on him.

“I think I broke my dignity.”

“It’ll heal.”

We spent the night sleeping in an alley, behind a dumpster.

“I hope her school doesn’t have high admission standards.”

Hiroki was still able to laugh.