Neon Genesis Evangelion Fan Fiction ❯ Friends of a Pilot : Kensuke ❯ Friends of a Pilot : Kensuke ( One-Shot )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

The Children's Crusade I apologize in advance for my poor grasp of German. So, native speakers, please forgive me.
Thank you Tchernobyl and SxStrngSamurai13. Especially you SSS13, though I feel that the story would be better if I had finished it...but it is something else as it is.









Dedicated to the English, French, and German soldiers of World War One. May they forever sing in the long hours of the night.

It is hard to imagine what they must have suffered. We will never truly know what they felt, in those moments of terror and agony. We can never experiance what they went through. But somehow: we must try to understand...and to pity them.
For they suffered for us, they bled for us, and they fought for us.
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for.
And they fought for it.
-Seldon

Kensuke Aida wasn't what someone would imagine as a friend to the famous, or infamous depending on how you viewed them, Evangelion pilots. He was a quiet, short boy with thin glasses perched on a small nose that was set into a gaunt face. His sandy brown hair was an unusual trait that he had inherited from his mother, but that was the only feature about him that set him apart. But he knew the Evangelion pilots, he knew them from the beginning of the Children's Crusade, as he liked to call the war between mankind and the enigmatic beings known as the Angels. Yes, he knew them well.
He never told anyone that he knew them personally though, but he couldn't resist telling one or two that he had met with each of the Pilots privately, and in person at least once. A small lie, since he had been Shinji Ikari and Toji Suzahara's best friend during the Crusade. And had been on even terms with the aloof Rei Ayanami for most of the time he had known her. Asuka...well, the two were more like friendly enemies, but they had finally calmed down and become civil...after their second year in high school.
'High school...'
That had been years ago. Back when he was still a snot-nosed military brat who had no clue as to the true horrors of war. He had wished for so long to be chosen as a candidate for the Evangelion program.
An explosion rocked the ground, sending a shower of clumped, frozen soil and dirty snow high into the cold winter sky. Kensuke just tipped his head down over his lap, letting the clumps rain on his steel helmet with sharp, echoing pings and dinks.
'Of course, I never knew about class 2-A until after the war...' he thought bitterly, his hands absently brushing over the black steel of his cold rifle.
Class 2-A, NERV's pilot storage and checkpoint station inside the school. A masterful plan, all of those kids being candidates for the Eva program certainly simplified NERV's watchdog and propaganda problems. After all, a dead and anti-NERV pilot would more than likely hand the Geofront over to the Angels rather than fight against them. Of course, Shinji wasn't dead...but he was most definitely anti-NERV.
A second explosion sounded next to the frozen dugout that Kensuke resided in. The spray once again rained down on his head and he never even noticed. He was so lost in the memories of his past that he didn't even hear his platoon sergeant creep up until the man rolled down into the foxhole.
In an flash, Kensuke had his rifle up and leveled at the intruder's head.
"It's me Ken," the sergeant said, gesturing for the twenty year old man to lower his rifle. Kensuke gave a small smile and slammed the butt plate hard into the snow-covered floor of his foxhole. He could barely feel the round barrel in his hands, they were numb all the way up to his wrists.
"We've got an armored unit moving into the area Ken, so expect at least one target to head up this way."
Kensuke tiredly bent his neck one way, then the other; the pops of his bones were quickly covered up by the continual explosions both close by and far away.
"The Russians are pushing this way?"
His sergeant nodded, "Yeah, fucking perfect time for them to do it too. Half the boys have already put in for rotation home for their Christmas leave. A third of those have already left!" The man finished by spitting on the ground with a disgusted nod of his head. "I can't believe this shit..."
Kensuke nodded, he wasn't one of those who had put in for Christmas leave. Where would he go anyway? Shinji was holed up somewhere in the mountains, hiding from his fans and haters alike. Toji and Hikari were married now and with a collection of kids, and he sure as hell didn't want to bother them at a time like this. Asuka...well, she was off commanding some forces in Germany most likely. And it wasn't like she would welcome him with open arms.
His father had died...before he even graduated from high school.
"Well, JDF-2 thinks that Arbie might begin the offensive any day now...the UN's Tenth Armor should be arriving later this night...what's the disposition of your squad? And where's Lieutenant Kaishi?"
Kensuke looked at the man with tired, red-lined eyes for a long time before he answered. "You're looking at it's disposition, Sarge; Kaishi...died two hours ago."
The sergeant looked at Kensuke, then poked his head up and scanned the nearby foxholes. Each one of them was rimmed with a line of black, churned earth and the dusky gray of burned powder. In one, he could faintly make out the line of a withered and twisted arm clutching the edge of it's foxhole...as if it was trying to still claw out of it's deathtrap.
The sergeant dropped back down.
Kensuke smiled at the man, he smiled a sick and deprived smile of one who was almost insane. As though he was dancing along the precipice of insanity, hopping along on one leg and trying to cartwheel along the side. He had stared into the abyss...and the abyss had stared back into him. His physical appearance wasn't too great either. He looked exhausted and hungry, cold, despite the thick layers of several army-issue cold weather covers and the assorted collection of socks that hung out of his pockets and around his neck. A ragged pair of stripes hung from the outer sleeves of his upper-most jacket, looking for the entire world like they would just fall off like leaves in autumn. Behind him, a small arsenal of ammunition, rifles, and grenades were carefully lined out or stacked upright. Ready to use at a moments notice.
"I've got their tags here," Kensuke said, his breath making a ragged cloud in the frigid air as his hands searched for the identifications. "Don't know if it'll do any good though...the bodies have been hit more than once."
A ringing clatter sounded though the foxhole as Kensuke held them out to his sergeant. The older man took them without a flicker of an eyelash.
"We'll send you some more men to hold this position," the sergeant calmly intoned. Kensuke nodded and reached deep within his thick clothes. He returned with a crumpled packet of cigarettes and a scratched and rusted lighter. Huddling as close to his cupped hands as possible, he tenderly flicked the striker. The flame danced and wavered as it burned the cigarettes' tip red-orange, a thick haze of smoke drifted from the corners of his mouth.
The sergeant looked at him once and almost warned him...but held it back. 'He knows what he's doing.'
Without another word, the sergeant left Kensuke's foxhole. Crawling back through the landscape of Hell. Kensuke puffed on his cigarette for a long time, somewhere in there...the shelling stopped.
'It sure is a cold night...'
Kensuke plugged a few more shots across the barren plain of white snow. Though it wasn't white anymore; more like a mixed slush of black soil and red blood. Topped off by burning fuel and blackened machines of war. It was two days till Christmas...and here he was, shooting at men even as they shot back at him.
No one ever knew who started this war. Perhaps it was a holdout of some remaining Seele council members, or maybe the Russians finally decided to test their industrial might against the world.
Obviously, two World Wars with Germany on the losing side hadn't convinced everyone that this sort of thing was a bad idea.
History is a lovely thing.
But history was past, now was the present. And to think of the past in a present such as this is to sign your death warrant before the bullet even finds you.
So Kensuke heaved himself up to the lip of his foxhole, and he almost emptied his ammunition clip at the advancing Russian troops. He hit more than one, he knew that for sure. But he couldn't stay up long to count; the tanks that the infantry were following made that impossible.
Even as he ducked back down into the relative safety of his dugout, a section of earth nearby exploded upwards and outwards with a rush of hot gas and a hammering of earthen clods. All around him, men rose out of their similar foxholes and did much the same as he. They fired at the exposed infantry, only to quickly hide as the enemies tanks took an interest in them long enough to hammer them down with their cannons.
'We're losing.'
That's all Kensuke had time to think of as he yanked the pin out a grenade, just one more gone from his shrinking pile. He gave a grunt and a heave and propelled the small, baseball-sized explosive far out into the field of advancing Russians. A dull thud and sharp screams of surprise and pain was all he heard before a hail of fifty caliber peppered the edge of his dugout.
Then he heard something that sent shivers through his already frozen body.
The only thing you could describe it as: was a freight train being shot through the air.
And it was headed at Kensuke.
"SHIT!" he screamed out, throwing himself as far away from his ammunition stockpile as he could possibly get. Then, Hell found a new definition. The explosions seemed to overlap one another; their deafening rumbles barely pausing a half-second before the next sounded off. Debris, dirt, and dead bodies flew everywhere. Huge, billowing flames erupted from the unfortunate Russian armor that was hit by a stray round, the concussion from which sent their already scattered troops flying meters through the air.
One of these landed in Kensuke's foxhole.
"AAUGH!" he cried out, scrambling and scrabbling at his leather pistol holster. He was almost sure that he would die at any instant, that the Russian would regain his senses in a second and shoot him dead while he still struggled to free his weapon.
With a cry of anguish, terror, and pure frustration: Kensuke wrenched the semi-automatic pistol free and whipped it around to cover the Russian. Kensuke stayed like that, breathing heavily as the sounds of freight trains still rained down around him. Staring, watching, looking...the dead Russian's sightless eyes gazed back at the cowering Kensuke. A small trickle of blood oozed from his nose.
Kensuke dropped his arm, and threw his head back in a cry of despair.
'I'm so sick of this, I'm sick of this war, I'm sick of this cold, I'm sick of all of this blood-'
"I'M FUCKING SICK OF IT ALL!" he finally shouted.
The explosions continued without pause.
They cared little what their masters thought.
Kensuke peered through the dirty lenses of his binoculars. Scanning and searching for any sign of his enemies. The barren and torn wasteland around his position was littered with the last assault. The tanks still burned hot and bright from the attack earlier that morning, and the bodies still bled their now-cool blood. Huge craters of black and large splatters of bright red covered nearly every square inch of that field; what wasn't covered in broken machines or bodies that is.
"Sarge! See anything?"
Kensuke ignored the question, choosing instead to examine the line of trees that ran parallel to his row of foxholes. 'The attack came from there...so that's where they will be,' the binoculars dropped. Somewhere off to his right he heard the question being asked again.
"No. I don't see anything corporal."
He had received his re-enforcements earlier that morning, just in time for their first battle with the enemy. Yeah, replacements...kids mostly. Wet behind their ears and with about as much combat wisdom as a gopher. From what he understood: they had suffered over fifty percent casualties from that mornings assault.
'Not good...not good at all...'
Far off to the left, a man jumped out of his hole and started hauling ass over to Kensuke's position. Nothing was sent over to them yet...but the two positions would be noted. Of that, Kensuke was sure. In a few moments the man was hopping down into the hole and holding out a phone to Kensuke.
"Company sir."
Kensuke nodded and took the phone, "Kensuke, go."
"Ken-...e're sending y-u a fe...tanks. There, that's got it good. They should be arriving in about an hour. I want you to keep them safe from enemy attack until Christmas for me okay?"
"Sir?" Kensuke was bewildered. 'What the hell are these people thinking? If I leave them exposed out in this plain we'll get the shit shelled right out of us!'
"You heard me Sergeant. We've got an operation planned for the twenty-fifth. Your orders are simple enough-"
"Sir, I have no cover out here but what I dig for myself! If we put tanks up here then we'll get shelled and wiped out!"
The radioman in the foxhole shifted his weight from one foot to another and spit out onto the ground. He was a veteran, unlike the rest of the re-enforcements. And he had experienced the stupidity of orders many times before, this was just one more to tell his grandkids about...if he lived to have them.
"I'm aware of that Ken, but Division told Regiment, Regiment told Battalion, and Battalion ordered me. That's how the shit falls," Kensuke sighed heavily into the receiver, shaking his head at the radioman in pure stupefied disbelief. "Look, we've also got the 1-2-7 Panzer Grenadiers here, I'll ask that they be sent up with the armor to keep you company. Right?"
Kensuke nodded, not minding that his commander couldn't see him, "Yes sir."
The line went dead, and the phone exchanged hands. "Well? Sarge?"
Kensuke stared at his feet for a time, studying the wrinkles and waves that had been shaped over the long time that he had been wearing them. In a way, they looked like an ocean...a small, shiny, black ocean. Covered with grime, and gore, and blood, and mud-
"Sarge?"
Kensuke snapped out of his reverie and locked his eyes on the radioman. "Tanks, and more re-enforcements. Germans, I believe."
The radioman took it in solid form, merely...nodding and resigning himself to the fact, "Should I tell the men Sarge?"
With a nod from Kensuke, the man was off.
High above, the whine of fighter jets screamed across the war-torn plains. They circled and dove and intertwined with one another in their little dance of death. Bullets were fired, rockets released, rolls and slips and dips were pulled off. But eventually, one fighter exploded into a thousand flaming shards.
The Russian fighter pulled off and headed home, content to let his enemy plummet to the snowy ground below.
Kensuke found it slightly ironic that the UN plane plowed into the thin tree line that faced parallel to his own thin position. A burning line of orange flame burned those trees for nearly two hundred meters; near the start of it's life: he could make out the poor Russian bastards unfortunate enough to be in its path thrashing about, covered head to toe in flames like Buddhist monks.
He ordered his men not to waste their ammunition in trying to hit the easy targets.
Better to let them burn.
Kensuke felt something tap his foot.
He ignored it and rolled over, absently noting that his helmet slipped down across his nose as he re-adjusted his head for his new position. Then he felt something kick his foot.
He shot out of his curled position, all thoughts of getting some decent sleep for once instantly dashed out of his mind. He held his pistol at the ready, the short length of its barrel shifting only slightly as it was aimed at the offensive intruder.
"Nicht schiessen, nicht schiessen!" the man shouted, furiously waving his hands before his body as though he would be able to ward the bullet off with his palms. Kensuke took a moment to study the man in his gray uniform. Then he reached up and pulled him down to the ground.
"Idiot! Never stand up on the line!" Kensuke shouted at him, the poor man's uniform curling around his clenched fist. The German soldier nodded and Kensuke threw him away from himself. "Goddamn foreigners...can't understand a word I'm saying."
The German pulled himself up, clutching his shins in a manner not unlike what Shinji used to do. His mouth opened and he hesitantly, and haltingly, spoke a few words. "A-are...Yo-u...Sergeant...A-Aida?"
Kensuke felt his eyelids slowly lower until they hid the top of his eyes, 'So, our little European boy does speak some Japanese...'
"Yeah, I'm Aida. Who are you?"
The soldier spoke again, his words slowly gaining in speed and coherence, "I s-see...I am C-Corporal Rhineheart. From the...one t-twent-y seventh. We've just..arr-ived."
Kensuke looked at the man, his brain still fogged with the haze of interrupted sleep. Finally, after a few slaps and rough rubs, he started to act like the soldier he was supposed to be, "All right then. How many are you?"
"One hundred, sixteen."
"How many tanks?"
The German looked back to the rear of the hole and started to lurch himself upwards and to his feet. Kensuke quickly launched himself across the dugout and latched a hold to the man's shoulder. He waved a solitary finger before his eyes.
"No...snipers. We've just been targeted this afternoon."
"I see," the man nodded jerkily, his helmet bobbing up and down inversely to his head. "I think...that th-ere are twelve Grant-Shermans and five APC's. Though I could be mistaken a-bout the APC's."
Kensuke bobbed his head once before he slid back across the square foxhole and into his once-warm corner. He gingerly wrapped his frozen arms around his chest, thrusting his numb fingers underneath the warm, dampness of his armpits. The lure of sleep began to draw him in, the warm comfort of rest slowing his heart and easing his mind.
"Have you seen much fighting?"
Kensuke groaned, and slid one eyelid up to glare at the soldier. "How old are you?"
"Me?" the soldier said, pointing a finger at his face. It looked like it had never been shaved. "I've just turned ninteen."
"Well kid, I'm nearing twenty-one...and I've been fighting in this war for nearly three years. Out of those three years: I've never once managed to find a moment to sleep besides the night...and it's cold enough to freeze your damn ball's off here at night. So do me a favor, be quiet and make sure nothing starts to cross that field."
Kensuke finished his dictation by tossing the German soldier his old and used field binoculars. The kid picked them up and studied the few center-set knobs with a mild interest. Kensuke could care less about it though, he just wanted to get to sleep.
After a few moments, he drifted off into the black oblivion of unconsciousness.
God how it felt good.

The shelling was intense.
A pounding stream of hot steel constantly thrown at speeds that made Kensuke's head spin. Once again, the familiar smell of disturbed earth and hot sulfuric gases washed across the foxhole. Small pieces of soil, flesh, bone, and metal were thrown high and far up into the air...only to come raining back down on the poor unfortunates underneath. Plumes of dark Russian soil erupted into miniature geysers; billows of choking, eye-watering smoke covered the entire line of mixed foxholes and miniature trenches.
The familiar cries of Medic, Medic rang out from nowhere, and everywhere. Everyone seemed to be shouting for a medic, everyone seemed to be injured or near someone who was injured.
'No...That isn't true. Stop thinking like that Kensuke!'
"Sarge! What should we do?" his German foxhole buddy asked. Kensuke spared him a minor glance and assured himself that the kid was indeed fine and healthy, except for the runny nose and panicked look that is.
"We wait in the hole, and pray that nothing hits us," Kensuke shouted down to the boy as he peered through the thick haze of choking smoke and across the ruined field to the trees on the far side.
"What about the tanks!?" the German yelled back.
Kensuke stopped, 'Yes...what about the tanks indeed?'
Kensuke turned around, head still peaking out of the meger cover of his hole, "You go ba-" An explosion shredded the ground before Kensuke, instantly wrenching him off of his precarious position and violently depositing the Japanese sergeant onto the ground.
"AIDA!"
The Rhineheart rushed over to Kensuke's side and rolled him over easily. Drifts of smoke wafted clear of the collection of winter coats, and small bits of clumpy earth pooled and rolled off of the tattered front of his uniform. Small bits of metal protruded from his steel helmet, and a long and ragged tear encircled the entire left side; extending from just behind his ear and moving all the way forward until it ended near his eye. Kensuke was bleeding underneath that helmet, and for a moment Rhineheart panicked. With speed born of desperation, he wrenched the straps away from their bindings and pushed the helmet free.
Rhineheart sighed.
A slow vibration started to work its way through the cold, hard-packed dugout floor. He could feel it bury itself deep within his belly, shaking and jarring his innards around as he crouched by the unconscious Sergeant.
A deep TCHTHOOM sounded from behind his position, and a scream of the departing shell made him wince and fall protectively in on himself. Somewhere in the distant line of trees, an explosion sounded. A cheer rang out along the line as more tanks edged forward to the line of foxholes, all the while firing on the thin row of evergreens that hid the Russians.
Rhineheart heard the cheers and felt something surge in his chest. Slowly, mindful of the very large and very dangerous piece of weaponry not more than ten meters behind him, he crawled up to the edge of his foxhole. His hands dug deep into the pebbly black soil, and with a small grunt, he wrestled himself up to the edge.
Tchthoompth, Tchthoompth, Tchthoompth, Tchthoopmth.
Four successive blasts from the large, squat, and angular tanks sounded across the battlefield. Tall pines, soaring nearly eighty to ninety feet in height, suddenly shattered and toppled in on themselves. A successive volley of uncoordinated fire rang out from the line of holes as they spied scrambling Russian troops run from out under the dying behemoths.
More than one fell to that volley.
And more than one died underneath a tree.
Night was falling as the tanks slowly drew themselves back from the line of foxholes.
It began to snow.
Kensuke awoke from darkness, into darkness.
Well, it wasn't really that dark out. The moon was full, and the plain was covered in the cool blanket of fresh snow, which was still coming down, gently but steadily. He rose from his huddled position, and shivered as the unnoticed blanket he had been covered with fell away. He looked down at it, and in doing so discovered the condition of his uniform.
Not much better, or worse, than it had been before.
'Who had this blanket?' he wondered.
"Good morning Sarge," came a German-accented sentence. He knew the accent to be German, because he had been around one for the better part of five years. They weren't exactly pretty years either.
"Corporal..?" Kensuke started, feeling dizzy and disjointed.
"Rhineheart Sarge, Corporal Rhinehart," the boy replied, never once taking his eyes away from the binoculars they were pressed up against.
Kensuke reached behind him and pulled backwards, shifting his body back and allowing him to sit upright, "How long was I out? And what the hell hit me?"
Rhineheart just stared through the binoculars, slowly panning back and forth. Kensuke was preparing to ask the boy again, thinking that he had said it too quickly for him to understand, when Rhineheart replied. "You've been out since nightfall Sarge, a shell exploded two meters in front of the hole. Your helmet managed to deflect the worst part of it...and the concussion forced you down into the hole before any of the nastier pieces could come by."
Kensuke blinked and looked for his helmet. He found it in poor shape, and gingerly fingered the long gash running down the left side. 'It's a wonder that I'm still alive.'
"What happened after?"
Rhineheart slowly lowered the binoculars and gestured for Kensuke to join him, once the Japanese man had joined him, he answered. "The Grant-Shermans came up to the line and started shelling them back. They managed to shake up their artillery OP up pretty good, because they stopped shelling us soon after."
Kensuke believed him; he would have called his own assault off if he were underneath what he saw across the field too. Bent, twisted tree trunks; shattered splinters of wood the size of a man's forearm; eighty-foot length trees that apparently fell directly on top of several men.
"It started to snow as night fell, and the tanks were ordered back. One was hit though, minor damages from what the next hole over reports."
Kensuke sat there, listening to the report, and slowly found himself to be...amazed.
'This kid is only a corporal...but he's doing a first sergeant's job without even being asked to do so. Where the hell did they find somebody like this?'
Kensuke didn't voice that opinion though, no...Perhaps it would be best to ask him subtly. Besides...in three years he had never had a single, decent conversation about somebody's home out in the field. Kensuke patted Rhineheart on the back and then gently forced him back down into the foxhole.
They sat there, watching their breath ooze out into the air and then slowly waft away.
Dissipating with a sparkle of moonlight.
"So, Rhineheart...how in hell do you know Japanese?"
It was something that had been bugging him for some time now...but this was his first opportunity to actually ask the boy the question. Rhineheart laughed.
"Well, my aunt was Japanese...and my uncle was German. They spoke more Japanese than German around their house, and I decided that it was a rather interesting language. So I found some courses that taught Japanese and I went from there."
"Really?" Kensuke asked, his interest piqued.
"Yeah," Rhineheart replied, a small shiver going through him as his body cooled with the night's inactivity.
"So why did you join your army?"
"Well, I didn't really..."
Kensuke smirked; he knew this story all too well, "Drafted."
"You got it...number 21 in the draft. In a month I was packed up, and heading out for basic. Most of the unit is from the same city."
"The same city from Germany? They do that over there?" Kensuke felt his stomach growl and complain, but he just covered it with his hands and ignored it's protests. He had nothing to feed it anyway.
"Yeah, Frankfurt. That's how our military has always done it. Tradition, I suppose...Our commander wasn't from Frankfurt though."
"Commander?" Kensuke asked, leaning back to stare at the stars.
Rhineheart nodded and pulled out his canteen, a few shakes told him one of two things: either the canteen was empty...or the water inside was frozen. Another shiver wracked his body as he leaned back against the rock-solid earthen wall.
"Yeah, she was a real bitch when it came to most things. But she did have her qualifications..."
"Who is this?" Kensuke asked dreamily, imagining of the days when he dreamed of doing such things.
Rhineheart sighed, "Lieutenant Asuka Langley Sohryu-"
"WHAT!" Kensuke shouted, sitting upright. He stopped short though, and a flush of red crept into his pale face as he realized that he had just shouted across a very quiet and still battlefield.
'Shit.'
Rhineheart just calmly watched the Japanese man though, not at all perturbed that his foxhole buddy had just shouted at the top of his lungs. Instead, he was more perturbed that Kensuke had shouted at all...well, then again, considering who his commander had been it was understandable.
"Yeah, we had the infamous Second Child, pilot of the Evangelion Unit 02 as our commander. God...what a nightmare," he concluded by rolling his eyes and shaking his head back and forth.
"I don't believe it," Kensuke whispered raggedly, apparently not hearing Rhinehearts last comment. "Asuka? A lieutenant?"
"Hun? You know her?" Rhineheart was intrigued now, sitting away from the wall and looking intently through the gloomy dark of the night at Kensuke.
"Well...yeah, yeah I do know her."
"No way! How?"
Kensuke frowned, he didn't like to brag about his past...and he didn't care to remember about NERV and the Evangelions too often. "I'm from Tokyo-3."
That was all that needed to be said to the German boy, and by the width of his eyes...he understood the implications of what being from "The" Tokyo-3 meant.
"...I see..."
"She was in all of my classes in Japan, at least that place was fucking warmer than this shithole...all of the Eva pilots were in my classes. I was best friends with the Third and Fourth Children..." Kensuke stopped there, feeling a rush of emotions washing back over his body as he recalled that painful year.
Him meeting Shinji for the first time.
Meeting Asuka for the first time.
Seeing the Evangelions fighting for humanity.
Seeing Toji Suzuhara in the hospital...missing a leg.
Seeing the great Asuka Langley Sohryu being raped by the Fifteenth.
Seeing Rei Ayanami, destroy herself and her Evangelion to take out her enemy.
Seeing NERV almost fall to the JSSDF.
Kensuke felt a wellspring of unshed tears fill in behind his lower eyelid. A familiar sensation, and one that he never let progress any farther than that. He would not cry for them...he shouldn't cry for them. He couldn't cry for the warriors of that Children's Crusade.
Because they were still alive.
Kensuke knew a lot of men who weren't.
A distant Tchum, Tchum, Tchump rang out across the winter plain.

The day had been long.

The day had been hard.

The defenders had fought mightily and tirelessly against the rush of their enemies.

And the sweeping tide of the Russian advance was halted once again.

But, a price is demanded from the god of war from both sides.

And so, the blood of many ran with the blood of few.

On that battlefield, coated with snow so white, clean, pure...and new.

-Unknown poet, written on Christmas day in the Marminskv Salient...2021.

Night was falling again, but it made little difference to Kensuke, or to his sole companion: Rhineheart. There was an indefinable bond found by all who share that horrible experience of combat. It means a lot to another human if you are there with him, suffering as he suffers, feeling the same terror and fear that he does day in and day out.
That bond had cemented between the two. And as night fell again, and the lists of the dead and the wounded were passed down the lines, Kensuke and Rhinehart found themselves staring up at the dark sky. Waiting for the stars to come out.
"Tomorrow is Christmas..." Rhineheart started.
Kensuke hummed a reply, preferring not to think about the day ahead of him.
"I can already tell what my family is doing right at this very moment. Jessika is running around the dinner table, shouting that she wants to open her presents...Father is sitting at the head of the table, slowly carving away at the roasted turkey even as Mother is telling Jessika to sit down and eat her food. Oscar is patiently waiting for his plate to be filled, reading some book or another...not paying any attention to what's happening around him," Rhineheart laughed as he remembered the Christmas' of his past, enjoying the gay memories of his life. His cheeks beamed red with a psuedoheat from a false fire as he turned to look at Kensuke's lean face. "What about your family? What do you think they are doing?"
Kensuke looked down along his nose, and stared into the far wall of his foxhole.
"Sarge?" Rhineheart's voice lost it's good cheer, slowly slipping into dreading apprehension.
Kensuke cleared his throat, the rough sound like a snare drum being rapped as hard as it could, "I...My family is all dead now...I don't have anyone left."
"Not even," Rhineheart gestured speculatively into the frigid ebony of the night. "An aunt? Or an Uncle?"
Kensuke shook his head.
'The Evangelion project took more than just one family. And it wasn't only the pilots...'
The mood of the foxhole took a sharp dive; it hit rock bottom and pulled out a jackhammer. It remained that way for several hours, the time passing without either of the two noticing it.
Then, from across the field...a soft, deep voice began to sing.
Both men in the hole found themselves consciously trying to make no noise, their ears attentively trying to hear every word of the far off singer. To Kensuke, the words were meaningless...something about night, but he couldn't understand the rest. The tune was familiar though...but for the life of him, he couldn't remember it.
Very familiar.
Suddenly, Rhineheart stood up from his crouched huddle.
"Rhineheart! What tha-"
Kensuke fell silent as Rhineheart too, began to sing.
"Stille Nacht!
Heil'ge Nacht!
Alles Schlaft;
Einsam wacht.
Nur das traute
Hoch heilige Paar.
Holder Knab'
Im lockigten Haar,
Schlafe in himmlischer
Ru-uh!
Schlafe in himmlischer, ruh."
Then, Kensuke heard something that truly amazed him. And for the first time in years...he cried. All along the line of foxholes, where men had fought and died and bled and suffered, where men used the weapons and art of war to kill their fellow man. Where an hour before one person ruthlessly and coldly gunned down another as he tried to seek shelter from the life-stealing pieces of lead...
They began to sing.
Their voices, deep and rich with the hoarse throats of men long without water, all sang together. Some in English, others in Japanese, a majority in German…and a few in Russian.
"Silent Night,
Holy night."
One by one, men began to stand up...their heads and chests clear of their foxholes completely. Totally exposed to the enemy that they had for so long been trying to kill.
Totally trusting.
"All is calm..
All is bright."
From the opposing line of trees came the rich return in throaty Russian. Tonight, both friend and foe alike joined in singing. Slowly, Kensuke began to join with them.
"Round, yon Virgin
Mother and Child."
Slowly, and without even looking down as his feet slipped and skidded along the loose dirt of the hole, Rhineheart stepped out of the dugout completely...and began walking out into the field. As Kensuke watched in grotesque admiration he noticed several more following the boy's lead. Then...all of the men who still lived in their cold, damp holes of frozen earth...stepped out. And began to cross the shattered field.
"Holy Infant, so
Tender and mild."
And across that war torn field...their counterparts were doing the same.
"Sleep in Heavenly
Pe-eace!"
Slowly, the gap between the two forces closed. Twenty meters...ten meters...five meters. Rhineheart soon found himself standing opposite to the voice that had first begun the song, and together: they finished it with slowly softening voices.
"Sleep in Heavenly peace."
For a long moment, the entire front was quiet. Then, Rhineheart extended his hand to the Russian singer. And he shook it. In that moment, the world rotated just enough for it to be midnight and one second past. In that moment, the old day had passed, and the new one had been ushered in.
It was Christmas Day.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this story. And for those who may have questions about whether or not this One-Shot is related to "Last Day of a Pilot" or not...well...It is. In LDoaP there is a small part in which Shinji remembers what happened to Kensuke.
This is that story.
I had planned to write up to the part where Kensuke fell defending his comrades...but upon the advice of my pre-readers I decide to stop here.
Goodnight.
Seldon.