July 1945

They said you would get used to it. The incessant banging, buzzing, clanging, cracking, pounding, whirring, the unending cacophony of near deafening sound. The “symphony of the factory” they called it, as if trying to somehow make it beautiful. Yumiko found no beauty in building something designed purely to kill others. Yet day in, day out, twelve hours at a time, six days a week, she worked the line, assembling one Hayate after another. She even assembled them in her dreams.

Production expectations were, to put it politely, graciously demanding.

But somehow, they did it. One Hayate every 88 minutes, twenty-four seven, built from wingtip to wingtip by the blood, sweat, and tears, oh so many tears, of an entirely schoolgirl labor force. If you were over twelve years of age, were unmarried, and could follow basic instructions, you served. No matter what. Oh, and you had to do it with a smile. Yumiko hated that part the most. No complaining, ever, otherwise it was a “bamboo to the bottom”. Tori got it once. She couldn’t sit for a week thereafter.

At least the work shift was nearly over and with tomorrow her off day all Yumiko could think about was being anywhere else, as long as it was somewhere involving a pillow. A very fluffy pillow.

"Kajika Yumiko." The voice came from outside the Hayate’s fuselage. There was no mistaking it for any other than the line forewoman. She ran Yumiko’s line with such “efficiency” that it made Miss Sato look like a cream puff.

"Yes ma'am?"

“You are requested to see the Director at the completion of your shift.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Since women were somehow incapable of being fully autonomous, the factory did have one male, Director Mitsubishi. Yumiko wasn’t entirely sure of what he did other than watch the factory floor from his office and consume copious amounts of tea. Oh, that, and dish out corporal disciplinary action. Getting summoned to his office couldn’t mean anything good.

Upon arrival, Yumiko found both Tori and Tsubasa waiting outside, the perpetually confident Tsubasa leaning up against a nearby wall while tiny Tori paced anxiously back and forth. The Director’s muffled voice carried though the thin walls.

“Do either of you know what’s going on?”