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Summary: Rangers led the way. That was the motto of the unit a 2nd Lieutenant Kristian "JK" Emerson had taken to heart as a part of its ranks, though when a gateway from one world to Earth opens up a mere few hundred feet away from him during a nice day in August, he will have to be not only a man leading soldiers into foreign lands, but also have to lead himself as the moral anchor in a world decades removed from Generation Kill.
Manifest Destiny
By: Matthew "BlueWay" N.
Beginning of Intro
Intro Section 0-1
With the way his friends had often called the man "JK", people assumed the six foot, eleven stone man to be a funny man despite his imposing form (at least in Japan). In private company, he was liable to be amiable, and so it wasn't that far off from the truth. The origin had been a bit different though.
His real name had been Kristian Emerson, his first name a distortion of a very popular faith which he had taken in vain as the first words he said in boot camp:
"Jesus Christ!" As was the response to being scared by the Drill Sergeant.
"How dare you take the name of JC in vain!"
A colorful exchange later and suddenly the name JC was his own, and eventually, given the odd use of K in his name, it had turned into JK. "Kay" for short. Words were often in short supply in tense situations.
It stuck five years later by those who knew him in the military service. So whenever he heard it, he was either being called to attention as a junior officer, or his subordinates had been giving him shit.
Either way someone screaming it had called him certainly brought him to full steam, having fallen asleep on that bench against a convenience store, head back and bathing in the warm sun of a spring in Tokyo.
The man was a 2nd Lieutenant of the US Armed Forces, trained by a fighting force with a several centuries experience, so when he woke up he had woke up as men of readiness do: with a snap to his feet with quickness that made the breath leave his lungs.
Needless to say that the giant crowd of people that brushed past him unorderly on the street had also stolen his breath as he regained his wits and unconsciously swung his head toward the source of the voice that called his name.
"Jay-Kay! Jay-Kay!"
The man's voice returned to him as the swirl of people brushing past him had forced him back onto the bench, overwhelmed.
Dragging him off the bench no sooner than he had sat down had been the man calling his name, brushing him into the entry way of the convenience store and pressing their forms against the glass.
Combat stances, defensive posturing.
Training kicked in and Kay's body had bent, short sleeves and jeans not exactly that of a man who had been trained for war.
"Dammit Kay, you with me?" The man's hand had been at his shoulder, the man himself behind Jay-Kay as stacking on a wall would necessitate in training.
"Fire break out or something at the convention?" the man had groggily said as his vision returned to him, the situation fully enveloping his eyes as chaos passed by his eyes.
"Cosplayers gone wild, I don't fucking know!"
The beat of war drums, the blare of horns, and all that pomp and power of an unseen army was in the air as the roar of monsters came from overhead. Literal monsters of a winged variety and made the air beneath its wings bellow and people collapse.
It had sure put a shadow over the 2nd lieutenant and the sergeant who had dragged them an into the entry way of the convenience store.
"The fuck is happening Cameron?!"
"Stay in, stay in…" Staff Sergeant Cameron Masterson had been otherwise occupied with waving off the bystanders in the store to stay in and lock the door, but he had quickly reaffirmed the attention of his 2nd lieutenant. It was the first time Kay had gotten a look at one of his two squad leaders that day fully.
Time off base had been plentiful recently, and as such a few of the more enterprising men under his command had been interested in coming to Tokyo during this one odd "comic book" convention that they had explained to Kay.
Of course he was by no means obligated to babysit the two men that went out into Tokyo specifically, but the day was nice and heh ad been behind the desks making Power Points way too much recently.
But if he knew that Masterson would have half of his face covered with blood, an arrow in his grip with the hole it made in his right shoulder, he thought he should've been paying closer attention.
"Wha- But?" Kay shook his head fast, the sound of pattering arrows in the distance and of thumpy concrete impacts triggering a part of his head he had not used yet despite all his years as a soldier. His vocabulary adjusted likewise. "Sitrep!"
The combat high. The rush of adrenaline. It was what kept Masterson still coherent and brought Kay out in all of his senses.
The vocabulary that had been punched into his head had not accommodated dragons, ballistic weapons that had comprised of arrows, and (a lean over the corner later) ranks of troops comprised of an ugly Disney movie.
Pigs, ogres, horses and Legion.
A Disney movie gone wrong indeed, and behind them: something that Kay, nor did anyone else, remember seeing stand several story highs in the middle of the intersection. An elaborate work of stone and masonry that Japan had long and away forgot of amidst steel and glass.
"I got split up with Tracey a few minutes ago, the man pulled the fire alarm in the convention center and I lost track of him! I saw a god damned battalion sized force and more coming on the way here!"
"Battalion of what?" Kay had asked, more bite returning into his throat as his fists had unconsciously formed into fists.
"Don't know, don't care. We'll call them hostiles for now." Masterson's hand had wiped away at his bloodied face, only to return to the arrow that had done the damage.
"You inop sergeant?"
He wiped his face over with a bloody hand inadvertently, panting hard. "I'll live."
Of all the enemies that, perhaps, Kay had thought he would have to fight against: narco terrorists, the remnants of the North Korean home army, maybe the occasional pirates south of India, he had never thought of, or prepared to, fight Romans.
Nothing to say about dragons. Especially dragons.
Not when one of the very living beasts had flown over particularly close to the street, the rider adorned in silver armor, and spying two men that did not run as the mass of people did.
Those who stayed their feet had been a threat, that much was evident from any amateur tactician that every soldier was. So when the eyes had caught across sky and ground, there was an initial of hostilities between soldier and soldier.
It was needless to be said the high ground belonged to the dragon rider.
The rider had hauled his reins toward the two men, going around in a circle, the dragon's armored head very much upfront.
The two men knew what was coming, twisting back around as their throats gave an involuntary yelp, their legs bashing in the door and diving in as those inside had seen the same fate approach them.
The surrealness of having a dragon charge at them had certainly necessitated bashing in the glass door of the store and diving in with seconds to spare, the great body of that giant lizard smashing against the building as its head dove in the same way as the two soldiers, the civilians inside running to the back of the store and inside, leaving two men and the head of a beast cramming around ruined shelves and displays.
Infernal growling and the most morbidly hot breath the two soldiers had ever smelled had been revealed as the dragon opened its mouth in the confined space, its head shaking around as its neck had caught itself by the frame of what used to be the storefront. There was ample room for it to move its head around, the glowing yellow eyes and the very real scales inches from the collapsed men on the floor, glass and debris digging into their back.
The great monsters they had been usually familiar with had been those of metal and steel. Inanimate objects given life by the marvels of human work. This had been a monster able to stare back at them, and stare back at them it did as it jerked its head as to kill them.
On the ground the men had ended up besides each other as the dragon tried to move its mouth to envelop them in the small space, the great noise it made thrashing about outside with its wings deafening.
The two pair of legs had gone to the dragon's chin, futilely trying to push it away, but the only force those pair of legs had had pushed the men away, giving them enough momentum to get on their feet and stand eye to eye with the dragon. Or, at least, its right eye.
The rider had been yelling in a foreign language, trying to get into the shop off its beast's back, but the dragon had been too chaotic, dealing with two men it had very much had the right to eat for breakfast.
Kay had gone up with a piece of glass in his hand, and Masterson had the arrow's blade. They were weapons and this was the enemy. They knew what they had to do.
Of course, maybe stabbing the dragon's head hadn't been the best course of action for Kay, the first stab having the glass recoil back into his hand, impaling it hard with his own injury as Masterson did the same to much less effect.
"Christ! Like god damn tank armor!" Kay's yelling hadn't been a concern of the dragon, its head jerking left and slamming the man into the refrigeration units of the store, the men left without breath as both of them finally started breathing.
It would've been all that had been written for the two men as the dragon opened its mouth and made for the men, but one of the children behind the counter had his ingenuity save the men in the form of a lighter and a spray can of aerosol.
It was a flame that had been simply nothing more than a pilot light to the Dragon, but it was a distraction nonetheless as that young Japanese boy in his t-shirt had ducked back down the counter, throwing the two objects at the dragon's gray scales to little effect, let alone the armor.
Time enough for its eyes to shift from the two men to the boy, and those two men to naturally go at the dragon's eyes with bare hands.
The consistency of jello and eggs. The men would remember this as they tore into the organ of the beast, reaching in with all the primeval rage of it in a display of gore and retribution that the men did not mind. It's not like this was another man of course: digging into and eventually pulling out as the dragon's lids tried to shut, but instead had been torn the same as that mass of unidentifiable substance that was once its eyes, now dug into the finger nails of two soldiers. The flap of flesh had gone to the floor as they had gone right back in.
Its head had thrashed about, but the men had found hold this time, heels dragging across the store as the place was given more mess.
Kay had looked right, across his sergeant, hands deep into the dragon's head.
"Cam on your three o'clock!"
The dragon rider had finally made his way into the store amidst all the thrashing, the sound of an ancient sword being drawn like old poetry alerting the men before Kay had shouted out his warning.
The sword had gone past Cam's face as he jerked back, just barely stopping before Kay's head as Cam had shoved himself back into the outstretched arms of the apparently Roman soldier, the sword clattering on the ground as he had shifted right hard and brought the man on the ground in a clatter of metal armor.
With a squelch Kay's hands had been torn out, the sword in his grip as he had used his foot to get Cam off the man, the sword coming down before the Roman had used his feet to shove Kay away.
Down through the flesh, into the floor, and up again. Stabbing like a pulsating saw. Unconsciously Kay had been screaming: hard. Metal had melded into flesh as Cam had stomped onto the man's head, helmet bending into a man unable to breathe as the sword had eventually made its way to stab his lungs in a horrific display: The first kill of men and women.
With little ceremony as Cam had used his foot and dragged his body away, before the two soldiers reassumed gouging the eyes out of the dragon, not concerned with the mess they had made.
Cam did his best with his bare hands, but the sword in Kay's hand had been put to better use, the man sliding underneath the dragon's neck and dragging across the soft underside like wood against the grain.
The splatter of blood was very audible as the dragon had ceased its own breathing, and slammed on the floor, both inside and out.
Everyone had lost their breath really, the victors collapsing on that giant mass of dragon as it gave out its last death twitch, unprepared for what they just did but certainly prepared to continue to do it as the day went on.
Many consider the first battle to be the longest one: the rite of passage for men and women to prove their worth as a warrior.
As such, this would be the longest day.
"Ho-… Holy shit." Cam's first words had been appropriate as he panted, still bloody as ever, his Ell-Tee just as covered now given the maneuver that pretty much bathed him in blood.
It was a baptism that sobered him as he reemerged on the other side, his green eyes cold.
This was how wars started: in the hearts of men.
manifest destiny
n.
1. A policy of imperialistic expansion defended as necessary or benevolent.
American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fifth Edition.
A freezer door had been more a weapon than a used arrow blade Masterson had realized, and the sword which I had acquired was the one which I had called my own now.
Ivory handles and a sharpened blade. It was certainly an eye opening thing that had no right to exist as the two men had ran away from the staging point of the enemy, just below that stone gate.
We found ourselves just behind enemy lines in a battlefield we had realized, and run we did.
Running fast enough toward the sound of gunfire: of the foot patrol police officers on the scene.
We were soldiers and we were trained to do this: run toward gunfire.
Of course we were never really trained to weather arrow fire as Masterson had nearly gone insane about, I having crunched up into his stomach as the arrows came down, his clear freezer door shielding us from bolts that had killed so many around us.
The enemy knew force consolidation and they weren't pushing past their staging point yet, leaving the advance units of dragon riders and arrows deal with any "opposition" in front of them initially.
What opposition? Civilians? Children? They had been cutting those down plenty, as much as they tried to kill us.
Bodies of those in Tokyo had littered the streets: scorched, bled out, violent demises not fit for this world anymore.
In essence, I had feared my purpose:
This was what I was trained for, to protect those who cannot stand on their own. Yet here I was in the middle of the street, staring down an army that came from thin air with only one other soldier, the bodies of those I failed to help around me, taunting.
We weren't running away, of course, we were just in tactical retreat in between the volleys of arrows that battering the plexiglass of Miller's door.
Such an abstract situation for such a normal boy I thought I was.
A twenty five year old boy born and raised in the Bronx, come to Japan as part of the United States Force presence in Asia, now having a dragon and its rider to my name. To think my first combat was against these idiots, whoever they were, or whatever, instead of a conventional fighting force we had expected in training… well, there was a part of sarcasm in my brain that highlighted the whole situation as simply FUBAR.
Not that the dead would appreciate it.
No romanticisms today. I could write a book about it in a few years. I would live in the now with an emphasis on live.
"Clear!" Masterson had yelled into my ear as another patter had hit the door and subsided, the cracking spiders of impact very much there.
I had yelled incoherently as I pointed my hand around a corner, a dragon going into that corner to the sound of gunfire. We ran fast, Masterson reassuming front position as I held onto his shoulder in trail, sword in my other hand.
The dragon that had gone around the corner had been one of many dozens, those having storm through that stone monstrosity and promptly lost visual of throughout Tokyo. Raiders, stir up hell throughout this city of order.
One of the many snaps of gunfire offered by those who could shoot back had been around this corner. A police officer, taking potshots at that dragon that had tried to swoop at him.
The man had actually taken one of the riders out on the pass, the target falling to the ground in clatter right next to the bridge several of the civilians were taking shelter under, his body falling like a heavy angel to the concrete Earth.
No sooner than he had fallen, he had gotten up.
We had rounded the corner enough for arrows to be no factor, Masterson throttling ahead and bashing the Roman before he had closed the distance between the police officer with the door, sending him back into the arms of a ready Japanese man, a lanky individual with cargo shorts and the arms that wrapped around the Roman's neck and brought him down to the ground
I had caught up just in time to make us the holy trio of blood stained fighters, the sword that this Roman had tried to draw knocked to the street, grabbed by the Japanese man, and stuck through his collar bone down in the gap between clothes and armor.
The man was dead, and the survivor had looked up at us, blood splatter on his face.
He hit a vein.
He had glanced over us once or twice before yelling back at the police officer.
"Are you alright?!"
Behind the police officer had been a few civies, perhaps a little more mortified by the tree bloodied men that had appeared before them, the look in the Japanese killer's eye a scary glare. A second glance and a dead cop.
The conquering heroes: A Texan, a black man, and whoever this person was. Swords in our hands and a very damaged freezer door as our shield. We were a welcome pair of weekend warriors.
Not that we were weekend warriors. No. We were soldiers, full and full. Not National Guard, not just some regular riflemen attached to the USFJ.
Rangers led the way, and here we were up and front fulfilling our mantra.
Civies didn't respond, and no sooner than that Masterson had coasted them away under the cover of the bridge, the sword drawn out as the man came up to us instead.
Japanese cartoon shirt if I ever seen one. That's what he had worn and now ruined, the man's build just shy of me and Masterson's heights, thin face, eyes a tricky bronze with a stubble underlining.
We both spoke Japanese, me and Masterson, it was something handy to have on hand seeing as we lived and breathed Japanese air as Americans.
"Coins out, Cam." And they were out, the four slices of metal that had been pressed in our name, for our name. Outlined by black rubber, they held our names, and showed our distinction.
He showed his.
Japanese Self Defense Force. The Jietai.
"You alright there buddy?" I had asked, the off duty JSDF soldier having risen with his sword too. Soldier to soldier, man to man.
"I'm fine. You?" he asked, the sword dripping with crimson. We all were at this point.
"A little worse for wear, but nothing too out of it." I answered, my hand ripped to all hell. Masterson had still been bleeding, but a very rough application of gauze from the store had fixed that up. He had been a tough man though, skin as rough as the cattle he had used to take care of in his younger age.
We gave each other the once over, of what we had been through in the last five minutes that binded us together for perhaps the rest of our lives.
Right men, in the wrong place, at the right time.
Brother always told me I had that habit of being a wrong man.
Now we were all brothers in arms though.
Police officer remained, his .38 a comfort to have around for us. Doubted Romans had ever fought on people who had guns.
Or trained Army Rangers. Whatever the case. Not like the armor had saved the man he had put down: as fully fucking Roman as they came.
"How good are you with crowd control, trooper?" I asked him.
"Good enough. Already got a plan." He talked in short bursts, the man out of breath. Oh yeah, he had just had his first kill too. The fast ripple of Japanese that he had shot to the officer had been untranslatable to me as I had grabbed onto the man's shoulder for a second, holding it, pulling him to keep moving down the street.
"Walk and talk trooper. Name, plan."
Masterson had already been corralling people into the cover of the bridge as the dragons had perpetually circled us. Our feet had urged us into a fun west down the street.
"Itami Yoji, and officer!"
The said officer had reloaded his .38 hectically in our stride. What I would do for my M9 now. The sword would have to do.
"Where are we routing the civilians?"
"We don't-"
Itami saw right through the lack of plan. "Get them to the Imperial Palace, now!"
"The Imperial Palace?!" The officer had seemed outrage, but he had seen the way me and Masterson got behind him. Fight off god damn Roman enemies in a god damn time appropriate location meant to weather such
The main force were coming, an actual god damn cavalry with the promise of war horses.
No time to argue, no time to fight, all you can do is run. Not even time to question if this all was a dream, a fantasy, a fucked in the head scenario that made me dream of dead covering Tokyo streets and dragon slaying.
"Make the call!" Masterson had yelled at him, and he appeased, frantically yelling at his radio as every civilian tried to find their own way, a noticeable group of them following our lead warily.
"Itami!" I said his name without formality. "We'll back you up, you know this town?"
"I know what to do." Was the answer he gave.
Masterson had been clutching onto the shield he had made, his hands welded onto it, leaving me with the free hand.
"You gotta raise Yokota. Don't know if the USFJ has deployment authority but we need boots down here real fast… Same goes for you Itami."
"Getting the civilians a place to settle down comes first, military response will follow." The JSDF soldier in question had said lowly, all of us occasionally pointing out civilians overwhelmed by it all and frozen, urging them to get on their feet and move.
"Man knows his priorities." I reaffirmed. "And yeah, we'll raise HQ when possible."
"Plus we'll go grab kits and find Tracey, right?"
"Tracey's a smart man, he knows his way in a fight."
"Well, respectfully sir, this is more than a fight we have on our hands." His Houston drawl had tensed against the fact that indeed one of my men was missing. He had a point, oh, he really did, but priorities and prerogatives.
Hell, we had taken down a dragon, I'm sure Tracey could've held his own. Least I hoped to God he had. Guy was a pointman, he knew his way around some physical contact.
A pair of horse riders had caught up to our back, the three of us twisting around as the cop raised his gun.
Itami had been quick to wave the man off: "Go! We'll cover you!"
"Cam! Give me the fridge!" He had thrown the clear door over to me without question as he received my phone in return. "Go with the cop and organize the retreat, then raise Colonel Andrade and let him know he has us on the ground."
"And also try to get them into the Palace grounds! They won't survive otherwise!"
The two men of action had been reluctant, but they had gone anyway, Masterson, perhaps a little jokingly, uttering an "Honor to serve with you". Not like we actually ever served in these type of days.
Freezer door's handle had been wrapped in my left hand, sword in my right as two scouting legionnaires saw us take a stand, Itami getting behind me and bracing my shoulder.
"Name's Kristian by the way. Kay for short…" I had rumbled as the horse ground its hooves onto, to it, unfamiliar ground. "I don't imagine you wanted to spend the day like this?"
"Of course not. I personally wanted to pick up some doujinshi from the exhibit…" I had shared a chuckle with him. He almost sounded sad. "They're gonna cancel it now no doubt!"
"You trying to save these people or you trying to save your comic book convention?"
"Can't I do both?"
I shook my head as the horse had flayed itself up, giving a war cry on its own. No, you couldn't. Didn't give him that answer, if a man needed his motivation he had it.
The riders had drawn their sword to a sharp sound of them being drawn, the fifty meters or so between us being closed as the lead horse had landed its four hooves back on the ground and took after us, head on.
We both scrunched up as the two men beasts approached us, their rider's swords up high ready to come down.
"I got right." Itami had warned, the fridge door lifted above our heads as he ran toward them.
"Above the legs, below its neck. Go!"
The horses and their riders had almost seemed to be taken aback that we had charged as well, the glint of the fridge door making them stumble a bit as we both jointly closed the distance, their charge unbroken save for the fact we would strike first.
Given the width of the door when it was brought horizontal it had split the two horses down the middle as it was dropped and we each went our own ways, the riders swords brought off balance as our own blades found their mark:
Itami's slice finding home just on the horse's jugular and I having found a stab just where my horse's front left leg had its joint connect to its chest.
Both horses had gone tumbling forward, my rider crushed beneath his beast's weight as the other was relatively safely flung forward behind us, our attention centered on him as the fridge door was shattered in aluminum and plexiglass.
Even with a bent neck this rider had spent no time getting on his two feet and drawing his sword again, bringing it up to his lips and kissing it as he pointed toward the both of us.
"On your six, Itami." I had put my hand on his shoulder again, stacking up, he giving an affirmative grunt as both of his hands were occupied with his weapon. I had done the same, if only after I had shoved my sword across the thick neck of the war horse left wheezing in agony, the cry it gave out one of a mercy killing.
The slow trod of us closing the distance again had been a measured walk, three fighters, two on one and maybe an army just behind us.
The sound of two swords clashing had been the loudest thing I heard all day as Itami's and this Roman clashed swords. The perpetual screaming of panicking men, women and children had subsisted, let alone them themselves as they still ran along the roads and sidewalks: ignoring us as we tried to buy them time by fighting: even in the smallest capacity.
I had ducked around Itami and behind the rider, but the man's other hand had found a backup sword to deflect my stab into his side, sending it almost into Itami as he had ducked from the sword lock and to our sides.
These men were trained sword fighters…
I feigned a lunge at him, the swordman barely flinching as Itami went at him, his sword brought up again as the soldier brought a slash down. One hand had been enough to deflect the blow as I went for his legs, the smaller blade instead redirecting me up, my torso revealed fully as he tried to stab me in turn, I simply collapsing on my back as the same sword swung on the rebound toward Itami's side.
I had screamed another involuntary war cry as my free hand pushed me up and off the ground, my sneakers kicking in the man's shins as the attack was thwarted and his strength faltered for a second. Enough time for Itami to ride his own blade along his sword and cut off a good few portion of the man's right hand fingers.
Given my position I simply kept up with the leg work, right leg finding the space in between and gator rolling, the Roman brought down in a storm of metal as Itami followed suit: through the heart of the Legionnaire.
No sooner than he had done that he had left the sword in the Roman, free hands hauling me up, and leading me into a run as he saw what I didn't: an entire column of phalanx troopers, shields and all, slowly making their way down the road like the epic battles of old.
manifest destiny
n.
1. the belief or doctrine, held chiefly in the middle and latter part of the 19th century, that it was the destiny of the U.S. to expand its territory over the whole of North America and to extend and enhance its political, social, and economic influences.
Random House Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2015.
I had only been there to add and clarify the man's shouts in English, he having taken command of this whole botched retreat operation really well. He had the right idea anyway: ordering the volunteer firemen who had appeared and shuttled us down to the Imperial Palace to head back down the mass crowd of Tokyo escapees and use their water cannons to at least try and wave off the ground force.
Amazingly the sky had been on fire with fireworks and flares, the only things able to shoot back at the dragons on short notice as they ever loomed in the sky, they having combined with the sound of the police's small arm fire that barely did anything against the thick skin.
Even portions of the city had been on fire given the reports of ballistas and artillery made of coal, rock, and flaming boulders came from Ginza by catapult.
All that smoke, all that chaos had gone to the sky above as nature gave us a gray overcast.
One of the many emergency personnel had been attending to the arrow head in Masterson's shoulder, even as he had been yelling into my smartphone, right on the steps of the security booth me and Itami had gotten to.
"Barricade all the civilians in the Imperial Palace!" It was maybe the third time Itami had said that to the police officers inside, this time being the one that grabbed their attention, as Masterson ended the call and buried his hands in his heads, finally biting down on the piece of bark given to him by the medics as one of them started digging into his shoulder: adding to the screams that day.
I had only ran a bloody hand through his hair reassuringly as that bloody print was put on the frame of the door, leaning in to back Itami up.
"They got nowhere else to go and this palace was specifically made to withstand the type of battle we're seeing!" I barked.
That had only seemed to bounce off one of the two officers, his hand on the phone that was constantly ringing inside that booth.
"Who the hell are you?!"
"Just follow our directions sir."
We gave each other a glance, not believing what we were hearing. Sure, we could've pulled the soldier card, but our tags had blended into our shirts given the blood splatter on us. As if they couldn't see it.
Didn't these guys know what was happening just a few hundred meters away?!
He gave me a nod and let me take the floor, and bask in all the glory of a handful of kills to my name.
"If you don't let those people in there will be a god damned massacre at the Emperor's feet. Trust me, it's bad out there."
The sound of a distant explosion, perhaps a building caving in, had been the punctuation of the reality we had seen out there.
Speak of the devil.
Phone rang, and after the police officer had barked into his phone wanting a sitrep of where the riot police were, he had paled.
"Inspector here-!"
After his screaming had subsided and the piece of steel that had been lodged in his shoulder had been torn out to much drama, Masterson had grinned as he had looked in from his sit on the steps.
"Your Majesty!" the officer's voice had gotten even lower.
I blinked hard, as did Itami as he had been used as a balancing post by Masterson, draping an arm across my shoulder to help stand after the intense pain he had just endured: the man now shirtless.
"Y-yes! U-understood!" the police officer stuttered, phone going down after he was delivered the words from the man who had called this Palace home.
I smacked my lips and shook my head as Masterson had been a bit loony given the injection he was given by the medic, the personnel redirecting toward the crowd and the injured out in front of the booth.
"Hey, was that-…?" Itami had been a loss for words.
"It was." the other humbled officer had answered.
"Civilians must have top priority."
We both looked at the man who had initially delivered our messages: the blonde Texan who, in my experience, perhaps wasn't the best person to try and get the doors of royalty open for the public.
"The hell did you do Cam?"
His answer was silence as the riot police buses had started rolling in behind us, the large creaking of wooden doors opening and the sudden shift of a running crowd inwards to the palace up on the hill above us.
No sooner had the parking lot had cleared in front of this side of the palace had those blue started rolling in side by side, the Police sergeant having basically fallen out and running toward us and the police chief on site.
Hadn't even noticed that that man was one of the police officers we were talking with.
The officers had bore salute as us soldiers stood aside.
"The administrative district has been largely occupied, but we'll defend this gate to the death. Reinforcements will be here shortly."
"We have a read on the main enemy force?" Itami had asked with urgency.
"They're coming now." Was the solemn nod.
Masterson had dropped from my carry of him and stood on his own, we knew what to do know that the civilians had a safe point they were still funneling through. Must've been in the thousands at this point.
I had habitually extended a hand to Itami, the man taking it without word and shaking hard. "You saved a lot of lives today with this idea. We're heading out. I imagine we'll be mentioning each other in the post-action reports?"
"You an officer?" he asked.
The police officers finally had been clued in to what we were.
"2nd Lieutenant Emerson. Army Rangers. Call the USFJ if you need me, me and my man here are heading back out."
"What?!" All of them had seemed to yell. Either at who I was or what me and Masterson had wordlessly agreed to do.
"We have a soldier out there and we're gonna go recover him. Sir," I turned to the riot officer, "If you have a kit to spare, ammo and some MP5s, me and my sergeant will take it and head out and provide forward recon as well.
"Itami, you good with staying here and coordinating the JSDF response?"
He couldn't stop me and he knew. It was a mark of a soldier to never leave another behind, and even if he wasn't part of a "traditional" military, he knew the code. He nodded fiercely, his look alone to the riot officer persuading him otherwise.
We were Americans above all of their rank after all.
Our hand hold stopped as the riot police officer barked into his radio to allocate two kits for me and Masterton.
"Take care of these people, I'll see if I can't pick up a few things for you." I asked, ordered, and then winked.
"See you on the other side." He had departed with those words and a smile, taking off with the two remaining police officers into the palace, corralling the last of the civilians in as the riot police spread out into formation.
Masterson and I had been dragged along with the riot officer as a pair had carried two kits out: tactical police vests already decked with nine mil ammo and buckshot. Heavy stuff, all things considering as the men had personally threw them over our heads and buckled it for us, an MP5 in my hand as an Ithaca 37 was given to Masterson and pumped judiciously.
After telling us the radio frequency of the Japanese police net we hadn't spent much time in that staging area for the riot police, didn't want them to protest as we went down the way we came.
"You okay Ell-Tee?" Cam had perhaps underestimated who he was to be saying that, given the fact there was still a gap in his shoulder by a quick and shoddy removal job. We ran down the empty street as we saw the blockade set up by the phalanx formation further down, not moving, even as we saw eye to eye.
manifest destiny
n.
1. A popular slogan... It was used by people who believed that the United States was destined — by God, some said — to expand...
The American Heritage® New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, Third Edition
No.
2nd Lieutenant Emerson was not okay. But combat has a way of stripping people's minds down to bare bones and leaving only the processes that necessitated survival. His only thoughts in that last hour or so since he had been awakened rather rudely and killed a dragon had been just as exciting, and just as barebones on his psyche as the realization that he had, and would probably continue, to kill people had persisted above in his mind.
He had been easy to catch in his head that it was very easy to write these people as not human though, even if they blatantly were. "Otherizing" is what boot camp had told him: this mental technique, practiced in the late twentieth and early twenty first century. It was what had allowed American to run train in the Middle East, Russia to invade the caucuses, and led South Korea to obliterate the entire North Korean population.
A horrible thing that dehumanized soldiers and made them face the bloodshed very easily.
It was what Kay was doing now in his head, in the here and now.
"I'm fine, Cam. Worried about O'Neal… What ammo you got for that Thumper?"
Cam had taken a knee in the alley as the two men leaned out of the alleyway habitually, MP5 pointed down range as the sergeant got the M79 grenade launcher from his back and hinged it in half, looking at the round. Only then did Emerson realize the Type 64 DMR that had been slung to his back was there as well.
He would have to thank the generosity of the Japanese police force later.
"Tear gas."
"Crowd control. Right."
"The only thing they got on us is numbers, sir." Cam had advised, bringing the shotgun he was provided up again. The two men had given a good shake to their kits and how mismatched they were beneath t-shirts, jeans, and in Cam's case, shorts. Felt like as best a combat load as they were going to get.
"Hmph. We'll secure more ammo OSP. Where'd you last see Tracey?"
"Heart of Ginza sir. If that riot officer's intel was right we got an entire enemy division still down there fucking shit up."
"Yeah? Well, so will we. Gas masks on."
"Hell or highwater?" Cam's voice had been muffled as the two men had put on the police gas masks. To those that could've seen, it had looked of skulls, the blackened lenses like eyes to the soul of nothingness itself.
"I choose Hell. Five meter spread; you take right lane I'll take left. We do that for each block, reconvene at each corner. Got it? Just like Heat." The orders fell out like an old song.
"Roger." The mag in the Type 64 had gone out as the bolt was pulled back by Kay, chamber checked and mag put back in before a hearty pull of the bolt. Cross training with the JSDF had left little mysteries in the operation of this weapon, the zeroing of the sight good enough for the fight that would follow.
"Pop off a grenade behind them, we're oscar mike."
The commencement of hostilities in their favor was a welcome thing in men finally able to do their art, the two soldiers having ran out to in front of the street, the bloop of Cam's grenade launcher launching a cylindrical object toward them, behind them in their ranks, and then popping brilliantly in concussive and disorienting smoke and force.
It was cause of concern for all the men behind the twenty legionnaires who had taken to the phalanx formation, their spears out and ready for a charge, but not to the twenty legionnaires themselves as they had laughed to themselves:
Only two men?
Wizards more like it as those upfront, peering through their square shields, had saw the black and silver instruments they held up spout of fire. How puny, the flashes that came from the tips of their odd looking weapons.
Odder still was when one man had collapsed despite nothing seeming to have happened, his shield having bucked against him, punctured with little holes, as he had found it hard to breath as his lungs were sucking in.
Twelve gauge buck tended to do that.
Nothing to say of the constant bangs of battle rifle fire that had rained from the weapon that Kay wielded, the gap quickly closing between the two forces half way before the two soldiers had taken a knee and stood their ground as the phalanx kept coming on.
"Tango down! Reloading!" Cam's screaming had been about five downed men late, the man furiously pumping his Ithaca and reloading as Emerson picked up the slack, the secondary sights of the gun easily leveling with head level: each burst of his causing a shield and spear to collapse with the person he gunned down the literal barrel full of Roman fish.
Seven-six-two full metal jacket versus wood and armor of the likes that might've been a practical applicate of combat gear a dozen centuries in the past was certainly something that was in the Rangers' favor.
Maybe against eighty men, surely. Several thousand? Perhaps.
The Romans were trained for this kind of bloody morass however, and they kept up the rush until they were entirely cut off from their backline due to the tear gas cloud, the last of the legionnaires staggering forward, unaware that what was dragging him down to the earth was death by buckshot.
His spear had dropped, and Cam had taken no delay to step up and kick his shield in, putting the man to the floor as Kay ran up and put a bullet into the man's head on the ground.
The ornate, silver brain bucket the man had was now only that as the empty mags were dropped the concrete and reloaded swiftly, both men peering into the tear gas clouded and, on their own accord, popping the heads off Legionnaires, ogres, and otherworldly beast as they came stumbling out, choking on spit and smoke.
Everything to their twelve o'clock was hostile, and that was a simple story of how the blackest and whitest Rules of Engagement had deemed their actions correct.
Next street over the main enemy force had been rolling toward the Imperial Palace, that much had been heard, but all that meant was that the worst was behind them and probably wouldn't look back as the JSDF came in a roar of gunfire echoing through Tokyo.
"Popped a hog!" The squealing of a giant, combat loaded out anthropomorphic pig falling to the ground had backed up Cam's claim as Kay kept silent about the people he was putting down, his mouth a frown and nose flared as gun powder filled the air, his rifle snapping back and forth men who did not know what was happening and were shortly thereafter, dead.
The men who had saw the black skinned, skull wearing man that had stood there and pointed at compatriots who were quickly dead had enough senses to run from whoever that man was and his strange device that flashed every time a man died: like the last light of men's souls being absorbed in their mind.
"Cam! They speaking Korean or something?!" Kay had yelled as his barrel started smoking red, activity of the cloud settling down as men had ran away. Every headshot of his had been on the dot, the ping of metal not unlike one of a fleshy bell.
"Fucked if I know sir!"
The MP5 had come out with that answer, Cam topping off his shotgun before the one hand signal had made them push forward, their gasmasks fully sealed as the white of the tear gas enveloped both them and the street.
To the Legionnaires who came here representing their empire, on behalf of an emperor of their own, the divine will of the highest power, there was a lot to not be able to comprehend between the glass towers around them and the behemoth structures that made up this city in a foreign land.
Further a surprise had been the amount of people they had found, but were easily cut down.
It was a common fact that all men knew how to fight, so when only a handful did, the Legion, the thousands strong army meant to claim this world that lay on top of, in equivalence to this world, Golgotha, they had thought they found a weak world with weak people, ripe for the taking.
They did not think that outright now.
Not when that mysterious summoned choking cloud to this division had appeared at the behest of only two men.
Not when that cloud seemed the flash with light as men screamed within, losing their lives as those two black figures disappeared into the white mass.
Not when those two men on their left flank had walked out as if nothing had happened, barely twenty feet in front of the rear echelon line, and took it as nothing.
Perhaps not all men need not fight, when the strength of only two, equaled twenty and then scores more.
Kay and Cam stepped out of the cloud about, between each other, a mag and a tube full of buckshot expended. If, for any reason, the hundred or so Romans and their monsters had tried to charge them now, it would've ended badly for the two Rangers, but they were absolutely petrified.
More so because of the black man, rather than the Texan who had ogre blood on his knuckles, the two quickly reloading their instruments.
"I think I killed Shrek back there, sir." Cam had said with a little humor as he criked his neck, gloating in the superiority they had in the situation as those Romans had looked at them. It gave him time to idly reload the tear gas launcher for the next street.
"Serves him right." Kay had simply responded, eyes glancing over the catapults that had not been firing because of them, the men not moving, the enemy not killing more. He smirked behind that black mask.
One man, in the infinite wisdom of thinking he would be the chosen one, had drawn his sword, but before he had gotten the sword ready from the maneuver the blade was dropped just as he was: a snappy shot from Kay putting a hole in his head and his body on the ground to little fanfare.
The only fanfare that would come next would be of the positive points of modern firearm manufacturing and of the rigidness of two men, pushing a swath through fighters several centuries and warrior cultures behind them.
manifest destiny
"-vitality is their God, and prosperity their dogma"
The newspaper El Siglo XIX wrote on January 24th, 1845 regarding America's self proclaimed manifest destiny.
The bridge that we had taken cover below earlier had now been my sniper vantage point, the DMR I was given more than enough to overlook the gate's staging point from a good distance away as Cam had gotten off and did SAR for Tracey, leaving me with a radio and more than enough mags for the staging area in front of that giant stone entry way that these Romans had come through to cower.
It was way too easy for me to sight them up and put rounds down range my body in prone against this metro's track.
Like marksman training, so I'm told.
I wasn't a sniper, or a marksman, but there was a certain threshold I had to maintain as part of the 75th. To say I was a good shot had been good enough, given the right conditions and a gracious vantage point.
All of which was afforded to me today, as well as air cover from the GSDF.
They had dealt with the dragons overhead, their bodies falling to the Earth in a bloody and meaty spray with such impact their guts had splattered.
I figured about an hour and a half in I wasn't dreaming this whole thing up: that yes, I was indeed shooting Romans, or, at least, people who fought and carried themselves like Romans with a few monsters in tow like some medieval kingdom.
They simply did not know how to deal with me after I had dispersed their archers, the Cobras overhead further taking their awe as it left me to shoot out their throats.
Somewhere along the way I had ended up the most forward element of any armed resistance against these hostiles. We didn't even have a name for them, so they were called simply hostiles, as such my radio had been buzzing back and forth, leaving me little actual time to settle my breath and shoot with any sort of accuracy as time went on. There was still a considerable enemy force behind me, but that was being chipped away as I hope the JSDF had been able to do.
I mean, me and another Ranger had been able to collapse an entire flank and a catapult clearing with little done to us but burned hands.
"This is Godfather to all responding allied contacts. I repeat, this is call sign Godfather Actual to all available American military personnel. Over."
I had put the radio to my face as I heard the name of the Yokota base commander implied he was really only addressing three men in particular. No other USFJ ground personnel had been in Ginza today save us according to the log.
First time I had heard the commander's voice all day.
"This is 2nd Lieutenant Emerson, five by five Godfather, over." I had shifted my shoulder right to look at a man trying to go for a bow and arrow left on the street by one of my kills. A shot to his back had sent him to join the Archer.
Colonel Andrade was an odd man, Air Force gentleman from the dying days of the Cold War, Base Commander now of Yokota. He was alright, perhaps a little too fatherly at times, too human, but he worked out in a quiet world.
"Godfather Actual here, Emerson you will assume call sign Hitman-Actual for the duration of today. How copy? Over." His voice was what I needed: a voice of control and order.
"Hitman Actual here, copy that. Over." I answered.
Another shift and another pig had lost a tusk, missed the head, but the animal got the point as it went back into cover in an alley way.
"Godfather Actual, the JSDF personnel on the ground in the Palace says you and one of your team leaders are out there? Can you confirm?" the commander asked.
"Affirmative. Clarification: There is another Hitman element: a Corporal Tracey O'Neal, as of this moment we have not been able to locate him. Over."
There was a pause of radio silence. "Godfather Actual. Copy. Please confirm status." Andrade brushed it off for now, couldn't afford it.
"Hitman Actual. Well, Godfather," I had pointed the scope in the direction of another grey skinned ogre, trying to drag the still living from the streets. I hadn't had any of that as I double tapped two rounds. Big boys needed more than one. "Hitman-Actual is currently two blocks south of enemy staging point and is currently providing forward recon and contact suppression while Sergeant Masterson provides SAR for O'Neal. How copy? Over."
"Godfather copies all Hitman. We are currently deploying Marines from Yokota and the 7th MEU to your position. Ground elements are fifty mikes out. Aerial insertion should be within the next five. Over."
The 7th MEU? Colonel Pierce's unit. It must've been really bad.
"Roger that Godfather, Hitman-Actual out."
I had been providing points for the Japanese Cobras above to strafe, knowing explosives were out of the question. Hell, the chain guns were enough give the gore on the street.
"Cam, you read?"
A blowing sound of buckshot later and the radio had been host to his voice again as I changed frequencies.
"Loud and-!" The squealing of another pig followed by another boom. Acoustics sounded like he was inside a building. "Loud and clear, Kay!"
"Got any trace of Tracey yet?"
"No sir!"
"Well Andrade just radioed in. Says we've got Marines inbound from the 7th and Yokota. How copy?"
Masterson really didn't care for radio formalities in a world beyond formalities. "Japanese government allowing the deployment of foreign troops?" another burst of gunfire had punctuated his radio message.
"Don't think they got a choice Cam, Itami seemed to have been directing the GSDF out at the front... Mark your position with a flare and I'll see about tasking a Marine squad to you. Out."
I had wondered why those ground forces hadn't already beaten back the enemy, but the hectic radio chatter had been because the victors had been bogged down by hostile bodies piling up on the street.
Oh yeah, a massacre had been happening to my back.
That being said… I had taken a flare and thrown it behind me on the bridge, highlighting my position so a trigger happy would be JSDF responder wouldn't take my head off, barking the notification into the radio.
The Cobras up top had been so very aware of my position, given my constant radio chatter with them.
Between me and them, we had cut down the enemy like nothing else.
I had heard the stories of the wars gone by: Korea's Reunification, the Gulf War, and Vietnam, of how we had killed so many people with little thought. I hadn't believed the loss of life, but looking before this all, history was as validated as ever.
I was made a believer, despite myself. Every soldier had been one that had wanted peace, fighting for it.
What were we trained for though?
The sound of mass movement beneath me had been worrying, and I had leaned over and looked upside down: just soon enough to see giant mallets ram into the supports of the bridge I was on, shaking the bridge desperately as I shoved myself back before I had fallen off.
"Jesus Christ!"
They had gotten right under me, and I wasn't in any position to do anything as the shaking got violent. The pigs had one hell of an arm… or legs, whatever they were, and in little time at all I had more than enough reason to be running across it as parts of it started to crumble beneath my feet.
Not that I could outrun the collapse of infrastructure, my run across quickly becoming a slide down as electricity cackled from detached power cables and the pigs that had been hammering the supports gave their lives as to get rid of me: crushed by concrete.
The bridge had gone down in pieces, whole pieces, but still enough for me to ride on as it hit the dirt a few dozen feet below, my back worse for wear as it took the brunt, my body rolling to the railing as the entire piece I was on slanted on ground level.
No sooner than I had dust in my mouth I had remembered where I was and who was in front of me… also of who was behind me.
Enemy force was retreating backward, enemy survivors very aggravated of me at my front.
Radio was cackling having reported the bridge collapse, but I didn't even have any time to respond as I brought my rifle up as I lay on my back, propped against twisted metal and railing as the Romans saw who survived: only me.
They ran toward me with such thundering yells it steeled my heart for me.
From the shadow of the bridge emerged one of the smarter dragons: scales telling the story of an elder, hardened, one that acted without a rider that slowly crawled its way toward me from the cover. One smart dragon to have hidden from me the entire time.
The size of at least half the street, its steps had been as loud as my heartbeats as it came toward me, it the attention of my rifle as I squeezed off bursts to no effect.
So very closer it crawled, hot breath becoming very noted to my senses as I realized that instead of being charred: this dragon had wanted to eat me. Didn't even try to run as I emptied my gun, on my back, ready to die while going out fighting.
The bloody mess that had become of that dragon's head had almost made me puke, not because of the gore; but because of my own dead anticipations of finality.
USMC Black Hawks and accompanying American Cobra attack helicopters blew past overhead: the source of the sudden decapitation of that gray dragon being a well aimed AT4 from one of the Black Hawk passengers.
Two had detached from that wing like formation and found me, putting themselves and slinging men by rope on either side of the collapsed bridge and me. Furthermore another had split off and gone to right in front of that gate, every single helicopter up there having miniguns blazing as ribbons were made of those in uniform.
Black birds of prey meant for wars that never happened, now finally having a chance to operate in anger against an enemy that could not touch them:
Wooden contraptions had gone to splinters, war elephants brought down to melt to the gray concrete, everything the size of a foot mobile not registering as a friendly gone to dust.
These Marines had come angry and yelling, guns out and rifles up as the hostiles found themselves with nowhere to run under the fire of the angriest men of the US Military.
No sooner than I had registered who had been hitting a ground had a man in full kit hauled me to my feet and asked of my condition. Really didn't know what to say but to give him an affirmative, even with how I bled and who had bled on me in those last one and a half hours.
"How many motherfuckers you pop lieutenant?" was the second question out of the Marine's mouth. I had almost misheard him, but then again, this was a corps that was war starved for the greater part of a decade at least.
Glint of the security cameras had still survived despite it all, on every street corner and store front.
"You can check my highlight reel later soldier." I had said.
Maybe not even forty meters away there had been active combatants, and, if that combatant had any sort of ranged power projection, we would've all been scrambling for cover on this mean, flat street.
But not, there was nothing to be had as the whir of M16s started cutting down those remaining.
Several of the desert drabbed marines had taken to on top of the dragon that one of their own had just killed and used it as a firing position, even as its body continued to breath on its own in dying moments.
manifest destiny
"If it be the design of Providence to extirpate these Savages in order to make room for cultivators of the Earth, it seems not improbable that rum may be the appointed means." -
Benjamin Franklin, from his autobiography, 1750s.
It never ceased the amaze me that I had to keep reminding myself that this was my first day of combat, that my years of training had all culminated in having to cut down fairy tale men in Japan of all places.
But alas, it was, and a part of my head was laughing at me as the other part of it told it to shut up given the civilian casualties I had to walk over.
Full blown catastrophe that, given if this was done by any other nation on Earth, war would've been declared immediately.
But the thing was, as it was chopping up to be, that these animals, all of them, had not been from Earth.
Today was the day of my first kill, and I'd never forget that it had been a dragon rider. It was a justifiable kill.
Mom always told me to never hurt anyone if I could help it.
Well, I had always said I always could help, just a matter of me dying so the enemy wouldn't. I figured she wouldn't mind it if I was the one living instead of these very, very backward fucks.
Americans had gotten here first, the Japanese having to have shoved their way to intermingle as prisoners were collected and dragged out from occupied buildings, the sound of gunfire as police and military from two nations had gone door to door still evident as I had made my way through the damp convention center: courtesy of a fire alarm pulled by one of my Rangers.
That stone monstrosity that we had been calling a gate so readily had shown up where we needed it to be really, the dead center of the intersection barricaded by barbed wire and pointed at by tanks and machine gun teams. The innards of it had been glowing a black hole blue and black, and everyone didn't need the orders of both the JSDF and the American military to not go from where the attackers came, even if we wanted to do the same to whoever was on the other side of this gate.
Wounds needed to be licked, and the drizzle above had started washing away the blood from the streets into Tokyo's sewers as fighting continued all around us.
Fact remained that Ginza had turned Tokyo into a battlefield, and even then there had been a sighting of a dragon that was able to fly out of Tokyo. Last I heard it was being chased down by Japanese F-15s down toward Okinawa.
Would've liked to see any cover up operation happen, given the death toll today.
Almost all civilian on our side I imagined.
Radio had been buzzing off the chart as a Marine had gotten my Japanese kit off me and put on good ole American armor again. If I was the man who had been one of the first American troops on the ground during this thing, the media that was showing up like the plague had better seen me in my kit.
The sound of a Japanese Type 10 tank firing its main gun into a building had paused us all for a second before me and my procession of attached Marines had gone to where Cam had found Tracey: a bathroom on the fourth floor of the convention center where Itami had so wanted to go today.
Apparently Tracey and his family wanted the same.
"What the fuck do you mean Tracey wanted to meet up with his family here today?!" I had yelled at Masterson, maybe a little unfairly as he blocked me off from the bathroom, only the corpsman able to go in.
"Me and you both didn't know, sir. Apparently he didn't want us to know or something."
"And he still doesn't?!" Masterson had still stood like a post, keeping me out even as I pushed.
Itami would perhaps have another chance to attend one of these conventions, the look in Masterson's blue eyes had told me someone inside that bathroom would not.
manifest destiny
""This unfortunate race, whom we had been taking so much pains to save and to civilize, have by their unexpected desertion and ferocious barbarities justified extermination and now await our decision on their fate." -
United States President Thomas Jefferson, in response to the Native Indian problem, December 29, 1813