Chapter Two
Move With a Sense of Urgency
1909 Local Time
Tiene Yama
Just outside Sapporo, Hokkaido
Japan
The black haired man steadily made his way through the light snowfall as the sun threw the last of its rays over the mountainside. He wasn't sure if the tiny ice crystals were normal for this time of year, but then again he wasn't a local. Whether it was typical or not wasn't really a concern of his, but it seemed somehow appropriate for the place he tread upon.
He appeared to be European or American, in his early forties with relatively short hair and a shadow across his face from not shaving that morning. His clothes were simple, but functional. He wore what appeared to be hiking boots with his dark pants. A similarly dark jacket that seemed too thin for the weather was zipped all the way with the collar flipped up.
A fog appeared before his eyes each time he breathed, but he made no attempt to pull his jacket any tighter. He simply continued his slow pace onward, checking each of the gravestones as he passed them. His ability to read Japanese was sketchy at best, but he knew exactly what he was looking for. He had only been perusing the markers for fifteen minutes when he found what he was looking for.
"Hello, Ryo," he said cordially as he came to a stop in front of a particular stone. "It's been a while."
The snow covered grave was particularly humble, even in this backwoods cemetery on the side of a mountain. It was barely higher than his knee and made from extremely rough stone. At least the name seemed to have been carved by a professional. Ryo, deserved that much at least.
"I know you passed almost six months ago," he continued, "but I just never had the chance to come visit. Work's been hell lately, but you know how that is." The man's voice sounded almost like he had meant that to be funny, but his face remained like stone.
"We had always said that we should get together for drinks one day when we both retired from the game. I guess I just took too long to retire." An odd chuckle escaped his lips, "I suppose when God calls your number…"
He was interrupted by a beep coming from inside his jacket. As he unzipped the front and reached inside he spoke to the grave again, "Excuse me for a moment."
Turning away from his old friend, he activated a small device within his inside pocket. "I thought I had four days, Lambert. What's going on?" he asked seemingly no one.
Within his right ear, however, was a tiny device that had received his speech and sent it to the transceiver in the jacket pocket. That tiny earpiece responded rather quickly. "I'm sorry, Sam, but I'm going to have to cut your leave short," a barely sympathetic voice informed him.
"Why am I not surprised?" Sam responded sarcastically, "So where am I going?"
"That's the good news," Lambert replied, "The job's in Sapporo."
"Sapporo?" asked Sam, "This may be the shortest commute to work I've ever had. I could throw a rock and hit the city limit sign."
"That's why we need you on this, time is of the essence and we need a man inside five minutes ago."
The dark haired man shook his head slightly, "So why me, Lambert? The CIA and even the NSA have plenty of operatives in Japan, even up here in Hokkaido. It couldn't take that long to get someone else on it. Someone who's not on leave."
"We don't have that kind of time, Sam," Lambert said ardently, "There are other forces on the move as we speak and if we wait too long we'll be finding out the story on CNN along with the rest of the damn world."
"I get the picture," Sam replied, "I'll contact you when I'm on the road. Fisher out."
Turning back to the gravestone, Sam gave a small smile, "Sorry old friend, but you know the score. I'll be back when I can. After that I'll keep the promise I made to you."
Placing his hands in his pockets, he set off across the snow, leaving the small gravestone of Ryo Tokiwa behind.
1017 Zulu (7:17 PM Tokyo Time)
Near Demilitarized Zone
North Korea
Exact Location Unknown
The cigarette smoke hung lazily inside the small place. Lights of green, yellow, red, and blue gave indications of the status of the electronic equipment that overcrowded the room.
No, calling it a room didn't give the correct impression. Compartment. Yes, compartment was what he would call it. Unless, of course, he was given the option of calling it a hell-in-the-box.
A dramatically large and bright spark went off from the device that he was working on, causing him to leap back and yelp with surprise. This caused the cigarette to tumble from his mouth and down the front of the military issue coveralls he wore.
"Damn it all!" he cried, trying to grab the one source of comfort he had in that hole. He managed to slam his elbow against the surrounding electronics racks twice and hit his head before he finally grasped the elusive white stick. Finally showing signs of something other than irritation as he sucked in the cancerous air, he let it fill his lungs and slowly let it all out through his nostrils.
He didn't really hate being a technician. Heck, he had been doing it for ten years and was actually quite good at it. What he hated were the people over him. His direct senior had always irked him. The man was an operator, not a tech. He had no idea what it took to keep all the equipment functioning. So the fool would get impatient and blame his technician when things didn't work.
Well of course it doesn't work, you idiot. If the damn military would pay for the parts we need to maintain everything, we wouldn't have a problem! He really wanted to say that, to tell those idiots the truth. But such things weren't spoken in North Korea.
Besides, to be honest, things had been getting better. His fool of a superior was getting tired of constantly yelling and threatening, or else he was figuring out that his people couldn't work any faster. There was no way to know for sure.
Yes, things were starting to get just a little easier. Until the new lieutenant showed up.
Around two weeks before, their company executive officer had been 'transferred' after he had said the wrong thing to his superior. Everyone knew what transfer probably meant in that situation. Dead.
His replacement soon arrived. A new officer, obviously straight out of training, green as the trees outside. The little punk – as the technician thought of him – was loud, obnoxious, stupid, and extremely arrogant. Rumors circulated that the new XO had connections in high places, and that even the Captain in charge of the company was stepping lightly around this kid.
The technician's superior, obviously trying to look good before his new LT, suddenly came down harder than ever on his men. Forcing them into physical labor after their shift if they didn't complete their assignments each day. Thus, the technician became convinced that he must have been a terrible murderer in a past life, and that he was now making up for it.
It took only a couple of days before everyone started cutting corners in order to avoid punishment. Even the technician, who was faster at his job than anyone else in the whole battalion, was forced to ignore certain problems to make his own deadlines.
He took another pull from his cigarette as he looked at the, apparently, still electrified circuits in the radio system before him. Grunting, he went to check the breakers near the entrance. Running his finger down the line of switches, he found the one to the device he was working on. It was off.
Son of a…they were probably in a hurry and mislabeled it. Everyone knew that it was only a matter of time before something serious happened, at the rate they were going. Something was going to have to give.
They had been on high alert for over a week, moving from place to place almost every day. Supposedly it was so they would be able to counter any South Korean forces that tried to invade, or any of her allies. The awful truth, however, was that all it was doing was stressing their equipment and their people to the limit. Especially with that punk ass lieutenant in charge.
Wait, what the hell is that? The technician smelled smoke, and it wasn't his smoke. It was coming from the rack that he had pulled out to work on.
He had to try several different methods of movement before he was able to contort himself in the cramped space so that he could see underneath the piece of equipment he had been working on, but when he did, he huffed a curse under his breath.
It was fried. There was no fixing it. It was a radio that was used to communicate directly with higher command in a combat situation. It had its cryptography gear hardwired into it, and that was ruined. He would need a whole new board.
Or maybe someone in our sister company has one they can loan me. He knew it was an outside chance at best, but it was still better than having to tell his superiors what happened and get half of his friends shot for incompetence, even though it wasn't their fault.
He looked at the radio again, sucking in the last drag from his cigarette. He flicked the butt onto the floor of the compartment as he mumbled to himself, "Well, we never use the damn thing anyway. Maybe they won't notice long enough for me to get the part in."
The technician decided that silence was the best course of action and, after pushing the radio back into place, lit another cigarette and left the cramped compartment. It was time for dinner, or what passed for it in the People's Army.
1923 Local Time
National Highway 5
5 KM NW of Sapporo
The white Japanese sub compact merged onto the highway, heading towards the city. After establishing a speed 20 KM/H faster than the rest of the surrounding traffic, he switched his transmitter on again as he swerved between two cars. He had less than a half meter clearance either way.
"Lambert," he called.
"We have you," the man replied, "according to your GPS signal you'll be traveling for about 10 more kilometers before you leave the highway."
"When this is over, we need to have a talk about Third Echelon's policy on paying for car rentals," he said calmly as he cut off another driver.
"What's wrong?"
"Lambert, I've driven Power Wheels bigger and faster than this thing," he replied, drawing a chuckle from his superior.
"So now you're driving for real, huh?" he chuckled, "Sam, you were on unofficial business, and technically you weren't even on business at all. There was no way that we could get you anymore than that. You know how expensive things are in Japan."
The agent gave a grunt, "Alright, Lambert, let's get down to business."
"Right," Lambert agreed, "Grimm will give you the details."
A woman's voice came over the line, "How's the vacation going?"
"It was fine till you guys called," he jabbed lightly.
"Well, hopefully this won't take too long," came the reply, "You heard about the bio-terror attack that hit Komsomolsk, right?"
He raised an eyebrow, "Yeah, I know about it. I've passed through there twice, but that was years ago."
"Was it nice?"
"Not at all," she gave a short huff of a laugh before he asked, "So what's Komsomolsk have to do with Sapporo? Did you guys find the group that claimed responsibility?"
"We think so," Grimm replied, "But they've never really done anything before that we're aware of, so nobody has ever really observed them. Since we have no info, there's no way for us to know without getting eyes on the target. You'll be looking for anything that can give us a hard connection. We need to know if the terrorists are really based out of Japan or not."
"So this is strictly intelligence gathering?" Fisher asked.
Lambert answered this time, quite adamant in his response, "Yes, intelligence only. That means no killing, Fisher." That drew a rare smile from the agent. "If you have to knock a few of them out that's fine, but don't go overboard. We don't want anyone to know we were there."
"I understand," he said as the smile faded from his face, "You said earlier that there were other forces on the move, Lambert. Who are we talking about here, someone other than the Japanese?"
Grimm replied to the question, "Actually the Japanese government is trying to keep their hands off of all this. It seems that they have contacted an outside organization to remove any signs of the terrorists and take the suspects out of the country."
Fisher thought about that for a moment. It made sense that the Japanese government wanted none of their fingerprints on this, just in case it leaked out. But an 'outside organization'? The government hired mercenaries to do this? "Who?"
"Mithril," Lambert answered.
That makes sense. The NSA was aware of Mithril's existence, and had even utilized their services on occasion. They were one of the few forces in the world who would be capable of acting quickly enough to resolve this without any real complications.
"They are on their way now and should arrive not long after you do. We don't have an exact time," he continued, "We're lucky we even know about their involvement. The Japanese government isn't talking to us about any of this."
"So I take it that Mithril doesn't know that I'm going to be there?"
"No they don't," came the response, "and they don't need to, either. If they realize that our government knew about their operation, they will start to review their procedures and figure out how we got our information. It's hard enough to know what the hell they are doing already."
"What about Ivan?" Sam asked.
"We're fairly certain that the Soviets don't know yet," Grimm said, "Like we said earlier, we almost stumbled on this information through blind luck. The odds that the KGB found out the way we did so quickly are slim at best. We're trying to keep an eye on them. You're coming up on your exit, by the way."
Sam screeched across two lanes of traffic and skidded into the off-ramp. A large spark leaped from the left side of the car as it briefly contacted the concrete retainer wall, looking quite dramatic in the evening darkness as he sped off the highway.
"What was that noise, Fisher?" Lambert asked.
"Nothing to worry about," Sam replied casually, "Even NASCAR drivers loose some paint every once in a while.
1930 Local Time
Jindai High School Soccer Field
Tokyo, Japan
The rear loading ramp of the Mithril MV-22 was already half open as the wheels touched down gently on the grass of the practice field. Since there was no real chance of discovery by the locals, thanks to the ECS invisible mode, there wasn't much to worry about landing in such a pubic place. Kurz just hoped that the wheels didn't leave too deep an impression in the ground, lest one of those pretty high school girls trip and hurt themselves.
His direct superior, Sgt Maj Melissa Mao was standing near the cockpit, probably going over the plan one more time before they started toward their final destination. Looking back to his right, the blonde haired sniper saw that the air crew had lowered the loading ramp further and admitted his other comrade in arms, Sgt Sousuke Sagara.
He was looking typically serious, wearing his combat fatigues and his bullet proof vest. He carried nothing else besides his sidearm, knowing that his rifle would be waiting for him on the helicopter.
Melissa was back to her seat, strapping herself in at the same time Sousuke was, sitting directly opposite her. "Sousuke," she nodded at him, "You ready?"
Sousuke quickly responded with a definitive, "Affirmative."
Kurz grinned impishly at the young sergeant seated next to him, feeling his usual irrepressible urge to give him a hard time, "So why the irritated look, Sousuke? Did we interrupt your alone time with Ka-na-me?" He knew that Sousuke had a soft spot for the Whispered girl he was assigned to, and used it to stick the uber-serious young soldier every chance he had. Not that he blamed Sousuke for his 'weakness', she was a great girl. Not to mention that she was smokin' hot. Kurz just used what he could to squeeze a little emotion out of the rock.
"I always look like this," Sousuke replied sharply. It wasn't an unusual response, to be sure, but there was something about the way he said it that made Kurz think about it for an extra few seconds. He was just about to disregard it as his imagination when he glanced over once more and saw a single bead of sweat on the side of Sousuke's face, and something in his mind clicked. The engines spooled up louder and the sounds of the rotor blades biting the air filled the compartment, though not that loud thanks to the ECS.
The blond mercenary's face went slack with surprise as he looked over at the stoic Sagara. "We really did interrupt your alone time with Kaname!" he almost yelled with disbelief as the MV-22 lifted off.
Sousuke and Kurz both glanced over to see Mao checking her magazines, ensuring they were properly loaded. She didn't seem to hear anything over the din of the helicopter taking off, or if she had she wasn't showing any interest. He suddenly felt a strong yank on his collar as the black haired soldier pulled him closer. "If you tell anybody about this, Webber," he spoke in an ice cold tone, "I will kill you."
Kurz couldn't help but smile a little at this. Not necessarily at the threat itself, but what it represented. A confirmation. "Okay, Sousuke, I give you my word. I won't tell anyone," he stated, "but on one condition."
"Condition?" he asked, "Besides letting you live?"
"Yeah, besides that."
Sousuke hesitated, obviously worried what this condition might be. He finally nodded, though, "Fine, what's the condition?"
Kurz smiled large again, "Tell me what you guys did."
Eyes wide, Sousuke released his grip on the collar and looked away, "Even if you ask that, I don't know if I can answer."
"C'mon, Sousuke!" Kurz egged him on, "Did'ja get lucky?"
He looked at Kurz with confusion, "We weren't gambling, Kurz."
Shaking his head in disbelief, he tried a different approach, "Alright then, how about this? Did you wrap your arms tightly around her, causing her body to shiver with pleasure as you kissed her passionately, sliding your tongue into her mouth and…"
"No!" Sousuke shouted, not waiting for the rest of the description, "No! I didn't do anything of the kind to her!" He then spent another few seconds looking as embarrassed as Kurz had ever seen him, "What the hell is wrong with you, asking me something like that?"
I guess it's a good thing he didn't know what I was talking about when I asked if he got lucky. He probably would have either killed me on the spot or passed out. "Okay, calm down, man," he said with his hands defensively in front of him, "If you didn't kiss her, then what were you two doing?"
"We were," he said slowly, just barely loud enough to be heard, "We were holding hands."
Kurz continued to listen intently, but it seemed as though Sousuke was done talking. Shaking his head, he tried to get everything straight in his mind, "So you threatened to kill me if I told anyone that you were spending time holding hands with Kaname?"
"That is correct," Sousuke affirmed.
The blond haired sergeant couldn't hold it in any longer. Leaning his head back against the side of the helo, he let out a laugh that made his eyes water and his sides hurt.
"If you two have time to make jokes," the Sgt Major yelled across the cabin, "Then you have time to check your gear! Sousuke, your equipment is in there."
"Roger!" Sousuke called back, moving to grab his assault rifle and ammo.
Kurz would have fallen over laughing by then if he hadn't been strapped into his seat.
1048 Zulu (1948 Tokyo Time)
Somewhere Over the Sea of Japan
God I hate flying in these damn things.
Petr Agapitov found himself looking around the cramped quarters within the Mi-8 transport helicopter. As large as the bird looked on the outside, they had managed to uncomfortably fill the interior with twenty men. The fact that they all carried assault rifles or heavier weapons didn't help the situation. And despite all the soldiers that had been stuffed into the helo with him, it was freezing.
It was bad enough to Petr that he had been assigned by the KGB to watch over a company of infantry men, he had always been a field agent. Watching over the loyalty and political leanings of a bunch of soldiers was not his job, as he saw it, and never had been.
It had been especially difficult when the men he had been assigned to were sent to help with the quarantine of Komsomolsk. Morale suffered greatly as they had to seal off the city, essentially condemning everyone within the city to death. The fact that no one knew who to blame made their anger and fears disperse in questionable directions. Petr understood their feelings, but he couldn't sit by and watch the men fall apart before him.
The officers had been useless, in the agent's opinion. Many were as emotional as the rest of their forces and failed miserably to provide good leadership in the face of the crisis. Agapitov had found himself taking over their jobs on occasion just to keep everything in line. Someone must hate me, he thought, Yes, I must have done something to anger someone up the chain of command. That is the only reason they would have set me with such a group.
When the terrorist group revealed themselves on television, the agent thought he had finally been forgiven. Intelligence seemed to have worked a miracle in finding the suspected hiding place of these fools who wanted the Motherland to give up Sakhalin. They had determined with fair certainty that they were in northern Japan, but the politicians needed hard evidence to use as leverage internationally.
Agapitov had received the news that he would be retrieving the evidence personally only an hour prior. Unfortunately he was instructed to take some of his men with him to ensure live capture of some of the terrorists and confiscating of any equipment that would prove a connection to Komsomolsk.
Petr, of course, hated this idea. It would be too easy to be found out by the Japanese for one thing. A large transport and two Hind assault helicopters would be fairly noticeable, even with the new sound dampening equipment. He had also been informed that the skin of both helos had been covered in a radar scattering paint. This cutting edge Soviet technology, he was assured, would make their movements invisible to the Japanese.
He had his doubts, but there was little he could do. He picked out the members of the strike team himself, choosing the most talented and, more importantly, the most professional of the men he had been keeping watch over. That's not saying much, though.
The KGB agent checked his Makarov PMM pistol, the only weapon he carried, one more time, praying again that he wouldn't have to use it. This was something that required secrecy and stealth, and if one of those men fired off a round, then things would become extremely complicated for them and for the USSR. A firefight had to be avoided if at all possible.
A/N
Disclaimer I forgot to do: I don't own Full Metal Panic! Nor do I own Splinter Cell.
Well, what can I say here. First of all, Sam Fisher (the main character from Tom Clancy's Splinter Cell) is something I didn't originally plan for, since I'm not really a big fan of crossovers normally, but he just fits so nicely into the story that I couldn't help but add him.
There will definitely be more action next chapter. I'll just leave it at that.
I personally thought that this chapter was nothing special, as far as writing goes. I think maybe some of it seemed kind of rushed. I know I could have done better with the right preparation, but I'm stuck in a foreign country right now, and will be for several more months, so things are a little more difficult for me. All the same, I like how things are proceeding right now.
Now to answer my first (and so far only) reviewer: MJP
I really appreciate your critique. It's always good to know that your work is appreciated! I'm not sure that I understand exactly what you mean by "it needed more FMPness." Do you mean more Black Technology type stuff, or just more of an ambiance? I know that there is a whole lot of stuff going on that doesn't involve any of the FMP characters, but I am definitely trying to remedy that as soon as the story will allow. Plus the Arm Slaves probably won't be making an appearance for a little while yet, but again I'm working on it.
While I'm at it, let me respond to your review of Youth: I know what you mean by the title, I delayed posting it for four days while I tried to think of a good name. I finally settled on Youth, but didn't really care much for it. I'm not very good with naming my stories. Peace From the Earth would have been posted almost three weeks ago if I could have come up with a name. I'm not too wild about that name either, but at least I have a decent reason for calling it that. Anyway, I'm glad you liked what you saw in both stories and I hope you keep reading this one.
And to all of you reading, please drop a review! Review!
See you in the next chapter.
Gunso