A/N: First off, big thanks to my beta readers, Anysia and Lakewood, as well as thanks to cultnirvana and the entire FMP! fanfic community for their support. Most of it has been behind the scenes, but highly structural. I encourage everyone to send in their critiques! I'm striving to grow better as I write. Special thanks as well to Jack Douglas and M.johnson for leaving reviews. Thanks for picking up the references, Jack; MGS3 really kicked me back towards FMP! recently. I hadn't really thought in terms of otaku-izing the Soviet Union in years, not since I was a young Shinji Kazama, and seeing the old lines drawn again got my blood pumping. Good notice on the Tom Clancy as well, M.; I first read Red Storm Rising when I was ten years old after playing the old computer game for ages. That was the formative book of my life; everything else I became as a person roots back to Red Storm in some way.
Second off... well, there is no second off. I again encourage everyone to check out my Comic Party fics. I don't know how much updating I'll be able to do this week at work; most of this fic was written on a Sunday, 12/19 to be exact. I should have been playing video games. See what I do for you people:-P
This was composed on OpenOffice after my Windows decided to die. It's at this point where I'm about to officially endorse a Linux distro, as this is the second time in four weeks that Windows has decided that it operated far too much for an operating system. Anyway, this is my belated Christmas gift to you all; enjoy and I hope you look forward to the next chapter!
On with the show!
"The Hollow Men" by T.S. Eliot, second canto
"Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom."
2: Sunlight on a Broken Column
August 29th, 1981
Sydney International Airport, International Terminal, gate 3
Sydney, Australia
8:45 AM
The two agents had been plucked from the airport with no particular advisement. Their Qantas flight had only literally been connected to the jetway at Sydney International when a storm of Australian Federal Police agents crashed their way through. Mark and Kenji had cooperated—there was little other option lest civilians be caught in a vicious melee. Their surprise at seeing a member of MITHRIL's Pacific Operations Command's executive staff in the unmarked AFP van was rather muted.
"Tell Major Jacobs he can kiss my black ass," Mark growled at the lowly lance corporal. "Thirty thousand dollars? For a fuckin' junk-ass jeep that they can't find back at Fort Irwin?"
"S-sergeant, there's nothing I can do," the corporal stammered. "When the jeep was reported stolen, we had to put it as an equipment transfer to Edwards Air Force Base, and--"
"I KNOW the procedure!" Mark shouted over the roaring engine of the jeep. "Corporal, I swear to Jesus Christ in Heaven, I'm gonna strangle you as soon as they get these handcuffs off me!" He shook the cuffs, securely fastening his wrists behind his back, and to accent it, sneered at the MITHRIL operative.
Kenji cleared his throat. "Mark, they're not going to take the cuffs off you after a line like that."
"You think they ain't gonna? Oh, they gonna!"
Kenji chuckled. "They can take the kid out of the Bronx, but they can't take the Bronx out of the kid," he observed with a rare, if not equally thin, smile. "Corporal, I'll sign for that. You owe me thirty thousand out of your next Christmas bonus, Mark."
"I don' owe you shit, Kenji, and I want my beer the minute we get outta HQ! Within sixty seconds' time, I want a fuckin' Fourex!"
"They don't sell Fourex in New South Wales, Mark, only in Queensland."
"I know. I want you to suffer after all this shit that hit us after a sixteen-hour flight with piss-poor drink service!"
"Well, suit yourself," Kenji shrugged. "Oh, by the way, corporal, you might want these." With a few deft shrugs and the clink of metal on metal, Kenji rolled his shoulders and brought his formerly handcuffed hands around to his front, passing over the metal cuffs themselves to the stunned corporal. They were as open and unlocked as a Seven-Eleven; a thin, strangely-bent paperclip was jutting out from one of the keyholes.
"Oh hell no. Now I really need a beer."
Kenji signed a form authorizing a one-time deduction of $32,032.21 for a replacement jeep to take the place of the one they had "borrowed" from Fort Irwin, despite Mark's grumbles about a bloated American military budget. It wasn't that big of a hit, considering that their MITHRIL Swiss and Cayman accounts already totaled a princely fortune for each of the men. Kenji Moriyama was never much of a big spender, and MITHRIL had good connections to high-yield long-term depositories.
"Why the sudden pickup, anyway?" Mark sighed, trying to wiggle his hands in order to prevent pins and needles. "Y'all couldn't wait until we checked in?"
"General Sachar requires the two of you in his office immediately," the corporal shook his head. "We had to act fast before someone actually contacted the AFP."
"Camouflage & Concealment wanted to try out their newest poly/cotton blends?" Mark joked darkly.
"Probably something like that. Did he mention what he needed to see us about?"
"No, sir, no mention. General Sachar asked me to be present in order to ensure your safe retrieval."
"Yeah? Is that so?" Mark leaned forward, trying to get in the corporal's face. Unfortunately, it was a little hard for his intended intimidation to take effect, being on the opposite side of a van and handcuffed. "Who told you to say 'Hi guys, welcome back, here's a cup of coffee, a handshake, and a bill for thirty G's without the cup of coffee and the handshake'?"
"That would be major Jacobs, sir."
"Thought so. I knew it. Yo, corporal, what's he gonna do if we fail to submit an expense report? Call in Her Majesty's Goddamn Secret Service?"
Kenji tuned out the banter; the corporal explained how he was just following orders and doing his job, and Mark kept insinuating that his job was about to include what he billed as "a trip down Pain Street with a right on Kick-In-The-Face Boulevard." He checked his watch, an old British Army-issue Longines, and settled in for the ride to MITHRIL's regional headquarters.
MITHRIL Pacific Command (MITHPAC) Headquarters
9:32 AM
General Sachar looked up from the response form MITHRIL command had sent regarding his intelligence report. "Come in," he responded to the knocking sound on his door.
After I finish with these two, I'll sleep, he thought, sipping coffee from a white mug emblazoned with the MITHRIL logo. I'll have to thank Skolnick down in Photo for putting in so much effort to find those cross-references so late at night...
The door opened; Mark and Kenji strode in, saluting. "Sergeant Kenji Moriyama and Sergeant Curtis Marqata, reporting as ordered, sir," Kenji announced, his voice rather unenthusiastic and measured.
Sachar stood from his desk and returned the salute, rubbing his eyes as he brought his hand down. "I've read your notes from last night, gentlemen—or should I say yesterday morning. You seem totally unaffected by the jet-lag," he noted, the steely commander in his voice giving way to a tidbit of Australian jest.
"It'll kick in later, sir," Mark replied, standing at ease.
"Right. Sit down, gentlemen," Sachar gestured to the polished mahogany office chairs opposite his desk; the two men took a chair each. "I've read the notes, so let's hear your full report."
"At 0945 hours on August 26th, I was able to war-dial an open external access line through the Strategic Air Command network interface station located in Ofutt Air Force Base," Mark began, "and utilizing a blue-box masker, we successfully gained access to the Air Force Training Command internal system. I used that internal access to shift into the Army's network, creating a fake entry for a specialized training exercise to any unit available at the NTC at Fort Irwin. We managed to upload schematics for the theoretical capabilities of the Leapfrog Project, assuming a worst-case scenario—third-generation hydraulics, a trained operator, and defiladed positions."
"How was the tank crew able to handle it?"
"Given the conditions, sir, they weren't." Mark shook his head. "If the Leapfrog is as capable as the worst-case scenario, that tank would have been wasted. Again, sir, it seems like a stretch to assume the capabilities that we ascribed to the exercise are accurate. The estimated data is based off of information that REFUSENIK sent years ago."
Sachar nodded. "Agreed, sergeant, but we must assume the absolute worst possibilities. The best-case scenario has already passed. We know that at least one was in combat at one point."
"Have there been any reports from MITHCENT on their investigation so far, general?" Kenji asked.
Sachar growled. "With the fact that they're working on infiltrating Black September and the PLO, MITHCENT has put the investigation on hold. They're screaming for funds, and rightfully so. They intercepted another KGB officer trying to transit out of Tel Aviv for London."
Mark let out a low whistle. "KGB's sending people through Israel? That's pretty damn dangerous."
"It was a good attempt, to give them credit. Yes, it was dangerous; this one was barely disguised. Russian citizen, Russian passport, fake tourist visa stamp good all the way to Heathrow. They normally send in agents under diplomatic cover—the usual 'cultural attaché'— but that restricts what they can do. They have to register as diplomats, so we know who they are and where they're going. Hell, the host country's intelligence agency does the same thing. The only thing we have to watch out for is if a MITHRIL operative runs into a CIA or MI5 agent in the same pub. "
The two men chuckled a little at Sachar's joke. "So they're too busy to look for the scrap in the photo?" Kenji asked.
Sachar nodded. "MITHCENT is far too focused on keeping the Arab-Israeli conflicts from spilling over. The '76 war shook everyone up when they found Soviet military advisors in with the Syrian and Egyptian forces. It took MITHCENT some serious work to extract the Soviets in Israeli captivity before that story hit the papers. We may have to pick up the slack on searching out the scrap pile."
"There's more that happened, sir," Mark spoke up. "After we transmitted the notes, we ran into a little situation in the computer lab."
"Nothing you couldn't handle, right?" Sachar sipped his coffee.
"We were contacted by NAPA VALLEY, sir," Kenji said in the same tone of voice as if he had just said 'Excuse me, your shoelace is untied.'
Sachar inhaled his coffee and began to cough.
"You what?"
Kenji explained how the powered-off computer terminal had suddenly come back on, downloaded machine code, installed a program, communicated directly to them, and proceeded to erase the operating system and all files on the mainframe. Kenji only explained because Mark would have lapsed into the actual technology too quickly; moreover, they didn't need Mark's easily-excitable tones describing NAPA VALLEY to the general.
"NAPA VALLEY..." General Sachar took in a deep breath, stepping up from his chair and going over to a large area map of the Pacific Rim tacked to the wall. "We never did get confirmation that the operation failed, just as we never confirmed its success, either..."
"No, sir, we never did," Kenji replied.
So he's alive... or he had a disciple... either way, if NAPA VALLEY has gotten himself involved in the Leapfrog Project, this is not going to be easy. Then again, this wasn't easy in the first place.
Sachar went back to his desk, and in one swift motion, downed the rest of his coffee. "As of this moment," he said, all casual nature gone from his voice and the commander's steel out of its sheath, "your leaves are canceled and no requests will be considered. You are on twenty-four hour duty and will be on-call in MITHPAC headquarters until further notice. Acknowledge the order."
Mark and Kenji looked at each other. Mark was slightly downcast, but curiosity clearly had taken its root across his dark cocoa visage. When Mark met his partner's eyes, though, there was a strange emotion present within them.
"Acknowledged," Mark and Kenji replied in unison, turning to face the general.
"For now, you're going to prepare a briefing for MITHPAC on the situation from here on up. Be prepared to present it tonight."
"Yes, sir," the agents responded, less than enthusiastically.
"I know it's grunt work and you're probably fatigued as hell," the general assured them. "But at this point, we may be asked to take up the slack for MITHCENT and even MITHEUR. The Pacific has calmed down; the last thing we had to work on before you two were just assigned was the latest flare-up in the Spratlys. This, I think, is a lot bigger than territorial concerns over undersea oil. Is there anything else I need to know? What are your questions for me?" Both men already knew of Sachar's reputation to answer anything put before him as honestly and completely as he could.
"How sure can we be about NAPA VALLEY's involvement, sir?" Kenji asked coolly.
"The latest reports we have on his activity date back almost five years," Sachar shook his head. "We cannot be sure of anything other than what you two gentlemen have brought to the table. I would assume that he is as actively involved as he ever would be for matters such as this."
The two were silent.
"Dismissed."
The sergeants stood and again exchanged salutes with the general.
"Lonnie!" Sachar yelled before the door could close. "Get me the Commander on his direct line. I need to speak to him immediately. Sergeant Moriyama, may I have a word in private?"
Kenji stopped short. "I'll see you up in the living quarters; we'll start working on the briefing up there," he said, patting Mark on the shoulder. "Don't forget the transparency sheets."
"Yes, Mr. Moriyama," Mark gave his best impression of a secretary's voice.
"Close the door, sergeant, and sit down." Sachar's voice had lost both its jest and its iron, taking on a sympathetic tone that Kenji hadn't yet heard from the Intelligence branch commander.
"What can I do for you, sir?" Kenji asked.
"I need to know right here, right now, and with fullest conviction if you want to be excused from this mission," Sachar folded his hands together and leaned towards Kenji. "I will hold no ill will towards you—personal, professional, or otherwise—if you'd like to be excused. I can find you another mission. Hell, I'll even pull Marqata off this if you want to be off elsewhere. You can take some vacation time, you can sign on for another regional mission; I'm giving you carte blanche to request anything you want."
Kenji was silent; he was gripping the arms of the chair with notable strain. Sachar saw the small, powerful man's knuckles turning white, then red, with pressure and increased blood flow. He began fearing for the welfare of his chair; Kenji seemed ready to crush it at will.
"NAPA VALLEY is nothing for you to shake a stick at," Sachar restored his steel. "Son, are you going to be in on this or do you want out?" he barked.
"You don't have to worry about me, general," Kenji replied with all the emotion of a silicon chip. "I'll follow all orders given to me in service to MITHRIL."
"Dammit, Moriyama!" Sachar pounded his desk, causing everything except for a large framed photo of his family to jump. Kenji, however, was unfazed. "I could order you to the beaches of Bora Bora and to stay there for two weeks in a deluxe suite at the Hyatt, right here and right now, all expenses paid, plus part of my own personal pay as a spending stipend! Will you obey that order!"
Kenji remained silent, but general Sachar's tirade had its intended effect. He had lightened his stress-reaction grasp on the arms of the chair.
"Sergeant, I know how you feel about NAPA VALLEY and his past involvement with MITHRIL," Sachar got up and walked around to the front of his desk, draping his uniform jacket over the chair's back. He sat down, facing his subordinate's unspeaking left side, staring directly into the trim, narrow eyes of Kenji's prominently Asiatic features. "I know that you'd slice his throat open, go for a sniper shot at a thousand yards with a clunky old Dragunov, blow up his car, blow up his building, regardless of whoever was in it—civilian, government, military, royalty—am I not correct?"
"You are correct, sir," Kenji replied, barely even whispering.
"Am I not correct, then, in assuming that you are a potential danger to the mission should NAPA VALLEY present himself?"
"Given the assumptions of what I admitted my willingness towards... you would be correct, sir." Kenji still kept his gaze forward, his back ramrod straight.
"Moriyama, you're a multitalented and skilled operative. Ever since we brought you in from the Japanese Self-Defense Force, you've proven yourself an apt pupil, a capable trainer, and a covert agent that MITHRIL cannot risk losing lightly. Hell, your ability to train agents in practical hand-to-hand combat and small arms keeps me wondering why Command doesn't take you out of the field already." Sachar crossed his legs, leaning back on his chair. "Speaking freely, sergeant, with no words leaving this room. Are you capable of handling this mission?"
Kenji was silent.
He's thinking, Sachar thought, rubbing his chin, trying to get a handle of how badly he would need to shave. If he had barked anything right out, I'd have him clapped in irons post-haste. Good, Moriyama. Think about it. Give me an honest answer.
"I will be able to complete any mission which I am ordered to complete, general," Kenji turned in his chair to face Sachar. "I will function to my fullest, obey all orders given to me that do not violate MITHRIL's guidelines, bylaws, or principles, and above all, preserve, protect, and defend the lives of the innocent."
It's good to have you on the level, Moriyama. This puts me well at ease.
"You will brief the assembled staff at 1700 hours," Sachar stood up. Kenji stood as well. "I want everything up from the history of the Leapfrog Project to NAPA VALLEY."
"Yes, sir!" Kenji saluted. Sachar returned it, looking the small-statured man over with his practiced blue eyes.
Your name translates to "Forest Mountain" in Japanese, right? Something strong amongst tranquility. I've never been one to underestimate etymology, but you're making your family line proud, that's for sure.
Afterword/Glossary:
I thought it best to give a little more background information on MITHRIL's operations. All we see in FMP! so far is the Pacific Fleet, with a cameo from the Indian Ocean squadron. Nobody's ever yet tried to bring up the fact that if MITHRIL can afford to operate and maintain a $5 billion submarine with the force projection capability of a Tarawa-class marine assault ship, they can probably operate globally as well.
Every chapter of The Hollow Men from here on out will have a brief description and explanation of a MITHRIL command. I hope this can provide some idea of the scope I envision MITHRIL to have in this fanon. All information here is strictly fictional from my own mind. Don't bother writing Shoji Gato; he won't know this either.
MITHPAC: MITHRIL Pacific Command. Headquarters: Under Hyde Park, Sydney, Australia; main base: Merida Island, South Pacific. Pacific Command, showcased in the series of Full Metal Panic, is responsible for the West Coast of the United States and all nations in the Pacific Rim. While not as highlighted as MITHCENT, as recognized as MITHSOUTH, or as active as MITHEUR, MITHPAC is never without operations, considering their territory: Russia and the Soviet republics, the Koreas, China, Indonesia, Australia and New Zealand, etc. MITHPAC manages to work miracles with small teams of agents. They use the Runic alphabet to assign call signs (Urzu, Teiwaz, et. Al. are all from the Norse Runic).
MITHPAC has operated as one of the main arms of MITHRIL since it was formed in 1953 after the Korean War cease-fire began. The Pacific Rim has a double-punch of major regions of interest to both the Soviets and the Americans; thus, MITHRIL is constantly working to prevent one side from gaining the influence over the other. Geared primarily for mobile operations, MITHPAC operates light aircraft carriers disguised as container ships. Under ingenious disguise, helicopters and assault craft (Hovercraft, landing ships, etc.) can deploy from these retrofitted ships. MITHPAC often recruits some of the most capable special forces combatants from around the world, and they are expected to adapt to the urban jungles of developed areas like Japan, coastal China, Taiwan, Singapore, etc., as much as they are expected to adapt to the real jungles of Indonesia, Vietnam, etc.
In 1981, MITHPAC is mostly involved with suppressing opium and heroin production in the Golden Triangle, as well as interdicting Indonesian territorial intrusions against Australia. They are also active in ensuring a balance of power in the oil-rich Spratly island chain located between Vietnam, China, and the Philippines.
MITHPAC has an extended headquarters located beneath Hyde Park in the center of Sydney, Australia. Its entrance is in a back alley located between Sydney's old Jewish synagogue and a tobacconist; an easily camouflaged location. The main combat and fleet base on isolated Merida Island in the South Pacific only became operational in 1975; it houses a large airfield, drydock facilities, and training grounds. The airfield and drydock are noteworthy since both are located within the extinct volcanic mountains in the center of the island. Landing or docking at either is a challenge for even the most seasoned pilots and captains.