Chinese-North Korean Airspace. 0950 hrs.
The commandos slid down their ziplines and smashed through the cockpit windows, shooting the copilot and landing, ready, in the large cockpit. The first black-clad commando put a burst of machinegun fire into the door and Rei recoiled, bits of the steel door flying off as the armour piercing rounds slammed through. Rei threw himself sideways as the enemy burst into the hold, weapons flaming. From the floor, Rei shot one. He fell sideways, blood spurting from his neck. The others turned, ready to end the Chinese Lieutenant's life. Luckily, Xung was up and ready, sending a hail of lead their way. One died and the others sought cover in the hold. There were seven left: two behind the first humvee, one, the leader, back in the cockpit, and the last four behind a row of parachutes. Rei was cornered in-between the two humvees but managed to blast another enemy as he fired a burst at Xung. Su, the MSS man, rose from behind the humvee where he had been sheltering with Xung. His pistol blazed once, twice, three times. Two commandos fell, lifeless, to the floor as the large bomber started to decend as the pilot slumped dead over the controls. The rearmost enemy stumbled backwards and Rei shot him. The leader shouted something in a language Rei did not understand. The commandos turned and went back through the door into the cockpit. The last one turned and fired a shot off at Rei. The Chinese soldier felt a searing pain as the bullet hit his shoulder. The impact threw him back against the fuselage. Su ran into the cockpit and Rei heard through the pain-filled haze the sound of a 9mm pistol emptying. The MSS agent came through the door as Xung crouched down beside Rei. "Are you all right, sir?" Asked Xung. "Can you move your arm at all?" Rei grunted and moved his arm slightly. It hurt like hell, but it still worked. Su came over to them and broke in. "Gentlemen, it's time we left. If you could grab a parachute we could still get out." Rei nodded, as did Xung. The Sergeant-Major helped Rei to his feet and the trio took parachutes from the rack.
Above the bomber, the stealth aircraft launched an AAM missile. It looped around and slammed into the bomber's wing, blowing one of the engines to smithereens . The bomber went into a sharp dive. Inside, the three Chinese were thrown to the floor. Rei gritted his teeth against the sudden wash of pain as he fell to the floor. Xung pulled him up again as Su hit the button to open the rear hatch. The hatch opened with a screech, as the mechanisms had been damaged by the missile. Su turned to Rei and asked: "Have you ever HALO jumped before?" Rei laughed despite their predicament and responded: "HALO? I've never even parachuted normally before!" Su blinked in surprise and explained hastily as a wave of acrid, choking heat rolled back from the cockpit. The smell of charred flesh was overpowering and the plane couldn't be that far above the ocean. "Pull the ripcord after 3 seconds and then, wait for another few seconds and then release your 'chute. Otherwise, you'll be tangled in it and drown. Got it?" Rei didn't have the time to answer as Su bundled him out of the hatch, then jumping out himself after waving Xung out also.
Wind. Water. Pain. Fear. That was what Rei Kon felt in the next several minutes as he and his comrades fell from the belly of the wounded FP-8 moments before it exploded against the water with an earth-shattering explosion and a billowing flame, towards the sea below. Wind as it whistled past his head while he was plunging toward the large expanse of blue below. Fear that the enemy would see and eliminate them like small insignificant bugs. Water, as he entered it at speed. Pain as the parachute blossomed over his head, jerking him back against the straps and as the salt water attacked his wounded shoulder. Rei's head broke the surface and he spat out a mouthful of water. Xung was swimming over to him with sure, steady strokes and Su was already heading towards the coastline, about half a mile away.
Sinuiju Coast, North Korea. 0958 hrs.
By some superhuman effort, Xung had half dragged, half pushed Rei through the near-freezing water until they had reached the rocky beach. By the time that Rei and his Sergeant-Major had reached the shore, Su had already built a fire and he ushered Rei over towards it, laying the injured Lieutenant down. He was very cold and was finding it hard to talk. Hypothermia was setting in. Xung heated some water for them as he warmed his hands and Su wrung the water from his socks before hanging them out to dry off. Rei was feeling better and started to rub some feeling back into his hands. He shivered and looked about the rocky beach. What a place! He shook his head and rose from his place, wincing as the cold air attacked his shoulder wound. He walked a short way down the beach, reflecting upon their current situation. How in the name of God were they going to get out of this? After walking a short way, he slumped down on a rock and put his head in his hands, his longish hair falling down over his shoulder.
Xung took first watch as Kung Su fell asleep, exhausted. Rei hadn't moved from his position on the rock. The SM walked over to him, his boots crunching on the shingle under his feet. The Lieutenant looked up. "Are you alright, sir?" Asked Xung as he stopped next to Rei. Xung alone had managed to keep his AK-74, as Rei had left his on the bomber. "I've been better, Xung. We're trapped God knows where, I've got a bullet wound in my shoulder, I have about a clip left for my pistol, Su has no ammo left, and you have...what, two clips for your AK? and two for your pistol? We're in a predicament all right. I don't even know where the Hell we are..." Xung shrugged and waved it off. "You've never let us down before, sir. And I din't think that you're about to start now." He headed back to the fire and Rei stood up. Xung was right. Time to stop feeling sorry for himself and start acting like a soldier. Suddenly, the thwup-thwup-thwup of a helicopter's rotor blades broke the silence of the chill winter morning. Rei ducked in behind a large rock and Xung joined him a few seconds later. Su jerked awake and ran for cover. He was too late, however. An Mi-24 Hind helicopter rose over the cliffs and spotted the running figure. The Hind, a large, heavily armed gunship that had a double cockpit bubble that looked like a large, otherworldly bug, swooped down on him with surprising speed. The six-barrelled minigun on the "chin" belched flame and stiched a nasty curtain of lead in front of the running MSS agent's feet. He skidded to a halt and raised his hands in the air. The Hind dropped towards him. Rei couldn't just watch him be captured. He rose, feet planted firmly apart, and sighted down the barrel of his pistol. "No, sir..." warned Xung. The Lieutenant didn't listen and fired. The single kevlar-tipped bullet went straight through the cockpit canopy and out through the other side, via the gunner's brain. Sprack! Brain fluid and blood sprayed over the cockpit bubble and the Hind turned on Rei and his SM. The Lieutenant ducked behind the rock as a missile lanced out from one of the stubby "wings", trailing a long white finger of smoke. It impacted against the side of the rock and blew it to smithereens, throwing Rei and Xung backwards. Xung hit his head against the ground and was knocked unconscious. Rei was winded and felt blood trickling down his left arm. He picked himself up and realised that he had lost his pistol. "Shit." He muttered and raised his hands as well. The Hind touched down and Rei saw, with an electric shock of recognition, the flag of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, or North Korea, on the side. Heavily armed troops dropped from the chopper and covered him with AK-47s. Two ran to Su and shoved him, at gunpoint, into the Hind. The four who approached Rei all covered him with their weapons. Xung was hauled up and dragged towards the chopper. Rei braced himself and prepared to be pushed as well towards the helicopter. Instead, an NK rifle butt smashed into the side of his head and the world went black.
Korean Demilitarized Zone South Side, 1058 hrs.
Sergeant Max Tate, formerly of the Bladebreakers, sat behind a M256 120mm smoothbore gun in his M1A2 Abrams, watching the North Korean side of the border. Nothing had been done about the North Korean invasion of Japan. The United States of America had condemned it, of course, but didn't take any action for the moment, having enough trouble in Iraq to deal with. The troops in the south were put on red alert and that was why Max had been watching the NK border for the past 5 hours. Yawning and stretching, the young sergeant looked around the cramped space of the MBT. Next to him was the driver, Corporal Paul Smith, above him the commander, Lieutenant Ron Swansjovisk, and behind him the machine gunner/radio operator, Ian Tyrone. Smith smiled and offered a cigarette to the main gunner. Max thanked him and took it, lighting it with his silver Zippo lighter. Lieutenant Swansjovisk frowned at them, then relented and took one. In seconds thew were all puffing away. The part of the line where they were stationed was in a large base, with a 5 tonne truck parked a few meters away and another Abrams to the left, it's large gun aimed at the NK base a mile away. Max inhaled deeply, drawing the smoke into his lungs, then peered into the scope again. Still nothing. The sound of a helicopter came from behind them and Swansjovisk twisted his body round to see. "It's the mail, boys!" He said. He dropped into the tank and looked around. "Whose turn is it to go get it?" Max raised his cigarette. "Me." The tank commander moved aside and Sergeant Tate wormed his way out of the turret and jogged across the concrete towards the Black Hawk UH-60 helicopter as it touched down on the hard concrete of the base. Max reached it as the door opened and a soldier dropped out, weighted down with a bag full of post. Max picked it up and headed back to the tank. Climbing up to the turret, the bag slipped from his hands and letters and parcels spilled onto the cold ground. Max cursed and dropped off the tank's hull to grab the stuff up.
It was that that saved him. The sniper's bullet pinged off the Abram's hull and smacked into the ground. Max started and leapt into the tank. "Sniper!" He yelled, and every hatch in the two M1A2s was closed. Max traversed the turret, searching for a target. Nothing. A trail of smoke suddenly appeared from a hill to the southeast, the SK (South Korean) side of the border! "RPG!" Yelled Swansjovisk and Smith gunned the engine. The tank leapt forward, out of the base and towards the hill. The RPG slammed into the UH-60, ripping it apart. The second Abrams turned and fired a shell towards the hill. Max's tank was halfway up, almost there. It crashed through a ring of trees and came upon a natural clearing, surrounded on all sides by the forest. On one side a magnificent Buddhist temple stood, dating back to the 8th century. In the middle of the clearing stood a crude RPG site: two men with RPGs and a third with an RPK heavy machine gun. One of the RPG troopers was in the process of reloading and the other was aiming towards the Abrams and fired. The thin trail of smoke shot across the front of the lead Abrams, instead hitting the second one's engine. It disappeared in a ball of fire, destroyed in an instant, no hope of any survivors. "FIRE!" Screamed Swansjovisk. Max didn't have to aim the turret: It was already traversed low enough to blow the RPG site to Hell. He squeezed the trigger and the tank was jerked backwards as if it had been kicked by a giant boot. The 120mm shell slammed into the RPG site and it exploded into flame. There were no survivors. The Abrams slewed to a halt and the radioman, Tyrone, reported the situation to base. Max turned suddenly. "Sir! There was a sniper first off! Where is he?" The commander frowned and shrugged. "Wait for the G.I's. They're coming." Max shook his head. "The G.Is'll get massacred on that road if there's a sniper up there!" Without a further word, Sergeant Max Tate of the 42nd Tank Division clambered out of the protection of his tank and drawing his standard-issue Glock from his khaki tankman uniform, dodged into the temple.
Inside, the temple was lit only by a dim red glow from the candles at the far end. Max moved slowly forward, his pistol raised. Behind one of the pillars there came a noise, the sound of an assault rifle being cocked. Max whipped around, his Glock blazing. pieces of the ancient temple flew as the Glock's bullets pierced the wooden pillar and the man behind it. The man, who was dressed in black combat fatigues, slid from behind the pillar and thumped to the floor. Max went to the body and frisked it rapidly. Nothing, only a canteen with the hammer & sickle on it. Strange. He made his way down the temple to the candles and reloaded his pistol. Outside, The Abrams was idling until another RPG, this time from the rear of the temple, slammed into the tank and destroyed the treads on the left side. Lieutenant Swansjovisk, nervous, had reached the breaking point. He swung the turret around manually and fired. Because of his inexperience from handling a tanks main gun,he missed and brought the magnificent 1300 year-old temple to the ground, with Max still inside.
"Ohh..." Groaned Max as he rose to his feet in the wreckage of the temple. Fire was all around him. Retreiving his Glock, he staggered towards the silhouette of the Abrams, illuminated through the flames. As he passed one of the remaining pillars, a section of the roof collapsed, almost crushing him. Suddenly, a wooden rifle butt swung towards him. He ducked and it smacked into the pillar behind him.The sergeant turned and brought up his pistol, only to have it knocked aside by the SVD Dragunov held by his opponent. Max punched the enemy in the mouth, breaking several teeth, and then charged into him, bulldozing him into and through the weakened pillar. The two combatants fell to the floor. Max rolled away from the sniper, getting to his feet when he hit the wall. The sniper rose, still clutching his SVD. He levelled it and fired. The shot went over the american tankman's shoulder and raised a puff of dirt in the wall and Max kicked it out of his opponent's hands. He followed up with a haymaker that broke the enemy's cheekbone. He slammed the man to the floor. "Why did you try to kill me!" He shouted over the roar of the fire. "Идите к черту!" Responded the man in russian. "No I will not go to hell! Who the fuck sent you, you bastard?" The sniper sneered and spat blood into Max's face. "Very well." Said Max. He hauled the man up and suddenly held him over a pit of flames formed by the burning temple statues. "Tell me! Who sent you?" The sniper screamed as the flames creapt nearer. "Never!" He yelled in russian-accented english. Max held him down further. "All right! All right! It was the New Soviets! the New Soviets!" Max was astonished. "Who are they?" He asked. "A group of people who believe that Mother Russia should be Communist again! I was recruited in Georgia!" Max frowned. "Why are they after me?" The Georgian shook his head. "I don't know! They want all the members of the Bladebreakers dead..." Max was so shocked that he almost let him go. "Could it be... Voltaire? Who is your leader?" The sniper shrugged. I don't know the commander! We call him the Soviet! Only Boris-" Max cut him off. "Boris?" "It is the man who gives us our missions. We never see the boss. Only his voice is heard!" Max asked a final question. "Where is your base?" The Georgian hesitated. Max lowered him an inch lower and the flames started to char his back. "Iran! Iran! I swear! Sanandaj! In the Kurdistan province!" Max smiled and his natural good humor returned to the fore. "See? I can get you out n-" The Georgian suddenly jerked backwards and fell, his head blown off.
Max spun but could see no-one. The sniper's body began to burn fiercely. Max ran for the exit as the temple collapsed around him. He leapt through the fire as it consumed the last of the ancient temple. Sprawling on the ground, Max looked up into the barrel of an M16 as an american soldier helped him up. The damaged M1A2 was being towed away as the saddened crew looked on. Unfortunately, Paul Smith the driver had been killed when the RPG round had struck, slamming his head into the gearstick and driving it through his brain. Max limped over to the others and accepted their congratulations wearily. When the crew were making their way back towards the base in the back of a 5t truck, Sergeant Tate turned to the others. "Do you guys know anything about a place called Sanandaj in the Kurdistan province of Iran?" Ron Swansjovisk, the commander, shook his head. "No, but you could ask that CIA man back at base. Why?" Max smiled warmly. "Just wondering about something." Yeah, wondering if I'm gonna survive this war...
Above the temple, further up the hill, the man placed his PSG-1 in the back of the ambulance and got in, brushing the dirt off his paramedic uniform. You've been lucky so far. It won't last, Max Tate. The same as the rest of your Bladebreaker friends. The ambulance's engine rumbled into life and moved off down the hill, it's destination: the american base.
Mt. Fuji Airspace, Japan. 1125 hrs.
Tyson Granger rolled his MiG away from the burning pall of smoke that was Tokyo. Beneath his mask his mouth was in a straight line of anger and his gloved hands gripped the joystick tightly. He shot over the Mt. Fuji Base, just over treetop height. The Rising Sun on his wings was darkened with burns and damage. He had been in constant action for the past two days and seen the almost complete defeat of Japan's armed forces. His temporary controller on the ground, an infantry colonel, came over the radio. "Dagger 1, there is a convoy coming our way with supplies from Tokyo. Can you cover it on its' way in?" Tyson muttered back an affirmative and swept down low over the convoy, some 20 trucks carrying food, medical supplies, and the Japanese Imperial Family. Tokyo had been abandoned.
Tyson was distracted from this realisation by an insistant beeping sound... his radar. Damn! Seven hostiles. But he had to protect this convoy. He and his lone wingman would have to deal with it. The man in question was already engaging the enemies, MiG-23's by the look of things. Tyson pressed his targeting HUD and a green square appeared on thr Heads Up Display. It zeroed in on the closest enemy. A shrill beeeeeep! Notified him that he had a lock-on and his missile could be fired. Tyson didn't waste a second and pressed the firing button located on top of his joystick. The missile shot away from his MiG-29 and after the enemy. The MiG-23 "Flogger" that was his target was too preoccupied trying to nail Tyson's wingman, an older Flight Sergeant named Daishu. The missile smashed into the MiG's engine and it exploded spectaculary in midair. Daishu circled round and peppered another MiG-23 as it lined up for a strafing run on the convoy with 30mm cannon fire. The North Korean MiG turned on it's back and ploughed into the ground. "Yeehaww!" Yelled Daishu. Tyson dived, heading for the mountain. An NK fighter followed, firing with it's cannon. The shells whipped past his canopy, hitting the mountain and causing little puffs of snow as they hit. Tyson pulled up on his stick, and the fighter responded smoothly, shooting over the top of Fuji and over the clouds and into the blinding sunlight. He spun his fighter round to face his enemy, to catch him as he came through the cloud layer. The pursuing MiG blasted through the cloud layer at speeds of over 2,500 MPH. Tyson flipped the "lock-on" switch. It beeped almost immedietly. Great! He looked at his HUD. His goddamn missile had locked onto the sun! Tyson cursed and flipped the switch again. In this time the "Flogger" had rolled until it was under him. A white tongue of flame shot from the fighter's wing. An AAM! he pressed the countermesures button. The countermesure was a revolutionary concept: instead of just chaff, some advanced fighters, such as the MiG-29 or the SU-27, had the electronic countermesures. It basically recreated the fighter elsewhere and foxed the missile away to empty air. It worked! The AAM swerved away out of sight. Tyson whooped into his oxygen mask. His joy was to be short lived. The enemy MiG had given up on missiles and shot him with its' cannon. Tyson felt the controls go slack. "Daisu!" He yelled. "I could use a hand!" Daisu didn't respond. "Daisu? Are you there?" His wingman had been shot down and killed a few moments ago. When Tyson had lost his controls, he had lost his electronic countermesures. The NK pilot knew this and hit him in the belly with an AAM.
Fire erupted around him as the stricken MiG-29 plunged down through the clouds. Tyson's vision blurred as the Japanese fighter exited the cloud layer and the great white wall that was Mt. Fuji appeared before the canopy. Tyson's hand shot down to the eject lever and his head was snapped backwards as the fighter's canopy blew off and the Japanese pilot was thrown from the fighter. He blacked out for a few seconds. When he was jerked awake by the snap of the parachute opening, the MiG slammed into the side of Mt. Fuji and exploded.
Tyson was surprised at the sudden silence. He watched the ground rise towards him and suddenly heard the roar of the North Korean MiG as it flew right at him, helpless in his parachute! He saw his life flash past his eyes as Death stared at him in the face. At the last moment the MiG-25 rolled away, waggling it's wings and the pilot saluting him as he landed on the ground. He absorbed the shock and rolled, coming to his feet near a dead tree covered in snow. He whipped his pistol from his holster and sprinted for a destroyed house nearby. A soldier appeared and waved to him. "An airman, huh?" He chortled as he ushered Tyson through the house and into a truck. A few minutes later the Japanese truck pulled into the large base at the foot of the sacred Mt. Fuji and the Japanese soldiers, and Tyson, dismounted and headed for the command room. The infantry sergeant led Tyson into the small office to the commander, Colonel Kyoni Suzkua. Suzkua was a tall man, with a large bushy mustache and small, furrowed brows. He stood as Tyson saluted tiredly. "Flight Lieutenant Granger reporting for duty, sir." "At ease, Lieutenant." Rasped Suzkua. "We are to defend this base until the bitter end. The Imperial Family will be evacuated by the navy helicopters shortly. How well can you handle an M16?" Tyson frowned and answered: "Quite well, sir." The tall commander nodded grimly. "Good. You're going to need it."
Mt Fuji Base, Japan. 1148 hrs.
Tyson ducked as assault rifle bullets ripped into the wall beside him, disloging the masonry and shaking the soldiers inside badly. Tyson was in one of the two buildings at the gates of the Mt. Fuji Base, clutching an M16 and waiting for the NK soldiers to advance. It had started to snow, the white covering the landscape and softening the scenes of violence that were occurring as the Japanese Army started their desperate final stand. An NK squad made their way up the road towards the base under covering fire from their comrades sheltering in the frozen rice paddies to either side of the road. The tattoo of Kalashnikov bullets slackened and Tyson poked the muzzle of his rifle round the pitted and cracked windowframe and fired. The M16 kicked back against his shoulder and a North Korean soldier fell to the snow-covered road, blood clouding the air. The other members of the squad dived to the road and started to exchange fire with the entrenched Japanese. Tyson kept up his steady rythm of fire, duck, fire, duck, reload. The Korean soldiers were staying down, crawling slowly towards the gate. An M60 machine gun spat fire from it's position in the building beside Tyson. Tyson himself poked his gun over the edge of the window and fired off another few ronds, bringing down another enemy soldier. He recoiled backwards a few seconds later as a North Korean soldier shot back at him, blowing yet more chunks from the wall around him. Tyson stayed like that for a few moments, his blue-black hair in disarray. Popping out for a final time, he emptied his clip into the advancing enemy. Another two NK soldiers lives were ripped away and the remaining soldiers were happy the lie in the rice fields and behind the low wall of the guard post abandoned at the beginning of the battle. And still it snowed.
Tyson's sharp eyes caught the enemy fighters, dark shapes against the sky, before anyone else. "Aircraft!" He shouted, pointing to the NK MiG-21s as they roared overhead. He crouched down inside his building with the other soldiers as the MiG-21s circled round and opened fire with their 25mm cannons. The interior of the Japanese base was defenceless. Cannon shells ripped up the snow covered concrete and slaughtered any Japanese infantymen foolish enough to be out in the open. The Japanese garrison had 10 tanks at their disposal, and one of these rumbled out to the front gate and opened fire, annihilating a score of NK men. The soldiers withdrew hastily and called the MiGs round again. The Japanese tank was destroyed by one of the MiGs missiles, reduced to a heap of slag and blocking the entrance to the base. Tyson peered over the top as the North Korean Army returned in force, charging the base in human waves, backed up with tanks. Tyson could only fire so many bullets: despite having killed several and the M60 mowing down the soldiers before being destroyed, Tyson was ordered to tell the commander that the NKs were going to break through. Tyson nodded and jumped down the stairs and ran out the door seconds before the entire building was blown apart by the NK MiGs circling the area. The Flight Lieutenant stumbled across the yard towards the command bunker as a North Korean T-62 smashed through the rubble and raked the courtyard with machine-gun fire. Tyson ran full pelt for the bunker as bullets shredded the road around him. Skidding into the entry of the command bunker, he shoved his way through the door as the NK T-62 was destroyed by the remaining Japanese tank. No sooner had this happened a bloodcurdling cry split the air and the waves and waves of NK soldiers swarmed over the broken walls. The final Japanese tank had a tread blown off after firing only a single shot. The crew scrambled out of the hatches and Tyson stuck his M16 through the firing slit and fired off burst after burst at the advancing soldiers. One fell, his kneecap blown off, to the ground, screaming in pain. Another bullet caught one in the neck, choking him in his own blood. The North Koreans opened fire on the bunker and the entire front of it disappeared in a hail of dust and crumbling masonry. Tyson jerked backwards as he saw through the haze the tank crew gunned down, thrown to the ground like ragdolls, several bloody holes ripped into thier bodies. He sprinted through the bunker to the command section, where Colonel Suzkua was trying to reassure the Imperial Family. Tyson blanched and almost dropped to his knees, a throwback to the days of samurai and ingrained into his culture where the Emperor was the Son of Heaven. The Colonel led him away from Japan's worried leaders and spoke to him in a low voice, the green light from a nearby computer screen basking his tired face in an alien green glow. "Granger, the navy helicopters aren't going to get here. They've been destroyed." Tyson was struck dumb, almost as if it had been a physical blow. He rocked on his heels and slumped against the wall, closing his eyes. It was over. "What are we going to do, sir?" Asked Tyson worriedly. Suzkua shook his head. "The Imperial Family can only throw themselves at these animals' mercy." Tyson was horrified. "Sir, that's..." "Suicidal?" Finished the tall commander. "Perhaps, but they certainly will die if they stay here." His sentence was cut off as a huge explosion rocked the entire bunker. "Here they come." He said, fear in his eyes.
Mt Fuji Base Command Bunker, Japan. 1226 hrs.
The North Koreans blasted their way through the bunker in record time and in less than ten minutes had captured the last Japanese base in the the country. The Imperial Family had also been captured and even now were being transported back to Tokyo for processing. The commander had died bravely with his men, taking out several enemies with a final grenade that had incinerated his body as well as the officer in charge of the assault on the base. Never mind. In the eyes of Pyongyang, that was acceptable. Tyson Granger, the resourceful pilot, had escaped in the final minutes through the back door of the bunker, stealing a scout car and making his getaway. He could get his revenge at a later date. Driving on roads that only a select few knew about, he changed from his uniform into civilian clothes and dumped the vehicle, going back into the capital to do... what? He didn't know yet. Oh well. He had learned to trust his instincts.
Tokyo, Japan. 1240 hrs.
His Imperial Majesty The Emperor Akiho of Japan sat dejected in the back of a North Korean truck as it wove its' way through the ruins of Tokyo. Tall, modern apartment buildings had been gutted by flame and the walls were scarred with bullet holes. The bodies of brave Japanese soldiers littered the roads and were packed in the gutters like dirt. Akiho felt tears welling up but didn't cry. The sorrow of the nation was his sorrow. His wife, the Empress Michiko, was also sitting dejected and forlorn across from him with a hostile NK soldier on each side. The one good thing about the situation was that the remainder of the imperial family had been granted asylum in the United Kingdom. The convoy of NK trucks swerved into the couryard of the National Diet Building, the centre of Japanese politics. The Emperor and his wife were hauled from the truck and escorted through the impressive double doors already bedecked with the North Korean flag. The leaders of Japan were hurried through the hallways to the huge circular room where the delegates of the Japanese Diet were waiting anxiously, along with a 50-strong force of NK soldiers, spaced equally about the room. The Prime Minister, Shinzo Abe, stood stiffly at the pedestral, a large raised stage below him and the North Korean flag draped behind him. The Emperor nodded to him and got no response. The NK soldiers pointed with their rifles to the stage. The meaning was clear. Emperor Akiho climbed the steps with a serene calm surrounding him. Michiko followed. The door banged open and a squat, evil-looking North Korean General came down. This was Kwon Ki-Chae, the mastermind of Operation FreeFall, the invasion of Japan and the destabilisation of the worlds stock markets. He waddled up the steps and stared at the Emperor and Empress. He had small, finely sculpted eyebrows, a crooked nose, and ice-blue eyes. The eyes were vacant and cold. Uncaring eyes. And in that second, Emperor Akiho knew his fate. General Ki-Chae motioned Abe to get off the pedestal. The Prime Minister hurriedly complied. Ki-Chae let his eyes sweep the room, took in the battle damage and the pale, scared faces of the Japanese Diet members. He motioned with his hand and the video camera installed in the area for TV coverages ficked on. Ki-Chae began to speak, his nasal voice setting everyones teeth on edge. "Citizens of the People's Democratic Republic of Korea, I speak to you from the National Diet Building in Tokyo, Japan. Today the brave and noble soldiers of our nation have accomplished a great victory over the puppets of capitalism!" He threw his arms in the air in joy. "The last vestiges of imperialism will be swept from this land and the just and true men and women of socialism will reign supreme!" He lowered his arms and motioned to the Imperial leaders standing beside him, tired and haggard. "From their golden nest we have ripped them, as the workers' starved in the streets and died in poverty! Now they will answer for their crimes!" He turned to them as the North Korean anthem played over the broadcast. "You, Emperor Akiho of Japan, stand ready to answer for your crimes?" The Emperor looked up calmy and spoke, his voice resonating with honour and integrity. "You are but an agent of a great evil. There will be no rest for you until you answer for your acts. Fear your kami, General. Fear it. Those who deserve to die die the death they deserve." Ki-Chae wasted no words. The pistol came up and his Imperial Majesty Emperor Akiho smiled as he realised the meaning of the spanish saying Morir por la patria es vivir," "To die for the motherland is to live" . The pistol flamed, jerked back. The Emperor's head snapped back, blood spiralling through the air for what seemed an eternity. Akiho fell to the wooden stage in front of his wife, the eyes of the nation, the eyes of the Gods. His eyes were closed and, if not for the small round hole in his forehead, he could have been sleeping. Empress Michiko stood stock still as the NK General's gun turned on her. She made no sound as she died. Her eyes were on her husband as her vision dimmed and went black.