A/N, RETCON : I bumped the Jietai guys' rank up by one rank further up after some digging into their legit platoon organization. For example Kurata, who's a Sergeant in my old, rather badly-written Coda chapter, is now a Third Sergeant. Same goes for other characters (officers are not included, only enlisted personnel).
As my author note, I hope this long side story will make up for my months-long absence. I was too busy being a pedantic guy and researching every bits possible for this JSDF segment. I have decided to write this take on the Jieitai grunt to break the tedious main storyline of the First Recon Battalion's Marine grunts, and freshen up the story with this.
The words written in Italics in this side story are the characters speaking English rather than Japanese.
Note, a Third Sergeant in the GSDF is the equivalent of an American sergeant. Sergeant in the GSDF is the equivalent of an American corporal.
The JSDF uses numbered companies (4th, 5th and so forth) instead of lettered companies usually found in US and other NATO countries' military (Alpha, Bravo….)
Jietai is the commonly used word to refer to the Self-Defense Force in Japan.
Glossary:
First crazy group - The affectionate nickname for the 1st Airborne Brigade given by the members of the GSDF.
Tubestrokers - Pejorative term for mortarmen.
120 Jupaku - The nickname given to 120mm mortars in the GSDF.
MEU - Marine Expeditionary Unit. It's a large battalion-sized task force tailored for expeditionary warfare. The 31st is permanently assigned to III MEF's theater in Okinawa.
BLT - Battalion Landing Team. The battalion-sized (reinforced) element of the MEU for ground combat. Other elements of the MEU includes an Aviation Combat Element and a Logistic Combat Element.
OPORD - Operations Order.
FAC - Forward Air Controller. Dude who guides in aircraft for close air support missions.
Zainichi(s) - Ethnic Koreans and Chinese born in Japan. Subjected to racism and discrimination by the dominating majority of native population.
FARP - Forward Arming and Refueling Point. A mid-way stop for attack helicopters to refuel and rearm before shuttling off to the battlefield outside their operational range.
LZ - Landing Zone. For Helicopters.
BSM - Battalion Sergeant Major
MOD - Ministry of Defense.
AO - Area of Operations.
OP/LP - Observation Post and Listening Post.
CP - Command Post. Not the other CP, for sure.
3PPCLI - 3rd Battalion, Princess Patricia Canadian Light Infantry.
Pyrotechnics - Flares and anything related to their kind.
Cannon-cockers - Artillerymen.
Ranger Graves - Shell-scrape.
Fuji Viper - Joint Marine Corps-SDF exercise in Camp Fuji.
LSA - Logistical Support Area. A military term which refers to military facilities which act as depot, barracks, and transportation hubs, providing supplies and personnel to facilities closer to or within arenas of armed conflict.
LMAT - Type-01 LMAT. A Japanese man-portable anti-tank fire and forget missile. The main ATGM in the Jieitai's 1st Airborne Brigade. Similar to the American Javelin.
Camp Pompeii, Outskirts of Italica (0530). April 10th 2021.
The wafting light from the east spoke to the humble natives, and the other-worldly invaders of the ushering daylight, the deep orange glare on the horizon resolving itself slowly throughout the quiet moment of the dawn into a shimmering sunshine. The veil of the night faded away slowly, unraveling the morbid scenery it hid within its void. A smoldering metropolis emerged grimly out of the perpetual darkness, acrid smoke of death billowing out of the innumerous devastated walls, blasted homes and flaming corpses, all mangled and shot up. It was just another morning for the gauntly citizens of Italica, ever since the other-worlders had blown their way through their once bustling settlement amidst their unrelenting blitz to Sadera six days prior.
Mangled dead bodies straddled the rolling fields all around gauntly, be it armed Saderan legionnaires with swords and assortments of fantastical-like weaponry, or civilians, childrens caught amidst the wholly one-sided battle Flies and insects descended graciously upon the rotting corpses left unclaimed for the unforgiving nature to consume. Blood-stained water ran freely like torrential rainwater down the filthy criss-crossing ditches lining either side of the Romanesque highway, crimson-red sprayed bits of eviscerated human meat and internal organs, and grayish-pink blown brain matter clogging it gruesomely in a smorgasbord of past mayhem. Children, their lithe clothes haggardly and faces darkened with grime and bruised by cascading shrapnels from the otherworldly aerial warm-machines, skimmed chippily by the smoking roadside through the grass massacred and brutalized by the storm of steel, hunting grimly for lootable jewelry and souvenirs from the lifeless centurions, knights and adventurers, their serene, innocent faces calm and seemingly indifferent to the nasty stench of devastation. In an organized column of people, on the shingly road path abreast by the looting kids, band of foreign men strode past wearily, moving away slowly from the razed, once proud city of Italica in numbed silence, their exotic yellow-like features hidden completely beneath the dirty, mottled green and the cumbersome alien gears they all identically worn over.
They strided through the highway pavement in silenced exasperation, their fatigued visions from a night-long patrol eyeing warily on the fantasy surroundings they had found themselves fighting on. They would soon pass by the children in a loose straight column, a slight wave politely thrown at them curtly by one of the filthy, mottled group members, his dusty face indiscernible and anonymous amidst the sea of moving green men. There was a certain stench in the smoky air, assailing their nostrils. It was the particular smell of death. It was something none of these airborne troops had smelled first hand before, let alone see its nasty source with their very eyes. Yet, the children bouncing chippy about abreast seemed indifferent to such things, a few weary glances traded with the looting kids as they marched past smartly.
Eyeing the passing band of looting children numbly as the man leading the small column of Japanese airborne troopers, Third Sergeant Kurata's eyes merely narrowed. He is certainly disgusted by the incongruous acts committed upon the dead, and disgusted even further by the gory presence of the mangled corpses itself lying within the reddened ditches of the road. Materializing out of the many pouches dotting his utility vest and fatigues, a cigarette dangled softly within the grasp of his lips, the small halo of flame at the tip illuminating dimly the man's exhausted complexion amid the dawn's creeping light.
With a wary sigh at the passing carnage abreast, he would declare blankly, the tired words barely louder than a whisper.
"This all sucks."
A grandiose villa stood sentinel out on the metropolis' outskirts amidst the smoking air, its Romanesque structure protruding wholly out of the green, rolling fields that had surrounded the once proud city of Italica. Razor-sharp concertina wires flanked the upper-class estate on all sides, and alien, other-worldly troops stood perched on hastily-made outposts and from the mansion's ornate windows, parts of it smashed to glassy pieces by a firefight long past, their strange weapons jutting out of the grimy ruins. Its luxurious beige walls and decorations, lying there full of bullet holes, sizes varying, and entire sections of the building had been turned into ghastly hills of dusty rubble, a grim witness to the carnage a mere week prior.
Outside its gloomy interior, dustied by its presumed abandonment by an unnamed noble, foreign tents and camouflage nets flapped wildly from terse breezes, and peculiar metallic pegasuses, their hazy shade either mottled green or anonymous, shuttled incessantly back and forth about, their illusive payload hiding within either air assault troops or guided instrument of death – a reminder of the large estate's new owner. Barely a week had passed from the sprawling metropolis' unpleasant introduction to the sheer firepower of these other-worlders, and now, an entire airborne brigade, a whole marine expeditionary unit and several dozen, rather ad-hoc company task forces stood sentinel in the place of Saderan legionnaires long gone. Shoddily-formed helipads dotted the ancient plains on the city's far outskirt, the deathly smoky haze from the smoldering Italica blowing nastily into the Spartan-like abode of the invaders, and the stinging tang of blowing aviation fuel swept away any semblance of tranquility of land once untouched by destructive wonders of modern warfare.
With their rowdy grunt neighbors of America's 31st Marine Expeditionary Unit set up exactly to their left, the clear morning hours would greet the air assault troops of Japanese 1st Airborne Brigade with an unpleasant, choking stench – bivouacked right here ever since having their defensive duties back at Alnus relieved by an air assault brigade of the yanks' 101st Airborne Division. It was neither one of grim death, nor was it the stinging aviation fuel. The acrid smell was one of piled-up, massed human shit. Real fucking shit, Kurata thought as he strided past the quiet outer wires of Camp Pompeii with the rest of the column, all beyond weary and exhausted. Marine Viper Cobra attack helicopters skimmed hurriedly over this patch of ancient grasslands in a pair, their fierce rotor wash and dull chops intensifying further the already unwelcomed scent of excrement to the unfortunate men beneath. For some truly fucked-up political reasons that he himself couldn't even comprehend, the Jietai weren't allowed by the Defense Ministry to deploy their helicopter gunship units, and thus had to rely on their ever-trusty ally.
All day long throughout the week, Marine attack and transport helicopters, varying in types and designs, shuttled hastily about from their humble bases in Camp Sledgehammer's growing airfield back in the hilly Alnus, to the FARPs – forward arming and refueling points — in the outskirts of once bustling city of Italica, and finally into the battlefield deep within the verdant mountainous cradle of the ancient Duma Plateau. In groups akin to ungainly, migrating birds, they'd hurriedly journey back and forth gracefully deep into the fighting's very heart, their anonymous shade of light gray ominous, and their intention unknown as they skimmed past clunkily in the blue skies above for their brethren. Below, snaking lines of American supply, fuel and cargo trucks trundled past down the Appia Highway ahead in a neat convoy, the sole lifeline fueling the raging mechanized war-machines of the 1st Marine Division deep in the mountains, the POGs driving it keen as they scanned the passing scenery for attacks from fanatic Saderan irregulars.
Kurata cursed himself and the politicians high up in the food chain, disheartened by the fact that even the rear-echelon support and logistical troops at least got to drive back and forth into the heat of the advance to Sadera itself. He, and his fellow compatriots within this idle airborne brigade, do not share the same luxury as these passing bands of American Marine POGs. The unrelenting smell of literal human shit from the encampment several thousand, recently-arrived occupants continued on assailing their weary noses, a price for living in such a Spartan-like camp with little to no hygienic, plumbing facilities.
Staring gravely from within the wire's relative safety, down towards the snaking convoys of rear-echelon American supply trucks trundling their way smartly on the Romanesque highway ahead to the coalition's tip of the spear battling deep in the age-old Duma Plateau, the men of his First Squad paid no heed to the intruding stench.
"Un-fucking-beliveable." Was the only thing on his mind, though another person altogether spoke it outloud. Kurata turned, his eyes greeting warily the seemingly aloof Third Sergeant Kyoya Takahashi, the smartly bespectacled leader of the platoon's Second Squad. "You ever wonder how us, the first crazy group always get deployed to some bumfuck shithole, only to be fuckin' blue-balled off some hardcore shit by the idiots above?"
Kurata shrugged merely, in silence as he stared back at his compatriot's little respite beneath his squad's hastily-set up camouflage nets. The leafy fabric hung from the bullet hole-ridden wall of the estate's villa, dangling about from the constant rotor wash of the innumerous helicopters searing past, shuttling ceaselessly back and forth from their bases in Alnus and into the treacherous ancient corridor of the Dumas.
"I just want to rest right now, screw all that shit." He replied numbly to the remark of his fellow squad leader, the youthful bespectacled compatriot of his squatting wearily on a messy jumble of smashed, perforated rubbles as he strode feebly past. Walking into the humble abode his compatriots had set up ever since they had settled here indefinitely, he could only grumble beneath his breath, all tired and exhausted as were his squad as they strode in, their backs felt crushed by the seemingly mountainous packs of gears they had carried. "My fucking god, man."
"Pacifistic shit, bro, you know how it all works back home."
The men of the Second Squad merely eyed their weary brethren with detached indifference, lounging about doing nothing in particular as they did so. Mangas, light novels they had brought to this fantastical war riddled the grassy ground below in a smorgasbord, dusty rifles and machine guns, along with unslung frag and smoke grenades, mottled Type-88 kevlar helmets and Type-3 plate carriers adorned smartly in-between the incongruous pieces of Japanese pop-culture.
They all sat, collapsing abruptly into the ground after an unceasing night-long patrol through the bloodied ruins of what was once the breadbasket city of this Empire they're fighting. They hadn't even taken time to take off the cumbersome gears hanging on their petite bodies, the air assault troops dropping to the ground immediately in exhaustion. They lolled beneath their camouflage nettings, their presence inside shrouded by the leafy nets and the ponchos they've hung with unused parachute cords. All was relatively tranquil for the men stuck in the purgatory of tedium right here, seemingly unheeding of the occasional gale of diesel-smelling winds and the rotor-washes of passing helicopters.
The cigarette stick that had dangled within his lips' smooth cradle had by now burned off to mere butt, smoldering on its final legs. He could see across the camo nets, the ever-ebullient Sergeant Yaguchi, his assistant squad leader, bent down with exhaustion and eyes gaunt from sleep deprivation, chugged down a can of Red Bull at seemingly unholy speed, a skill learned after a week spent with the rowdy yankees of the 31st MEU's BLT. The unrelenting, fierce roar of constant passing helicopters shooed away any semblance of tranquil sleep for the airborne troops, the Marines, the froggies' foreign legionnaires and the Canucks camped out blankly below. His head felt like blowing to bloody pieces from all the beast-like rotor wash he had to endure.
Still, it was to be expected after having been assigned to the self-defense force's sole airborne brigade. Sweat was dripping down his nose in tiny groups, the spring's mellow sunlight a mere warm welcome to the shitty situation they had found themselves in. Everyone lounged about, some trying to catch much-needed sleep beneath the cozy shade of both his and Kyoya's squad, others digging hurriedly into their rather edible military rations, eyes scanning keenly mangas and light novels gripped within their hands, and some passing the unremarkable time with matches upon matches of Uno and Spades. The new generation of samurai warriors, seemed to be made out of true otakus and broke aloof NEETs, with a sprinkle of the much-derided ethnic Korean Zainichis in between was the only thing Kurata thought of as he glanced, left and right, to his fellow comrades recuperating close by.
A tap on his shoulder sent him out of his fatigued daze. It was his assistant, Sergeant Yaguchi. A can of red bull energy drink was gripping lazily on his gloved hands as he spoke. He flashed merely a cheeky grin, nudging his squad leader softly with the reddish-blue can.
"Red Bull gives you wings." The weary Yaguchi spoke with a warm cheeky grin, his youthful complexion bright beneath all the dust accumulated throughout the night patrol. He kept gesturing towards the inviting can of American energy drink he had dubiously obtained. "Come on, Third Sarn't."
Kurata's eyes narrowed, barely even conscious as he shot back, full of sarcastic energy.
"But not action, apparently." He shrugged simply, his tone similarly quippy as were his bodily movements. His fellow compatriot snickered grimly at the reply, grinning cheekily as his squad leader graciously took the can of Red Bull he had held.
"It's not an aphrodisiac."
"I'm talking about shooting up people and blowing dudes' shit up skyhigh kind of action, Yaguchi?" His eyes narrowed in quizzical puzzlement, and Yaguchi's eyes flashed its eyebrows in awkward realization, weary. "What's in your mind, man?"
"Yeah fuck that, scratch what I said earlier." The awkwardness disappeared in an instant with a tersely handwave by the Sergeant, continuing on further with his quipply, and crudely as he leaned on the shot-up mighty walls of the villa. "But the point is, any dudes who've ever been on the Jietai probably will never get to shoot their rifle at some hostile motherfuckers. Not even after we got ourselves jacked at Ginza, man."
"Welcome to the suck." Kurata remarked sardonically, his tone gravely sarcastic as he spoke. He shrugged, and slowly turned to his chippy compatriot close by, seemingly content with the lack of action so far into the war. "Hey, speaking of which, you reckon all those 120 Jupaku tubestrokers of the brigade ever got some in the city when we did a relief in place last week with those Recon Marines at the roadblock down the MSR?"
"Nah, I doubt those niggas ever got some." His assistant squad leader shot back casually, his laid-back use of the forbidden chocolate word so leisure, it had flown right over Kurata's still hazy head. "Those guys were out of the 120 range."
Just then, a less than familiar voice slipped curtly into the two men's rather casual conversation. The man's voice sounded physically detached, yet ebulliently chippy – a slowly brewing side effect of energy drink and nicotine overconsumption.
"Bro, where the fuck is our new platoon leader anyway?" The drowsy voice was quizzically puzzled, and a quick turn to their immediate left by the two men greeted them both with the sight of their half-asleep automatic-machine gunner, Leading Private Sato Ikazaki mumbling off, his words powered solely by unholy overconsumption of nicotine products. "Don't tell me that the El-Tee sneaked off to bang some fantasy-isekai hoes over there in that already screwed-up, fucking city like how our previous platoon leader did?"
The small, smooth-faced Ikazaki was referring to both their previous platoon leader, Itami, and his new replacement, Kazuo Sasaki. Their minds flashed back to 4 days ago, when a rather awkward incident inevitably sent off Itami to be banished indefinitely to the dreaded POG supply unit of the battalion; he was caught fraternizing, sexually so, with a- no, three locals inside of a blown-up village hut still fresh with gore of its blasted occupants. It still sent the men of his platoon into wild, snidely snorts and snickers when their brain time-traveled back to the precise moment the aftermath unraveled.
Thus, Lieutenant Kazuo Sasaki came into the play.
"Nah, he probably doesn't do that kind of thing." Kyoya, still squatting on the jumbled pile of rubble from the villa's blown walls, merely waved off the rather crudely amusing accusation by the half-asleep gunner with a snort as he chipped abruptly into the irreverent conversation. The trio of the First Squad turned promptly to face him, eager for news after a night-long isolation. "He's at some battalion-wide meeting with our battalion commander."
"It's supposed to take like a goddamned hour or so, though." He would continue on, shrugging sheepishly towards the quizzical trio as he properly affixed his shifted black glasses. "Shit, it has been like 3 hours and he and the platoon sarn't still hasn't returned."
"If that isn't the reason, then our platoon leader probably got lost."
"How the fuck is he supposed to get lost in an open, rolling field, Yaguchi?"
"Beats me dude, he's a new Lieutenant. Anything could happen. We don't even have enough maps for the patrol." Yaguchi's eyebrow flashed tersely as he spoke sardonically, a sip of energy drink curtly in-between his words. Everyone snickered softly, trying to maintain the courtesy they had for their new commanding officer. "You think a fresh officer like him can make his way back without getting lost?"
Snickers snidely bursts out, and snorts was heaved at the remark towards the newcomer officer in the platoon. Everyone was cackling cheerily when an authoritative strut up to the entrance of their humble bivouac sent everybody frantically suppressing their snickers; it was the battalion sergeant major. The air inside the camouflage net of the squad was tense, their feet shuffling warily at the sight of their unusually chippy BSM.
"You all, we got goddamned Burger Kings and stuff at the chow. The Americans brought them in for morale. Go get 'em."
The snickers returned wildly, almost in amused disbelief.
The command tent of the battalion stood sentinel amidst the swaying grasses of the rolling plains, just a mere 200 meters away from the less-than-sanitary, overflowing latrines shitter the camp's occupant used, their stench filling through the mellow confines from the fierce gale kicked by helicopters trundling past low and fast. Second Lieutenant Kazuo Sasaki found himself holding himself from choking, both from the nervousness, and the shit-smell finding its way conveniently into the battalion's briefing inside. What were all those American Seabee engineers thinking when they set up the little rows of flooded shitters across their command posts? The inside smelled horridly of nasty farts, sweats and caked grime, for nobody has showered – nor had the opportunity to – in weeks ever since their arrival to within the outskirt of this smashed apart Romanesque metropolis.
The boyish leader of Fifth Company's First Platoon, felt like an unknown stranger in this smelly sanctuary of airborne officers, NCOs, Jietai helicopter pilots and the out-of-place attachments of American Marines. He had only been given the job, the distressing job of leading an entire platoon of rowdy air assault troops throughout the Jietai's bizarre odyssey in this goddamned, legit fantastical land for barely four days, after all. The previous CO was booted out of the company after having been caught fraternizing, sexually so, with a native or two – something that, in private, he would find himself snickering softly at the wild ordeal.
He, a former commander of an anti-tank platoon, has a long road ahead of him. Sasaki still has a lot to learn in the complicated gig of being an infantry platoon leader.
Like any sane, reasonable green officer placed thrusted into such a position, he immediately turned to his ever-reliable new platoon sergeant, SFC Natsuki, for viable advice and whatnot. He would immediately be cut-off by the platoon sergeant. Nudging him with his elbow, he would soon speak up to the rather jittery, new superior of his sitting silently on a spent ammunition crate by his side.
"Don't sweat it too much, sir." He snorted softly, optimistic and bright of Sasaki's potential as the platoon's new leader. The Lieutenant merely narrowed his eyes at the platoon sergeant, wary from the strangely warm reception, especially knowing how exactly the platoon's previous LT had performed. "You'll do just fine. You're not the goddamned Itami, anyway."
Loosened up by the warm smile, and the optimistic reception by the still relatively-new executive of his, he merely replied back with a similarly hearty smile. Yet, he still couldn't shake off the gleaming apprehension held within, even with the initial positive little exchange between the two. A cough bellowing hoarsely from the front of the shoddily-set, grimy tent sent both of them spinning their heads to the soldierly howl, silent as they did so, their actions mirrored by the innumerous other officers of the battalion that had convened and crowded this humble abode. Laptops and radio strewn the opposite side of the tent, battle staff shuttling about hurriedly amid this unusually festive occurrence.
It would be the cue for the battalion-wide meeting to begin, the crisp battalion commander at the front sitting darkly on a pile of rusty ammunition boxes, a handgun holster strapped neatly to the side of his legs. Major Kaida Kinomura rose curtly from his haggardly seat, eyes baggy and face weary from the constant briefing with the brigade CO, gazing down silently at the crowd of convening subordinates before him with intent. Then, he clasped his hands, speaking coolly to the gathered pack of airborne officers and SNCOs, who had stood steadfastly at the same time with the Major, then sat down once again with the terse clap.
"Good morning, to all the officers and senior enlisted personnel of the 2nd Airborne Battalion that had convened right here, in this humble CP tent, for the briefing. I hope you all have had a goodnight's sleep," The battalion-wide briefing began with the soft-spoken battalion commander bellowing meekly to his gathered subordinates, gentle yet tough, like a venerable grandfather speaking to his many children and innumerous descendants during a light-hearted gathering of all ages. Sasaki couldn't help, but draw the similarities between the two, wildly differing scenarios deep within as he listened on to the speaking Major, now smiling faintly. "and for those who unfortunately don't, it looks like you'll have to bear with me and my officers speaking to you throughout the whole morning, because this whole thing is gonna take some time. There's going to be a big occurrence, gentlemen. Once in a lifetime, even."
He clapped his hands once, a wary smile softly contorting on his dusty complexion, continuing on brightly.
"Because for the first time since its creation more than 60 years ago, the Jietai will be going on an offensive operation. The 1st Airborne Brigade will be spearheading this op," He paused for a moment, letting his words sink into his subordinates that had gathered, their mouth wide-open at the sheer weight of the words. Major Kinomura continued on, his bellowing words profound and crisp amid the apprehensive, hushed-up whispers spreading wildly and apprehensively throughout the packed sea of officers. The Self-Defense Force? On offensive? Absolutely asinine! "and the 2nd Airborne Battalion has been personally selected, by our compatriots high up the food chain in the MOD, as the very tip of the spear itself for this op."
He offered to his perplexed men an affable smile, then turned to his staff – and the news reporter, journalist, among others, standing amid the crowd of his battalion staff by his side. The goddamned press. Both international and domestic – he's annoyed and irritated more by the presence of the latter. Still, he had to put up a warm facade for the flashy cameras and the jotting of notebooks, exchanging quick glances ever so often between the sea of men in green before him, and the embedded members of the media, a tersely pause from the bellowing remarks earlier for further emphasis. Yet, he still kept his temper in check, not letting it boil over. Especially on such a historic occasion.
"This Op, already planned for a couple of days now and which people high up in the food chain had opted to dub it 'Hiryu' calls for the entirety of the brigade to be air-assaulted deep behind enemy lines from our staging point here in Pompeii, to facilitate the assault and seizure of a strategic Imperial city of Rondel to our north." Pen were clicked tersely and notes were jotted down hurriedly amid hushed whispers, the pack of officers before the speaking Major hungry for much-need information and intelligence for this abruptly sudden air assault operation. Sasaki eyed the man warily, glancing back and forth between his notepad, his platoon sergeant by his side, and the battalion commander up front, busily assisting his staff on setting up the crudely-sketched map layout of Central Falmart for everyone to see.
The battalion commander, satisfied at the smoothness of the briefing, and seeing that the crude map had been set up hastily on the haggardly canvas wall of the tent, continued further. He nodded at once towards his S-2 intelligence staff, holding up the notes they had passed onto him as he spoke.
"Rondel, based on the present intelligence passed on by the brigade's S-2 and the Americans, appears to be strategically important to the Imperial war-effort." The Major keenly scanned the notepad he held, glancing back and forth between it, and the wary crowd hungry for any piece of information and intelligence before him. He pointed at the canvas wall of the tent behind him, dusty and plastered with intel of utmost importance, the group of officers trailing the pointing finger with their eyes closely.
Sasaki leaned in for a whisper with his platoon sergeant, eyes locked keenly to the ongoing brief ahead and hands jotting down furiously the every word heaved out by the battalion commander.
"Real shit, huh. Jietai? On offensive op?" His voice made it clear he's apprehensive, scared even, of what fate has in hand for him and his compatriots. The platoon sergeant sitting on the empty crate of mighty '50 cal rounds merely nodded, his unyielding gaze to the battalion commander up front unperturbed. "Shit, wouldn't the people back home think we're breaking rules and being over-aggressive?"
"Yeah."
"...based upon reports from clandestine American special operations forces units operating deep in the area, Rondel, around 300 kilometers to our north is known to be the magical heart of the Empire.." Sasaki too was taking curtly notes on his pad, and he simply shrugged off the indifferent nod of his unperturbed SFC, his ass shifting uncomfortably in the boxy metallic chair of crates, his mind mired deep in the maze of his profound thoughts and his feet shuffling apprehensively on the grassy ground below as he listened on with intent. He was following every bit of the platoon sergeant's movement, learning naively but surely like any new platoon leader should. "...they've been known to be funneling well-trained, revered mages – sometimes wildly fanatical – for the Imperial war effort in the Dumas against the advancing elements of the 1st Marine Division and their spells, while extremely inefficient at times when pitted against our arsenal, can still bloody us well if lucky – they even managed to blew up an amphibious assault vehicle of the Marines in the plateau! We intend to interdict, delay and if possible, cut it off, isolating it altogether…"
"..these people which we will meet are going to be dangerous, having means of resisting our assault – albeit inefficiently…" He found himself suppressing a groan, his eyes glancing back and forth to other members of the 5th Company – Captain Kotarou, the bespectacled company commander; fellow Lieutenant Kiryu Saburo of the well-oiled Second Platoon; the wild-ass ultranat' company Sergeant Major, as if he were begging silently, pitifully so, for any semblance help or advice amid this position of leadership he had be thrusted quickly into, like a desperate student pleading upon his teaching masters, his future in their venerable hands.
Amid this profound dwelling of this situation he had found himself unwittingly in, the battalion commander had curtly turned over the briefing to his short, yet stocky S-3 operations officer. He began his session of the brief with a tersely clap, coughing.
"Approved by the MOD, the air assault should be kicking off as early as this late afternoon." The profoundly blunt, steely statement sent everyone's weary eyes wide open and focused, certainly not expecting for the Jieitai – an organization known infamously for the intricate red-tapes and bureaucracy – to be hastily kicking off this wild, perhaps the deepest air assault operation in modern military history within such tight timeframe. "I'll keep it real simple so you all can get to the chow hall for the Burger Kings and stuff that the Americans brought in as the last meal before the op."
Everyone snorted and chuckled softly at the quippy remark, the voices suppressed and silenced crudely for the stocky S-3 to begin.
"We'll be dropping about 40 klicks southeast of Rondel. There'll be three LZs marked for the entire brigade on the map that I'll give away to you all later; LZ Olympus, Matterhorn and Everest – us, the 2nd Airborne Battalion, will be droppin' into LZ Matterhorn; 1st into Olympus and 3rd into Everest, where all three battalions will consolidate on their LZs and be given their own objective as part of this grand scheme. We'll be the first battalion skying right into the shit." Sasaki felt as if the jolting, jagged lights of lightning had struck him right through his chest when the battalion S-3's eyes went trailing for their company commander, his executive officer, and the wild-ass Sergeant Major sitting a couple of crude seats to his front. Lieutenant Saburo stood in his makeshift stool, taking in the stream of information casually. Sasaki exchanged quick tersely glances with his platoon sergeant, his assistant merely shrugging in resignation as the operations officer spoke. "5th Company, you're up. You distinguished gentlemen will be first on the LZ to occupy it for the rest of the battalion coming in later through helos."
What the fuck? Not only did the whole affair feel very rushed and hasty for such a red-taped organization like the Jietai, now they're tasking the entire company to be leading the charge deep into the hornet's very nest. God knows what they're going into, grumbling and pondering profoundly over the plans laid before him. He took notes keenly, not wanting to screw up in this hasty, very major combat operation as the S-3 continued, his steely gaze to the bespectacled Captain of the company unyielding and resolute. It was an honest to god combat mission, something he never thought he'd be participating in anytime during his service. Yet, here he is.
"...at 1500 hours 10 April 2021, 5th Company 2nd Airborne lifts off from the staging point at Pompeii for LZ Matterhorn, 40 klicks southeast of Rondel. Upon arrival…" The operations officer up front shone the laser pointer on his hand towards the rumpled canvas wall to his side – maps, coordinates, notes, callsigns, pyrotechnic signal interpretation and so on – as he continued on with the brief, his brows furrowing further and further, slowly with time. He too, like Sasaki, the bespectacled Captain, and the rest of the officers beneath the shade of the tent, is apprehensive of this forthcoming whole drama as he delivered the OPORD. "5th Company occupies the designated LZ and pushes out reconnaissance and interdiction patrols on nearby enemy routes, digging in on a temporary defensive posture to facilitate the gradual arrival of the elements of 2nd Airborne Battalion in the following days. Around the same time, 31st MEU's small, expeditionary raiding task force will also arrive in the area of operations in vehicles to interdict the traffic moving north-south on the highway running from the holy city of Bellnagho up north, down to Rondel and the Row River in support of our main effort. Dubbed "TF ANVIL'' and made up of anti-tank TOW Humvee elements of the BLT's weapons company and LAV-25s of the MEU's LAR and reinforced further by a rifle company elements of theirs, they should be scouting the Row's southern banks for fording or a crossing site to be used by their Hummers and light armored recon elements during their foray north. They'd be doing huntings of their own, while we are busy with ours."
Classic hammer and anvil – pretty much everyone knew the nature of the operation as soon as TF Anvil came into play with their own plan.
The S-3 ops officer's eye, locked resolutely with ones of their company commander, narrowed and furrowed this time around, continuing on further with his part of the unnecessarily chunky briefing warily – infodump sounded a much better description, Sasaki thought. He glanced faintly at the special rows of attached American officers and enlisted for this op, somewhat apprehensive. Sasaki cocked his eyebrows softly, noticing silently the changing tones of the briefing operations officer far ahead.
"Upon arrival at Matterhorn, 5th Company will conduct a battle handoff with the forward recon elements of US special operations forces, of whom they will be assigned temporarily to the company after succeeding in their original objective of rescuing captured Earthen slaves." Now this is just ridiculous. Working side-by-side with American special operations elements? In a legit warzone, deep behind enemy lines? In the first offensive Jietai op ever since its tangled inception many decades ago? Sasaki could only wonder silently if the bizarre, almost unbelievably impossible briefing – a briefing before kicking off a combat op, that is – he's stuck in right now is just a mere dream, a strange illusion perhaps. Yet here he was inside the command post tent, living, breathing, shuffling his feet apprehensively in wary anticipation for the suddenly out-of-the-blue combat tasking. "Together, 5th Company and attached SOF elements will work to facilitate the arrival of the rest of the battalion's air assault forces on the ground and simultaneously, conduct the aforementioned interdiction and recon raids against the enemy's supply traffic within the area. The battalion's units arriving in the coming days on the LZ, in order, would be the battalion's forward headquarters group, the 4th Company and a mortar battery of the brigade's 120 Jupakus heavy mortars, 6th Company…"
Lieutenant Saburo rose his hands to the air inquiringly, his feet shuffling similarly as were him on the ground below. He tapped softly on his notepad with a pen on his other hand, casually asking with an impassive demeanor in spite of the ill-concealed apprehension.
'"What about air support?" The S-3 Ops Officer nodded merely at the inquiring remark of the platoon leader with a smile, glancing slightly to the small group of the battalion's attached American Marines sitting, huddled intently in a tight band, on the corner of the tent ahead. They glanced about, exchanging looks between the inquiring Lieutenant, the briefing Operations Officer, and back to each other, shrugging.
"Air support? I've been informed that you gentlemen will fortunately have yourself two pairs of Marine Viper Cobras; callsign Scarface 21 and Scarface 22, and another Stinger 33 and 32, as your flight escorts all the way up to the LZ before they bingo up on fuel." The Operations Officer answered the remark resolutely, and his head went glancing to his side slowly towards the huddled group of Marines on the tent's corner, away from the sea of Japanese green. His tongue became halting, switching the language from Japanese to English as he spoke to the pack of jarheads. "Did I get all that right, gentlemen?"
The attached Marines of the 31st MEU merely blinked blankly at the man, somewhat unsure of what had been spoken in the Japanese tongue. They exchanged swift glances at each other, shrugging leisurely until one of them spoke with a confident, unyielding tone, his eyes, as were the ones of his fellow compatriots, glued keenly to the air-tasking notepad upon his lap.
"Yes, you did, sir." He nodded affirmingly, the Marine First Lieutenant swiveling his head back and forth blankly between the Ops Officer and the huddled crowds of Japanese airborne troops being addressed, the silver-bar neatly stamped upon his grimy collars gleaming. The Operations Officer nodded, and returned to the briefing at hand. The only thing that Sasaki, and his platoon sergeant SFC Natsuki gained from the curt interaction between the yank and the briefer is that language barriers are gonna be a massive bitch to them – especially for this upcoming op.
"Fixed-wing air would be a pair of Marine F/A-18s; Poppa 64 and 65. Indirect fires would be from 5th Company's very own organic mortars." He paused for a moment, his lips pursed amid the sudden silence enveloping the insides of the tent. He gazed darkly towards the crude seats the 5th Company guys had taken. Sasaki felt a foreboding apprehension kicking and swelling within his stomach as the muteness of the command post took over, and he turned towards the seemingly serene platoon sergeant of his quietly. "Well, gentlemen. I assume you all have read all the backup plans the MOD people issued in case things go down the gutter?"
The platoon leaders and sergeants of the 5th Company nodded dutifully, their eyes gleaming with anxious apprehension of what the uncertain future is holding. The intricate plan the MOD had issued down the chains amounted to knowing what they were doing, how not to get killed by their own people, how to ensure that they were killing only bad guys – and if possible avoid killings as per Jietai paranoia, and what to do in case they got lost in the lush wilderness of Falmart.
"Very well, that's all for now." The S-3 nodded affirmingly at the reply he had received, handing over the briefing back to the battalion commander with a feeble glance. Walking up to the imaginary stage before the sea of his subordinates, the Major promptly began with a clap of his hand – a habit the man had picked up from his very first leadership assignment many years prior, picking off from where the Operations Officer had left.
Like the S-3 prior, his gaze was held firmly towards a certain crowd of men within the sea of subordinates before him. Eyeing mutely the apprehensive officers and senior NCOs of the 5th Company, he nodded understandingly at them with a reassuring smile.
"Alright gentlemen, get some rest and make preparations. You all have a long evening waiting ahead of you, men. You would be the first airborne troopers in the brigade's history to be spearheading a long-ranged air assault deep into enemy territory." With a single clap of his hand – once again, the crowd of 5th Company's officers, senior enlisted-s, attached personnel and whatnot, began to disperse out of the tent steadily, their eyes gaunt and their struts apprehensive as they all walked out, one by one, their Howa Type-89s rifles all slung over their shoulders. Everybody from other companies and the battalion headquarters group merely watched the dark procession of people in silence, unnerved deep within at the uncertain future for their fellow compatriots that'd be the first Jietai troopers kicking off the self-defense-force's offensive actions in decades. "Godspeed and good luck, gentlemen. Go after them, until they fear us more than they hate us."
Despite the kind, genuine wishes by the wrinkly battalion commander, no one within the 5th Company's procession out of the tent reeked of optimism. At least not outwardly. Pushing themselves out of the entrance flaps, the rising morning light assailed their sleep-deprived eyes, and the tang of aviation fuel from innumerous helicopters sliding through the ethereal pink sky over their heads made them nauseous.
Striding past the nasty, flooded shitters of the camp's occupants, the filthy fighting positions, holes, hooches and whatnot dug up by the weary Marines of 31st MEU's BLT and the troopers of the Jietai airborne infantry battalions further away from the battalion's humble headquarters tent, the bespectacled company commander, Captain Katorou called over his officers and senior enlisted men hurriedly for yet another briefing beneath the mellow camouflage net of chow tent sprawled by the side of the building. The procession of men strutted up into the shady sanctuary, unfazed by the tangled wires of radio antennas and parachute cords holding the cammie nets together, unperturbed by the meaty scent of Burger King's titular Whoppers and whatnot just brought in for this very occasion.
Everybody felt the seriousness of the situation crushing down upon their backs – they don't feed you Burger Kings, Pizza Huts or any kind of fast foods, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, at this hour, for nothing. Something serious is certainly going to go down if their leadership swapped the dry and bland breakfast for something as gourmet as Burger King in the field.
A figure, certainly foreign, joined the small group of officers huddled in a circle around a hastily-set wooden table, his mottled MARPAT sticking out like a sore thumb in the midst of the mostly Japanese crowd. With the company's hard-faced Sergeant Major by his side and the executive officer on the other like a parent accompanying its young son, the bespectacled commanding officer promptly began the final meeting and brief for the company. Leaning over the table, he, the Sergeant Major and the XO hurriedly passed around the laminated maps of their AOs – and the LZ, for that matter – to everyone huddled around the wooden makeshift cafeteria table and stools, sliding the plastic-covered sheets to the apprehensive Lieutenants and their enlisted assistants, their eyes keenly studying it, seemingly paying no heed to the bustling crowd close by charging forth for a bite of Whoppers and cheeseburgers. The Marine attached with the group stayed deathly silent, eyeing mutely the maps and notes he had carefully jotted down mere minutes prior.
Sasaki warily looked up from his map he shared with his platoon sergeant, eyeing the bespectacled Captain who had just struck up a hushed conversation with the attached Marine. A couple paper bags full of untouched Whoppers straddled the table blankly, yet to be eaten by the apprehensive officers gathered around.
"What do you think, sir?" Without his thoughtful gaze taken off away from the map sheet of LZ Matterhorn unveiled on the table, Sasaki inquired to his new company commander warily, his eyes and ones of his platoon sergeant's deeply apprehensive as they traced their fingers throughout the paper, keenly studying its intricate outlines like their lives depended on it. "Good initiative to save further lives or a bridge too far?"
His voice sounded anxious, somewhat shaky as he spoke. It was understandable though; it was his, and everyone's first combat operation throughout all the years they have spent being in the GSDF anyway. The bespectacled Captain Kotarou looked up, his young demeanor strangely serene.
"I'd reckon it'd likely be the former." The company commander promptly answered, but there was a tinge of hesitation within his rather frank voice. His serene complexion contorted slowly, a feeble frown taking over in place of the small, warm smile prior. "With a sprinkle of the latter throughout."
The Captain seemed to pause for a moment, letting his grim words, and the bustling crowd sweeping forth through the chow tent in search of burgers, sink into his subordinates.
"Gentlemen, this is literally the first offensive operation the Jieitai is participating in since its creation. As the Ops Officer and the Colonel already briefed you guys, we'll be skying into Matterhorn some 300 kilometers or so away with Chinooks – We are literally breaking records!" His voice trailed off, a sigh heaved out apprehensively as he continued. He glanced around, eyeing keenly each of his platoon leaders and his enlisted platoon sergeant assistant with numbed eyes, grim and wary beneath the foggy visage of his glasses. "Hell! It's gonna be longer than whatever the Americans and their 101st did back in Gulf One; the longest air assault in history 'till like, now. I'm not expecting everything to go smoothly according to the plan."
"Yeah. I too am fuckin' worried with one of them dirty Korean Zainichis in the company possibly screwing up the plan." Silently, barely heard above a whisper, the hard-faced Sergeant Major grumbled darkly, his face one of restrained fury as he turned to face the company commander. The issue of the dozen or two non-Japanese Zainichis serving within the company is a taboo topic, one that had been brought up by the Sergeant Major, much to the bespectacled man's discomfort – he did not want to meddle in such conflict as the one between the resurging ultranationalist far-right, and the much saner side of Japan, be it moderates or leftist. "I don't think they're up for this task, sir."
"I assure you, Sergeant Major, they'll perform just as fine."
"I can't fuckin' trust 'em filthy commie Zainichi niggers."
"It'll be fine." His voice trailed off faintly, his hands waving off feebly the unabashedly racist remark of the senior enlisted man at some of his very own troops. He could barely tolerate the man, only keeping him around for the rare tactical insights in-between ultranationalist tirades and statements. The attached Marine Forward Air Controller's eyebrows furrowed slightly and warily in silence, very much sure that he had heard the infamous slur spoken in language he simply couldn't understand. Sasaki winced subconsciously at the scene, discomfort growing within as he strained on, listening keenly to the man's rethorics.
Why does he have to fart around with the issues of fucking Zainichis right here, in literal fantasy world, at war against some Roman wannabes? He shook his head slightly, and sighed mentally. The company commander looked down yet again, his gaze hovering intently over the maps sprawled on top of the gravelly wooden table. Silence reigned in, not one of the Lieutenants or Sergeants speaking up, when SFC Natsuki leaned in close for a hushed whisper with his platoon leader.
"What a great idea. Dropping deep behind enemy territory, left for days without reinforcements 40 klicks away from a city known for magical research, in broad daylight when they're all screwed up with whatever magic shit they got up there. What's not to love?" The usually mellow platoon sergeant grumbled warily, visibly anxious and jittery. As experienced as he was, he still hasn't been in any real combat just like any other people serving in the Self-Defense Force, and Sasaki was strangely relieved to hear his grimacing opinion; assured, that he isn't the only one feeling doubts in regards to the plan. Only then, their little conversation was cut up promptly by the hushed-up groan of another Lieutenant. "Not to mention it being suspiciously rushed."
Sensing the creeping awkwardness threatening to greatly mess up the meeting, the well-oiled, cool-headed Lieutenant Saburo of Second Platoon coughed up once, not wanting to be bogged down in such taboo topics such as the ultranationalist far-right resurgence after the Gate(s) opening, and the eventual Jietai deployment. Especially not during the eve of such a historic SDF operation.
"Captain, I think we should be going straight to the point by now." The man's eyes, pleasantly brown and piercing sharp, was silently glancing about between the Sergeant Major, and the company commander back and forth, his keen ears picking up the hushed up conversation, sensing the age-old venerable taboo it held within. "I don't wanna dwell on this kind of issue that much. Certainly not now, Jack."
Captain Kotarou clasped his hands, formulating plans and contingencies on the whim within his mind at the very moment he spoke up once again, polishing the final details and brief on this plan. Mistakes would not be tolerated, and he prayed deep inside. It's going to be a big deal – the battalion and even the brigade commander will be there, on the helipads, to oversee the launch of his company into their objective far beyond themselves.
"Anyways, let's just get straight to business. Here's what we know about the Matterhorn; the attached Chinook choppers will be flying us hundreds of kilometers in to drop us 5th Company, and the battalion's forward command post group later on, off at the moderately sizable, relatively flat clearing of verdant grass and luscious shrubbery right at the LZ's center, preceding the arrival of the battalion's main force." He was pointing at the map unraveled throughout the table with a wooden stick he had picked up along the way here, circling and tracing it seemingly on loop over the relatively large, flat field at the center of their LZ that extended further to the west, the word "Matterhorn" scribbled with a marker visibly on the grid layers, along with "Olympus" further west. The desolate plain-like terrain, dotted with sparsely populated villages throughout the way, stretched down south all the way to the banks of the large Row River. By the Captain's side, the Sergeant Major, who despite having established the reputation as wildly rural, heavily Kansai-accented, ultranationalist hard-ass SNCO of the company, was intently translating the officer's exact words and punctuations, to the attached Marine First Lieutenant – forward air controller, to coordinate with the Marine air support for the impending air assault – in diligently fluent, albeit heavily accented English. "To the immediate east – a klick or so – of our landing zone are just a bunch of relatively bushy wooded conifer forests; this is where the American Spec-Ops, along with the captured citizens they had rescued, will emerge out of once we drop into the zone so if you see any figures coming from that direction, don't freak the hell out and start blasting away. Once we load up all the citizens on the departing choppers, we'll link up with the Spec-Ops so we can lessen the burden on our overstretched company in the first critical hours to allow us to continue with our interdiction and recon mission."
On the extreme upper-left side of the map sheet, northwest of their AO, is the revered magical academy city of Rondel; the big picture target, but a far-away objective for now – they have other things to worry about right now, like how to not mess up the long heliborne flight, hundreds of kilometers away from their camp outside Italica, crossing over the scenic ancient Row River, all the way up to Matterhorn, all for the impending big show later on to seize Rondel. Also equally important for the company, is the first order of business once they had safely landed, preferably without any crippling complications, on this seemingly unimportant patch of wilderness they referred to as their LZ. The stick held by the Captain shifted in its place, trailing methodically through the laminated map sheet an inch to the north.
"About a kilometer north of our LZ is a pretty sizable hilly ridgeline stretching east-west, overlooking a Romanesque highway that also runs east-west all the way to Rondel. This is the objective of our interdiction and recon mission stated earlier. We need a platoon, bolstered up with the Spec-Ops team we with linked up with prior, to go up there and establish a small outpost up there to interdict any Saderan traffics coming in or out of the city – we'll rely on air called by the attached FAC to bomb them, and Lieutenant Nashiki's 81mm mortar platoon to harass since we're overstretched. They'll draw up a fires plan for us all when they've set their tubes in the LZ by the company command post. " By now, the company commander was leaning over the table, hunching over the map with his bespectacled eyes keenly eyeing it. The question of whose platoon would be up for the daunting task lingering blanky in the air. He appeared wary as he spoke, and then his gaze slowly moved away from the plastic-covered sheet. Everyone followed his gaze, trailing it closely and subtly all the way until it stopped directly towards Sasaki, his piercing brown eyes staring at the new platoon leader. "First Platoon, Sasaki, you're up for the job. And I'm sure you've met First Lieutenant Enzo Ricci? Our attached Marine forward air controller, you've seen him earlier with the S-3. He'll be with you up in the ridgeline the whole time, and try not to be decisively engaged with the enemy throughout your stay there….."
Sasaki felt his heart sinking, after already being pierced by mental lightning and stabbed by the Captain's anxious words. He stayed deathly silent, knowing full well that pretty much everyone around the table knew that as a former anti-tank platoon commander thrusted into an infantry platoon job, his kind was well regarded as keenly experienced in the intricate world of defense and ambush. He certainly isn't going to disappoint them for sure, and the apprehensive swelling within his stomach soon turned into one of unyielding determination, contented by the call to duty. The attached Marine FAC simply gave the anxious fellow an uplifting grin, similarly anxious but completely content with the task.
Yet, it is still felt, apprehensive and wary as he nodded his head back and forth, dauntlessly accepting the daring task. His bottled up feelings, uncertain and anxious, was summed up well in two mere words by his speaking platoon sergeant.
"Well, shit."