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"Japanese"

"Chinese"

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March 16, 2010; 0925 local time; Hill 27, Hori, Occupied Japan

The morning sun shone down on the grisly battle scene. Bodies (whole and otherwise) littered the forest floor, crows and other vermin were already picking over the dead. A platoon of Chinese soldiers swept the area for survivors. In a shell crater, hundreds of kilometers from home, Keitaro stirred. The first thing he noticed was the shooting pain in his left arm. He turned his head to investigate and felt something rake across his scalp. Something was rubbing against his head as it shifted inside the helmet.

He undid the strap with his right hand and removed the headgear. He saw the fragment of metal sticking out of it as he dropped the helmet to the ground. He looked at his arm again, slowly pulling up the bloodstained sleeve. He saw the gash on the underside of his forearm crusted with dried blood and dirt. As his mind processed what it saw, the dryness in his throat brought another need to his attention.

Water. . .

Keitaro fumbled with his canteen, trying to ignore the pain as he unbuckled the drinking vessel. He had unscrewed the cap and was about to take a drink when he heard footsteps coming from over the lip of the crater. He froze, his eyes darting around the crater looking for a weapon.

"Zhongzhi (1), I found someone!" A voice called out from beyond the hole.

Keitaro's eyes went wide, had they had found him? . . . A surge of adrenalin deadened the pain slightly as he put down his canteen, crawling on his hands and knees looking for a weapon.

"He's still breathing. Medic! Get over here!" the same voice shouted from outside the hole, footsteps ran past his position towards the voice.

Keitaro's breathing rapidly increased. They were close, but had he been spotted? Those last comments had cast a small doubt.

His hands came across something in the bare soil. Keitaro brushed away some of the earth, revealing a rifle covered in dirt. As the young ronin was about to examine the weapon further, he heard a voice behind him.

"Don't move!" the voice ordered. Keitaro let a frightened gasp as he heard the unfamiliar language. He slowly raised his hands, hoping that it was what the voice wanted. "Zhongzhi, we have a live one here."

Another set of footsteps padded behind him. A new, deeper voice called out in heavily accented Japanese. "Get up! Turn around!"

Keitaro stood and faced the voice. A dark red patch of dried blood was evident on the left side of his head. He saw two Chinese soldiers pointing their bayoneted assault rifles at him. One of them was slightly taller with a more defined jaw line. Keitaro's mind raced as his eyes focused on the two weapons directed at him. His heart was in his throat, not knowing if they were going to capture him or just kill him on the spot.

"Check him for Weapons." The taller one ordered. The soldier moved forward, frisking Keitaro while the other man kept his weapon trained on the ronin.

Finding him unarmed, the shorter man turned to his superior. "No weapons. Put him with the others?"

The NCO nodded before turning to Keitaro. "Try to escape and you will be shot." He said, as the other soldier prodded him forward with a bayonet.

The young man nodded, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. For now it seemed that he would live. A small part of his mind wondered how long it would last.

March 16, 2010; 1328 local time; POW (2) camp 17, Occupied Japan.

Blindfolded and bound, Japanese prisoners were unloaded from a transport truck outside of a temporary POW camp. It was in the middle of a field, few actually knew the exact location. The camp had been built within the last twenty four hours and was little more than a chain-link fence enclosure with tarps for shelter, razor wire, flood lights and machine gun nests. Anyone who tried to run would have to clear 400 meters of open ground covered my multiple machine guns.

Keitaro's throat was uncomfortably dry as the blindfolds were removed. The men were lined up in front of a two Chinese soldiers. The shorter of the two men wore a PLA officer's uniform and looked rather old, in his hand was a clipboard. Next to him was a slightly taller, younger man carrying a box of white tags. The first man looked the prisoners over before calling a prisoner forward. "Name. Rank. Serial." He demanded in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the camp, his Japanese was almost perfect with only a slight accent.

"Tsugimoto Kenji, Private, Serial 31747672." The soldier responded.

Both Chinese soldiers wrote down the information, one on his clipboard, the other on a white tag.

"This is your identification and your meal ticket." The older man said addressing the crowd, as his partner attached the piece of paper to the prisoner's shirt. "No tag, no food."

The men then went along the line, taking names and putting on tags. The two reached Keitaro, asking him for his information. "Urashima Keitaro, Private, Serial 31413447" The young man responded, his voice like a rasp. The information was taken down and pinned onto his shirt. The men soon finished and their task and dismissed the prisoners.

Keitaro sat down on the ground as a captured medic came around, treating the wounded. Keitaro closed his eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening. It looked like they weren't going to be executed, which gave him a small comfort. "Do you think they're going to move us?" One of the prisoners asked to another. Keitaro opened his eyes, but did not recognize who they were. One was a tall, lean young man; the other man was slightly older with greying black hair that was thinning on the top.

"Maybe, if I'm right, we may be moving to Korea." The older man said, Keitaro approached them and caught a glimpse of the older man's nametag which read "Inoue Hiroto, Sergeant First Class".

"Korea?" Keitaro asked, not believing his ears.

The older man shrugged. "My Chinese isn't the best, but I think I heard one of the guards say something about Maizuru and route 175. I also heard something about a Bay Han (3). I think that's Chinese for North Korea."

The other men pondered the possibility, wondering what would happen to them. China and North Korea weren't exactly known as shining examples of humane prisoner treatment.

March 18, 2010; 1237 local time; Hinata Tea shop

. . . Chinese forces have broken through the southern defensive lines at Fukuchiyama and Ayabe. Self Defense Forces have managed to stop the enemy's advance to Kyoto. . . the advance south of Fukuchiyama has secured Tamba with little resistance. . .

Haruka put down the newspaper, her heart heavy. The stress was getting to her; she had been hard pressed to reassure the girls that Keitaro was doing well. There had only been one letter since the JSDF pulled out of Fukuchiyama. While maintaining her calm and quietly reassuring demeanor for the girls, she had been making preparations should the worst happen. The last letter Keitaro had sent contained paperwork she would need to transfer ownership of the inn in the event of his death. Knowing the nature of the information, Keitaro had sent the envelope to her tea house rather than the inn.

She lit a cigarette and took a long drag. As she exhaled a smoky breath, she heard the phone ring. She quickly moved over to the device, picking up the handset. "Hello?"

"Haruka. . . It's your brother. . . I just got a call from the Defense Ministry."

"Keitaro. . ." Haruka said her voice wavering in surprise. She took a long breath and waited for the rest of the message. This was it; her brother had received the dreaded "call".

"He is missing. . . He fell behind during the retreat from Fukuchiyama." The man on the other end said, his voice wavering as if the act of saying the words caused pain.

"Missing?" Haruka asked, surprised.

"Yes." The man responded, in a rather defeated tone.

"Have you told mom?" She asked, wondering how the elder Urashima would take the news.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. ". . . Not yet."

"You know she'll be even more upset if you don't tell her soon." Haruka said.

"I know. . . It's just. . . I'm hoping. . ."

"So am I. . ." Haruka said, finding her vision clouding as tears welled up in her eyes. Despite her callous demeanor towards her nephew, he was still family. This new information now put her in an unenviable position. How would she break the news to the girls?

March 18, 2010; 0925 local time; undisclosed location, Occupied Japan

A bright light shone in Keitaro's face causing the young man to wince and squint. The room was dark and he wasn't sure where he was. The Chinese had begun to interrogate the prisoners soon after receiving them, starting with the officers, then the professional enlisted men, and finally the draftees. The questions were frustrating him; he didn't want to talk at all. The last thing he had eaten was the cup of rice they gave him two days ago and they wouldn't allow him to eat until after the interrogation. "I told you, I don't know anything! They don't tell us their battle plans. We just do what we're ordered to."

"And what have you been ordered to do?" The interrogator asked. His face was not recognizable due to the lights.

"Hold the lines! That's all they ever said! Hold the lines or they'll reach Fukuchiyama! Hold the lines or we'll lose the city! Hold the lines or they'll take the pass! That's it, hold the line, hold the line, HOLD THE DAMNED LINES!" Keitaro shouted, venting his anger and general frustration at his current position.

There was a pause before the interrogator motioned to one of the guards. "Take him back and bring the next one in."

The guard put a blindfold around the prisoner's eyes and roughly led him out of the building. The interrogator sighed inwardly; the contents of Keitaro's outburst were nothing new. The majority of the draftees weren't helpful; they were more likely to cooperate, but the ones that cooperated didn't have much in the way of useful intelligence.

Keitaro was led back into a truck to wait until the rest of the prisoners were interrogated. He felt helpless, sitting there, tied up and waiting to be taken back to the prison.

March 18, 2010; 1648 local time; PLA Headquarters, Maizuru, Occupied Japan

"Are you sure?" Commander Xiong asked over the phone, he was speaking with an intelligence coordinator who had just relayed some disturbing news. The aircraft carrier USS George Washington and her strike group had left Tokyo bay, along with the battleships Missouri and Iowa. The Chinese commander was worried; Washington's fighter wing was the biggest concentration of military aircraft in the area. The battleships were another threat; if they were anchored offshore of Kyushu, they would give Japan a massive concentration of artillery to defend against an assault on Honshu.

"Yes commander, they disembarked at 1100 and were last seen by our spies heading southwest around Izu Oshima." The voice at the other end said grimly.

Despite having twenty J-15's and eight J-17's at his disposal, the Chinese commander lacked the logistical capabilities and infrastructure to maintain a state of constant air supremacy. Additionally, the JSDF had deployed two AEGIS-equipped destroyers to Osaka bay, giving the areas south of Tamba a powerful anti-air defense. These factors meant that much of the airspace around the occupied portions of Japan was still contested. The Chinese ability to fight without complete control of the air was largely due to their potent anti-aircraft defenses and Japan's crippled air-to-ground attack capabilities. In fact, the aircraft that were brought against the PLA in Ayabe were little more than transport helicopters, hastily modified to carry weapons. These were still a threat, but they were no replacement for dedicated attack helicopters and strike fighters. Having the Washington anchored in a place like Osaka bay could guarantee a source of rapid and effective air support for the Japanese. Additionally, it meant that the United States was getting ready to make its move. American involvement at this stage would greatly tip the balance of the entire campaign.

Xiong let out a rueful laugh, the United States wouldn't even have to send troops to beat the PLA as they were now. All they really would have to do is secure the skies and provide logistical support. The United States had a great deal of experience supplying and maintaining fighting forces abroad. If the US lent Japan even a fraction of its knowhow and equipment, they could move more troops and supplies rapidly and effectively. This would give them the ability to do more than just hold the lines.

Additionally, he had been receiving substantiated reports that the South Korean military was becoming more active than usual in Pohang. This could mean many things. Among the worst of the possibilities was a naval blockade on Wonsan, the main port that was supplying the invasion forces. If they were successful, the South Koreans could isolate the PLA forces in both Hokkaido and Honshu. This possibility was reinforced by reports that the South Korean navy was moving warships from Busan to Pohang. The final thing that worried him was the information he received from his spies in the United States. The aircraft carriers USS John C. Stennis and USS Abraham Lincoln were gearing up to disembark. If these vessels were deployed, they could be launching air strikes on his positions in about a week. These two vessels would give the United States more than 150 additional fighter aircraft, along with the capabilities of their escorts.

He had been voicing these concerns to his superiors. He had asked for additional troops to shore up defenses, more submarines to patrol the seas around Japan, as well as a possible diversionary action from North Korea, potentially an artillery strike near the DMZ. He needed to tie down the Americans in Korea, and possibly the South Koreans as well. The Chinese would need to calibrate the diversion carefully. Too little and the diversion would not be effective, too much and they could provoke an all-out war with Korea and assure a swift response from the United States.

(1) Zhongzhi: Chinese military rank roughly equivalent to Sergeant

(2) POW: Prisoner Of War

(3) One of the Chinese terms for North Korea is Beihan.