Every year, work stops across Japan for the annual High School Summer tournament, a round-robin that starts at the local level, proceeds to the prefectural level, and then culminates at Hanshin Koshien stadium in Kobe, Japan for the final games and championship.
Every office across Japan has a television tuned to the games, and no one is expected to do anything more than necessary work to make deadlines. No one schedules deadlines during the tournament. This year, the marine base at Camp Foster in Okinawa has the same level of interest as the rest of Japan. Three of the nine players on the Okinawa International High School team were sons of marines on the base, including their star starting pitcher, Kenny Washington, son of Master Gunnery Sergeant Wayne Washington and his wife, Mariko.
*****************
CAMP FOSTER, OKINAWA. TWO HOURS BEFORE THE EVENT
The day room of HHC, 103rd Marine Wing Headquarters Squadron, was full to capacity with marines hyped up to watch the final game, dressed in camouflage pants and green tee shirts, and the room erupted as the TV panned over the section of the stadium reserved for the many marines in attendance.
“Ooh Rah!” came the cheer in the day room.
The members of the teams were announced to jeers and insults for the members of Tokyo Sports and Fitness High School, and raucous cheers for the Okinawa International School.
The day room exploded when Alvarez, Dreyfus, and, especially, Kenny Williams were shown.
“Show ‘em what you’re made of Devil Dog!”
“Ooh Rah!! Semper fi, marine!”
“Can’t touch this! Da na na na naah na. Can’t touch this!!!” The day room joined in on the song. At the words, “Stop, Hammer time!” several spontaneously performed the Hammer dance with legs spread wide in a traditional Okinawan karate stance, skittering back and forth. Punches and blocks were added for emphasis. A marine took a batting stance and looked stupidly at a Hammer dancer, who wound up and threw a pitch. The batter watched the imaginary ball go by, his head twisting back to where the catcher would be. He then scratched the back of his head, his mouth forming an exaggerated round O.
They didn’t understand the pregame announcers, but the English language translation followed via closed captioning. “So far, in this entire summer championship, Kenny Williams hasn’t given up a single hit!, and the Okinawa International High School haven’t allowed any runs. Williams has an unprecedented 0.0 earned run average. (Ooh rah!) But can he deal with Kanji Omura from Tokyo team? Nicknamed The Giant, he has already hit a record 16 home runs and has 28 runs batted in in Tokyo’s run to the final.”
“He’s like 6 foot 2. Giant my ass!” japed a tall marine, with his hand forming a knife edge below his nose.
“He’s not tall enough to play guard on my community college’s basketball team,” opined another.
“Hype alert!” called a marine with his hands cupped in front of his mouth. “Please proceed to your designated hype shelter. Please remain within the hype shelter until the all-clear has sounded. This is not a drill. Repeat. This is not a drill.”
************
HANSHIN KOSHIEN STADIUM, KOBE, JAPAN
During the playing of Kimi no yoo, the Japanese national anthem, the players from both teams and stood in respectful lines on the field, caps over hearts, with the game officials in the center. Following that was a brief period of warm up, practice, and last words of wisdom from coaches.
Kenny Williams was warming up in the bullpen. Juan Alvarez, the second baseman, approached him. Kenny looked over. “’Sup, Alvie?”
“Don’t expect this game to be called fairly,” said Alvaraz.
“What makes you say that?” asked Kenny.
“I got a good look at the umpire’s face during the national anthem. I saw two things written there: Guilt and resolution. He doesn’t like what he’s about to do, but he’s going to do it anyway.”
Kenny nodded. “Can’t say that’s too surprising. Just do your job, and I’ll do mine. No excuses.”
Juan Alvarez smiled. “No excuses.”
Kenny added in a low voice, conspiratorially, “I wouldn’t mention this to anybody else, but thanks for telling me. You can read people better than anybody I’ve ever met. Must be a Puerto Rican thing.”
Juan snorted, “Why you gotta make it about race, pendejo? Now I’m obligated to steal your hubcaps.”
Kenny smiled sardonically. “First you gotta steal a car for me. Then I’ll give you the hubcaps…” Kenny snapped his fingers, “...for free.” Kenny then pointed his index finger pointed back and forth between them. “Win-win.” They both chuckled as Juan Alvarez made his way back toward the dugout to swing the bat a few times.
Kenny channeled his hidden anger and frustration into his next fastball, which hit the catcher’s mitt with a loud POP and nearly moved the stout boy backward. “I’m warm,” called Kenny, as Ichiro, his catcher, tossed his mitt to the ground and vigorously shook out the stinging fingers on his left hand, muttering under his breath.
***********
FIVE DAYS PRIOR TO THE EVENT, TOKYO JAPAN
The man cracked the door open. “Yes?”
“Delivery for Takeshi Honda,” said the man on the porch carrying a box with a clipboard resting atop it.
“Yes, that’s me. Come in. It’s awfully late.” As he opened the door wider, it was flung open. Six large men in dark suits followed the man in the delivery uniform. Four pushed past the surprised man, and two grabbed him as the delivery man carefully closed the door.
“I’m here to deliver a message, and a demonstration, from Boss Hanshin. I assume you’ve heard of him?”
Takeshi Honda broke out in a sweat. “Y-yes, of course.” He put on his best smile despite his sudden terror. Honda tried to bow, but was held upright by a man at either side. Then he heard screams from his wife and ten-year old daughter. “I d-don’t want any trouble. Whatever Boss Hanshin needs, I’m at his service, of c-course. Please, just don’t hurt my family.”
The man in the delivery uniform smiled and took the top off the box, revealing three home plate bases and a bat.
“No need to worry, as long as you have the right attitude. Boss Hanshin is a very a very patriotic Japanese man. Are you also a patriotic Japanese man?”
“Yes, of course!” stammered Honda.
“And Boss Hanshin feels like Japan needs a hero in these dark economic times. Don’t you agree?”
“Certainly. Yes!”
“A Japanese hero ...” offered the man in the delivery uniform.
“Without doubt. Japanese, definitely. A Japanese hero!” agreed Honda, nodding vigorously.
The delivery man dropped home plate on the floor in front of him and nodded. The two large men dragged him behind the delivery man and forced him to his knees as two other men carried his wife and daughter gagged with their hands behind them and forced them to their knees on the opposite side of the room. Their faces displayed their abject terror.
“You see this woman and this girl? Of course you do. They’re your wife and daughter! Imagine, however, that they are all of Japan watching the game on Friday, yearning for a Japanese hero. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them, would you?”
“No, never,” said Honda, earnestly.
“Good. Now for the demonstration on how you can do your patriotic duty and not let these good Japanese baseball fans down.” The delivery man pointed down. Now, this is a regulation sized baseball plate, yes?” He turned to look at Honda, who was forced to his knees behind the plate, roughly in his traditional spot.
“Yes,” agreed Honda.
The delivery man kicked the plate away. “Not on Friday. The plate may look like that to everyone else, but this …” He dropped a plate three inches wider on the ground. “This is the plate that you will see when Tokyo is pitching and Okinawa is batting. Do you see it clearly? This is the plate that you will call strikes and balls with when Suzuki is pitching, and that” he nodded toward the woman and girl “is what will make your audience safe and happy.”
Honda swallowed and nodded.
He then kicked the large plate away and took out a smaller plate, tossing it on the ground with the outer third cut off each side “This is the plate that you will see when the foreigner is pitching and Tokyo is batting. Do you see the difference?”
Honda nodded again.
“Good. Just one more thing.” He looked at the men holding him. “Stand him up next to the plate,” the delivery man ordered. The large men dragged Honda around and stood him next to the cut-down plate.
“Boss Hanshin,” continued the delivery man, “has a vested interest in Kanji Omura’s future. You know, the Giant? Now here’s a young man with the look of a true hero.”
Honda nodded again, as the delivery man came around to stand opposite him.
“On every other player, the strike zone is from here…” he pointed at Honda’s knees, “to about here,” he said as he pointed to the area known as the letters, just under shoulder height. Honda nodded again.
“But with Omura, specifically, it’s from here” the delivery man thrusted the bat into Honda’s abdomen. “To here,” he said as he drove the bat into Honda’s solar plexus, driving the remaining air out of his lungs. Honda wheezed as he was thrown roughly to the floor by his handlers.
The delivery man dropped the bat in front of Honda and walked toward Honda’s sobbing wife and daughter.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
The delivery man took a butterfly knife out of his pocket. He snapped it open and it danced around his wrist three times. The henchmen grabbed Honda by the hair and craned his neck toward his wife and daughter.
“If you forget what you’ve learned tonight, I’ll have to come back to give you a refresher. I hate having to deliver the same message twice. It brings my effectiveness as a communicator into doubt.”
He sliced his daughter’s pajama top apart with the knife. “Oh, god, please no,” pleaded Honda.
With the flat of the blade, he traced the area from his daughter’s abdomen to her solar plexus. “This is Omura’s strike zone, as you now see on your daughter Yuriko’s body. Your daughter attends Miyanome Central Elementary school, yes? Fourth grade, A section? You needn’t answer. It’s a rhetorical question.”
The blade flicked around the delivery man’s wrist a dozen more times as he walked over to Honda’s wife. He slashed away her nightgown and bra, as she screamed into her gag, exposing her breasts.
He traced a larger area across her breasts down to just above her knees. “And this is the strike zone for everybody else. It’s important that you remember this. Because if you forget, or if you catch a cold and can’t do your duty to the Japanese people, or if your car breaks down, or if you and your family are delayed on an unexpected trip, or if you get run over by a bus between now and Friday… well…” He held the knife up for Honda to see. “I’ll just have to deliver the message again, only more sharply.”
“You’ll want to cut your wife and daughter free, so I’ll leave this here for you.” He dropped the butterfly knife on the floor. “Don’t worry, I have plenty more. This one has my fingerprints all over it, in case you decide to involve the police. But if you do that … we’ll know immediately, and the lesson you receive will be immeasurably less satisfactory for your daughter, your wife, and yourself, in that particular order. That … would require a very long and painful ... remedial … lesson, indeed.” The dark look in the delivery man’s eyes was a solemn promise.
The delivery man smiled brightly. “But I have absolute faith that you will do your patriotic duty for Japan and that you’ll never see me again. Now, just the paperwork. Please sign that this message was delivered satisfactorily and that you have understood it completely.” He popped a pen from the pocket of his delivery jacket and handed it to Honda. One of the henchmen held the clipboard in front of him. “Just here.”
Honda signed the document. The delivery man picked up the plates and returned them to the box. “Thank you. You can keep the bat, too, as a souvenir, or even for protection. But I will need the pen back; I’m rather attached to my lucky pen. Thank you. Please enjoy the remainder of your evening.” The delivery man bowed sharply, and the gang exited.
**************
HANSHIN KOSHIEN STADIUM – BOTTOM OF THE NINTH INNING
High above Hanshin Koshien stadium in Kobe, Japan, the roar of the capacity crowd rose like a wave.
Moving downward, two crows looked on from their perch atop the gray-green scoreboard, still in use after many years. The placards on the scoreboard contrasted in their brilliant white and bright green coloration, announcing the 108th All-Japan High School Baseball Championship. The away team on top was the Okinawa International High School. Beside the name were eight consecutive zeros, and a single run registered in the top of the ninth inning.
Below Okinawa International was the placard for Tokyo Sports and Fitness High School. Eight zeros followed its placard, with the last inning’s runs yet undecided. The Out count stood at two.
Standing atop the mound was the lanky, dark-complected foreigner who had caused such a stir. He looked to his catcher for the sign, and nodded. The pitcher checked the runner at second, and then began his wind up.
The pitcher’s jaw was set in determination, and his dark eyes were steely as he delivered the pitch.
The fast ball rocketed toward the huge batter, who crowded the plate, passing by him letter high and along the inside third of home plate. The batter didn’t twitch a muscle, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward as the ball blew by him.
“High! Ball 3!” came the call from the plate umpire. “Full count!”
The pitcher stared at the umpire incredulously.
In the stands, a small slight Japanese woman leapt to her feet, arms outstretched. “ARE YOU BLIND, UMP?” Boos cascaded down from the marine section. Next to her, a stout, stoic black man clad in a U.S. Marine Corps dress blue uniform cursed under his breath. He whispered to himself, “They’re not going to give it to you, Kenny. You have to take it. Make him swing the bat.”
The pitcher and team met at the mound, covering their mouths with their gloves, and they came to the same conclusion. “That’s what? Strike 5?” asked Jimmy Nakamura. “He’s not going to call another strike. You have to get him to swing the bat, or this crooked umpire is going to walk in the next four batters.”
Ichiro, the catcher agreed. “He won’t swing at a fast ball. Nobody’s touched one yet. You have to throw the curve. Make it look sweet and fat, but don’t let it end up in the zone. From down the pipe to low and away. I want the full nine inches of break. He’ll swing at it.”
The pitcher nodded and directed the outfielders. “Yuki, Yamada, Jimmy: Play shallow and shade right. Don’t let anything bounce in front of you. He’ll try to pull it.”
“Let’s see you take this one,” Kenny thought to himself as he dug his fingers inside the laces.
The third-base coach gesticulated wildly at the batter. Touching his cap, earlobe, nose, cap, wrist, nose, cap, and sleeve. Take the pitch. Don’t swing. Big Omura sighed, as he pounded his bat twice on home plate. “Four takes in a row,” he thought to himself. “Coach thinks I can’t hit this foreigner.”
Kenny wound up, stretched, and delivered, snapping his wrist violently to the side as he released the pitch, imparting sideways rotation onto the baseball.
The batter, who was already showing signs of a 6 o’clock shadow in the early afternoon, goggled at the pitch heading his way. It was a fat, hanging curve ball. “To hell with this,” he thought, and ripped at the pitch.
Ding! The aluminum bat made contact, but Omura had underestimated the break on the ball. Rather than hanging in the strike zone, the ball had rushed down and away from him over the last thirty feet. Omura flailed to make contact.
Rather than sailing into the right field bleachers as he intended, the ball flaired directly toward Yamada in shallow right field.
The runner on second base flew toward third and the Go signal from the third-base coach. He had no intention of stopping.
******************
YAMADA BOOKSELLER, OKINAWA JAPAN - YESTERDAY 7:00 PM
Yuhei Yamada hid in the back room of his father’s bookstore. He peered out at the two men dressed in dark suits and wearing straw hats. The first man was speaking; Yuhei strained to pick up the conversation.
“...obviously a fire hazard. Just look at all this paper everywhere. I’m afraid that to get protection for these types of hazards, the price will unfortunately double.” The man stopped to blow cigarette smoke into his father’s face. “Otherwise, this whole joint could just go up in smoke. And you live right above the store, too, with your son, Yuhei. That could be a real tragedy, especially if it happened in the middle of the night.”
“But I’m barely making ends meet as it is. I can’t afford to pay double. You’ll put me out of business. I can barely buy new book stock as it is,” Mr. Yamada pleaded.
“Look, the boss is a reasonable man. He knows how tough it is to survive when you’re running a business by yourself while raising a son. Although this joint is a terrible fire hazard, maybe you could pay … half … instead.”
“Half?” Mr. Yamada queried, skeptically.
“All you need to do is to convince your son to commit three errors tomorrow. Just three. Then the price goes down to 30,000 yen per month, rather than 60,000 as it currently stands. And that’s a whole lot better than the 120,000 that these fire hazards actually require, I think we can both agree. And the boss guarantees this rate for the next five years. Just think of how you could build your business during that five-year period. Think what you could do for Yuhei’s future. That’s a lot of return for three little errors in a meaningless baseball game, don’t you agree?”
The man blew smoke in his face again.
“Maybe you should talk to him. Tonight.”
Long into the night, Yuhei lay in bed lay awake, waiting for his father to enter his room. But all he heard was the gurgling of a bottle as his father filled a glass again and again. Finally, Yuhei fell asleep. His father never came.
**************
HANSHIN KOSHIEN STADIUM – THE BIG EVENT
From behind, you can see how easy a play catching the final out would be for Yuhei Yamada. He wouldn’t even need to take a step.
Even as the play unfolded, the two crows perched atop the scoreboard started, squawked loudly, and took flight in a spray of feathers.
As a roar gathered and lifted from the audience, a sudden, blinding flash of pink ball lightning manifested behind the pitcher’s mound and rolled outward through the field.
The face of Mariko Williams, mother of Kenny Williams, was suddenly bathed in bright pink light, even as Master Gunnery Sergeant Wayne Washington threw his body protectively in front of her, his white dress cap falling onto the ground beside him.
In offices around Japan, TVs screens tuned to the game flashed pink, followed momentarily by static. The game feed was replaced by a message reading “Technical Difficulties. Please Stand By.”
Confusion reigned across Hanshin Koshien stadium. When vision returned to Mariko Williams, her face registered her confusion and terror. “KENNY!!!!” she screamed.
All the players on the field had vanished. The baseball rested in right field. A single black feather, carried by the wind, did a lazy loop-da-loop above the ball.
*******************
IN FRONT OF HANSHIN KOSHIEN STADIUM, THREE HOURS AFTER THE EVENT
On the screen, the newsman reported from beside a van marked with the emblem JBN Sports. Flashing lights from police vehicles and ambulances dotted the near distance.
“So far, we know that there is no sign of the nine starting players on either team, although the coaches, relief pitchers, and pinch hitters for both teams, as well as the game officials, are all thankfully well and accounted for. No bodies, or any sign of the players whatsoever, have been discovered in the vicinity of the field, so the players for both teams are hoped to be alive, although the search for their whereabouts continues.”
“I can report that at 3:18 PM today, what authorities are calling an anomalous electrical phenomenon appeared on the field of play during the bottom of the ninth inning of the Summer championship final between Tokyo Sports and Fitness High School and the Okinawa International High School. The phenomenon knocked out power in a ten-mile radius of the Hanshin Koshien stadium here in Kobe and interrupted the live broadcast of the game. The flash temporarily blinded the stadium crowd as they looked on. At least ten people remain under care for continued issues with their eyesight. No other medical issues have been reported. Power was restored to the area about thirty minutes ago. An official statement is scheduled to be given at police headquarters in Kobe at 8:00 PM this evening.”
“Stay tuned to JBN for further updates.”
*************
AT POLICE HEADQUARTERS – KOBE, JAPAN
Master Gunnery Sergeant Wayne Washington and Mariko Washington sat in the office of the Kobe police commissioner.
Master Guns replied to the Commissioner, “To a man, every marine reported the same thing that my wife and I experienced. They were all blinded by the flash for 45 seconds to a minute. When their vision returned, all the players were just … gone.”
“Have you received any threats to the base or had your son received any threats prior to the game?” asked the Commissioner.
“We always have force protection issues on the base. Some of the local residents would rather the US pull up stakes and depart from Camp Foster and Okinawa. But nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, the success of the baseball team has led to the most positive posture with the local population that our marines have had there in my memory. Kenny didn’t mention any specific threats to me, but … he probably wouldn’t have, either. He’s accustomed to handling his own business.”
Mariko sobbed. “No, no threats. He would have told me. You are looking for my son? He’s not just an American. He’s a Japanese citizen, too. He’s lived here his entire life. He speaks Japanese better than English. My parents are Japanese. I’m Japanese. Ken is Japanese in all the ways that matter. He has a Japanese heart, even if he doesn’t look Japanese.”
The Commissioner nodded. “Of course, Mrs. Washington. This is our top priority. But as of now, no witnesses have been identified because of the blindness and the power outage. Interviews continue, of course, and every resource is being made available by the Japanese government. I will personally keep both of you informed of our progress.”
*************
THE OFFICE OF THE MAYOR – TOKYO, JAPAN
The mayor glared at the assembled gathering. “Who do we have on the ground in Kobe? I want answers, dammit!”
The Chief of police cleared his throat. “It’s not our jurisdiction. We have offered our services to the Kobe police, but so far, they haven’t accepted. They say that they’re currently doing everything that can be done, and this did happen in Kobe, after all.”
The mayor shouted, “We just lost nine young baseball players from this city in front of 89 million viewers and the entire city of Tokyo. I want our detectives on the ground! These families deserve answers. THESE VOTERS DESERVE ANSWERS!”
He looked at the chancellor of Tokyo University. “What about Toodai? What are your professors saying?”
The chancellor stood and bowed. “Mr. Mayor, the meteorology department assures me that this wasn’t a natural storm of any known type. The weather was clear, and the atmospheric pressure was high. The weather was not conducive to an electrical storm.”
The chancellor continued. “The physics department is still gathering data, but they are certain that the amount of energy was very high, though likely not high enough to completely atomize the players, their equipment, and clothing. And they assure me that enough energy to atomize the players on the field would have destroyed an area at least as large as the Hiroshima bomb, but the damage was very minor. Other than the temporary blindness, no other casualties were reported. More data is required.”
“We have twenty experts en route to Kobe as we speak with radiation detection equipment, hazardous material suits, and precise meteorological detection units. We were invited by Kobe university.” The chancellor bowed.
The mayor looked back at the police commissioner. “You see? Twenty experts from Tokyo University are already en route. I want twenty detectives en route by tomorrow morning. I don’t care what it’s called publicly – Joint task force, police cooperation … expert advisors … police protection for the Toodai delegation. Just get our people on the ground. Your job depends on it!”
The police commissioner bowed. “Hai.”
*************
Bang. Bang. Bang.
-Yo Mark! We’re going down to eat. You coming?
-I’m in the middle of something right now. I’m gonna go down later.
-Bruh. Quit fapping to porn, and get your ass out here! Cass’s gonna be there!
-Fuck off. I’m busy. I’ll catch you in the Commons later.
-Don’t nut in your eye! Laughter.
-I’m gonna nut in your mom’s eye, right after I finish what I’m doing. I’m busy. Now fuck off!
The laughter and jibes at his expense thankfully got quieter as the group moved down the hall, toward the elevators. Mark frowned. Tribalism, he thought. The pack mentality. The herd scatters in different directions to confuse predators. Mark sighed.
Fucking interruptions. Mark put his hand back on the mouse, his face lit by the glow of the computer screen.
*************
NOW – UNKNOWN LOCATION
From high above, nine figures wearing blue and white uniforms lay prone in a lush, green meadow. The morning sun still hung low in the sky, buy its glow was waxing.
At the edge of the meadow, a quaint village featured 18th century Japanese style houses and buildings with elegantly manicured gardens bringing out a sense of order and rightness. Fruit trees grew in abundance, and rice paddies terraced in the distance.
Beyond the village to the East, mountains rose proudly into the sky, disappearing in the clouds, and the sun’s rays peaked between them. In the Western distance, ocean waves crashed onto a distant expanse of beach that gave way to blossoming cherry trees.
Kenny slowly opened his eyes. His hand went vainly to his head in an effort to stop its incessant pounding. “What…?” he croaked.
His eyes took in his surroundings and the eight compatriots laying unconscious in the grass around him.
Then he looked to the right and saw … it. It was a massive cylindrical metallic structure the color of copper. It must have been ten stories tall and half as large in diameter. It was the size of a city block.
Kenny bolted upright. “Where’s the stadium?” Kenny thought frantically. His head swiveling from side to side as he sought out something, anything, that would ground him in this unfamiliar locale.
Some of the players laying around him began to twitch and groan; they, too, grabbed their heads.
From around the copper structure appeared a man wearing a lab coat, white button-down shirt, black tie, and round, black spectacles. He stopped in front of the group and looked directly at Kenny, the seemingly most alert of the group.
“You must be the champions,” he said. “We’ve been expecting you.”