Kanoya Airfield, Kanoya
6:12 AM
Kubota Nobuyuki. He was a barrel-chested man, who stood at a commanding height of five foot eleven with only a few decimals keeping him from reaching six feet.
Since he’d woken up, he’d consistently found himself fairly agitated at how things had all begun to transpire. Outside, things looked… not right. But not wrong either. Something major, so inconspicuously conspicuous which felt off. So much so that it was shouting at him that there was something wrong with it, but just slight enough in the difference that he couldn’t figure it out. He thought it to be pedantic to give it any more consideration—he chalked it all up to deprivation; his eyes must’ve been just a bit blurry, he thought. It was best not to think about it.
Then at roughly three, the alarms were all tripped and an adjutant from Fukuoka had personally arrived and delivered to him orders that read vaguely along the lines of Japan no longer being on Earth. A preposterous claim, yet one Fukuoka claimed was backed by every manner of scientific body and astrological group, who made what was wrong finally obvious to him. The night sky. Everyone was of course on edge, and Nobuyuki’s reflections revealed little to him besides the fact that he was stuck two hours behind.
Sincerely, he strongly hoped this was only a fever dream—one gone wrong yet gone lucid. Else he’d never see Takaki’s face again, not in person at least. But the thought itself was enough to bring a tremble to his already clenched fist. Just why did he have to choose that American university? No tears left, for he held them back well.
The door forced itself open as a toady-looking Lefttennant stepped in, grimy boots tapping subserviently against newly-mopped hardwood. He clasped a manila folder, speaking at a volume a few decibels below shouting, “Leftennant Commander,” he bowed, boots coming together beforehand with a knock, “New orders from Fukuoka, issued twelve minutes ago.”
Greedily, Nobuyuki ripped the page away from the folder, tearing it wide open onto his desk with an unblinking gaze that burned into the card like magnified sun into an ant. The page read:
[=]
Orders for MSDF personnel of Kanoya Airbase as advised by Joint Staff.
In light of recent events, a total shift in the surroundings of the archipelago of Japan has occurred, where key information needed to advance beyond the archipelago is currently insufficient. This operation seeks to verify existing claims and investigate regions directly outside of Japan to accurately inform future decisions, particularly concerning outside inhabitance.
Moderate risk has been assessed, where ASDF RADAR Station Fukuoka has identified <10 believed aircraft of unknown type from westerly and southerly headings in the past 4 hours, verified to not be registered civilian or SDF activity.
To assess these anomalies,
One P-3 Phorcys flight of Kōkūtai One is ordered to depart Kanoya Airfield at 0700 for a southerly heading to investigate and record points of potential geographic, political, or military interest.
Two P-3 Phorcys flights of Kōkūtai Seven are ordered to depart Kanoya Airfield at 0700 for a westerly heading to investigate and record points of potential geographic, political, or military interest.
[=]
He considered the wording; throwing a bone to whichever ravenous thoughts lay deep within his mind. It was with regrettable timing, for though formal introductions had been done, he was still in all other senses of the word an outsider to the base personnel. Not only this, but military action being done so preemptively? It’d cause a riot! So senseless, so rushed.
Surely it must’ve been illegal, even with whatever slimy tricks the bureaucrats that he could just tell were behind the operation had used. And for Fukuoka, it must’ve been a heavy decision, a truly absolute and overbearing emergency where try as they might, they knew nothing—this he understood—yet the reasoning behind was so foreign.
Those words he’d read what was an eternity ago still resonated with him as he went through the document. What they’d called a ‘transfer of physical assets’ and every other arrangement of word salad they’d try put it, stuck like glue to every free neuron in his brain. Whatever natural magic, or dare he invoke the Kami, was the cause behind it all was deliberate in how they chose.
This terrible thought shrouded itself behind mental layer after mental layer, like a rabbit chased by the wolf, every turn so unexpected. It’d been a good few hours, yet it hadn’t clicked yet. Whether it was his comprehension of just how it was possible, or a deep-seated denial that it was happening, every chemical and hormone which could illicit response and emotion were pumped into his system just like that initial realization had done. He didn’t want to do this; to put lives possibly at stake, but orders were orders.
It really was a grand finale to end the era.
[-]
6:40 AM
There was a wide, open field of weeded grass, along which several long stretches of flat asphalt lay. On the largest block of asphalt and concreted ground sat metal structures making up hangars, an air traffic control tower, and four decently sized propellor aircraft parked on the apron, with two more kept warm and snug in their hangars. On their tails were rather flamboyant markings, some with a geometric Sakurajima intersected by a ribbon-like number one, and others with a blue ‘Ω’ symbol with stars of the Big Dipper crossing it.
In front of one of the hangars stood several aircrews in olive-drab flight suits segregated between two cliques marked by insignia—those with orange Phoenixes, and those with blue Omegas—present on left sleeves. At the front was a single officer standing on an iron soapbox, ranked Lefttenant Commander. He was the barrel-chested replacement for the more temperamental, now-transferred Lefttenant Commander Takeuchi. And with regrettable timing, neither Takeuchi’s replacement ‘nor the aircrews knew much of each other for their relationship to be anything beyond excessively professional. Not even the slightest hint had been let away beside the scurry of rumor beforehand, and now those of the base were entirely under his control.
Though this did not matter, Nobuyuki would see to it that change was brought to this eventually. But that was a future matter.
Their new commander began to speak - his voice oddly quiet. Or perhaps they were far too used to Takeuchi’s loud projection, “Understand that considerations over this mission were made quickly beforehand, however, as I am sure you are all well aware, our country has been put through less than fortunate circumstances where something as unprecedented as this has been necessitated.”
Nobuyuki frowned to this end, repressing what memory he had of his family, his son. But not now, he thought. These emotions could come later, and no tears left.
“While I do have trust in the staff at Fukuoka, and that this mission may be as uneventful as they claim it should be, every precaution is to be taken to ensure no loss of life occurs, and while this may seem like a trivial mission of photographing anything of interest, you are to return immediately if engaged by anything or after all provided locations have been examined,” Nobuyuki reassured them, with his own reservations about it made not abundantly clear, but certainly clear enough, to then ask, “Any questions?”
No hands went up, and instead one took the question as a prompt to speak entirely freely. “Sir…, i—s… th’s de—ploy…ment even legal?” One of the officers asked, brows raised and curved inverse to one another with deep circles under both of his eyes. His pacing of the question was off, varying wildly with syllables stuck where they shouldn’t be, and phones extended or shortened far more than they should’ve been as if he himself was completely unsure of what he was actually saying let alone asking.
So nervous was his voice that were this a middle school, snickers would be heard all around. Nobuyuki muttered to himself inaudibly, ignorant of his expression, and already expectant that the exact question was to be dropped as, oddly enough, such a sentiment was expressed to be a possibility by his orders. Though ordinarily, it would have raised suspicion, he’d shrugged it off prior as merely an unprecedented act in response to an unprecedented time. With a prepared answer already plated and hot, he served it with a strong confidence that wavered only when he thought it appropriate.
“I have trust that we are being sent on a legal mission; it’s in effect an extended maritime patrol penetrating into an… undetermined, but assumed non-occupied airspace—we’re unaware of anything meaningful so far, so everyone up top thinks that it’s all good,” Nobuyuki reasoned to them. In the last section, however, he lied as he breathed. To prevent morale from cracking, prevent them from slipping, he reasoned to himself.
None could find fault in his logic. Or those who could were too preoccupied with the preceding idea of a crackpot transference that they were certain did happen, yet still were in some sense of total disbelief to question it.
“Anybody else?” He’d ping his subordinates just one more time, the next four to five hours to be silent for him. They were dead silent, still standing perfectly still like nutcrackers on a Christmas fireplace. Some faces contorted, twisted, and deformed from their initial expressions, yet none truly spoke up. Realizing that no more would come through, Nobuyuki continued, “Very well, Hikōtai Serow dismissed.”
A third of the personnel fell out of their formation and scrambled for their plane, the thick thuds of their boots on the concrete synchronizing rhythmically. They went for their Orion, tail number four-seven-five-eight.
“Hikōtai Macaque dismissed.”
Another third fell out, leaving behind ten of the thirty-three initially present, once more their boots thudding on the ground in just the right way for the sound to echo back. They went for tail number four–six–eight–four.
“Hikōtai Weasel dismissed.”
Finally, the last group fell out. They approached tail number four–six–seven–four, conveniently also the farthest aircraft from the assembly point in the order of aircraft lined up in the open.
Pilots and technicians boarded cockpits, whilst the radios were all a sudden rodeo with the ATC. Pens hit paper as checklists were quickly gone through, and equipment all checked off in a process that would take only ten minutes.
The propellors turned with a sputter as the engines began to hum their best tune, and a corporal knelt deep within at the center of the machinations set right to work at adjusting her camera. The lens was wiped clean to a degree possibly unnecessarily so, and the focus was set to a manual mode so she was in total and absolute control.
“‘Guess we’ll be introducing ourselves by shooting them, huh?” one of the flight engineers quipped with a biting tone, back put to his circular RADAR screen as he stared down the knelt photographer.
She snorted at his vain attempt at humor, and though not willing to entertain the notion, retorted rather plainly, “And for a damn nature magazine it feels, no less.” She shot a cheeky grin to accompany the remark as she turned her attention back to the camera, each part carefully curated. Every curve was so familiar, every edge so natural. She caressed the camera’s side with care, wiping down contact surfaces with a small cloth.
“Hey, ‘least you two get to do somethin’! They won’t even let me drop any of the SONAR stuff for nothing scientific or biologically marine or anything like that,” One of the acoustics operators complained with a huff, head angled upward atop a hunchback posture.
“There’s plenty of biological Marines down in Okinawa if that’s your taste,” the same flight engineer quipped once more, this time eliciting a suppressed chuckle from the photographer.
Whilst fiddling with the equipment right in front of them, the second of the flight engineers spoke up from out of nowhere with a backhanded remark. “Only ‘til they get kicked out,” he’d posit matter-of-factly with a distrait, dead voice, and a deep mental focus toward his equipment above the conversation.
She asked herself what exactly was to happen in Okinawa, and found no clear answer. Perhaps she should’ve paid more attention to the news. Thus, she thought the only way to know was to ask first. “Kicked out?” asked the photographer with curiosity, still cradling the camera as if it were her newborn (which, in some way mentally, it was).
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The others in the cabin instead had their heads turned to the second flight engineer, and eyebrows raised, as if to ask ‘really?’
“Oh, you know,” the second flight engineer would say expectantly of them to understand him, “it’s only a matter of time…,” he continued, again still vaguely and only garnering stranger looks. He paused for whatever effect he was trying to get from the others, the only real emotion shown to him thus far being confusion to a fairly extreme degree. He’d continue, rising from the silence that would have indicated to any other person whatever he was saying wasn’t so appreciated as it was endured, “This whole transfer thing with that base is like an empty beehive to a bear.” Still, the second flight engineer spoke as matter-of-factly as he did the first time,
The strange metaphor struck them all as odd, and what followed was an extremely awkward silence from the remainder of the crew who weren’t the pilots who spewed lines of jargon into their headsets, eyes whirling to each other without was keeping on the same person for more than a second. Even those who hadn’t originally been part of the conversation had been afflicted with a feeling of squirming shame on his behalf, save of course for the pilots who’d heard nothing. In this time, the photographer found herself sitting on a seat right by the
“So…” the photographer would say, the tattered rags of the previous conversation held in her arms. Feeling responsible for the derailment, she’d hammer and saw a new replacement, “New world, eh?” she asked rhetorically, thinking of whatever intriguing thing they could discuss, before being rudely interrupted.
“The camera all good to go?” one of the pilots would ask through their headset, the same question embarrassingly being posed to the rest of the crew as well.
For that split moment, she felt like shrinking into a seashell instead of responding, the moment ballooning itself to hours before popping, then returning to her senses rather quickly and replying joyfully. “All good,” she’d answer, the response sent back the same way it came.
The NAVCOM, formerly uninvolved verbally, asked, “Prices ‘ought to start climbing, shouldn’t they?” Nonspecific, and somewhat vague, thought at least relevant to the conversation this time—the flow was uninterrupted, albeit opened rockily.
The plane jolted a bit, speeding up along the runway as they began to tremble about inside. The crew ignored this, long used to the procedure.
“For what, though?” the radarman asked, wishing only for clarification.
“Oh, for everything of course!” the first flight engineer exclaimed calmly, “rice, ramen, clothes and all, it’ll all climb in the next few months and I’d bet it’ll be the biggest thing we’ll be whining about!” The flight engineer spoke with confidence that erupted easily in his tone.
“Nah,” the also formerly uninvolved in-flight technician said. They took the liberty to unfocus from his workstation, flapping their right hand down with a dismissive, frowning expression, to emphasize what they’d said.
“What is it then?” the acoustics operator asked, coming first before the radarman’s mouth opened to ask the same question, then closed a quarter second after the acoustics operator spoke.
“Not food, or rent, or cost of living, or anything silly like that. Probably the same stuff whatever the diet is gonna argue about instead,” he’d answer with inflated confidence in his answer.
Just as he finished, they could feel the aircraft groan and lift forcibly from the ground—this was it. Speculation ran high, and so too would they.
Nobuyuki watched from the ground as the three P-3s marched out, leaping into the air with their flamboyant tail art on full display. Alone, and reminded of where he was now, a salt-filled tear left. Then another, following the exact trail the first had taken, and no more came after.
[+]
KyōkazuMart by Route 269 Intersection, Kanoya
Simultaneously,
It was dry and cold outside, and a small puddle that could barely register as one had formed right at the doorstep of the small store. A wet doormat courtesy the cold; a demarcation line between the cozy inside and frigid outside, the sun just risen. Alone stood the store in the center of a parking lot under the navy-blue-turned-bright-copper sky, light seeping from and radiating its storefront.
Though the hours were long, the work robotic, it was only just nice—a kind of tranquil peace if not for the airplanes that she would only ever hear now and then which she’d never gotten much sight of. While there was an airbase across the road, from the store at least it was hidden away by tall hedges and a few trees that were dormant. And still, the sharp prickle of the cold found its way in. The cold was just bearable, and since the green and yellow jacket courtesy of the company did help, she’d gotten used to it. Not so much to the airplanes.
Once more, she could hear the all too recognizable drone prepare to introduce itself. She wouldn’t let it bother her now though, never had she done so in the past. ‘Nor the garish ambient lights that she swore were set to be brighter than the sun, or the gaudily designed uniforms that were always a thread too thin or thick that she’d always had to wear as a ‘smiling representative face of KyōkazuMart.’
Half absentmindedly she scanned a customer’s small haul, a newspaper, and an iced tea, dismayed only by that sound and the monotony. Lifting the barcode reader, she read right from the register, as if the man himself couldn’t understand the readout, “That would be four hundred Yen.”
The customer first in line grunted half-audibly, rummaging through their pockets before proffering a single five-hundred Yen coin onto the counter and plucking back their bag. Before she could even offer a receipt or change, they had already meandered away and been replaced by another.
Momentarily after, the front door slid open and chimed its two-tone song far louder than the TV blabbering on above her. The TV wasn’t set to be so loud, the newscasters’ humbling voices something she could only just hear above the faint rustles of merchandise being moved. Something about a mayoral scandal, or maybe it was the mayor’s secretary? Something not so important that no more attention was attracted to the TV than to the selection of goods on offer. The other four, or maybe five, people in the store seemed totally tapped out, and they most certainly weren’t listening in as they perused the aisles.
“Sayōnara,” she’d say dejectedly with a falling tone—not to anyone in particular upon realizing they’d left just as easily as they next had come in. Such boring work, she thought.
“It’ll just be this, thank you,” the next customer said immediately as if knowing she would offer him more from the store’s great assortment of random goods. They laid out most notably a carton of eggs, a carton of milk, and more than a few packs of ramen. “Say, you been able to get to anyone out of country recently?” the customer then asked.
Looking up, the cashier took her attention away from her work to stare at the customer for a moment. His face was acne-ridden and eyes severely baggy. “No?” she’d say with a questioning tone.
“Yeah… I haven’t been able to get any connection to some friends in Korea, and I was wondering if it was just me,” the customer would say presumptuously. In truth, she didn’t have anyone out of country to call, but she went along with it.
“It just strikes me as really odd, since it’s been like this since four, and…,” the customer rambled on and on, to which she barely listened to past a certain fuzzy point. She couldn’t exactly tell when it was that she’d tuned out of his speaking, but it somehow did get annoying—moreso than the growing drone outside.
“That’ll be…,” the cashier spoke with anticipation as she scanned each item with a nearly dead look. Crummy work was what she attributed it to. Beeps occurred at near-random intervals that approximated to a quarter second each whilst the man spoke, which only further bored her to death. “Eighteen–hundred Yen,” she’d ask, the register displaying the exact number in a dark-green pixel text.
The man patted down his pockets, eventually coming to his wallet, after a bit of struggle. “Goodness, it’s a bit early for them to be so… so active, isn’t it?” The customer asked her, halfway rhetorically as they flowed into asking again a half second later, leaning into the counter, “Whaddya reckon it is?” he’d ask, forking out a two-thousand yen note.
With only the man’s remark as a prompt, the stiff roar of a dozen propellors in the distance began to assimilate the quiet ambiance outside. Indoor, they only heard a vague, muffled whir—like a quiet, yet very deep blender—but still enough to identify as those godforsaken propellor-driven nuisances. And just as with the customers, the planes left just as quickly as they came, leaving a trail of sound that managed to extend itself physically.
She didn’t answer the question, instead giving it thought as she pulled open the register tray and provided two one-hundred yen coins in return. She couldn’t form any answer, and though she did notice they usually did things later in the day, she asked herself mentally ‘who knew?’
[+]
Unknown Body of Water, Formerly East China Sea
8:05 AM
The quiet was broken by a staccato of sound. A short burst of the first shots ever sent against a known unknown. Against neither friend ‘nor foe. Not yet, at least. It wasn't the distinct snap of a 5.56 or the thick chew of any 7.62, but rather the rapidly successive clacker of a 35mm.
The camera’s shutter snapped in a series of five with each button click as the photographer, a mere Corporal, slowly tilted her head. She gave its barrel a gentle twist as it was pushed against one of the aircraft’s portside observation portholes. The picture was adjusted at her will before the shooting recommenced. A fantastic new invention—digital cameras, of far greater than novel use—and now in high definition thanks in no small part to recent advances in computing technology. She loved every bit of it; the feel of a sniper where each shot was a memory or documentation rather than a life taken.
Up to this point, their mission had been rather uneventful save for the few radar blips that faded in and out. There was little to truly indicate the supernatural nature, at least, nothing directly pointing it out to the average person. There was no portal, never had been one, and there were no flying cars or dragons, not yet.
But now, an indication. In the camera’s frame was a leviathan, one headed in the same direction as their aircraft, migrating toward warmer seas, perhaps. It had three black-tipped orange-red horns poking out of impossibly precise intervals between each, all three choking out thick, tar-colored smoke. It was easily at least a hundred and a quarter meters in length, with four taller masts of brown a sixth of the way into the main structure from each end and each other that stood at least twice as tall as each horn. Its belly was a black robbed from the night sky, and its sides an unnaturally pale white.
In her mind, there was a sort of peace, one in knowing that at least the color palette was something vaguely similar to something she’d known, though of no modernity in nature, far far more of a novelty best left for the libraries and the museums. Except, it was a useful piece of the puzzle and a rather large part too. Clicking the button again, she’d capture yet more liveliness from the beast, confused miniature ants streaming from every interior nook who all came out to stare or wave at their flying craft, dozens if not hundreds of tiny, gray-brown almost amorphous blobs moving around on the floating city. One recognizably pointed at them.
Everyone who saw it; pilots and herself, was in awe that couldn’t be described. Such a foreign, like what Armstrong must’ve felt on the landing of Eagle, or Cook to Terra Nullis; they were explorers now, discoverers, even with whatever garbage their higher-ups fed them on what the mission was really about. Envoys, ambassadors, of modern humanity to whomever these people were.
She snapped whole megabytes of high-quality pictures of the ship in its entirety, finger never kept away from the button.
The crew would offer toasts and praises, not now for they were in an understood silence as they simply watched with mouths agape, but maybe for later when they returned. All of the aircrew of Weasel stood still at that moment. All three pilots’ attention was severed from their equipment and ahead, supreme trust put toward their heading being correct. The crew in the rear had all clamored and clambered over each other to whichever window let them see the smallest of sections of the beast.
As they continued past, she caught shots of its ensign, the first hung from the second mast from the front, and another hung from the very stern. Both streamed a white, red-dipped fly-endwise flag. The details were fuzzy, but within the border was a large, black design, only barely visible, sat comfortably within the bounds of the canton - a dome-like shape with triangular points coming from each end. Easily, she’d snapped up at least three clear photos of the ensign, or clear enough, and fifteen or so of the liner itself.
But the ensign. That feeling of comfort from the palette had been so quickly swatted away just as it had come like a mosquito was to a normal human. The flags were a reminder, nay, the nail in the coffin of any notion that they were anywhere vaguely familiar. An alien design, one which was destitute of any earthen symbology. Not so overt as a portal, yet not so subtle as a differently designed vehicle, not to her, at least.
Slowly, the ship departed their view.
Although by this point, it had become clear their mission was less so a military reconnaissance mission as it was shooting for that American monthly ‘As It Is.’ The landscape was one bereft of any reality yet still grounded in a world they’d known, skies a light baby blue seemingly untouched by any polluting chemicals they’d poured into their own back on Earth, and the pure azure of the seas unfilled by any plastics so carelessly dumped. Instead, the skies were blanketed by fair, wispy clouds, and in the deep blue the shadows of enormous schools of fish were just visible to the eye. She thought it to be beautiful. A paradise, even, though devoid of any migratory birds thus far.
She had felt her balance drain over time, probably thanks to her being squatted down the entire time, and with a tensed posture to boot.
The deafening silence, and her thoughts, were broken by a strongly Japanese-accented English, “Steer one-eight-niner, maintain present angels, saunter.” She pulled herself backward and looked back into the cabin, the short navigator sat with a contrastingly large and monochrome radar screen in front of him, triangles, contours, and symbols on it flashing closer to the center.
“Roger, steer one-eight-niner, maintain present angels, saunter.” The pilot’s response followed shortly after, with crackled hints in her headset that made understanding either of them more than difficult. Yet, it was a welcome difficulty, the high-pitched whir of the aircraft’s propellors being drowned out for just a moment - the same whir that she’d heard for the past hour. Who they spoke to, she couldn’t tell—either one of the other flights they’d somehow kept in contact with, meaning they were somewhat close by, or by some miracle still with Okinawa who she was sure was at least a hundred miles away already.
She’d watch the pilot move his left hand back and his right to the left, the former rested on the throttle and the latter on the joystick. Their mechanical dragon obeyed the command as her propellors’ noise gradually decreased in intensity, and rocked toward its port side, keeping the angle for a few seconds as it pivoted over the stretch of seemingly endless water a single angel below.
Looking down, she’d catch sight of a large flock of short-tailed shearwaters, or whatever equivalent there was, and at least a few miles out. Probably the exact thing the radar operator had pointed out ten minutes or so ago. It was amazing—new life not only of different, fresh peoples but also of a great new variety in flora and fauna that was probably endless. She snapped a couple of photographs of them with giddy excitement.
It took her a good few minutes to become so, but finally bored, the ship and birds long gone by then with no other things of interest to photograph, she’d peer over the shoulder of one of the pilots. With a good view from out the cockpit window, there was the azure of the sky and sea which blended together. And finally, there was land on the horizon.