Anomaly Ch. 66 (Patreon)

“I'm calling it - we're officially in the deepest pile of shit I've ever had the displeasure of stepping in.” Itami announced to the rest of the Third Recon team. Kuribayashi was splayed out on a seat near them, Kurokawa was starting to look like she was about to join her. Kurata’s face was closer to a man twenty years his senior compared to the fresh faced driver that Itami had met before.

At least Kuwahara and Tomita were both taking things better. Even if they just looked like it and weren't internally screaming at themselves.

Much like how Itami was, to be honest.

“Ignorance really is bliss, isn't it?” Kuribayashi was slightly muffled from cupping her face with her hands, but it came out clear enough that Itami had no problem understanding her.

And really, she wasn't wrong.

The reinforcements from Albus had arrived with the appropriate flair for dramatics. That is to say, all of the locals had screamed and panicked at the sight of ‘metal birds spewing out men in green'. Their words, not his. Thankfully, Komakado had successfully calmed down his people - after his translator stopped panicking herself - and that had a knock on effect that everyone else slowly started to settle down.

As of right now, in some twist of fate, Itami was put in charge of the entire operation. Apparently, Hazama had deemed him, him, an appropriate field commander for the massive amount of firepower that had been brought to bear.

No less than seven attack helicopters, along with three transports, were included in the reinforcements. No matter what Emiya had told them, Itami would have said it was overkill. Especially when he was in charge of every single one!

That wasn't mentioning that, astonishingly, the civilian government had quickly come to a consensus with the slave situation of the Empire. Itami didn't know the politics involved enough to be certain, but there had to be some greased hands to get the declaration through as fast as they did.

What was the declaration you may ask? Nothing much. Just that the JSDF would be involved in a peacekeeping mission that would involve the search and rescue of Japanese citizens held as slaves. Oh, it's going to involve taking the fight to the Empire’s capital?

You know, the Empire that has magic and shit. And dragons. And random monsters from whatever fantasy novel or movie Itami could think of. Again, nothing much.

At least their side had the elves, and the two walking nuclear bombs. Fat Man and Little Boy. Except he wouldn't call them that in their faces cause he was a hundred percent sure that that scary as all hell woman would turn his innards into outtards.

“Itami,” The oldest of their group, Kuwahara, spoke up, “As much as I agree that the civilians need to be rescued, I must disagree with the methods that the Diet is proposing. This sounds too much like a breach of Article 9.”

“Don’t get me wrong, old man.” Itami rubbed his hand against his face as he felt the weight of responsibility that really shouldn’t have been on his shoulders, “I really do get what you’re going with, except that the Diet is saying that this Special Region is fully within Japan’s borders, so this is an ‘internal’ matter to them. Quotes are very much needed there, by the by.”

Kuwahara clicked his tongue in disapproval, though he didn’t voice out any more complaints. Even though Itami was leading the force they had now, that didn’t mean that he had a say in anything that the Diet wanted. That meant that, however distasteful as the methods may be, they were still soldiers that needed to follow the plan, whoever’s plan it was.

That this was all becoming reminiscent of Japan’s own imperial ambitions decades ago made it all the more bitter.

“Good soldiers follow orders.” Itami mirthlessly laughed. He felt like he had been doing that a lot lately.  

The heavy silence that followed his morbid joke was deafening, save for the rhythmic, mechanical thrum of the portable generators outside. Itami stared at the laminated topographical map spread across the folding table. The red line marking their intended route to the Imperial capital glared back at him like an open wound.

Kuribayashi scoffed from her corner, finally dropping her hands from her face. Her eyes were bloodshot, reflecting a volatile mix of exhaustion and adrenaline, "They're treating a continent filled with dragons and elf militias like an uprising in Okinawa. The suits in Tokyo have completely lost their minds."

"Maybe." Tomita chimed in, adjusting his tactical vest, "But the politicians aren't the ones who have to stare down heavily armored wyverns. We are. So, how are we playing this, Lieutenant?"

Itami rubbed his temples, "We play it by the book. Or at least, the book as it applies to fantasy warfare."

"Seriously?" Kurata exclaimed from his spot, "No offense, Itami-san, but we'd just get in the way of Emiya and his...she’s his boss, right?"

“Yep.” Itami shrugged, “And try telling that to the suits. Hazama’s been telling them the same things we’ve seen, and I’m pretty sure that they all think it’s a bunch of bullshit.”

“That vampire guy’s been saying it’s all real though!”

And wasn’t that a line of reasoning that didn’t feel real? While Itami didn’t have too much of an interest in news from back home - often because he didn’t have the time nor the will to do so - people that did would have stories to tell.

As the head of the Third Recon team, he was privy to a lot of gossip in between official marching orders. For example, that Zelretch guy that Emiya worked for, who wasn’t his boss but was still one of his bosses(?), had been on a roll with TV appearances, performances, and everything in between. Literal hundreds of thousands had seen him perform his magic live, as if he was doing it just for the hell of it.

Anecdotes from Emiya’s performance as an Enforcer had given the other man a lot of public fame and infamy alike. Many thought that he was some sort of super spy like from those British movies, others called him out as a terrorist that was being supported by a cabal of shadow organizations in order to strike at their perceived political rivals.

Unfortunately, the latter was somewhat true, as Zelretch would also call out certain powerful individuals, billionaires and whatnot, as nobles of the Mage’s Association. Nobles that could, theoretically, call in so-called Sealing Designations against whoever they ‘suspected’ as going against the principles of secrecy. That those people would also be their enemies would be pushed under the rug.

That reveal had led to a global purge against corruption, but mostly paranoia, as several groups of conspiracy theorists had been proven right for once.

“If the conspiracy theorists turn out to have been right about lizard people next, I’m quitting.” Kurata muttered, burying his face in his hands.

The line between science fiction, dark fantasy, and what was real had completely dissolved the moment they stepped through the Gate. Or rather, when the Gate’s people met them. So much so that the laugh died in his throat before it could form. He swallowed, and the dryness in his mouth scraped like sandpaper against his palate. 

‘Quitting. Right. As if that was an option.’ Even if he could quit, he probably wouldn’t have. As lazy as he could admittedly be, he still had a sense of moral duty to the people that he could rescue. Especially after having been at Ginza on that very first day.

A dull ache had settled behind his left eye as Itami pressed the heel of his palm against his brow, grinding the bone until the pain sharpened into something he could focus on. The map blurred and refocused.

"Kurata." Itami voiced out, tone coming across as no nonsense for once, "Get me a comms check with the transport pilots. I want to know if they've got eyes on the approach route from altitude."

Kurata jerked upright, the motion too fast - his spine cracking audibly as he straightened. A wince flickered across his face, there and gone, but his hands were already moving to his radio. Good. The kid still had function, even if he was running on fumes.

Kurokawa hadn't moved from her slumped position against the tent pole. He felt apologetic to the medic, but they would have time to rest one things calmed down. Hopefully.

Kuribayashi didn't deserve his pity.

Kuwahara had shifted to the tent's entrance, arms crossed, jaw tight with deep shadows under his cheekbones, the cords of his neck standing out like cables. He was staring at the sky, or maybe at nothing. 

"Old man." Itami said, trying to get some levity back into step, "Stop brooding. You'll give yourself an ulcer."

Kuwahara's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, "I've had one since 1997. This is just seasoning."

Ha! At least he still had a sense of humor!

Itami let the brief moment of levity settle, then exhaled through his nose. He caught Kuwahara's eye and jerked his head toward the tent flap. A silent question. Kuwahara answered with a single, almost imperceptible nod.

"Alright, listen up." Itami clapped his hands together, the sound sharp and final, "Tomita, get some rack time. You're no good to anyone running on fumes. Kuribayashi, Kurokawa, same goes. I'll tell Kurata the same once he comes back, so no need to bother. I want fresh eyes on the morning shift. That's an order."

Kuribayashi opened her mouth, probably to argue, but Itami held up a hand. The exhaustion in her face warred with the stubborn set of her jaw. She lost. She pushed herself upright with a grunt, and Kurokawa followed, moving like she was wading through water.

"Fine." Kuribayashi muttered, shuffling past him, "But if a dragon shows up before sunrise, I'm waking you first."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

The tent flap fell shut behind them. The portable generator's hum filled the silence, low and mechanical, the only thing keeping the darkness at bay.

Itami waited until the footsteps receded, then turned to Kuwahara. The older man hadn't moved from his spot near the entrance, arms still crossed, jaw still tight. But his eyes had shifted, no longer staring at nothing, but fixed on Itami with a weight that made the lieutenant's stomach tighten.

"You wanted to talk." Itami said. Not a question.

Kuwahara's mouth pressed into a thin line, "You're going to have to file a report on what happened out there."

"I have to." Itami moved to the folding table, palms flat against the map's scarred surface. The red line to the capital seemed to pulse under his fingertips, "The Diet wants updates. Hazama wants updates. Everyone wants to know why an entire Imperial army is now a crater and who exactly is responsible."

"And what are you going to tell them?"

Itami's jaw worked. He could feel the words forming, the official sanitized version that would go up the chain. Friendly allied assets engaged hostile forces. Enemy combatants neutralized. Zero JSDF casualties. All technically true.

"The truth." He said, and the word tasted bitter, "As much of it as I can. That Lady Barthomeloi took out the enemy vanguard. That she's affiliated with Emiya's organization. That she's not under our command and never will be."

The problem is that she had gotten through the Gate itself. By herself, if the scattered rumors that he had picked up had any merit. Somehow, a foreign woman who had the power to glass entire armies had walked through the entire Japanese Defense Force without anyone batting an eye.

That was a serious breach of security if he had seen one. Or corruption.

Either way, filing that report would have inevitably leaked to the public. Military secrecy was like a very fine sieve - it catches a lot, but that just makes whatever passes through either extremely minor, or heavy enough that it breaks the sieve entirely.

Lorelei Barthomeloi's presence was the latter.

This reeked of the manipulations of that Zelretch guy. No matter what he may look like, portraying himself as some kindly old man, Itami had seen enough politicking to realize that that was nothing more than a facade that he would easily break had he the chance to do so.

And that was what worried him. Because Emiya knew this. Emiya knew about that Matou, his plans, and a hell of a lot more than he let on. With all of the secrets that the Enforcer kept, Itami wasn't sure if he could trust him any more than he could throw him.

The enemy of my enemy...is still my enemy. For now though, they had to focus on the bigger, more substantial threat. Cause from what he understood from the underlying context, if that Matou guy was successful, everyone here was as good as dead.

…

A/N: The chapter number just really made me want to reference star wars, sorry.