CHAPTER 22: "Intervention on the Way"
The rhythmic passage of our submarines through the Pacific Ocean was a dance of stealth and strategic ambition. Our convoy of vessels, entrenched in their clandestine mission, had detached four units to seize the Hawaiian and Midway Islands. These were not just islands but pivotal outposts intended for the establishment of reconnaissance stations, our sentinels against any impending movements by the Global Occult Coalition (GOC). Within the metallic hull of the submarine, life was a relentless cycle of operational precision and an anticipation tinged with unease.
To stave off the creeping monotony of underwater existence, I immersed myself in a novel gifted by my comrade, Kiriyama. It was one of those rare treasures that anchored me amidst the silent chaos, as the vessel subtly navigated beneath the ocean's surface, edging closer to Siam. Around me, the crew shifted in perpetual motion, the air buzzing with their efforts to cloak us from the potential menace of enemy destroyers. Despite their tireless dedication, an air of unspoken vulnerability lingered—a whisper of trepidation among the hiss of the ocean's embrace.
My curiosity piqued by the rumbling undertow, I found myself inching toward the captain's cabin. To query our progress seemed a small reprieve from the vastness of water and time stretching infinitely before us. The ocean was a formidable presence, its vastness a reminder of the journey looming ahead. The tranquility of the depths held till we neared Formosa Island—an island under the dominion of the Republic of Nihon—where serenity abruptly gave way to chaos.
A series of explosive depth charges intruded on our subdued voyage. Demanding our immediate compliance, the Nihon forces hailed their warnings across the airwaves, their intentions clear and formidable.
"MOTHERFUCKER!?" barked a crewman, his voice edged with the strain of an unanticipated assault.
Another charge followed, a ruthless blow that rendered our radar and sonar impotent, leaving us adrift in blind vulnerability. As we executed emergency maneuvers to surface, Nihon destroyers encircled us, towering with flags unfurled—a potent symbol of their supremacy. In swift, methodical strikes, raiders descended onto our deck, breaching the vestige of our defensive lines.
Escorted from the confines of our craft, I was ushered into the presence of the captain. His steel-eyed scrutiny assessed us, his demeanor as harsh and unyielding as the Type 67 Nambu Pistol poised in his grip. An imposing emblem, its presence alone spoke volumes of Otomode Kirisaki Corp's technological might. Identifying my Korean heritage amid the crew, his gaze shifted, a silent verdict passed with chilling efficiency as he meted out execution to my comrades.
Execution was swift, each shot an exclamatory end punctuating their existence. The echoes resounded, a stark testament to the finality of a life cast aside. Their bodies discarded with an indifferent shove into the abyss, the captain turned his attention upon me. In Korean, his words mangled fate and choice. "Your life hangs by a thread. You may return home to your loved ones or be executed here."
Before I could process the ultimatum, a swift strike left me spiraling into unconsciousness—a merciless descent into oblivion. Muffled by darkness, plans to eradicate our submarine flittered through the haze of my fading awareness.
Back in Sector Bacardi, anticipation for my reports simmered into anxiety, my silence a troubling omen. At Sector Bacardi, the lack of updates fomented a decision—a new submarine dispatched to uncover my fate. Among those deployed was Kiriyama, her resolve unwavering, bearing the weight of duty and allegiance.
Kiriyama stood at Sector Bacardi, a definitive figure silhouetted against the dawn of departure. Her mission promised peril and allegiances stretched thin, as Emperor Takamatsu's unstable peace faced inner dissonance. The Tensei-to and Gun-kai-domei-to's factions wrestled for dominance, their political intrigue poised to destabilize national harmony.
As 2034 burgeoned, the specter of elections threw fuel on a simmering conflict—the Holy War propagated by the GOC. Gun-kai rose within this tumult, leveraging ideological discord to their favor, holding 100 seats against Tensei-to's dominant 350 and nudging neutral parties to the periphery of power.
The stakes were high; the sway of Gun-kai among nationalists foreshadowed inevitable conflict. Kiriyama embarked on her mission with precision, her aim laser-focused on supporting Tensei-To—an endeavor with the potential to preserve fragile peace. Powerful allies like the Hunter Foundations Cooperation (HFC) held keys to a future mitigated from chaos.
Setting sail toward Formosa, Kiriyama's plan may hold the key to unbinding Han Min from the shadowy grasp of An'ei Kenkyu Kyoku. By fate's design, the trajectories of Kiriyama and Han Min held a promise veiled by uncertainty—their futures entwined by the restless tides.
To be continued...