7. An Unexpected Journey

Okay, I want to start by saying sorry. This month was rough, well, not really rough just busy. New gun (my first AR15 post-Marine Corps haha), work being a bitch, and a lot of other IRL stuff.

I want to take a moment and say something that I probably say all the time. You guys are awesome, no, seriously. The feedback is great and I'm glad I can give you a story you enjoy. There's a couple of you with usernames I recognize. Time flies huh? Well, I'm glad you and I can do this again.

But enough sentimental shit, back to the story!

An Unexpected Journey

"Being ready is not what matters. What matters is winning after you get there."

Lieutenant General Victor H. Krulak, USMC, April 1965

WEEKS AFTER INITIAL INCURSION, 0800 HOURS SPECIAL REGION TIME, CAMP ALNUS MOTOR POOL

"Fffuck."

Kincaid grumbled to himself and jolted upright from yet another bad dream. The weeks leading up till now had been filled with restless nights, not just for Kincaid, but for many other troops as well. The Corpsmen and other medical personnel chalked it up as "transdimensional bends" a side effect from traveling through the gate. That or the mounting levels of stress stemming from a kill count stretching into the high thousands.

Kincaid glanced around a few times as his sleep-deprived brain tried to make sense of where he was. As his consciousness returned, so too did familiar sensations. A chorus of snoring, the telltale smell of a small interior filled with Marines in various states of hygiene. Home sweet home, or rather, as homely as a climate-controlled tent could get.

Reassured he wasn't still fighting off hordes of fanatics and their monster auxiliaries, Kincaid sighed and relaxed his hold on the pistol grip of his M4.

Christ, I need to get the hell out of this shit.

Kincaid yawned and looked around the spacious tent. Rows of olive drabbed cots sat evenly spaced at opposite sides of the tent walls. Atop said cots, and hidden behind makeshift wooden shelves, sat brown lumps of military-grade fabric. Each held sleeping, snoring tankers in various states of undress. Affectionately named the "hooch", this had been the Marines' lodging for the past couple of weeks and it was a welcome sight after long days.

Resigning himself to the fate of no further sleep, Kincaid raised his arms and stretched. Once the popping of overworked joints subsided, Kincaid shuffled out of his sleeping bag and reached around his workspace for his trusty PT gear. Nothing broke up stress like a good run and Kincaid was long in need of some physical exertion. He shifted around his cot and let his legs dangle off the side, taking care not to nudge the sleeping hulk nearby.

Wilkes, no trusty loader ever strayed too far away from his gunner, that, and Kincaid made for a good night companion to chat with.

Sleep well, you big lummox.

Wandering hands eventually found their way towards the top of an assault pack and paused as a foreign object collided with outstretched fingers. An arrow shaft, the old projectile jutted out of Kincaid's pack and served as a memoir to a brave enemy leader who had made that one in a million shot. In the dark and at the front of his decimated army no less.

It would have been the stuff of legends had he not been vaporized by some vengeful Japanese tank. Kincaid let go of the arrow in silent contemplation. Perhaps that madman was still alive, nobody in the platoon ever confirmed the kill. Letting the memory pass, Kincaid fumbled through his pack and fetched his rolled-up gear. A crumpled olive drab shirt, a beat-up MP3 player, and some worn-out shoes. Kincaid donned his gear, slowly got up from his cot, and entered the cool Special Region air outside the tent.

Kincaid looked around and took a deep satisfying breath. Beyond the tall HESCO* barriers and various vehicles of the motor pool sat a world untainted, so far, by technology. One that offered beautiful weather for running in. As for the base, well, that was a different story.

The Camp Alnus Motor Pool, a little slice of familiarity in an alien world. Not as comfortable as the Marines' lodgings back stateside, but they made due.

Camo netting stretched low and provided ample shade over various tables and chairs scattered haphazardly. Next to the side of the hooch sat a large white container that hummed as exterior fans continued to spin; a refrigerator unit or "Reefer" as it was affectionately called. This was where the Marines kept all their cooled drinks. Water, protein shakes and Kincaid's coveted energy drinks, the Marines had everything they needed to stay hydrated and otherwise. Mounted to the side of the Reefer was a large whiteboard. This was typically where important information could be found, including daily tasks, QRF* and guard shift rotations, even silly drawings and kill tallies, because Marines couldn't be trusted with anything.

Today's "doodles" consisted of cartoon tanks running over stick figures. Kincaid chuckled at the works of art and started to get his stretches in. That is until a familiar voice called out to him.

"Advance and be recognized or I'll fucking shooting yer' stupid ass."

"You couldn't hit the broadside of a fucking barn Reeves." Kincaid's expression turned flat as he turned to look at one of the tanks that was parked nearby. There, sitting on the side of the front slope, sat Lance Corporal Tanner Reeves, a slightly portly Texan of browner complexion. He served as the loader for Captain Aldritch's tank and was also a well-known history buff and certified purveyor of all things retro or otherwise lesser-known. The Texan was layered up under thick coyote brown cold-weather gear and cradling an M4 across his lap.

Reeves chuckled and raised his thick caterpillar eyebrows from behind heavy framed glasses. "Going for a run? I thought you hated runs."

"I do." Kincaid responded matter-of-factly.

"So then why are you going?"

Kincaid began stretching his knees, wincing at each snap and pop. "Because I fucking feel like it."

"Or you can't sleep." Reeves spat out a wad of dip.

"Naw! How'd you know?" Kincaid gasped in fake astonishment.

"Shit, nobody can. I mean, how can you after all this." Reeves waved a hand around in an exaggerated manner. "This, shit."

"I try not to think about it too much, but yeah." Kincaid reached down and touched his toes. "It's pretty wild stuff."

"You read that book I loaned you? The one with the WW2 tankers?"

"Yeah, good stuff. Have you attempted letting the Japanese read it?" Kincaid groaned as he contorted his body into another stretch. "I'm sure they'd love the Pacific memoirs."

"Gee ya think?" Reeves shot a glance across the motor pool towards the line of Type 74 tanks arranged similarly to the M1s. The squat teal-colored tanks were nowhere near as capable as the Abrams, but they got the job done. One of the Japanese tankers paused from fussing about with some radio equipment atop his tank and waved back at the Marines, a gesture that was promptly returned.

"Nah, they've got enough to worry about with their crap tanks and all." Reeves chuckled. "Well, if you're going on a run I'll be sure to mark the board. Just make sure you don't stray too long, I hear we got some sort of something going on today."

"Something such as?" Kincaid raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"The leave the base and go look for trouble kind." Reeves shrugged. "Maaaybe go explore, I dunno~."

"Great, more ghost chases." Kincaid scoffed as he slipped his earbuds in and started his workout playlist. "I won't be gone long, you know I don't go far."

"Of course, you don't. Not unless there's a chow hall or cosplay convention on the other end, fucking weeb." Reeves chuckled.

Kincaid rolled his eyes and fastened his shoelaces. "That's still a hell of a lot farther than you mister I can't stand a slight drop in temperature." Kincaid pointed at Reeve's stomach. "You'd think that beer gut of yours would provide ample insulation."

"Maan fuck off." Reeves stuck a middle finger out at a now smiling Kincaid. Satisfied he had won the verbal battle of wits, Kincaid took off running down the base's winding paths.

CAMP ALNUS COMBAT OPERATIONS CENTER

"Recon mission? Nani?!"

Itami frantically looked at the paperwork then back at the disgruntled adjutant sitting behind a desk. Lieutenant Akira Yanagida, a known smooth talker and General Hazama's lackey, one of the biggest thorns in Itami's side since the deployment began. The officer's appearance oozed with a suave almost arrogant demeanor: styled jet black hair, designer glasses, a uniform that was crisp and taken care of. He had the appearance of a man that meant business and knew how to get things done.

He was everything Itami wasn't and Yanagida knew this, made it his purpose to remind Itami whenever he could. How the two were even on speaking terms was anyone's guess and various command staff around the makeshift COC* glanced at the two officers inquisitively.

"Yes lieutenant, a recon mission. This is coming straight from the top." Yanagida leaned back in his chair and interlocked his fingers. "We need to map out the area and get a feel for the terrain if we're going to operate any further than Alnus."

"Can't the Marines handle it? Short-range drones? Air support?" Itami replied with just the faintest hint of melancholy in his voice.

"Seriously Youji? You know damn well we're still trying to get the airfield up." Yanagida pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose. "The Marines are handling it, but that doesn't mean we have to sit here and let them do all our work. This is our operation just as much as it is theirs and we are not going to sit back and look like a bunch of amateurs." Yanagida's tangent caused his glasses to drop down his nose again and the officer was quick to readjust them. "You'll be one of many teams, help won't be far behind I assure you."

Yanagida leaned back forward and over his desk. "As for the drones, we only have but so many and they're short range. They lack all the sensors and field of view for map building. More importantly." Yanagida's tone lowered. "They're hardly the tool we need for trying to talk to the locals."

"Locals? You mean there's actual villages and habitation nearby?" Itami raised an eyebrow and slipped all the paperwork back into the manilla folder. "I thought the entire area was abandoned."

"Oh, now you're interested. Of course, bring up the chance to indulge in his strange hobbies and Youji Itami is all for it." Yanagida scoffed. "Yes, there are civilians in the area. We thought the buildup of military forces and subsequent power vacuum would scare off anyone nearby." The adjutant shrugged. "Apparently, they're too stupid to get the hint."

"So go out there, scope the area out and conduct hearts and minds?"

"Yes, precisely. We're not going to make any leeway here if we don't learn about where we are and who lives here." Yanagida replied matter of factly. "Itami, it's a page right out of the American playbook. Just without all the child soldiers and bombs on houses."

Itami redonned his service cap. "Well, that explains the language books we just got issued."

"Yes, and I hope you've been studying." Yanagida tidied up the top of his desk. "Otherwise, all you need to know is in that folder. You'll be assigned to Recon Team 3. Everything else is on your shoulders."

"On my shoulders?" Itami responded quizzically.

"Yes, you're going to have a great deal of freedom in how you can carry out this mission. So make your country proud, Mister 'Hero of Ginza'." Yanagida smirked. "You have that Ranger qualification, put it to good use."

Itami sighed and nodded. "Roger, I'll go prep. I can handle this."

"Let's hope." Yanagida returned his attention to the mountains of paperwork as Itami took his leave.

Itami sighed in relief as he exited the stuffy interior of the tent. It was beginning to hit midday which meant the sun was now high in the crystal clear sky. It cast a warm glow that lifted the officer's spirits despite the bad news he received earlier.

Well, who knows what's out there. Maybe we'll discover something fun, see some cute girls or something.

Emboldened by the beautiful weather, Itami adjusted the sling for his rifle and set out towards his dormitory. Despite the weather being nice, base life was another matter of its own. Armored vehicles rumbled down cramped dusty roads bordered by HESCO barriers as they set off to parts unknown. Engineers hunched behind hungry generators and toiled away with various appliances.

There were even a few helicopters that were able to get some flight time in. Itami covered his ears and looked skyward as a few American gunships flew low over the base. Bringing in air support was a tedious process that involved moving the frames in via truck through the gate. Thankfully, American logistics moved fast and the helicopters themselves were relatively compact enough to shuttle in. The larger airframes and fast air were a different story, however. Those would have to be shipped in halves.

Camp Alnus was an ongoing process, but once the combat engineers got moving they got moving. What had once been a gaggle of Japanese and American troops in the middle of nowhere quickly became a massive star-shaped fortress complex with a nearly completed airfield. All in a matter of weeks too.

Itami continued to watch the helicopters fly by, his mind going blank as he got lost in his thoughts.

"Hey, hey sir! Look out!"

"N-nani?"

Itami's attention snapped just as a foreign voice called out to him and plunged his world into spinning chaos. When his senses came to he found himself face to face with a sweaty younger male Marine of brown complexion.

"Gotta be more careful sir, Motor T* guys are a bunch of reckless yokels." The Marine let go of Itami's shoulder and pointed at a humvee that sped off past them. "Dude almost ran you over."

"Oh, ah, thank-you." Itami responded shakily. His English wasn't the best, but it was good enough. Certainly better than the proficiency what few Americans had speaking Japanese. Itami ensured all of his gear was still on before getting a better look at his would-be rescuer.

It was the same Marine tanker he had seen numerous times during his deployment. The same one reading his comics and sitting atop his tank, cigarette in hand. The Marine recognized Itami as well, and no sooner did he get a better look at the officer he snapped his fingers. "Oh hey, I think I've seen you a couple of times. Didn't we hold down that one area a few days ago? You know, when that Ogre Warband tried to get rowdy with us?"

The Marine put a finger under his chin. "Yeah, I'm good with faces sir, I recognize you. Funny how we keep running into each other."

"Yes that was my platoon, we were very thankful for your support...uh." Itami looked around the Marine for any form of identification. "Your name?"

"Corporal Jasper Kincaid, Second Tanks Charlie Company. Headquarters Platoon." Years of constantly drilled etiquette forced the Marine to almost go to the position of attention, but Itami stopped him with a raised hand. "Don't worry about that, I'm uh...how do you say it?"

Itami raised an eyebrow. "Not that sort of guy?"

"Oh, sorry, just a force of habit...Lieutenant." The Marine squinted at the name tapes on Itami's uniform. "Man I'm probably gonna butcher this...Lieutenant Itami?"

Itami couldn't help but clap, perhaps not all Marines were thick-skulled. "Very good! You can read Japanese?"

"No, there's just an English name tape on your uniform." Kincaid pointed to the right of Itami's chest.

The Japanese officer looked down and almost facepalmed. Sure enough, there was a name tape with his full name and rank. The JSDF had started issuing them out to the troops in an attempt to help bridge the language barrier.

"Ah...whoops." Itami chuckled and rubbed the back of his head. "I often forget we have those."

"No worries, I half expected our brass to start issuing out name tapes for us in Japanese, but eh you know." Kincaid shrugged, "The green weenie and all that shit."

"We-weenie? Brass? I don't." Itami cocked his head to the side in confusion. "I don't understand? Nani?"

"Ah shit, probably doesn't translate well." Kincaid curled his lips. "Yeah, basically the Marine Corps sucks and the budget sucks even harder. The Marine Corps likes to fuck us over so we consider it a metaphorical "green", you know."

Itami's now raised eyebrow indicated the Japanese officer still had no idea what Kincaid meant.

"They fuck us over?" Kincaid started making suggestive motions with his fingers. "Like getting fucked in the ass? Green is the military? A dick?"

"Oh!" Itami laughed with a lot more enthusiasm than Kincaid was expecting. "That is pretty funny! I will have to tell my men that one, we don't have a saying like that in the JSDF."

Confused as to how that could be, Kincaid simply shrugged. "Yeah, put it in your hip pocket, it's for you."

Another confused expression from Itami urged the Marine to drop the lingo and stick to the basics. "We'll work on it. Oh, and speaking of working." Kincaid looked around nervously. "How uh, how do I get back to the American sector? I might have made a couple of wrong turns."

"Oh, that's easy." Itami looked down the makeshift road and pointed at an intersection towards the end. "Just go down there and make a left."

"Oh." Kincaid furrowed his brow. "Well, shit. I wonder how I fucked that up. Ah well."

The Marine extended a hand. "I'd love to stay and chat but I gotta head back. Supposed to be some sort of mission or something today."

Itami extended his own and gave the Marine's a few firm shakes. "Likewise, it was good to meet you, Corporal Kincaid. Perhaps I'll see your tanks out there?"

"Hey, we're pretty popular, probably." Kincaid slipped one of his earbuds back in and started walking back towards the intersection. "Just yell for Horseman over the radio, we'll be your huckleberry!"

"My what?!" Itami responded, confused.

"Figure of speech, we'll work on it!" The Marine turned around before dashing towards the intersection and away from view.

Once again alone, Itami thought upon the encounter and smiled.

"Ah, they're not so bad."

The officer watched as a few American LAVs grumbled down the road past him. Each one was festooned with a variety of "colorful" flags and assorted motivational slang stenciled on their fat sides.

"Well, for an organization of killers." The officer shook his head and continued his journey.

1100 HOURS CAMP ALNUS MOTOR POOL

"Alright, gentlemen. Sit kneel stand because I'm only going over this once."

Aldritch stood in front of his platoon and held a small purple book high for his Marines to see. Everyone had already geared up, the rumor of a mission now well and truly confirmed. The tanks were already prepped and ready to go. Now to make sure the men were in the same state of readiness. The Marines stood in various states of posture, some sat, some knelt and some stood. Almost all of them were smoking and they each held onto the same book Aldritch had. A few of them, including a curious Kincaid, had even managed the difficult process of actually trying to read the book too. Well, difficult for Marines.

"This right here is going to be your most powerful weapon moving forward into this deployment." Aldritch bought the book down and pointed at the faded cover. "More important than any other asset we can bring to bear."

The officer looked at the book and then back at his Marines. "Language, the gap that stands between all cultures. Luckily, someone with higher education than us was able to crack the code."

"So, don't use it as field-expedient shit paper, sir?" Elton chuckled from within the formation. "Shit, you know half my crew can't read to save their lives."

The rest of the platoon erupted into tired laughter with several other Marines offering their own less than colorful commentary.

Hicks waited for Aldritch to give him the visual cue that enough was enough before he took charge. "Alright, stow it or we're doing 30-minute guard rotations."

The laughter skidded to an abrupt halt, nobody wanted to challenge the platoon sergeant's threat.

Aldritch tucked the book into a pouch on the front of his plate carrier. "I get it. We're tankers, search and destroy slay bodies oorah am I right?"

A few affirmative grunts and "yuts" from the platoon responded in kind.

"Thing is, there isn't always going to be a time for all of that. There may come a time where you'll need to interact with the locals, communicate with POWs." Aldritch raised an eyebrow. "My Afghan and Iraq veterans know what I'm talking about."

Kincaid and a select few other Marines nodded. They knew the routine better than anyone else.

"These are strange times Marines, and we need to be ready for any eventuality. So humor me here, take a few hours in between road marches to read. Understand who we're dealing with."

Aldritch leaned back against the front slope of his nearby tank. "With the firepower we have, we're practically gods to these people, but that doesn't mean you need to act like it. Remind them that we're still human."

Hicks looked at his CO indicating that he wanted to piggyback off his superior's message. His request was quietly granted with a nod.

"CO's right. You guys know me, I'm down for throwing hands with anyone anytime and anywhere." Hicks spit some dip out into the dirt beneath his boots. "But you gotta know when to hold those punches, no better friend and no worse enemy."

Hicks stood next to Aldrtich and folded his arms.

"So as we go out to conduct QRF keep that in mind. Our job is to rebuke whatever the hell this world throws at the outgoing recon teams."

Hicks nodded back at Aldritch indicating that he said his piece. With the floor now his, Aldritch took over.

"There's going to be three Recon Teams, each tasked to a different area. RCT1, RCT2, and RCT3 respectively. Their frequencies can be found on the laminated sheets I passed out earlier."

Elton paused from scribbling in his notepad. "Sir, do we know if they can even speak English at all? Going to be a hell of a tough time maintaining comms if we can't understand them."

"As far as I know, yes." Aldritch responded affirmingly. "These are all handpicked teams based on their skill sets and the Japanese have assured us that there should be minimal issues with coordination."

"So, what about their tanks?" Kincaid gestured back towards the dormant Type 74s across from the motor pool. "74's should be adequate for the job. Why not have them on QRF?"

"Yeah, but the same can't be said for the men inside." Hicks replied. "There's a lot of legalese going on with where and when the Japanese can deploy their assets. We're the right ones for the job." The sergeant spit some more dip out. "Simple as."

"There's good word they might even send some of their heavier assets back too, but don't quote me on that." Aldritch piggybacked. "Just know that it's easier for us to take the lead over here."

Their questions answered, the Marines went back to paying attention to their platoon commander.

"Mike 88, Doc. I want you here. We'll let you know if we need any repairs, Rhino is on standby to escort you and an LVSR should we need resupply."

"Rog." Muldoon responded. "Just don't get stuck in a shit-filled ditch again. I don't need a repeat of two nights ago."

A collective series of groans ushered forth from within the platoon. Nobody wanted to deal with another tank-throwing track during combat ops. The mental image of goblins being thrown off a rapidly spinning tank turret was still burned into the minds of many.

Next to Muldoon, a caucasian man with ridiculously large issued spectacles and an even larger physique closed his notebook. Doc Carson, a sailor of few words and the Corpsman of the platoon. Good with a grill and IV drip too.

"Yeah and if any of you turds get hurt or start feeling weird, let the CO know ASAP." Carson's baby blue eyes narrowed. "I'm serious, there's a lot of weird shit going on and I know you guys are stressed out. Don't let your fucking egos outweigh asking for help."

"Thanks doc. Caring as always." Aldritch responded with a half-smile. "Anything else?"

Silence throughout the platoon.

"Alright, that's all I have. Report Redcon status in one hour. Ground guides you know what to do. Good hunting gentlemen." Aldritch reached into his cargo pocket and pulled out an old half-clipped Cuban cigar. He lit the rolled bundle of fermented tobacco and took a few puffs. "Dismissed."

The platoon responded with a loud "Err!" and like a horde of ants, the Marines began scrambling aboard their war machines. Radios were set, hungry feed ramps for machineguns fed with belts of bullets, and various caffeine-tobacco products readied.

It was time for the Special Region to learn just who the Four Horsemen were.

1100 HOURS, JAPANESE SECTOR

Upon seeing Itami enter the motor pool, a large elderly soldier went ramrod straight prompting the rest of the soldiers nearby to do the same. "Lieutenant Itami sir! Staff Sergeant Kuwahara, Recon Team Three stands ready for your orders!"

God, why me?

Itami tried to stifle his lack of enthusiasm as he looked over the team assembled in front of him. Two up-armored Toyota troop carriers, a Komatsu gun truck, and twelve troops. All under his command and awaiting orders.

Itami had never really led anything larger than a gaggle of troops at best and certainly not during any major operations. Cleaning duties and menial labor didn't exactly count either.

"Ah, well you all seem very capable. Thank you, Staff Sergeant." Itami responded almost solemnly. At least Kurata and Tomita were there, familiar faces in his team would do much to help him integrate.

"Gee, you sure don't sound so enthusiastic." One of the younger female troops, Sergeant Shino Kuribiyashi, responded indignantly. "You sure you're not with the wrong team, sir? You don't seem like a Hero of Ginza to me."

Kuwahara scowled at his subordinate causing his wrinkles to furrow further. "Hush Kuribiyashi, mind your manners!"

Even before Itami had met his team, he could hear Kuribiyashi's loud obnoxious voice from just around the HESCO barriers.

Given that her dossier denoted her as a "CQB specialist", whatever that meant, Itami wasn't surprised she had all the energy of a typical Genki girl. The large bust under her vest, brown short hair, and tomboyish personality, filled in the rest of the gaps. Itami had a feeling this woman would be nothing short of a pain in his ass.

"I've just had a long day, lots of heavy operations." Itami stifled a fake yawn. "I trust in time we'll all get along fine."

"Be sure to monitor your health more accordingly sir." The only other female in the platoon, a Sergeant Mari Kurokawa, chided Itami. "Sleep deprivation will severely impact your performance."

The team's medic and an anomaly amongst Japanese women if Itami had ever seen one. She towered over the nearby Kuribiyashi and even some of the other men in the team. Still, much like Shino, she wasn't too bad on the eyes. Raven-colored hair tied into a bun, slim build, and a face that had an almost motherly charm to it. There was no way she was getting any dates back in the mainland though, not with that height.

"I'll be sure to do that sergeant, thank you." Itami responded affirmingly. "Now, I'm sure you all no doubt already know what our mission is, so I won't take your time dragging things on with another brief."

Itami rapidly spun his right-hand several times. "Let's mount up and get out there. Kuwahara, Kurata, Tomita you're with me. The rest of you know where to go. Fortune favors the bold!"

"Ryokai!"

The Japanese soldiers quickly mounted up into their respective vehicles with Itami taking his seat in the lead truck. As Itami slammed the armored door shut an impressed Kuwahara got situated in the troop bay.

"Not bad sir, your dossier didn't say much but you clearly have some experience with leading troops huh?"

Kurata depressed the engine start button on the truck's console. As the vehicle's engine rumbled to life, he smiled at his superior. "Itami? Experienced? N-"

"Yes Staff Sergeant, I've had a few tours of command. Nothing spectacular I assure you." The officer glared at his subordinate. "We'll get the job done."

"Agreed and what wonderful weather for a patrol too!" Kuwahara gave a hearty laugh. "Let's just not run into any trouble shall we?"

"Now you jinxed it Staff Sergeant." An unamused Tomita chimed in. "One of biggest rules is to never-"

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted inside the vehicle.

"-Hey is that a Type 89? You lucky devil! And a Comp M4 red dot?"

"Why yes….yes it is. Had to pay for the dot, but she works great. You want to take a look at it, Staff Sergeant?"

"Do I ever! You young bucks and your new fangled polymer toys. 'Should've bought M16s' I always say! And please, call me pops."

Seeing the two soldiers hit it off so well Kurata couldn't help but whistle. "Well shit, Akira found himself a new friend. He's never like that with anyone."

"Shut up Kurata."

"Heh."

Eventually, the three vehicles exited the base's winding HESCO paths and found themselves at the front entrance. It was here that soldiers both American and Japanese manned emplaced weapons and IFVs. 24/7 guard shifts ensured a constant state of readiness was maintained and for good reason. Just beyond the security of barbed wire and sandbags sat the unknown, an entirely alien world. Noticing the convoy, a few Japanese soldiers waved at Itami from atop a guard tower and yelled something the officer couldn't hear.

On cue, spools of barbed wire and metal guard rails were quickly shifted back, granting unimpeded access to the vehicles. The trucks rumbled past the front gate and in moments were surrounded by oceans of green. Gone was the familiarity of concrete and HESCO barriers, replaced instead with a lush countryside ripe for exploration.

Itami looked around and took in the sights, in a way it almost reminded him of the rural areas of Japan. The officer unlatched a handheld radio from the truck's center console and depressed a button.

"Alright, this is it. Our time to shine, keep your eyes open, and trust in each other. We are now officially in uncharted waters."

Itami returned the radio and lowered the front of his helmet down over his eyes.

"Don't want to take in the sights sir? Could miss out on something good."

"Nope, just following Kurokawa's advice and tending to my sleep deprivation." Itami mumbled. "If you see anything, wake me up."

Kurata chuckled. "Roger that, I'll be sure to keep quiet if I see some catgirls."

"Asshole."

As Itami closed his eyes and let his exhaustion overtake, him he paid no mind to the banter that began to occur both within the truck and over the radio.

Nor the four tan tanks that sat on a distant hill providing a watchful eye for his team.

"Heh...huckleberry. Now I get it."

Terms/Jargon Used:

QRF-Quick Reaction Force. Think of them as first responders, if someone calls for help over the radio you're supposed to be ready to rock and roll within minutes

HESCO-The actual Wikipedia article definition is kinda whacky. So I'll keep it simple. They're typically sand-filled heavy-duty wire and mesh containers. Do a pretty good job stopping small arms and RPGs.

COC-Combat Operations Center. Self Explanatory

MOTOR T-Motor Transport Operator. Truck drivers essentially.