4. Prelude to Madness

Syke, here have another chapter.

The people have spoken and so the old story will remain up. I'll probably rename it to something a little less sloppy. Don't really have much to stay besides keep it up with that positive energy.

Prelude to Madness

"The bended knee is not a tradition of our Corps."

General Alexander A. Vandergrift, USMC, to the Senate Naval Affairs Committee, 5 May 1946

1400 HOURS, JAPAN, STREETS OF TOKYO

Count Colt Formal yelled in pain as a sharp blistering heat tore through his leg and sent him sprawling into the ground. One of his soldiers nearby tried to save him, only to have a neat hole punched between his eyes. It was fortunate that a few loyal shield bearers had come to the count's aid, but he knew their efforts would be futile in the end.

"My lord, we must flee!"

Formal ignored the terrified pleas of nearby shield-bearers as he held the now lifeless body of one of his men in his bloodied hands. The count looked to the foreign skies as the panicked Imperial army retreated all around him, stumbling over itself in an attempt to get away from the hostile army. He watched as another one of the sky contraptions effortlessly slew several Elite wyvern riders, each turned into bloody chunks as strange magic tore into them. To the count's rear, and slowly pushing the Imperial army back, strange men with unusual weapons and war machines yelled in a foreign language as they pushed the invaders back. How had it come to this?

The gods had blessed their world with a gate, an entryway to a world beyond. Untold riches and resources theirs for the taking. So, as was the Imperial custom, a mighty campaign was carried out. The Emperor called for a grand army and it was the duty of the several kingdoms to oblige that request. That meant that Count Formal was required to serve too, lest he be tried as a traitor to the Empire. For weeks, specially trained scouts went in and out of the gate. The stories they told were the stuff of children's bedtime stories. Wagons without horses, towers that stretched to the heavens. Better yet? Not a single garrison to be found. All that beauty and technology, ripe for the taking.

So they invaded and it was in this world Count Formal paid witness to the atrocities typical of such campaigns. The weak were trampled by the strong, that was the way of things. All the good count could do was lead his men and try to keep a low profile.

Then, something unexpected happened, the hostile army actually showed up. The wanton destruction of this strange new world had awoken a terrifying power and it was furious.

Strange steel contraptions rained death and destruction that tore through the Imperial army. Boxes the size of war elephants fired away with arrows too fast for the eyes to see and too potent to be stopped by any shield or armor plate. While these contraptions were terrifying, the infantry were even worse. Formal watched as Legatius Pious, a grand knight of the order and said to be blessed by the god Emroy was gunned down by a soldier that looked no older than seventeen. A blessed knight cut down by a mere child wielding some sort of thunder stick. He never even got to close the gap, the knight was perforated and left to die like a nobody.

The Empire had invoked doom upon both themselves and their world, Formal knew this. Once their forces were driven back the hostile army would then push into Falmart, it was the only logical course of action. The count let the body slump to the ground and reached into his coat, pulling out a silver locket with a picture inside. As the count stared at the picture of his daughter he was briefly reminded of home. The mansions, his maids, his stewards, and nobility. He had helped put all of that at risk and he'd never see any of it ever again. He would die in this strange new world just as unceremoniously as the others had.

"My lord! The enemy is hurk!" One of the shield bearers coughed on his own blood as he slumped to the ground, a ragged hole punched through his neck. His death opened a hole in the phalanx and exposed both the count and the others.

"My sweet Myui…" Colt choked back tears as he rubbed a bloody smear over the small picture. "I'm so sorry."

"Shield wall! Fire in the hole!"

Suddenly, a strange language called out to the count and his men. The count never got to raise his sword or even give one last triumphant act of defiance as a strange round object clattered next to him. He could only stare at the foreign device and close his eyes as his world was engulfed in fire.

Thus the Empire was defeated there.

U.S. EMBASSY

"Molt Sol Augustus!"

Recker quickly stepped back and dodged a lazy swing from a half-dead soldier lying on the ground. It was a commendable act of defiance, but ultimately pointless. Recker didn't show a hint of emotion as he quickly leveled his M4 and drilled two holes into the soldier's face. Another hostile pretending to play dead, the enemy had some spirit Recker had to give them that.

In front of the embassy and amidst piles of bodies the Special Forces officer watched as a convoy of Japanese armored vehicles and infantry continued to push the hostile army away from the compound. The angular turrets of the newer Type 10 tanks jerked left to right as they rapidly engaged and dispatched anything that came into their sights with long bursts of thunderous machine gunfire. Anything too big for small arms was either met with the business end of 120mm cannons or torn to shreds by the 35mm cannons of the accompanying Type 89 IFVs. A merciful end considering anything that didn't run was crushed under tracks.

Of course, the Japanese weren't alone; token American assets had been intermixed with the Self Defense force, nothing too heavy, but just enough to show that this was their fight too. Their main concern was securing the embassy, however, and a few LAVs had already set up a defensive coil around the front of the compound. Marine infantry and U.S. navy corpsmen had already begun assisting the defenders with administering aid to staff and cleaning up any hostiles dumb enough to not stay dead.

Now the city had turned into a chorus of distant weapons fire and the screams of the enemy. The battle was over as quickly as it had started.

"Yeah, you fuckers better run!"

Recker paused from examining what looked to be a dead Roman Centurion and glared at one of his subordinates standing near the entrance.

"Stow the shit and head on a swivel. I don't need any more of these assholes jumping up on us."

A nearby Wong finished tapping the body of another hostile with his boot and rubbed his sweat strain brow with his sleeve. "Yeah, I've had enough surprises for one day."

"Yeah well, better us than Gunny. Never seen a man so determined to stay in the fight." Recker responded with a grim smile as he checked the body of another high-ranking soldier. "Man was about to use his shotgun as a club right as the Cobra showed up."

"Marines for you, tenacious jarhead-" Wong paused as a body near him groaned and shifted slightly. Upon hearing the sound all of the Green berets aimed their weapons at the source.

Wong raised an eyebrow and flipped the body over onto its back revealing the bloodied, yet still very alive, face of an enemy soldier. Caucasian, a body built and trained for war. His ornate armor, elaborate sword, and cape denoted him as probably the leader of the force that had attacked. Good for the Berets, bad for him.

One of the other Berets, the team medic Sergeant Clancy, kicked the leader's sword away and raised his helmet slightly to get a better look. "Well, well. Looks like we have someone important enough to keep alive sir."

"Very true Sergeant, very true." Recker walked over to the body and dropped down to a knee. He examined the hostile leader's wounds with a grim expression, paying special attention to the jagged holes in the man's armor. "Well Doc, get a corpsman and patch this guy up."

Once the leader woke up and saw Recker waving at him, he quickly tried to get away from the soldiers. Recker stepped back and whistled as the newly captured POW struggled against the combined strength of several US service members.

"Whew, you got a lot of questions to answer man!"

CAMP LEJUENE 2ND TANK BTN BARRACKS 2400 HOURS

The chanting in the background intermixed with crappy RnB music echoed in Kincaid's skull as he downed his 10th and last shot of vodka. At the opposite end of a hastily set up beer pong table his adversary, Wilkes, was already starting to sway as he did the same with his own alcohol. Marines surrounding the table both in and out of uniform pumped their fists in the air several times as the chant continued.

"Drink! Drink! Drink!"

Both Kincaid and Wilkes had failed miserably at Beer Pong and now, as per custom, they had to "redeem themselves" by riding the shot train. To their credit, both had slammed the alcohol down fairly well including the beers they had earlier. Years of drinking in seedy bars had forged their livers into cast iron alcohol receptacles. Even Marines still had limits though and the two tankers were showing their signs of faltering.

"Fuckin' hell-hic." Kincaid slammed the ancient shot glass down and leaned back in his chair. His head was on fire and his mouth tasted like a variety of things his ailing mind couldn't think of proper analogies for. Seeing the alcohol finished, a half-clothed Benitez wearing a Ushanka raised his styrofoam cup and professed at the top of his lungs. "This is the way!"

"This is the way!" The other Marines including the two Pong losers echoed back as cheers rang out. Even in defeat, there was a victory to be had, especially among brothers.

Kincaid swayed in his seat slightly and gave a thumbs up to his loader. "Good-good shit my dude."

"Oh hold up now, don't you be going sideways on me fucker!" A nearby Elton chugged the last of his budget brand beer and tossed the can into a nearby waste bin. "You're not done yet!" Seeing his friend start to fade Elton quickly reached into a minifridge and pulled out a sports drink. He passed the icy cold beverage into Kincaid's waiting hand before pointing at the ceiling. "Aaaaaand that's a wrap. My gunner Four Eyes once again showing us why Four crew is the best crew!" He cried as he gave Kincaid's back a few reassuring pats.

"T-thanks." Kincaid's speech slurred slightly as he opened the bottle and gestured across the table towards Wilkes. "Might wanna get one for dumbass over there he isn't looking much better."

"Fuck yoush man!" Wilkes retorted with a half-lit cigarette in his lips. "I'm a classy nigga, I got thisums."

"Well, you heard him, he's a classy nigga." Elton shrugged and pointed at the bright pink anime shirt Kincaid was wearing over his sweatpants. "Unlike your weeb ass."

Kincaid chugged the rest of the drink and chucked the empty bottle at Elton. "Go find another gunner then."

"Yeah okay, cause there's totally so many to go around in a dying MOS." Elton scoffed as the plastic bottle bounced off his chest. "Especially one with little to no companies left."

Another Marine, Sergeant Caleb Hicks, almost spat his drink out hearing that statement. A musclehead country boy from Alabama, master gunner, and tank commander of several years. He lived and breathed tanks. Hicks pointed a big accusatory finger at Elton and tried to not choke on his jungle juice cocktail. "Fuck that shit Elton, that's a load of crap and you know it. Corps ain't gettin' rid of tanks, no way no how!"

"No, it's fucking true Sergeant." Kincaid chimed in as he puffed on a freshly lit cigar. "CO said it himself you know he wouldn't twist our nipples like that."

Things got quiet for a few moments and it felt like even the music stopped. Everyone knew it was true, but nobody really knew what to feel when the statement came out the week prior. The world was changing as was the mission needs of the Marine Corps. Needs that didn't require tanks being offloaded from ship to shore.

To the Marines getting out like Kincaid, it really didn't matter. What good could their complaints accomplish? Not everyone else was as lucky though and many others had grown attached to the twisted drama that came with the MOS. Especially those who had deployed.

"Yeah I know it's fuckin' true, but don't you be bringing that shit up here." Hicks took another swig from his cup. "You best enjoy moments like these and remember those who came before. Corps might think we ain't necessary anymore, but I got a couple deployments under my belt and brothers lost that say otherwise."

"To those that came before." One of Hicks's crewmembers, his driver, interjected grimly. He raised a half-empty beer can. "Brothers all."

"Err." The other Marines echoed back with their signature phrase. A bastardization of the word Oorah, it didn't lose its meaning all the same.

Seeing the atmosphere turn serious Wilkes did what he did best. Offer words of wisdom in trying times. The loader looked around the room and folded his arms with a serious expression. "Yeah well, Benitez fucked a fat chick last weekend."

"Yes I did and that was after you were done with her if you recall my dude." Benitez responded with a slightly tipped cup.

The room quickly erupted into laughter as the festivities resumed. Glasses were refilled, music was cranked up, and cigarettes lit as brothers shared in their time off. For a little bit anyway, the outside world wasn't done with them yet.

"Yo! Japan's been invaded!"

Suddenly the door to the crowded barracks room was kicked open revealing a panicked Lance Corporal Dunn wearing his duty uniform. "Turn on the fucking tv!"

"Woah Woah Woah ease your roll there ghost rider." Hicks put his hands up. "The hell you say? Do you even know how stupid that sounds?"

All of the other Marines nodded in agreement. Tactically speaking it was borderline impossible to invade Japan. Two potent navies, round-the-clock air patrols, and unfavorable terrain conditions of mainland Japan. No, suicide was the better way to describe it.

"Japan's under attack! I'm not making this shit up!" Dunn looked around the room until he found a tv remote half-buried under a pile of chip bags. The Marine fumbled with the remote for a few moments and quickly turned on a plasma tv sitting atop some dressers.

Dunn was typically a quiet kind of Marine. He liked to keep to himself and sleep when he wasn't drunk off his butt playing guitar. Seeing him panic like this was foreign, to say the least, and the other Marines knew something had to be up to spook him so. All of the Marines crowded around the tv as the first headlines and news anchor appeared.

And we are still in the process of digesting the information, but yes Japan is currently under attack.

The channel changed.

U.S. and Japanese forces are currently engaging the hostile force and are in the process of pushing them out, but what about the damage?

The channel changed again, but now the Marines started to get concerned and nervous chatter began to break out.

Death toll possibly in the thousands.

"No way, no fucking way."

"This has to be a fucking joke right? Like one of them realistic alternate reality things or something?"

"They're called ARGs numbnuts."

"Whatever!"

Though we are unsure who or rather what the enemy is, let me be very clear. There will be repercussions and answers to those who lost loved ones will be found. This is a sad day for Japan, but through despair, we will find unity and strength.

"Holy crap Kincaid! You see that shit? Dude looked like he came right out of one of your Japanese comics!"

Let's be very clear here. Another war is coming, there's no way there's not. The question is, where and against who? What will the President say and who will brave the unknown?

0100 HOURS WHITE HOUSE OVAL OFFICE WASHINGTON DC

After hours of painstakingly reviewing information and drone footage, an exhausted Dirrel slumped back in his leather chair.

There was no denying it now, science fiction had become reality. An interdimensional portal to somewhere had opened up in the heart of Tokyo. Medieval soldiers and fantasy creatures had poured out and indiscriminately killed anyone they came across. The death toll was projected to be in the thousands and the lives of countless more Japanese had been ruined. The Japanese were diligent, humble people. They enjoyed their peace and productivity, their culture was a beacon for tourism around the world. Now someone had come in and worked their relatively neutral government into a frenzy. To say the Prime Minister was furious was the understatement of the century.

"I want answers Mr. President, my people want answers. This cannot and will not go unanswered. I won't allow it and as our long-time ally, my friend, I hope you feel the same. I'll say whatever I need to say and do whatever I need to do, but we are getting to the bottom of this. That's final!"

This was what Motoi had told Dirrel over the phone and the translation was simple. War, another conflict to add to the growing pile of trouble America was involved in.

Dirrel furrowed his brow and rubbed his tired eyes. "He can't be serious about this. What the hell am I supposed to tell the American people?!" The President slammed a fist on his table. "Approval ratings are already tanking and the last thing we need is another war! Does Motoi even understand the gravity of the situation?"

Dirrel looked over at an equally exhausted Higgins. The SecDef had been in quiet contemplation for the past half an hour, only showing signs of activity when he took a sip from his coffee mug.

"You've been quiet a while Ron, talk to me here. There has to be another way that doesn't involve us needlessly endangering a strike force."

Higgins merely shook his head and looked down at the carpet. "I think you know the answer just as well as I do Richard. We should let the American people know sooner rather than later."

"Of course, why am I goddamn surprised?" Dirrel groaned and looked around at the other equally quiet members of his cabinet. "Someone? Anyone?!"

Nothing, just more silence. Dirrel took a sip from his coffee mug and set it back down before interlocking his fingers. He closed his eyes for a few moments, the weight of the situation beginning to weigh him down. Upon slowly reopening them, he gave a long and tired sigh. His gaze slowly turning towards the Joint Chiefs.

"Gentlemen, you know what to do. Coordinate with General Kirk, I want briefs on my desk as soon as you can draft them up."

All of the Joint chiefs stood up at the position of attention, their voices sounding off as a single "Yes sir!"

"Dismissed."

As the Joint Chiefs filed out of the office Dirrel turned his chair towards the windows to the oval office. He watched the bustle of nightlife in the crowded DC streets beyond. It was a sight that always calmed him, reminded him of the immense responsibility he had. The power he had at his fingers.

"Someone get a statement made for me and phone the Vice President. We have work to do."

0300 HOURS CAMP LEJUENE, OFFICERS HOUSING

Captain James Aldritch nearly fell out of his bed as his cellphone's obnoxiously loud ringtone went off. The Marine officer quickly threw his covers off and reached for his phone on the nearby nightstand taking special care not to tip over the bottle of sleeping pills next to the device. He didn't even bother to read the caller ID a costly mistake as he'd soon find out.

"Aldritch!"

"Good evening Captain Aldritch, ordinarily I'd apologize for waking you up so late, but you know I wouldn't do this without a damn good reason. I sure as hell wasn't offered the same grace when I got the call earlier."

Aldritch almost instinctively went to the position of attention upon realizing who it was he was talking to. It was his superior, the Battalion Commander. The Lieutenant Colonel always had a firm and to the point manner of speaking and Aldritch recognized it almost immediately.

"Lieutenant Colonel Spiers! I-I apologize."

"At ease Captain. Tell me, are your men accounted for? I hope so, surely you've seen the news."

Aldritch raised an eyebrow. "Yes all my men are accounted for-No, I haven't watched the news."

"You might want to do that son."

Aldritch reached for a remote on the nightstand and turned on a small smart tv at the other end of his room. He squinted his sleep-filled eyes as a bright light washed over him and lit up his room. Then, just as others around the world had, he saw Japan.

"You still there Captain? Or are you just as stupefied as I am trying to figure out why the hell we have a hostile army in Japan?"

Aldritch snapped back to attention. "N-No sir!"

"Good, recall your men and stop loss anyone about to EAS. You're being deployed to Japan."

Aldritch felt a pit form in his stomach. "D-deploy sir? Charlie company?"

"Did I stutter son? Yes, your company."

"But sir, we're down to only a platoon. Most of the men are-"

"And what typically goes with a MEU Captain? Tell me." Spiers inquired.

"A platoon." Aldritch responded grimly as he tensed for the ass chewing.

"No screaming eagle shit son. I know exactly what's going on with Charlie Company, did you think the powers that be decided to pick you just to put some more medals on your chest? Or maybe we decided to single you out cause your end-of-service date is coming up."

"Well no-"

"Good. 0700, my office."

"Roger that sir."

The call was dropped leaving a now utterly stunned Aldritch alone to contemplate just what the hell had happened. The captain laid back down on his bed and stared at his ceiling. He gave a long-anguished sigh before clasping a ring that had been hanging by a chain around his neck.

"One more time Yoko kun, just one more time. I promise."

So I've heard a couple of you bring up how we haven't had tank action or that we haven't really followed the actual cast all that much. Well, that ends come next chapter. Honestly, I wanted the plot to make sense and in a way I feel as though this setup hits home a lot harder than the original draft. Stoploss is a very real thing, and it sucks.