Free Range Protocol- Tales of the Tschaaa Infestation

by Marshall Miller

  Colonel Lynch looked at the assembled young and aggressive pilots.

  “Look, gentlemen. I’m not going to blow smoke up your rears. The odds are not all that great. If a Falcon shows up, hide and hope your ground batteries can hit it. I was able to get one to flee. Had it stuck around, even damaged, it would have cleaned my clock.”

  “But,” the Colonel continued. “Our job is to fight. So we fight. If you ever find a spare fighter, give me a call. I’d love to get another shot at them.”

  Colonel Lynch left with many thanks from the Free Japanese Air Force. Major Chiba turned and addressed his pilots.

  “You have heard what the good Colonel had to say. Use it if we meet any Deltas tomorrow on our first combat mission in some time. I know some will question if one pilot took out all those three dissimilar craft as stated. But no matter. They fought, they tried. So we owe them respect.”

  The Major paused for a moment. “The Takos’ attacks on us seem more in form of war games, or desires for individual achievement, rather than organized warfare. We in Japan are lucky that we were not damaged more, and have for the most part been left alone. But if they want a fight, we will give it. Now, I have posted the roster on the flights tomorrow. Get some rest, be prepared. Dismissed!”

  The drive back in the jeep from being picked up after parachuting to the ground was the longest ride he ever had. Ichiro kept playing back the events in his mind.

  Two Deltas, unusual for flights over Japan, had come in at just under Mach three, clearly looking for a fight. Major Chiba led Ichiro’s four man flight, with Ichiro being his wingman.

  “Lieutenant Yamamoto,” he had said to Ichiro before they took off. “You are one of the finest pilots I have seen, and can do things in a fighter that many can only dream of. Do not get overconfident. The Takos are deadly. Hai?”

  “Hai, Major. It is an honor to be your wingman.”

  “Honor has nothing to do with it. Skill does. Remember that.”

  One hour after take-off—and it was over. Ichiro had done seemingly impossible maneuvers in his F-35J, and had come down on top of a Delta, as Colonel Lynch said Captain Bender had done. Ichiro let the Delta have it with his missile array, saw it explode and break up.

  Five seconds later, the Delta’s wingman hit Ichiro, forcing him to bail out. His ejector seat worked fine, and he was in the silk at some two thousand feet above the ground. Then the Delta came at him, helpless in his parachute, seeking further revenge.

  It happened in a matter of seconds. Major Chiba rammed his F-35J into the Delta in mid-air, both craft tumbling to the earth below. Ichiro began to scream his rage and sorrow, as he floated to the ground below.

  Ichiro was in a daze when he walked into his squadron’s day room. He sat down, did not notice his Uncle Takeo standing nearby.

  “Nephew. I heard and came immediately. I am very glad you are alive.”

  “He died for me. Major Chiba died for me. For me.” Before he realized what he was doing, Ichiro smashed an end table into kindling. Then his uncle was holding him.

  “Young Samurai, Major Chiba died because that was his choice. He died saving you and killing the enemy. He died with honor. Remember that.”

  Ichiro stood apart, looked at his uncle.

  “I owe him, uncle. I owe his memory, his family, his ancestors.”

  “We will discuss what you owe later. I have arranged that, after an abbreviated debriefing, you will be given a forty-eight hour pass. Now, get some rest. We will talk more later.”

  “Yes, Colonel. Thank you also uncle, for coming.”

  Uncle Takeo smiled. “That is what family does. We are there for you.”

  Now Ichiro’s thoughts came back to the mission at hand. For he had decided that ten of the enemy—the Takos, aka the Squids—must die for Major Chiba’s sacrifice. Rather than rest on his pass, he was here, on this reported deserted stretch of beach. It was a simple matter to find the intelligence reports as to where the small groups of Takos had been coming ashore, looking for trouble as they rarely seemed to harvest any human meat. It was about individual combat, like in the old days of the Samurai.

  Ichiro watched the bay waters intently, because he knew the Takos had the ability—similar to their Earth cousins of color – to camouflage by changing the color and hue of their flesh. It would not bode well to be caught unaware, to let an enemy sneak by him. He wondered where the security patrols were that were supposedly guarding the beaches and coastlines. He would have to talk to his uncle, since his infantry unit was assigned to this area.

  The young Lieutenant heard movement behind him and crouched in the darkness behind the driftwood logs. How could one of the aliens have snuck by? But wait, that sounded like human movements, human steps. Ichiro moved back near a bush on the edge of the sand.

  “Nephew, you cannot hide from night vision goggles, no matter how much of a ninja you are.”

  Ichiro stood up, as his Uncle Takeo approached with nary a further sound than slight steps on the sand. He did not know what to say, as he had been caught in what some would think was a childish act of revenge.

  “Colonel, uncle, I…”

  “Quiet, nephew. Back behind the logs. You picked an excellent spot.”

  In a minute he was sitting dumbfounded, when he saw his uncle in the same ninja like clothes as he, with an identical katana.

  “How…”

  “I know your heart and the fire in your belly, Ichiro. On a rare occasion, it is right for a Samurai to ignore his intellect and, as the Americans would say, go with their gut. So, I had you followed, and I had the security patrols pulled back from this area. Though, if a ten limbed monster gets by us, they will be meat from modern firepower, not steel blades.”

  “You…see this as right, uncle? Violating orders, sneaking here?”

  “What orders? A man can do what he wishes on pass, as long as he returns fit for duty, abuses no civilian laws. And since this is my area of responsibility, I have decided this mission is right. Now, hush. I’ll use the night vision to keep watch, you keep your ears open. If the pattern is the same, with this tide they should come tonight.”

  The two man sat, watched, listened, and waited. Having his Uncle Takeo there filled Ichiro with a calm resolve. He knew that nothing would get by him or his uncle.

  An hour into their silent vigil, Uncle Takeo patted his arm and pointed out to the bay waters. There was enough of a moon out that night to illuminate motion on the water. Night vision gave Uncle Takeo the ability to pinpoint the cause.

  “They come, nephew. Three it appears. Be ready.”

  Ichiro was filled with an icy resolve, his hand on the hilt of his katana. The figures were then close enough that Ichiro could make out three Tschaaa, the Takos. His uncle shed the night vision goggles and went into a crouch, Ichiro matching his stance.

  “Banzai,” Uncle Takeo whispered.

  “Banzai,” Ichiro replied. Then they were moving in short running steps—seen in many a Samurai epic.

  The three creatures were just moving out of the surf, rising up on their partial cartilage based interior structures that functioned like a pliable skeleton. They began the scuttling motion of their species, when surprised out of the dark by two bipedal mammals. The Tschaaa young warriors carried long pole weapons with sharp obsidian blades at the end, which they held by their two long social tentacles. Upon seeing the two approaching humans, the young warriors raised their weapons, confident of their superiority against the monkeys, even on land. For similar in the tradition of other warrior groups, to include the Samurai, they had come to test their metal—and the metal of their enemy.

  For Ichiro, the cephalopods’ motion seemed to slow down. He knew this was due to the fight or flight response that affected humans by changing their sense of time and motion. Then Ichiro began to see the pattern, as the Tschaaa warriors started to attack. He became a wraith in his response.

  Uncle Takeo parried the thrust of one pole weapon, tried to strike back with a
textbook katana response—which was in turn parried. The longer social tentacles gave the Tschaaa an advantage, enabled them to stay out of range of the katana blades. Despite being sea creatures, they moved well on land, at least for short distances.

  From the corner of his vision, Uncle Takeo thought he noticed a blur of action. But he had to concentrate on the enemy at hand.

  A severed Tschaaa five-fingered hand landed in front of him and his opponent, just as a horrible screeching reverberated along the sandy beach. Seeing the severed appendage had a deleterious effect on Uncle Takeo’s opponent, as it scuttled backwards. Even in the dark, its overly large eyes seemed wide and registered shock. Uncle Takeo saw his opening and advanced in a fast moving crouch, a growl coming from his chest. Slash, parry, slash—and then chop. The sharp end of the pole weapon lay on the sand near the surf. He leapt forward and severed the forward grasping hand of the Tschaaa, and was rewarded by the same horrible screeching. He leapt forward again, past the blunted weapon, and slashed at one of the creatures eight thick arms it used for locomotion, then slashed at another just before back-peddling out of range.

  The land octopus let out another reverberating screech and raised its severed tentacle, along with its still intact one, dropping the remains of its weapon. Was it surrendering?

  Uncle Takeo had no time to ponder when a blur from his right turned into his nephew, who closed and thrust with his katana through one of the oversized eyes and into the creature’s brain.

  The Tschaaa shuddered, then collapsed. Ichiro withdrew his blade and was beside his uncle before the older man realized it.

  “Are you okay, uncle?”

  Uncle Takeo stood dumbfounded for a few minutes. Finally, he managed to speak. “You killed those other two, then came to help me?”

  “Why yes, uncle. As you taught me. See the pattern, then strike. They have rather simple patterns.”

  Takeo Yamamoto knew that his nephew was a very special type of warrior. Now, he had an inkling of just how special.

  “Nephew, you are as the Samurai were in our legends. Come, we will contact my personnel to secure the area. Our Intelligence Officers will want to examine this scene.”

  He threw his arm around his beloved nephew. “Your parents, and all our ancestors are watching, aware of what you did here today. This will be written in the family history, and remembered for generations.”

  “It is the first of my debt to Major Chiba, uncle. I swore I would kill ten of the enemy for his sacrifice. Then, maybe, the debt will be paid, and I may stop killing.”

  Uncle Takeo’s face turned sad in the dark. “In war, we never know when we can stop killing, unless the enemy is defeated. I fear that will not be for some time.”

  Hours later, the two were in Commanding General Koji Sakae’s office, who was not entirely happy. “A Colonel and his nephew should not be running around in the dark, being ninjas. Colonel, what if you had been killed? What would that have done to your command, your units?”

  “I am not indispensable, General. There would be another to take your place.”

  “With your experience and abilities? Think of that next time, Colonel, before you go rushing into the night. We need all the senior trained personnel we can find.”

  General Sakae then pulled out a bottle of Suntory Scotch and produced three glasses.

  “We need to drink a toast to the Emperor and Japan. He called after seeing the report on this incident. Apparently Princess Akiko is taking on the mantel of a soldier to replace her dead Brother, killed in the early fighting. The Emperor informed me you have a ‘fan’ is the word he used, in the Royal Family. And he asked for a toast in his name for future successes.”

  The General poured the three glasses, then stood up—raising his glass.

  “In honor of older times, banzai! May Free Japan and the Emperor live for ten thousand years!”

  The three officers threw back their drinks.

  “General. May this lowly Lieutenant ask a question?”

  “Anyone who can slay the Takos with a katana can ask almost anything.”

  “Are we still alone? Is Free Japan still standing alone in this fight?”

  The General paused before answering. “We have reports that the remaining United States are electing or appointing a new President, a woman who is said to have steel in her spine. I hope that is so. We are also talking with Free Russia, which is Siberia. So, we will see.”

  Ichiro stood straight. “You will always have my sword, sir. You, and the Emperor.”

  The General looked at Uncle Takeo. “He is of the old breed of Samurai, isn’t he?”

  “Actually, General, he is a new Samurai. Trust me, he and his fellows will put our ancestors to shame.”

  “I hope you are right, Colonel. A toast to that then. To the new Samurai. May they live for a thousand years!”

  Ichiro and his Uncle left the Generals’ office and walked into the parking lot.

  “Nephew, I will contact your unit and tell them you will be dining with me tonight. I think I have enough influence to make this happen.”

  “Yes sir.”

  The two Yamamoto family members walked towards Uncle Takeo’s vehicle, a Japanese Jeep. He drove himself, said only people who spent most of their time in offices needed drivers.

  “Uncle, what is next? I mean, we killed three of the Invaders. I feel a sense of personal satisfaction, but I also know that it is a drop in Tokyo Bay.”

  “We do what Japanese warriors always do. We fight to defend our homeland, our people. Our deaths matter little. Our success matters all.” Uncle Takeo looked at his nephew.

  “Ichiro, you have a special part to play. I can sense it. Remember that as time passes, when things seem strange. It will all come together. I see a long and fruitful life, with a loving wife and children. And not just any wife, but an equal to yourself, a warrior.”

  “How do you know that, uncle?”

  His uncle shrugged. “I just do. Now, a good meal, good company, and some good sake. Then you can stay at my house with me and your aunt. Our twins—your cousins—should be home tonight from their studies at University. They will also be part of the future of Free Japan. We just have to keep the enemy Tschaaa from our shores.”

  After an excellent meal and visit with his uncle, aunt, and cousins, a very tired Ichiro went to his bed.

  During the night, he had a dream. His parents appeared, smiling at him, and pointing to a woman standing nearby. Ichiro tried to make out her features, but they were hazy. He did know that she was a gaijin, non-Japanese of caucasian heritage. He woke, the image still in his mind. He had the feeling that his parents were happy with the woman and seemed to want Ichiro to meet her. Ichiro smiled, as he went back to sleep. If his deceased parents were happy, he would be happy. Now the only question was, when would he meet the mystery woman. He would think about that later. Right now, he needed his sleep. He would meet his future soon enough. Ichiro knew his ancestors would be watching over him, no matter what happened. The new Samurai slumbered on, as future events began a rush to meet him.

  STORM WARNING

  George Williams IV stood looking out the window of the temporary office space they were using. He had to admit that Alaskan landscape was beautiful with its trees and mountains. But the damnable cold! As a Georgia native he grew up around warmth and no snow. But then again Georgia—as a part of the United States—was no more.

  George was a very large man, whose skin was close to being actually black, not just some vague brownness that was lumped under the racial title of black. A former Chief Master Sergeant of the U.S. Air Force, former because the USAF in reality did not exist anymore, he still had the strong muscular build of an Air Force Judo team member. Nearing forty years old, he realized he should be counting his lucky stars. Or down on his knees, thanking God. Then again, maybe he should do both.

  He was one of the lucky ones, doubly lucky because he had his family with him. Had they still been in Georgia, his African-American
wife Meagan and their fraternal twins, George V and Ellen would either be harvested dark meat, or waiting to be such, especially his children.

  Not for the first time did he consider the grand cosmic joke. After his family lineage had survived slavery, Klu Klux Klan nightriders, and Jim Crow laws, they were endangered by a bunch of multi-armed and tentacle things from another world.

  “Wool gathering again, George?”

  He turned to the source of the female voice—Sandra Paul, Madam President of the newly christened Unoccupied States of America.

  A very fit 5'6” woman, with a firm chin, straight yet feminine nose, and nice lips, she was noted for her attractiveness. But she had not allowed her curves to get in her way when she played sports, including Judo. Her full head of shoulder length brown hair now had small streaks of gray, yet she still had a young, vibrant demeanor. If she weren’t Madam President, she would have been classified as a very desirable cougar.

  Her pre-Squid political critics had written her off as a conservative bimbo because of her good looks, Midwest demeanor and her uncompromising politics when it came to a strong, moral America.

  She had weathered many a political caricature of herself, her family, her background, her residence in Alaska. Now she had the last laugh. Ninety-nine percent of her critics were dead, many eaten.

  The joke she made was, “They were right. I was too tough. Yes, too tough to eat.”

  George smiled at the author of that comment. “Sorry, Ma’am. Still getting used to the tall mountains and all this cold snow. There’s not much of it around Georgia.”

  Madam President chuckled. “Well, that cold and snow helps to keep the Tschaaa—the Squids—away from Alaska and the other Unoccupied States.”

  She added, “Plus the fact that Montana, Wyoming, the Dakotas, Colorado, Nebraska and Kansas are well away from the ocean and other large bodies of water, like the Great Lakes. Our opponents seem to hesitate on penetrating farther than about twenty miles in from the coast, except for harvester ark raids in the early days of the Invasion.”