Chapter Text

Prologue

PKF Deployment

「PKF　出動」

(PKF Shutsudō)

Day 23 Month 8; 14:13 Japan Standard Time

National Diet Building, Tokyo

The snap general election for the House of Representatives, triggered by Acting Prime Minister Gorō Kuraki’s bombshell dissolution decree on August 5, had raged for two weeks. Across Japan, candidates from both the ruling and opposition parties had clashed fiercely, trading verbal fire and sparking heated debate, chiefly over national security and international contribution policies.

In one sense, it was precisely the sudden trial inflicted upon a Japan that had undergone a Transference to another world and had been basking in a fleeting peace. Even now, a month later, the nation had still failed to devise any physical countermeasure against the “armed group” that, at the end of the previous month, had abruptly invaded eastern Sloria, committing boundless destruction and massacre, and ultimately swallowing most of the region by force.

Furthermore, on July 27, a Japan Coast Guard patrol fleet, dispatched to waters off southern Sloria to rescue a “refugee ship”, had been annihilated. After a full two-day standoff with the armed group’s fleet deployed to capture that very vessel, they were subjected to an unprovoked, all-out attack. The crew members who escaped their sinking ships were then mercilessly strafed from the sky, vanishing into the sea’s foam. Many Japanese, who had known only peace, met the outside world with pure goodwill, and held aloof from the chaos of war, were stunned, terrified by these acts.

What deepened the nation’s grief and rage even more was a shocking event on August 2. Former Prime Minister Masamichi Kō, who had journeyed to the armed group’s stronghold himself hoping for peace mediation talks with their leader, was attacked and murdered in an act tantamount to a treacherous ambush, along with all his entourage. Upon learning this, the anger of the Japanese people, now leaderless, reached its peak. Even the media—newspapers, television, and the internet—which usually antagonized and kept each other in check, unanimously shifted their editorial stance toward “Restoring Peace in Sloria through the PKF” and “Retribution against the Armed Group.”

Riding this wave of sentiment, the ruling Liberal Rights Party appeared to hold a consistent advantage throughout the campaign. Hajime Jinguji, a close ally of the late former Prime Minister Kō, who had assumed the LRP presidency at the same time as the Diet’s dissolution, spoke at a street rally in Tokyo during the final phase of the election campaign:

“…Everyone, Masamichi Kō, until his very last moments, detested war and sought a peaceful resolution for the situation in Sloria! He never wished for conflict with Lorida from the very beginning… But they, that armed group! …How did they repay Kō, who ventured deep into enemy territory bearing the ideals of peace and friendship? I, Hajime Jinguji, am also one who wishes for peace and friendship. However! …I cannot, under any circumstances, forgive those rogues who killed my friend and trampled upon our sincerity!”

A casual observer’s first impression of Jinguji could be summed up in a single word: “stocky.” His torso, giving an impression of being cut short, and his close-cropped hair. His thick neck, supporting a face full of deep wrinkles that seemed willful and combative, evoked a wild boar charging through the mountains. Indeed, in his early days as a Diet member, he had often led acts of filibuster during heated proceedings or stood at the forefront of the sudden brawls that occasionally erupted, earning him the nickname “Boar Warrior” from opposing forces.

Beneath his caterpillar-like white eyebrows, his large, goggling eyes held a fierce light, as if to transfix anyone standing in his way. And that piercing gaze never dimmed throughout the historic election, even amidst his grueling schedule of campaign speeches.

The Republican Party and the Labor Party, the two opposition parties poised to challenge the surging LRP, each put forth their own arguments.

“In Sloria, innocent people have been murdered, taken away as slaves, and, furthermore, many of our compatriots have been massacred in a foreign land by the brutal armed group! The armed group, fraudulently calling itself the Republic of Lorida, has regarded us peace-loving Japanese as their implacable enemies, and in the end, has even sunk so low as to kill our leader with their own hands! Do you possess the apathy to overlook these outrages? Do you possess the thoughtlessness to merely stand by and watch this aggression? Do you possess the insensitivity to simply swallow these insults? Those of you who are not so! …Those of you who truly possess courage, reason, and pride as Japanese, I implore you, cast your votes for us!”

On the same day, in Fukuoka city in Kyūshū, Takeaki Shidō, the leader of the opposition Republican Party, projected his voice before the assembled crowd. True to a party that publicly advocated a return to conservative mainstream values and the restoration of a strong Japan, the police and riot officers deployed around the area, fearing sudden clashes with labor or peace-movement citizen groups, were put under even greater strain by the audience, said to number 3.000 that day. While the Republican Party’s arguments and policies on the Slorian situation largely aligned with the LRP’s, it was precisely for this reason that they seemed unable to differentiate themselves, struggling intensely in the election. On top of that, considering the sympathy vote expected to gather behind the LRP following former Prime Minister Kō’s death, the general prediction was that the gap would widen even further.

“——Thoughtful citizens should understand. It is the innocent people who suffer in war. Should Japan and Lorida further open hostilities in Sloria, which has now become a battleground for these two nations’ power struggles, it will only bring suffering to the local inhabitants who have lived in peace unrelated to any war, ultimately resulting in nothing but void and chaos! Lorida, which has repeated its atrocities in Sloria, has already lost international credibility. We firmly oppose any military action by Japan that would follow their lead and throw the trust and achievements it has cultivated as a peace-loving nation over the past decade since the Transference into the gutter!”

Also on the same day, Kaoru Asagaya, Policy Research Council Chair of the other opposition party, the Labor Party, concluded her passionate speech with this assertion at a street rally in Osaka. While harboring internal conflicts over constitutional revision, the party, in typical Labor fashion with its strong inclination toward peace, drew a clear line from the other two parties in its arguments. Whether this policy would prove beneficial or detrimental remained unpredictable right up to election day.

And then—August 20th, 20XX.

The die was cast.

Voter turnout reached 74,2 percent, an exceptionally high level unseen in recent years. Yet the election results it produced defied expectations: the LRP, though making significant gains, fell just short of securing the two-thirds majority needed for constitutional amendment, while the Republican Party increased its seats, if not achieving a complete victory.

The Labor Party, saddled with a firmly entrenched reputation for being “weak in a crisis,” indeed lost a considerable number of seats. However, many of those who lost were members of the old Socialist faction, obstinately fixated on “defending the Constitution” and opposed to the party leadership, which showed flexibility in constitutional interpretation. After the election, the Labor Party leadership expelled these rebels, citing precisely their opposition to the leadership and disruption of party unity as the sole reason.

Here, a question arose: why then had the Labor leadership endorsed these “rebels” in the first place, knowing defeat was likely? Initially, whispers among concerned parties pointed to the leadership’s waning influence, triggered by the Slorian crisis, as the primary factor. But quite a few people would have to wait until the election was over to realize this was merely vulgar suspicion.

“Seems Asagaya-san used this election to tighten party discipline. She probably factored the seat loss in from the start.”

Takeaki Shidō’s words to his confidant, Secretary-General Misugi, after the election were not far from the mark. Shidō himself, acting on the results, immediately began moving as a key player in the political landscape. He secretly approached the LRP—still reeling from the shock of an unexpectedly tough fight—with a backroom coalition proposal.

The day after the election. A certain traditional restaurant in Tokyo.

In a private room, Jinguji and Shidō sat facing each other squarely, spending a moment sizing each other up.

…It was Jinguji who spoke first.

“I have no objection to a coalition. Shall I hear your demands?”

“Cabinet posts… three. We would like you to prepare them.”

Shidō spoke, his lips still bearing that characteristic broad smirk, as if basking in the afterglow of victory. But Jinguji had long known that the narrow eyes behind the black-rimmed glasses told a different story. A graduate of the National Defense Academy. He spent the next decade-plus in the JGSDF’s intelligence branch, retiring as a Major. His start in politics came when he inherited his father’s political base and threw himself into a national election. Since then, he had unified the Republican Party—initially little more than a motley collection of ultra-hawks outside the mainstream of each party—and built it up to its current strength. As a politician, he was by no means a mediocre man.

“Three…!? That’s an utterly outrageous demand!”

Kōji Aramaki, the LRP Secretary-General sitting in attendance, raised his voice.

“This is not a demand. It’s part of our cooperation,” Shidō stated flatly. “Look at the international situation. If we don’t unite as one, where is the path for Japan’s survival? Our Republican Party has no wish to be distracted by petty power struggles at a time like this and risk the condemnation of posterity. I believe you share this view, Jinguji-san. Three cabinet posts… at least until the war ends, we will demand no more.”

“…So, what exactly do you want, Shidō-kun?”

“Education, Defense… and Foreign Affairs.”

“Well now… you’re really driving a hard bargain.”

Jinguji laughed. Even for driving a hard bargain, when the demands were this steep, laughter was all that was left.

Shidō took out a cigarette and spoke nonchalantly.

“…Our younger members are up in arms, insisting they can’t entrust these three specific ministries to the current LRP. Well… I ask you to appreciate our internal circumstances as well.”

“Must I… give you an answer on the spot?”

“Let’s see… how about we meet again tomorrow?”

And so Shidō departed, leaving behind a single remark: “I look forward to a favorable response.”

Then came August 23.

The first Diet session after the election proceeded exactly as widely predicted. The result of the prime ministerial nomination vote was the prime example.

“…It has been decided that Hajime Jinguji-kun shall be designated as Prime Minister…!”

With that pronouncement from the Speaker of the House, who had finished tabulating the votes, Jinguji stood to thunderous applause and bowed. Then he cast a fleeting glance toward a corner of the chamber. At the far end of that hawk-like gaze sat Takeaki Shidō, now seated closer, observing him with perfunctory applause.

After the Diet session, reporters, microphones and IC recorders in hand, pursued Jinguji as he walked briskly toward the anteroom, accompanied by party executives and staff.

“Prime Minister, when will you form the cabinet…!?”

“I will form it immediately, and quickly! The matter is urgent, after all.”

“Is it true you will form a coalition with the Republican Party?”

“No comment…!”

Meanwhile, a mountain of reporters had also formed before Shidō, who had walked in the opposite direction and was about to leave the Diet building.

“Is it true that you will form a coalition with the LRP?”

To the female reporter who threw the question, Shidō smiled, flashing his white teeth.

“Well now. I can neither confirm nor deny that…”

That afternoon, the officially announced Jinguji Cabinet presented an unprecedented composition: three key posts crucial to future national governance—Education, Defense, and Foreign Affairs—were occupied by members or affiliates of the Republican Party. This largely reflected Jinguji’s decision, overriding deeply rooted opposition to the coalition within his own party, to form a national unity cabinet.

At any rate, a governmental structure geared for wartime was now in place.

Day 17 Month 9; 01:17 Japan Standard Time

Minobu Mountains, Yamanashi Prefecture

Just above the mountain slopes, blanketed in a dense cover of ancient trees, the formation advanced as if skimming the surface. Only the sound of rotors echoed in overlapping layers through the frigid night sky.

Twenty minutes had already passed since they had lifted off from the JGSDF Akeno Airfield. Led by an OH-1 observation/reconnaissance helicopter at the vanguard, each aircraft continued its low-altitude flight. The only means by which they could discern their surroundings were the views provided by the night-vision devices mounted on their helmets and the images fed to the cockpit’s Multi-Function Displays (MFDs) from the AN/APG-78 Longbow radar during its periodic scans.

These images, stripping away the veil of the dark night through the eyes of the nose-mounted forward-looking infrared sensor, projected vivid landscapes, vehicles, weapons, and human figures directly onto the retinas of the pilots and gunners via the helmet-mounted sighting systems.

“To all units, target detected 40 degrees to the right. Two tanks, three armored vehicles… additionally, numerous infantry…”

“This is Leader, roger…”

Captain Shirō Murakami, a pilot belonging to the JGSDF’s 3rd Anti-Tank Helicopter Unit, felt his hand tighten its grip on the collective lever of his AH-64DJ Longbow Apache attack helicopter. The moment he pressed the foot pedals, the Apache responded with eye-opening agility, swinging its nose around like a spirited steed. Dropping its altitude even further, so low its wheels seemed about to brush the treetops, it advanced at what could be called a gliding speed. The other aircraft in the formation followed suit, the column of AH-64Ds forming a single line and plunging toward the target with a coordination that made them seem like a single living entity.

The AH-64D Longbow Apache was the JGSDF’s main attack helicopter, introduced before the Transference as the successor to the AH-1S HueyCobra. Naturally, its basic performance, including maneuverability and acceleration, surpassed the AH-1S, partly thanks to the upgrade from a single to a twin engine. However, its most defining features lay not just in the dramatic enhancement of its precision targeting and sighting systems—such as night-vision and infrared surveillance equipment—but within the contents of the oval radome mounted atop the rotor. This contained the aforementioned AN/APG-78 Longbow radar, commonly known as the millimeter-wave radar.

For a combat helicopter, the main battlefield consists of complex terrain where standard radar waves frequently cause scattering and noise, and where targets are small vehicles and scattered points on the ground. To approach at low altitude at night, and to identify, acquire, and aim at these targets without being hampered by the terrain, a shorter radar wavelength is necessary. That wavelength is the millimeter-wave, compressed to the millimeter scale. By combining this millimeter-wave with software for target discrimination and noise correction, and further pairing it with AGM-114L Hellfire anti-tank missiles guided by the millimeter-wave radar, the AH-64DJ achieved an attack capability far exceeding conventional limits. Furthermore, through data links between aircraft, tactical information gathered by the OH-1 observation helicopter or wing aircraft could be used for its own attacks and operational decision-making—and vice versa. A single AH-64DJ is said to possess the attack power equivalent to four conventional AH-1S models or twenty of the JGSDF’s mainstay Type 90 tanks.

Once again, back to the scene of the exercise.

Over the past few days, anti-tank combat training had intensified. The frequency of night flights in particular had increased, and Murakami and his comrades, as ordered, had been repeatedly conducting attack drills against simulated targets. True to the constraints of the narrow training airspace, they stopped short of actual live firing, but the training content grew progressively more advanced, moving from reconnaissance and surveillance to enemy contact and the acquisition of moving targets. It wasn’t only units operating the AH-64DJ; units using the older AH-1S were also being called out for training, continuing their own low-altitude night flights and enemy contact drills with far more inferior equipment.

The phrase, “There’s been a lot of night flying lately,” initially spoken almost as a passing observation by the personnel, was now spreading through the unit with a tone closer to grumbling. While they had initially felt a sense of fulfillment from the increasingly advanced and grueling flight training, quite a few had now begun to grow weary of it. This was true not only for the attack helicopter units like those flying the AH-64DJ but also for other general-purpose helicopter units.

...Yet, as the training schedule progressed, someone—no one knew who first said it—began to voice the thought: “…Seems we’ll be sent to Sloria soon.” That the current training was meant to prepare for deployment to Sloria and combat that might erupt against the armed group there. Looking at it that way, these harsh drills certainly made sense.

…It was a report from his front-seat gunner, Warrant Officer Hikawa, that pulled the contemplative Murakami back to reality.

“…Pilot, radar contact. Acquired two enemy tanks… 10 degrees right. Range seven… Target still moving east, speed 30.”

“Roger…”

Following his gunner’s guidance, he aligned the nose of the helicopter toward the target… and then—

“Radar lock… lock complete.”

Using buttons on the control stick to instantaneously select the targets, Hikawa completed the sighting process.

Simultaneously with the initial detection, the rectangular seeker display on the heads-up display (HUD) had already firmly acquired the direction indicated by the radar. Their intended prey lay beyond that darkness. The trailing wing aircraft, too, would be searching for other prey through their own keen electronic eyes.

“…Fire!”

Warrant Officer Hikawa pressed the Hellfire launch button. But this was a drill; naturally, no live rounds were to be used. After a silence broken only by the airframe’s vibration, the voice of the exercise umpire on the ground entered their earphones.

“…Headquarters to Unit 6, you have been destroyed. Immediately withdraw from the exercise area.”

Murakami dropped his gaze to the tactical information MFD before him. The flat-panel display, having switched to the infrared surveillance feed, showed the angular shape of a tank racing across the exercise grounds—an image that, in spite of himself, made him narrow his eyes.

Day 17 Month 9; 04:13 Japan Standard Time

Over the Hida Mountains, Gifu-Nagano prefectural border

A roar——

——multiple roars, in fact.

The only means of discerning the outside world were the vague terrain images projected onto the two CRT displays before him, fed through the LANTIRN (Low Altitude Navigation and Targeting Infrared for Night) system. The numerical values indicated by the instruments arrayed in a line across the instrument panel—the fuel gauge, engine power gauge, Vertical Situation Indicator (VSI), Horizontal Situation Indicator (HSI)—along with the quantified data displayed on the HUD (Head-Up Display) before him, formed a chain of faint luminescence in the seemingly eternal darkness, providing the pilot his sole source of reassurance.

Aircraft attitude +4… speed 440 knots… altitude… 294 feet… Amid these violently rugged mountains, the numbers shown by the radar altimeter could become meaningless in an instant. The sound of his own breath echoing within his oxygen mask was far calmer now than when the training had first begun… Even so, the hands gripping the control stick and throttle lever were still damp with perspiration.

“——Bravo, keep your altitude, don’t get too low. Maintain visual separation with your trailing aircraft——”

“Bravo, roger.”

Responding to instructions from the E-767 Airborne Warning and Control System (AWACS) orbiting at 24,000 feet, Major Satoshi Hōjō, an F-15EJ support fighter pilot belonging to the JASDF’s 8th Tactical Fighter Squadron, glanced once more at his instrument panel display. The terrain flowing from front to back on the display was rendered by barely sensing the heat emitted by the ground and visualizing the outlines of those heat sources. The LANTIRN, comprising two pods—a navigation pod (primarily a FLIR (Forward-Looking Infrared) for ground target acquisition and a TF (Terrain-Following) radar) and a precision ground-targeting pod—was essential equipment for precision ground attack at night and low altitude.

The F-15EJ Strike Eagle, alongside the F-2, served as a mainstay support fighter for the JASDF, shouldering a portion of its strike capabilities. As an aircraft that leveraged the overwhelming surplus engine thrust of the current mainstay F-15J fighter for the fighter-bomber role, it inherited the Eagle’s inherently high maneuverability, with a maximum ordnance payload reaching a staggering 10.750 kilograms. Combined with the aforementioned precision targeting systems, the F-15EJ’s attack power had become even more formidable.

These past few days, Hōjō and his comrades had been subjected to an unusual training regimen.

Late at night, continuing through to dawn, they would take off from Misawa Air Base in Aomori Prefecture and head south along the Ōu Mountains, following AWACS instructions. Thereafter, emitting no radar waves and relying solely on the LANTIRN’s infrared imagery, they were to navigate the precipitous terrain of the Hida, Kiso, and Akaishi mountain ranges—the Japanese Alps—in a frog-hopping pattern at ultra-low altitude. This they were to continue for as long as their fuel held out.

Relying only on indistinct infrared images, enduring the shrill low-altitude warning alarms, they had to doggedly persist in flight where a single misstep meant certain death, slamming their aircraft into a mountainside. Even when fuel ran low, they were guided not to the nearest airfield at Komatsu Base in Ishikawa Prefecture, but to a KC-767 aerial tanker orbiting above the training airspace alongside the AWACS… Only when the sun rose were they finally permitted to return to base. This was not limited to Hōjō’s squadron alone. The 303rd Tactical Fighter Squadron, equipped with F-2 support fighters and likewise based in Komatsu, and the 302nd Squadron, also equipped with F-2s based at Hyakuri in the Kantō region, were being subjected to the same training, following their orders in silence.

“What on earth are they making us do?”

It was only natural that many harbored such suspicions. Not only the pilots, but the maintenance, guidance, and other ground personnel shared the sentiment. At times, they voiced their doubts in places where others were absent; at other times, they confronted each other face-to-face, airing their shared misgivings. Everyone knew that a powerful enemy, the Republic of Lorida, had emerged before Japan, and that they were attempting to subjugate Sloria—separated from the Japanese mainland by the sea—by force of arms. And in Japan, too, the new administration established the previous month had submitted various emergency war bills. These had passed through the sheer numerical power of the coalition government, and a sense that “war is near” was gradually coming to dominate the atmosphere, not only in political circles but also on the front lines and among the general populace.

The recent movements of the Self-Defense Forces made this abundantly clear. There had been a marked increase in cases where JGSDF units, on the pretext of regiment-level relocation training or amphibious landing exercises, deployed with all their equipment to the PKO base in Neuterane aboard JMSDF transport ships and privately contracted large cargo vessels—and then simply never returned. The JMSDF likewise saw its vessels entering and departing affiliated ports with unprecedented frequency, and many ships that left port were long in coming back.

“Soon, the war will begin.”

It didn’t take long for everyone to start thinking this, even if they never voiced it aloud. They refrained from saying so because the situation remained far too fluid to speak definitively about the true purpose of their training.

Once more, back to Hōjō’s aircraft.

Abruptly, the terrain displayed on the CRT screen became flat, devoid of distinctive features.

Having passed the Hida and Kiso ranges, then exited the Akaishi Mountains to the south, the aircraft was now flying over Shizuoka Prefecture, tracing the course of the Ōi River. Spotting light on the sleeping ground below with the naked eye was nearly impossible, so his hand moved by reflex, switching on the radar. In the next instant, the CRT display shifted to a far clearer radar image, allowing him to grasp the expanse of the townscapes and fields enveloped in darkness below as if he were holding them in his hand.

After a glance at his considerably depleted fuel gauge, Hōjō carefully manipulated the throttle to climb the aircraft, careful not to scatter noise across the ground. Even with the throttles pulled back, the two IHI-F100-PW220E engines mounted on the F-15EJ, generating an overwhelming combined thrust of 6.705 kilograms, pushed the aircraft up to the blue heights of 30.000 feet in less than two minutes.

“This is Bravo 01, requesting refueling.”

“——Bravo 01, roger. Steer heading 1-3-7.”

Pressing the left foot pedal, Hōjō fixed his gaze in the direction where the tanker should be waiting. If they climbed to this altitude, they would likely be among the first in Japan to see the brightening sky and the rising sun.

When he turned to look behind him, from the F-15EJ’s expansive cockpit, he could make out the form of his wingman, who had been sticking close to them ever since they began the terrain-following flight. Hōjō and his backseater felt a slight relief at the sight. The rising sun… that, for Hōjō’s crew, was the signal announcing the end of training and their return to base.

“Fine weather again today, isn’t it…” said First Lieutenant Shōji Matsuura, the WSO (Weapon Systems Officer) in Hōjō’s rear seat. Faced with the mass of crimson light swelling up from the east, cleaving through the clouds and the expanse of the sea, Hōjō too let out a sigh of relief.

“Catching sight of this is the only thing I look forward to.”

Training was being conducted far to the south of here—and far to the north as well.

Day 18 Month 9; 10:23 Sloria Regional Time

Sea southwest of Sloria

JMSDF submarine SS-592 Uzushio

The steel cage, woven from an exquisite entanglement of countless pipes and instruments, was terrifyingly quiet and dark. Spending long hours in this enclosed space, there were moments when he fleetingly forgot that he was a submariner. The only sounds conveying the outside world through the earphones covering his ears entirely were the swirling, drifting currents and the occasional calls of whales showing interest in the vessel. He focused his nerves upon these, his eyes straining at the bright points and waveforms displayed on the screen before him. The ZQQ-6 sonar system—capable of all-around search and likely far superior to his own ears in terms of “listening”—visualized the sounds it picked up, displaying them as bright points on the screen. However, it was the task of Takeshi Umino, Chief Petty Officer and sonarman of the Uzushio, to scrutinize those sounds further, eliminate numerous random variables that confounded the electronic hearing—such as current noise and salinity concentrations differing by depth—and then identify the target.

For two weeks, the JMSDF submarine SS-592 Uzushio had been engaged in reconnaissance and surveillance missions in the underwater realm of southwestern Sloria, a region under the control of the armed group. Two other submarines were also supposed to be carrying out similar missions in distant waters.

The Uzushio itself had already encountered seven enemy surface vessels and two enemy submarines during its surveillance mission. In every instance, taking advantage of the quietness of its diesel-electric propulsion, it had evaded them perfectly, without showing even a hint of having been detected. There had even been situations where they could have easily moved into an attack position, but no attack had been made. Combat, except in self-defense, was prohibited under the official pretense of a surveillance mission. Naturally, this made the crew of the Uzushio, who knew all too well the sequence of events in the sea south of Sloria, gnash their teeth in frustration. At the end of the previous July, an escort flotilla had sunk a single enemy submarine in those waters, avenging, at least in part, the Coast Guard and the Tenryū. Why was what they had accomplished forbidden to them? It might also have been born of a submariner’s almost instinctive desire to engage the enemy navy—especially its submarines—in battle and test their skills against the enemy’s crew.

“………”

Casually, Umino glanced toward the chart table behind the control room, where the captain was examining an electronic chart and conversing with the navigation officer. Captain Kōsuke Kumano, a Commander-ranked officer, was a graduate of a merchant marine university who had entered the force as a Seaman. He presented such a calm, composed impression that one would never guess he had risen through the ranks. Just as Umino stared at the captain for a moment and then turned back to his console——

“………?”

Following his intuition, Umino busily manipulated a spherical hand controller with two fingers. In response, the cursor on the screen moved, pulling the necessary information before the sonarman’s eyes. Guided by the sounds coming through the sonar and, by extension, his earphones, and by the mental image of the underwater scenery those sounds reconstructed, he operated the console with the fluidity of a piano performance. Within seconds, he had stripped away every last bit of extraneous noise like excess fat. The sound now reaching Umino’s earphones transformed into the distant rumble of rhythmic propeller noise.

“Submarine! Bearing 2-3-6. Range 18… It’s heading right for us…!”

Captain Kumano raised his voice.

“Flood negative, depth 200…!”

“Flood negative——…!”

Even as the boat transitioned from stillness to motion, the Uzushio continued its dive. Yet there wasn’t a single extraneous sound. The Oyashio-class, inherently designed to pursue quietness to the absolute limit, was so thoroughly insulated against noise and vibration that its acceleration underwater was almost imperceptible.

Past experience in evading enemy vessels on numerous occasions had given the crew of the Uzushio confidence. Even so, an encounter with an enemy vessel imposed an oppressive tension upon the submariners.

Umino’s reports continued.

“Submarine… closing.”

“Has it noticed us…?” someone murmured.

“…Range now within 10… corrected bearing to 2-3-3.”

After a frozen silence, a faint tremor passed through the hull for all to feel.

“Submarine, directly above us… passing now…!”

In the control room, some must have instinctively looked up at the ceiling. The shudder of the boat and the sound of the propeller transmitted through the hull… Some might have inwardly felt deflated by the enemy’s crude acoustic masking, so utterly inferior to their own vessel. Scattering noise as it went, the enemy boat passed directly over the Uzushio.

“Enemy vessel… continuing away. Range 5…”

“Inform me when range exceeds 14. Prepare the floating antenna.”

They would likely make their scheduled communication with the Submarine Fleet Headquarters on the mainland via Extremely Low Frequency (ELF) transmission. Once he had confirmed sufficient distance from the target, Umino reported.

“Captain, range has exceeded 14.”

“Surface to depth 100… Deploy the floating antenna.”

Even while submerged, ELF communication enabled long-distance contact via communication satellites and a CP-3C airborne communications relay aircraft on 24-hour standby in the skies near the Nansei Islands.

“Captain, floating antenna deployment complete.”

Walking over to the communication station, Kumano spoke.

“Radio, message reads as follows…”

Leaving the captain to dictate the message, Umino continued to focus solely on tracking the enemy vessel’s propulsion sounds. But the underwater scene that suddenly flooded his ears the next moment exceeded Umino’s imagination.

“Captain! …Enemy vessel has turned around! …It’s rapidly closing on us!”

“Hard to port! …Depth 2-2-3… Three degrees down on the dive planes!”

As the Uzushio slowly began its turn, Umino, bracing himself against the considerable list of the boat, strained every nerve in his ears. The joystick-based control system, which allowed the helmsman to operate both the dive planes and rudder seamlessly, instantly translated the captain’s orders into the boat’s movements.

“Enemy submarine… still closing!”

“Dive to depth 240! Quickly!”

“Enemy vessel… range 9… now 8.”

Should they increase speed… or… This was a moment for deliberation. Any further increase in speed would not only risk revealing their presence but, in the worst case, risk having their acoustic signature—their propeller noise—recorded.

“Captain… depth 240 reached.”

The helmsman’s voice struck Kumano and Umino with an effect akin to a divine revelation.

“Stop engines!”

“Stopping engines!”

Silence descended the next moment… The sound of the enemy vessel’s screws passing directly overhead… In the dimly lit interior, before anyone could even sigh with relief, everyone in the control room found themselves instinctively staring up at the ceiling.

“Enemy vessel… has passed. Range 2…”

“It’s gone for sure this time, correct?”

“Distance to this vessel… 3 nautical miles. Continuing to move away…”

“…Reel in the floating antenna, quickly. Abort the communication.”

The captain’s voice was slightly strained. Pressing his earphones tightly and narrowing his eyes at the bright spots on the screen, Umino became aware that he was sweating.

Day 19 Month 9; 13:45 Japan Standard Time

Prime Minister’s Office, Tokyo

——The conference room of the Prime Minister’s Residence.

The man who had become the new master of the residence in place of his fallen friend had, for the past ten-plus minutes, been listening intently to reports from the uniformed members of the Ministry of Defense. Though scarcely thirty days had passed since he assumed the premiership, he had already convened the Security Council seven times. This, in itself, was proof of how seriously the new Prime Minister, Hajime Jinguji, viewed the current situation in Sloria. The reports centered on various preliminary preparations being carried out by the relevant ministries and agencies in response to the shifting Slorian situation, readying for events likely to unfold in the near future. The build-up of military strength, foreign diplomacy, economic policy, production planning, civil protection in emergencies… War, broadly speaking, was a kind of enterprise that demanded the total strength of a nation. Victory was its success; defeat was its failure. And a defeat would negate everything the nation had built until that point. The Pacific War that Japan fought and lost in the previous world had been exactly that.

…For that very reason, once war began, Japan had to secure victory by any means necessary. Jinguji believed that he was not alone in this conviction; likely, not a few of the ministers present shared it. In particular… his eyes narrowed as he regarded a certain woman—the middle-aged woman seated next to Vice Chief of the Joint Staff, Vice Admiral Makoto Fujisawa, who was continuing his briefing in place of the Chief of the Joint Staff, Hiroyuki Uekusa, currently away in Sloria. She was utterly absorbed, peering at documents on a laptop computer.

Her name was Honoka Momoi. She was not a politician. Before assuming her current post, she had been a Doctor of Law who taught geopolitics—a relatively novel academic field—at a national university in Tokyo. That her lectures were so well-attended, drawing not only students from other universities but also members of the general public, spoke to her extraordinary erudition and charisma. Originally a specialist in international law, she had matured and begun her geopolitics research. The first to take notice of the papers she published in the process was a software company that produced numerous war simulation games. The games she supervised were well-received by general users, and, of course, caught the attention of conservative intellectuals and civilian researchers with a certain interest in military matters, eventually leading her to contribute regularly to conservative opinion journals.

It was then that the Republican Party, still in its infancy, took notice. They invited her as a policy advisor, treated her with the utmost courtesy, from making her a lead writer for the party organ to sponsoring lectures where she discussed international affairs. Momoi herself was also a political supporter of the Republican Party and maintained a friendship with its leader, Shidō. Ultimately, it was through these connections that she was appointed to her current position, with Shidō’s recommendation.

“We must win this war.” …When they first met face-to-face, Momoi’s opening words pierced Jinguji’s heart like an intangible sword.

Introduced to her through Shidō, when Jinguji personally inquired about her convictions as Minister of Defense, she stated this clearly. This was at a stage when Jinguji hadn’t even explicitly mentioned “going to war with Lorida.”

“War has yet to begin, Momoi-kun,” Jinguji had countered, though inwardly, he was already deeply shaken. But her next words utterly demolished whatever nerve he had left.

“The war has already begun, Prime Minister. Prepare yourself…”

“………!”

Taking his silence as acknowledgment, she continued.

“It is a mistake to think of war solely as an exchange of gunfire. The true war is fought far from the battlefield, and that is where victory or defeat is decided.”

…Following that exchange, Shidō had said to Jinguji:

“She’s the type who will clearly say something’s unacceptable when it is. Truth be told, even we find her difficult to handle.”

“So… you’re pushing her onto me, then?”

“Well, that’s about the size of it. But…”

Shidō lowered his voice.

“…She’s an invaluable asset. Honestly, I had wanted to use her myself when I took power.”

——Once more, the Security Council meeting.

Though she had reached a certain age, Defense Minister Momoi was still a strikingly beautiful woman. Lines had become noticeable on her face, yet her high-bridged nose, the prominent double eyelids, and the eyes framed by lush lashes exuded an ageless, noble beauty. Her silver hair was long, her bangs neatly trimmed. Perhaps the fact that her paternal great-grandfather had been an Englishman of Irish descent had some influence on her innate features…

It is a mistake to think of war solely as an exchange of gunfire. The true war is fought far from the battlefield, and that is where victory or defeat is decided.

Jinguji’s mind replayed her words. She had said that victory or defeat was decided somewhere other than the battlefield. So was the outcome of the war to be decided here, too… in this very Prime Minister’s Office where they were holding their meeting, even now?

…As Jinguji was lost in thought, the briefing concluded.

Among the numerous reports of the day, the one concerning the formulation of the Sloria PKF operational plan, being advanced by the Ground, Maritime, and Air Self-Defense Forces, must have been the focal point of interest for all the assembled ministers. Naturally, after the report, Vice Admiral Fujisawa was subjected to questions from the cabinet members.

Regarding the progress of the GSDF, MSDF, and ASDF training currently being conducted under “contingency” scenarios, intelligence-gathering activities underway beyond sovereign territory, and further, the details of troop mobilization and movement plans… Matters that, under current circumstances, could not be taken outside that room. During the two or three pointed discussions on these issues, Momoi continuously approved documents she had brought and pored over the meeting materials. Beside her, Vice Admiral Fujisawa—a professional in his field—adeptly handled questions from ministers who were virtual amateurs in military matters. He used simple language to aid their understanding, no longer perplexing them as before with rigidly technical jargon… almost as if he had undergone thorough rehearsals under someone’s guidance beforehand.

…Then, just as all the agenda items had been concluded and Jinguji was about to call the meeting adjourned——

“Minister Momoi… do you have something?”

Jinguji’s eyes widened; before him, Momoi had silently raised her hand. Once given leave to speak, she rose gracefully, like a celestial maiden, and spoke.

“As of this moment, the Self-Defense Forces deployed in Sloria and engaged in various activities are still positioned under a PKO mandate. As the person who bears responsibility for the SDF’s actions and directly commands and supervises them, I ask that the PKO be immediately elevated to a PKF—both to respond to the morale of the personnel currently devoted to their duties in the spirit of international cooperation, and…”

“………?”

A stir ran through the room.

Although the frequency of the Security Council meetings had increased, they were still convened under the premise that the probability of war was rising and preparations were necessary—not under the assumption that war itself was unavoidable. Her proposal struck everyone as somewhat premature. Even Foreign Minister Eitarō Honda and Minister of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology Takaaki Shima, both belonging to the same Republican Party, looked at each other in apparent confusion.

After casting a glance across the assembly with those clear eyes of hers, Momoi continued.

“…Furthermore, this is a necessary measure to appeal to the international community. Elevating the PKO to a PKF is essential to demonstrate to the international community Japan’s resolve to seriously commit to resolving the ongoing series of events in Sloria. Even so… if you were to argue that revealing any intent to engage in combat would only provoke the enemy, such concern is unnecessary. The enemy has already unequivocally demonstrated its hostile intent toward us through a series of actions, a fact our allied nations also recognize. Prime Minister? Do not forget: the war without weapons has already begun.”

The ball had passed from Defense Minister Momoi to Prime Minister Jinguji… The moment she finished speaking, everyone in the room felt it. For a brief moment, he sat with his arms crossed, deep in thought… but it was not long before Jinguji lifted his head toward Momoi.

“Let me ask you, Momoi-kun: do you believe war is unavoidable?”

“Yes, I am one who firmly believes that war is unavoidable.”

Jinguji smiled wryly.

“‘Believes,’ is it… A strong assertion. Very well, I have taken your views to heart. We cannot know how the other side will interpret our intentions, but flaunting the card of military force should not hinder the game…”

After a pause, Jinguji declared flatly:

“…Tomorrow, we will put your proposal into motion.”

——The following day, on the afternoon of September 20, the Jinguji Cabinet formally adopted a cabinet decision to elevate the Sloria PKO to a PKF. Thus, the ongoing PKO reinforcement, part of the contingency response measures, was effectively redesignated as the deployment of the PKF. The PKO forces deployed in Sloria were also renamed the Sloria PKF Advance Force.