Crossover Fan Fiction ❯ Missile Truck ❯ The Great Kanto Bridge ( Chapter 3 )

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THREE

 

Kanto Bridge Closed

 

 

The bridge closure on the Tokyo Bay Aqua-Line was national news. Not only was it a critical piece of Japanese infrastructure that carried half a million people each day, it had been hit by the flying saucer. Yes, a flying saucer.

 

“This bites. I really want to swear,” complained Captain Meshida. Sagara silently looked on without a word, merely staring at the reality on our mess hall TV monitor.

 

The phone rang in the captain’s office. He ran off to get it and was busy for some time. When he returned he was wearing his pistol belt and armor vest.

 

“This is a scramble!” he shouted, and we suddenly get busy. Running for gear, warming up trucks, loading them with live missiles and filling tanks to get us to the south side of the Chiba Shipyards. I grabbed ration packs too, though if we’re lucky we’ll get access to real food from grateful residents of my home town. We rolled out around 15 minutes later, heading south from the base.

 

Redeployment to the Chiba side of Tokyo bay was one of those “not a drill” events. There were already a hundred units in place by the time we arrived from Narashino a mere hour after the scramble. I think that’s pretty good time when you consider all the personnel and engines that have to be warmed up and running, and getting experimental warheads on our trucks. Sagara was sweating as they loaded his munitions truck, and I’ve NEVER seen him stressed before. He was driving VERY carefully, too. A couple klicks out, we stopped to install the headlight slit covers and moved slowly forward with radios OFF and minimal electronics. We didn’t want to get targeted, after all. Meshida had maneuvered us out onto a landfill pier that was built up with shipping and other interests to an actual park a few miles from the bridge, connected to the near side of the penninsula in Saudegaura, a third of the way across the bay then reached an island with the entrance to the trans-bay tunnels over to emerge at Kawasaki. Those were intact, but the bridge itself was down. And the UFO was well within range of our missiles. The downside was there is no cover, no birms, embankments, or protection. Just like in the movies, if we fired we’d be retreating in the open, easy targets for a heavy laser counterstrike, or swarms of flying robots, or whatever that ship used for weapons.

 

Using large navy-grade spotting binoculars we ranged the target from our enfilade position, dug in like the end of the world. Out there was a flying f’ing saucer, right through the bridge. The crashed spaceship was surrounded by news helicopters and helicopter gunships and circling fighter jets, both JSDF and American. In the distance we could see American missile cruisers, which were carrying Tomahawk anti-ship missiles with payloads all the way up to nuclear. I hoped they wouldn’t need them. The aircraft were circling slowly to conserve fuel and bearing the visible white tubes of live missiles, presumably something they were hoping could punch through something so ridiculous that could crash through a bridge and still hold its obvious shape. If it turned hostile we have no idea what sort of weapons it could use on us. I did know that every single movie showed missile trucks were completely useless.

 

Instead, it was sitting there in the bay, wreckage of the bridge and retreating emergency vehicles on either side with their load of crash victims. I broke out the tripod from storage in my cab and got a sandwich when it became apparent from the aircraft continuing their circling that this event, much like the Catians, wasn’t necessarily an armed invasion so much as an old lady crashing into a tree because she’s a terrible driver.

 

When I signed up I was expecting more Godzilla and Evangelion. Instead we got Cat girls. And whatever this ended up being. Will there be tentacle monsters? Face Huggers and chest bursters? Invisible crab faced man hunting predators? Pod people? Big slow moving tree aliens allergic to salt water? None of the above.

 

“We can turn on the radios. Hold position and take shifts,” the sergeant ordered after Meshida gave him orders. We relaxed. Not far from the beach, Sagara was eyeing the water and his truck, where his saltwater rod and reel were waiting. The Tokyo bay was a lot cleaner over the last twenty years. At one point there was so much pollution that you’d need a hospital if the water touched your skin, but the Japanese Green party had gotten a lot of the pollution cleaned up since the 1980’s. There was more radio chatter to the communications truck and Meshida emerged to smoke a cigarette, taking off his helmet but leaving the earphones plugged in. I waited, patiently. He eventually stiffened, spoke into his command microphone and called out.

 

“Hold positions. We’re in for a wait. The diplomats are involved,” he chuckled. So we waited in the dark, waited until the sun came up. I found some intelligent or kindly person had unlocked one of the park bathrooms, which was convenient. Those rations hit you like a brick and they’re tainted with caffeine and salt, so you are wired awake and need to piss after eating one. I finished up, washing my hands, and they even had filled the soap dispensers. No towels, of course. But the blowers worked, loud as they are. I don’t think it matters. Some of the guys were using local radio to get public updates while we waited by our trucks. A couple guys were napping in the cabs, which isn’t a fun experience, but better than mosquito bitten in the damp. This wasn’t a park I was familiar with, mostly going to the ones up by Chiba City. I was twenty kilometers south-west of there with a nice clear view, and field of fire, towards the bridge and its wreckage. They’ll have to ramp up ferry boat service, because that won’t get fixed for years, if ever. The ship probably can’t fly anymore. It really is like an old lady wrecked her Kei car into a tree. She’s alive and befuddled, but that car is totalled. Same situation here.

 

More time passed and the sun rose. I was very tired, and the morning news was available on our phones. Meshida gave the okay to use them while the diplomats were doing their thing. I got lots of message on LINES from my sister and Haruno and Yui and Yukino and Mom and even Dad messaged me with encouragement. Finding out I was actually here on the front lines. That I couldn’t say more about it told them enough to worry and stop asking because I wasn’t allowed to tell. We waited. The sun rose, I ate another ration pack and took a shift trying to sleep. I managed a couple hours despite all the noise. You get tired enough you can sleep anywhere. It is a crucial skill for all military.

 

When I woke up and looked around we apparently had a food truck providing meals, and Meshida had arranged to pay through the JSDF. The guy behind the open hatch was glad to have another hungry customer and I asked for something tasty with fresh fish and sauce. He delivered a bowl and added extra sauce over rice. It was good and hit the spot. He also had bottles of iced tea and Max Coffee to wake me up. I asked for both and slammed the tea with the meal, rehydrating, then sipped the Max in a nostalgic way. Haruno sent me texts, which I replied to as time allowed.

 

“Hachiman?” called out Haruno’s voice. I should have known. She got an escort in, of course. VIP treatment for the pregnant lady. “Aren’t you going to say hello?” I sighed.

 

“Hello, Haruno. I’m working right now,” I said, gesturing to my truck, the missile rack, and the distant wreckage and circling aircraft.

 

“I can see that. You look very busy, too,” she gestured to my novel, open on my lap. I was reading Catch-22 again. It really resonates with you when you’re in military service. “How do you not just stare at that thing. It’s an actual space ship. A real flying saucer.”

 

“That thing in Okinawa was a real flying saucer too.”

 

“Sure, but that wasn’t round. It wasn’t a classic one. It wasn’t this big, either,” she added. “And it didn’t shatter the bridge between Kawasaki and Saudegaura like this one did.”

 

“I’m just glad it didn’t hit the tunnel. The bridge is wrecked beyond repair, and they’ll probably have to build another one around it to link up with the tunnel entrance,” I suggested. The guys had been talking about that.

 

“Yes, I can see you are right.”

 

“How is the princess?” I asked her. She rubbed her very swollen belly happily. She’s fine. Her usual self. The DNA test had revealled I’d be getting a daughter this time, and yes, it was mine. Its funny with a flirty woman like Haruno that I’d been the one to gain her real affections in the end.

 

“Are you thinking proprietarily about me again, Hachiman?” Haruno accused. I took her hand.

 

“Probably. Has your mother said anything about our situation?” I asked her.

 

“She drops hints. Really big hints. If you could do something heroic and die that would be best, according to her. If you would marry me that would be politically acceptable,” she added.

 

“How do you feel about that?” I asked her.

 

“Oh, being a war hero’s widow has its social appeal, but the nights are cold, and you’re too good company to waste on pointless deceptions,” she answered, still smiling. That was Haruno. She wasn’t mad, exactly, but she was the smartest one in the room and held stupid people in contempt. I got a pass by virtue of not rolling over for her, being smart enough to snipe back, and for having caused her sister fits of jealousy when I picked another girl over her. The same girl who’d divorced me and kept my child for herself. Even the sweet and innocent girls would hurt you in time. I sighed.

 

“Stop thinking about Her. She’s a silly girl, and her loss is my gain,” Haruno answered, reading my mind of the common topic. Haruno never wasted words. I think she got that from her mother, who preferred glares to smiles.

 

“You’re so different. Your mother would be glaring at me if she was here right now,” I pointed out.

 

“We’re probably on several cameras right now. I saw Tokyo news crews outside the cordon when I first arrived,” she added. “Got anything to eat? I’m in the mood for pickles, and maybe some chicken with peanut butter sauce. What do you call that? Satay?”

 

“I’ll show you to the food truck that’s being our commissary right now. He’s got a really good tokatsu don you’d love. A great rich sauce full of homemade aspic,” I explained.

 

“Yeah yeah, I’ll watch the truck,” offered my partner in the other seat, going back to sleep.

 

I escorted Haruno to greet the Captain who looked her up and down suspiciously, then raised and eyebrow at me, brushing us off rather than complain or say a word beyond politeness dictated. The food truck guy was happy to see us and cooked us up a couple of Tokatsu don bowls and big pickle for Haruno. She crunched it, waiting to dig in to the food while we enjoyed a picnic bench in this park, surrounded by military hardware and the rumble of a muffled generator truck. The cables were all around us, but it was just ticking over right now. It would fire up the rest if we needed them for war operations.

 

“So these are the divorced men you travel with all over Japan?” Haruno asked after satiating herself on the food.

 

“A few of them are actually still married. There’s a guy in communications with the captain who has nine kids,” I pointed. The sergeant with the scar has a couple wives, some special dispensation thing, and a kid on the way. But most of the rest are divorced,” I agreed.

 

“It is odd that this would be the result of that JSDF policy shift and the Diet agreeing to cover payments for active servicemen. Would being married to me cause you trouble in your job?” Haruno asked.

 

“Probably not. These are divorced men. We aren’t jealous,” I explained. “When I started here I had to fix the truck. It was full of holes, rusted through a bunch of places. I rebuilt my drivers seat. It was broken inside, and rotten too,” I explained, pointing back to my truck.

 

“You sound proud of the work you did to get to this point,” Haruno said gently.

 

“I guess I am. Nothing worked right. It was like us, discarded, used badly and thrown away. We restored it to working order, just like we restored ourselves, and now we’re on the front lines, staring at aliens. It could be worse,” I shrugged.

 

“Sure. They could be shooting at us,” Haruno laughed.

 

“I wonder what they’re like?” I asked.

 

This question would actually take around a year to find out. In that time I’d be married to Haruno, in my uniform and in front of the press and a number of dignitaries who were socially willing to consider our status as future parents an added bonus. Japan is not like a lot of countries that way. It really is a bonus to have a kid on the way when married. Tells the relatives they aren’t wasting time on a fruitless marriage. My sister and Taishi showed up, as did my parents. And Yui and Yukino came and cried and left early without insulting anyone. Haruno got lots of text messages on LINES from her sister, which she cheerfully answered with maximum snark later. Really, Yukino should know better by now. My son seemed well, even if his mother was crying.

 

Nearly a year after the landing the new bridge construction was well underway and the aliens emerged, apparently some kind of sex robots. Yes, sex robots. They explained that they needed owners to be happy and proceeded to meet with various dignitaries and organized some kind of exchange program where scientists would be allowed onto their craft if they could normalize relations with ordinary people in Chiba and Tokyo and presumably prove their very adaptable DNA would not cause problems. The scientists had worked that much out and verified that these sex bioroids were engineered human descendants, apparently, and returned from somewhere in space. They were an offshoot of humanity and should probably be welcomed back to Earth. So Japan found itself with a fifth ethnic group.

 

I named my baby girl Hina. Haruno persists in calling her Hime, though.