Ishimaru

by Louis Rosas

The elder Shintaro Matsumura gave the nod to step one pace at the edge of the white marked ring. But where was Hiroshi? His untimely delay seemed out of place if not rude. This only added to the sense of dread as Connors found himself in a situation he could not escape without honor.

  Connors closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Within the “Men” helmet, his breath echoed like some Sith Lord out of a Star Wars movie adding to the tension he grappled with. No sooner than he opened his eyes, Connors could see Hiroshi appear in full armor carrying his bamboo Shinai sword at his side. Following custom he too shouted:

  “Onegaishimasu!”

  The elder Matsumura gave his nod after Hiroshi made his customary bow. The challenge had been accepted. And now it was to begin.

  Enter the surreal! As the two fighters stepped one pace into the ring, a beam of white light emitting from the window of the old wood lined dojo.

  ‘Strange,’ thought Connors.

  This was not how he remembered it. But then again nothing seemed as he recalled repeating. The two fighters stepped one pace drawing their swords before making the customary “Sonkyo” bow. Connors once again closed his eyes for a moment when suddenly a familiar voice speaking in an unmistakable English accent called his attention.

  “Sir Mike?”

  Caught off guard, Connors quickly turned his head, and to his surprise he found Hopkins appearing where he should not be or at least not how Connors remembered it.

  “Hopkins, what are you doing here? This is not how I remembered this!” exclaimed Connors.

  “I understand your concern, Sir, but it’s imperative that I must warn you that the circumstances have changed,” warned Hopkins.

  ‘What the devil does that mean?’ wondered Connors.

  At any second the match was to begin. Dismissing the obvious, Connors turned his head to face his opponent then he realized something was terribly wrong. Rising out of the “Sonkyo” position gearing ready to fight was another fighter and not his intended challenger Hiroshi Matsumura.

  “Oh hell no!” exclaimed Connors.

  Standing directly across from him with his with a black jagged sword drawn readying to strike was the menacing eight-foot-tall alien in his black reflective armor and hoses running from his helmet to his back that had stalked him earlier. This was certainly not by any means how Connors remembered this match.

  “Don’t worry son. You can take him!” encouraged another familiar voice.

  Out of nowhere, the old wood lined dojo became the old basketball court at Kadena Air Base. Major John Reyes stood on the sideline with his old wingman Tom Mathews cheering him on. The wooden bleachers were filled with American Military Personnel all chanting his old call sign “Duke.” There he could even see MSgt. “Howling Mad Jack” Evans howling away from the sidelines as the crowd of Americans started to chant “Duke-Duke-Duke!”

  The sudden home court advantage seemed to calm his nerves restoring his confidence as he raised his sword ferociously leaping into the air with a fearsome battle cry.

  “Score one Men!” declared the elder Matsumura officiating the match.

  Connors fast attack hit the alien square on the head before he could deflect his blow. The large growling alien in black reflective armor appeared stunned if not indignant that the human before him had struck first. But the match was far from over.

  The chanting from the Americans grew louder as Connors turned with his sword drawn to face his angered opponent who suddenly drew a loud deep resonating howl of his own that sent shivers down Connors' spine. Undaunted, Connors gripped his shinai and circled. Just then, the alien lunged forth nearly striking Connors hard hitting his chest armor. The large alien despite being two feet taller and far more massive than Connors moved slower yet struck with such immense power nearly shattering Connors’ chest plate armor. Connors quickly regained his footing and lunged forth to counter striking “Do” in a diagonal strike across the chest. Score two for Connors!

  Up until this point, the large alien gripped his black jagged sword continued to abide by the strict rules of Kendo. But it was becoming abundantly clear that the alien’s patience was coming to an end as he further engaged Connors. Suddenly the large Alien fighter threw his full body weight throwing Connors six feet back into the air landing him square on his back.

  “Mike-san! Anata! (Dear) Get up!” cried Aya.

  Connors came to and found himself out of his Kendo Armor. In the momentary daze, he was surprised to find himself standing somewhere else in full combat gear holding a pulse rifle strapped into the seat with two dozen assault troops.

  “This is it boys and girls!” said MSgt. Evans.

  “Our Japanese Allies made the call and damned if we don’t deliver! As our combined U.S. Marine and Japanese strike forces come in over the water, we’ll make the orbital drop and come in high from out of the sun hitting them so hard the bastards won’t know what hit them! HOOAH!” declared MSgt. Evans.

  In a single combined roar, all the troopers shouted back:

  “HOOAH!”

  Nowhere in Connors memory did he ever do an actual combat mission of this sort. He had trained to be a flight engineer, not an ass-kicking ground pounding assault trooper. The closest he ever came to anything like an orbital assault drop was his escape training drop to simulate using an escape pod in order to qualify for orbital flight status. And as far as he was concerned the only mission where a combat drop of this sort involving a combined American and Japanese force happened years ago to liberate a small set of disputed islands he did not take part in. This happened a year after Connors left the service to pursue a commercial flight status before going on space prospecting expeditions after the new gold rush was declared.

  The memory of his own orbital training drop and the memories of the combined Senkaku Incursion and the infamous South China Seas Incident had somehow merged into this battle that Connors had never participated in or had ever existed. This sudden intense alternate reality had put him right in the middle of the action with all the feel of a real operation right down to the smell of sweat and nervous tension. All the troopers were strapped in as the red light turned on meaning they were seconds from the drop. With seconds to go, the female Corporal sitting next to him with the name patch reading Winters seated to his left nudged him to offer him a stick of chewing gum just like Wood did on his training drop. Connors gladly accepted and unwrapped the gum as fast as he could before the green light lit.

  “Here we go, boys and girls! HOOAH!” shouted MSgt. Evans who unfastened his restraints and stood up gripping an overhead grip bar as the light turned green and the orbital insertion began.

  Where weightlessness seemed not a bother, the insertion into re-entry brought about fiery, violent turbulence that rumbled Connors' stomach. He could tell from the orange glow of the small port window that they were punching a hole in the Earth’s atmosphere for a rapid orbital assault on the tiny island below.

  “Piece of cake!” said Connors as he reassured Corporal Winters to his side.

  Within the blink of an eye, Connors found himself seated across from Aya as her commuter craft landed at Osaka.

  Connors could not believe his eyes. There he was seated in the next aisle from Aya as she reached for her phone to call her brother. He could hear the wheels skidding on the runway and slowing to a slow taxi.

  “Aya-Aya!” he called.

  Aya was on her phone too distracted to notice that her American husband was seated across from her.

  “Aya! Put your head down now!” he cried.

  Aya suddenly puts down her phone and appeared shocked to find Connors appearing alarmed sitting right next to her urging her to lower her head. Before she could speak, she could see a fast oncoming object racing towards the windows of the craft.

  “Duck!” he shouted.

  Aya instantly ducked her head as the commuter craft was struck in a violent collision. Fire and smoke filled the air.

  “Aya!” desperately cried, Connors.

 
; “Who the hell is Aya? There’s nobody here by that name!” shouted MSgt. Evans.

  Connors unexpectedly found himself in the crashed belly of the orbital assault ship that was hit by a small missile upon landing.

  “We’ll come on trooper! Go get some!” shouted MSgt. Evans.

  Connors got up and tried to help Corporal Winters who appeared wounded.

  “Forget it! She’s gone! Now if you want to stay alive, what do you need to do?” asked MSgt. Evans.

  “Get out of the OAV?” guessed Connors.

  “Right! NOW GET OUT OF THE OAV!” ordered MSgt. Evans.

  Connors grabbed his pulse rifle and raced out the back of the wrecked OAV past scores of dead & wounded troopers. Explosions and tracers fired in all directions in a cacophony of violent chaos. Connors raced over to a large sand berm and dived into it. Connors was no front line trooper yet there he was caught in the fray. Amidst the shouts and cries of the wounded heard over gunfire and artillery, Connors looked up to see the large black reflective vessels that stalked him earlier. As one slowly passed over him, he could see himself in its reflection looking up as missiles and pulse weapons interspersed under its path. The large silent craft began to emit a strange electro-sounding hum as it appeared to be readying to leave the battle when suddenly a large deafening explosion hit the alien vessel’s flank. It was a direct hit rocking the large reflective craft as it rose high into the sky before it could engage its engines. Just as the vessel began to move skyward, a white-blue light enveloped its silhouette sending the craft up above towards the stratosphere at rapid speeds before exploding into a thousand shards of fiery debris raining down onto the ocean below.

  Smoke had replaced weapons fire on the battlefield. Connors could hear distant sporadic bursts from small arms as the battle had reached its near end. Like some grand finale, a wave of U.S. Marine Corps fast attack fighters of the famous VMFA-242 Bats Squadron came in low for a final strafing run to deliver the Coup de grâce. Like red laser beams, their 30-MM Vulcan Cannons mounted under their noses tore right into the tree line obliterating everything in sight. What awe destructive power! They flew in close delivering the final blow with overwhelming firepower. But then it occurred to Connors;

  ‘Who the hell are we fighting?’ he wondered.

  Something sure as hell didn’t make any sense. No sooner than Connors questioned his perceptions, all the guns went silent leaving only the faint sounds of distant fires and crashing waves cleansed of blood.

  By now, the screams of the dying and wounded were heard no more. The assault forces had either moved further inland or were never there, to begin with. It seemed like nothing at all had taken place amidst the tranquility of this surreal mist covered beach. But then out of nowhere, Connors thought he could hear what sounded like horses.

  “Really? Horses? What the hell?” vexed Connors.

  At last, they appeared like out of a dream, a dozen antiquated Japanese Samurai in full red armor right out of the 15th century complete with the diamond Nobori (banners) of the Takeda Clan appeared on the battlefield as they rode in over a looming sand berm.

  This could not have been any stranger until Aya appeared riding atop a tall adorned steed in full red Takeda armor. She led a column of Samurai as if she were Lady Yae with a spear in hand. Connors had to have been dreaming.

  “Hopkins are you there?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sir. I am right here by your side as I have been the entire time,” he replied.

  “I can no longer tell the difference between a memory and a dream no more than what is an oxygen-starved hallucination and what is a reality,” explained Connors.

  “That is one of the reasons I am here for Sir. To help you survive,” remarked Hopkins.

  Without Hopkins to guide him, Connors would truly be lost.

  Survival! Now there was a motivating thought! This inspired some much-needed hope. But first, he would have to regain his bearings before he could navigate through his senses.

  “How much time do I have left?” he asked.

  “Sir, I am afraid you only have one-hundred twenty minutes remaining before your oxygen runs out,” answered Hopkins.

  ‘One-hundred twenty minutes to live,’ he thought.

  “How does one spend that last one-hundred twenty minutes of one’s life?” asked Connors.

  “I cannot say, Sir,” replied Hopkins.

  “No. I suppose you can’t, but I will figure something,” resolved Connors as he sought to avoid defeat.

  Connors closed his eyes once more and listened to the sounds of the crashing waves. He could recall when he was a child playfully chased by his mother along the waters white foamed edge. Such bliss! Oh, how he loved the overcast skies and coastal mist of Southern California! He could imagine laying there on that beach of his youth and gather his thoughts.

  “See you around,” said a familiar female voice.

  Connors instantly looked up to see Leanne smile back at him once more as she walked into the three foot waves before disappearing for the last time. Connors looked up with a single tear in his eye as Leanne disappeared from sight. Hopkins appeared standing right by his side to offer some friendly advice.

  “Sir, please forgive me for saying so but that girl likely represents your past. While the other girl off in the distance represents your future,” pointed Hopkins.

  Connors looked over far down the beach as he could see Aya alone riding a horse along the water’s edge off in the distance.

  “Yes, I believe she plays a big role in my future,” agreed Connors.

  Hopkins smiled in agreement.

  “That is correct Sir. You must think of the future if you are to have one,” advised Hopkins.

  “I think I would if there’s still a chance I can get off this rock still breathing. Do you believe there is still hope?” asked Connors.

  Hopkins knelt down on his knees so he could speak frankly.

  “Let me ask you Sir, and please forgive me if this is too forward of me to ask, but when you found yourself in that alleyway in San Diego where you thought all was lost, did you give up then or did you find your way?”

  Connors stopped and thought to consider Hopkins’s question. Then he remembered that he indeed bounced back from that desperate state. There was no reason why he could not do it again.

  “You know Hopkins, I believe I am going to make it,” declared Connors.

  “Well done Sir! That’s the fighting spirit!” smiled Hopkins.

  “My emergency transmit beacon is still working?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sir. We are still transmitting,” replied Hopkins.

  “If I am correct, there should be another patrol making a run in this sector that should come close enough to pick up my signal,” said Connors.

  “You are correct Sir,” agreed Hopkins.

  “Great! All I need to do to win this battle of the mind and then I will conqueror this battle for survival! You know, I believe I’ll get out of this yet!”

  CHAPTER VI

  The LOST BOYS of mihama

  Nearly three centuries earlier in the year 1830, another story of survival took place. Somewhere far beyond the cold reaches of space on a small unnamed island in the Pacific Ocean on Planet Earth, four young survivors of the Mika-Maru washed ashore. Their cargo-laden ship had set out for open waters from the Chita Peninsula for Edo Bay before being caught in a sudden storm. Fierce gale winds and large white-capped waves broke the ship’s rudder as the crew struggled to maintain her course, but it was no use.

  The crippled vessel was blown far off course and out beyond Japan’s shores into the Pacific. Over half of her crew was comprised of young novice sailors who were too inexperienced to know what to do in such dangerous seas. Most of them were lost as they tried to right the top-heavy ship before she started to list. Her final death blow came in the form of a large house-sized wave that sent the doomed vessel to the deep. Those who survived faced an uncertain fate and the perils of starvation and dehydration. Of th
e crew of the Mika-Maru, only four young boys were left alone to fend for themselves in the great unknown far from home.

  The four boys who survived were Ryuichi (Age 15), Onchi, (Age 13) Iwakichi, (Age 12) and Yukichi (age 10). They had all suffered from the effects of scurvy during their fifty-three-day ordeal at sea. They could only drink what few precious drops of desalinated water the boys could muster and eat what little fish they could catch while adrift. But now they were on land. There, they had found themselves washed ashore on a small deserted island lined with white sands, a dozen few trees, and little vegetation. With the exception of Ryuichi who had previously made three cargo runs to Edo, the boys of Mihama who had been hired as novice deckhands had never been away at sea before. Captain Yahara had made a major miscalculation in the storm’s strength putting his crew in peril. Now left in wet tattered rags, the boys found themselves in a most wretched state with daunting obstacles to overcome.

  Sounds of crashing waves rang in the ears of the fifteen-year-old Ryuichi as he became conscious along the water’s edge hours after he had washed ashore. He had been lying down in the wet sand as the white sea foam of the surf repeatedly tingled his scrawny feet. The battered juvenile rolled over onto his back and opened his soulful eyes to look up at the bright blue sky and heavens above. The blaring sun shined brightly like a beam of light pointed directly at him. The brilliance of its rays was blinding to view forcing him to raise his hand to block it out from his eyes. Ryuichi looked away and let out a small laugh followed by a short cry that he was still alive as he sat up and breathed deeply. For Ryuichi, he knew that his ordeal was far from over.

  Ryuichi looked out to the crashing waves before him and began to sulk. The possibility that he may very well die alone on this small forsaken speck of land in the middle of the great ocean blue brought tears to his eyes as he clasped his hands together and begged to the heavens for forgiveness.

  “Amida Buddha! Gomenasai! Amida Buddha henjo kongo!” he pleaded.

  But neither the Gods, not the Buddha’s could hear his cries amidst the deafening sounds of the crashing surf nearby. Ryuichi began to cry as he knelt deeply into the wet sand and bowed for whatever he might have done to befall this sorry fate. Only the coming tide would hear his pleas and cared not what man begged of them.