Gate – Season 2 Thus the JSDF Fought in their Seas! - Volume 1 - Chapter Pr

Avion Sea, Special Region, 29°N, 15°E 0723H Rondel Standard Time

The man closes his eyes, channeling all of his concentration on the task ahead with his senses heightened. The receiver could pierce beyond the dark, pitch-black veil of the ocean depths, revealing to him the quaint sloshing of waves above, the minute comings and goings of individual bubbles, and the songs of many different fish.

But what he was looking for was far beyond all these sounds—these unwanted noises. With the careful grip of his fingers—as if he were holding a carefully crafted and fragile glass bead—he silently turned the receiver, changing its direction.

“…?”

He carefully peeled away at the veil of noises one layer at a time. He even went so far as to stiffen his breath and put to silence the beating of his heart. Through an endless repetition of this delicate process, he was able to piece together a very vague picture of their target. One could probably describe this entire affair to be similar to that of trying to find a needle along the beach just by the feel of one’s hand.

“…So? You found it, didn’t you?”

The chief sonar technician asked him, Petty Officer, 1st Class Matsubashi, to which he promptly replied with a curt “Shh!” Inside the dark sonar room of the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force’s Oyashio-class attack submarine the Kitashio, where every sound felt like they registered as direct touches on his eardrums, silence was key. Carefully rolling back the volume control with a couple of minute flicks of the finger, he gave his proper reply in hush.

“…Yeah. It definitely rings like the sound sample brought back by the Nishishio. As for whether or not they’re one and the same, well…”

“No, as long as you think they’re alike, we’re definitely on the right track.”

Chief sonar technician Chief Petty Officer Katagiri let out a sneering grin at Matsubashi’s confirmation.

The control room, the place that served as the nexus of all decision-making in the submarine, was a space that was just a tad bit bigger than the interior of a big city bus if all its seats were taken out. At the very center of the room was a slightly elevated platform called the naka-no-shima—Japanese for “center isle”—upon which two poles stood opposite one another. Standing tall like the shinbashira central pillar of a pagoda, these two poles, the submarine’s periscopes, appeared to extend deep into the submarine and high into the sail. Flanking the naka-no-shima were walls lined with consoles for controlling the vessel and gathering information on the battlespace, manned by personnel who were focused on their specific tasks.

Toward the front on the submarine’s port side sat the helmsmen. This area was the submarine’s ‘cockpit.’ But any bus driver, pilot, or anyone familiar with handling large vessels will probably find this ‘cockpit’ strange. For one, there are no windows. Instead, the helmsmen were piloting the submarine while looking only at instruments and screens. In other words, the helmsmen cannot see what’s in front of them. But such trivial matters as visibility aren’t really a submariner’s problem.

Behind them stood two navigation officers and officers on watch, one of each on either side, supervising the personnel on their side. Further beyond them, on the naka-no-shima, stood the officer of the deck, who oversaw everything in the control room.

The officer of the deck, Lieutenant Commander Komatsujima, was on edge. He couldn’t stop biting on his nails. He overheard the commotion over in the sonar room for a while now.

“Sonar to control. We’re picking something up just to the right of our bow. We think it’s S-8-5.”

“And do we know what exactly is S-8-5? It could be a sea monster for all we know; we’re in the Special Region, after all! If it’s something we have to be prepared to deal with, I’d like to know ASAP!”

“The data we have isn’t much to go with so we couldn’t say for certain what it is, but Matsubashi’s vouching that it’s similar to the sound picked up by Nishishio.”

“That Matsubashi said so?”

“Yes, sir, the one and only.”

Matsubashi was a one-of-a-kind sonar technician. The petty officer was said to be gifted with the kind of sensitive ears that made him the perfect sonar operator. It’s said that his ears are even better than the machines he’s working with. To the surprise of everyone, he’s been able to ‘sniff out’ and detect all kinds of submarines operating in the Sea of Japan—Russian, Chinese, South Korean, North Korean, and even American types. If Matsubashi says that something is there, then something is there.

Lt Cdr Komatsujima turned around with vigor as if he had been waiting for this moment.

“Shall we rig the sub for ultra quiet, captain?”

“Hm.”

Captain Kurokawa Masaya nodded in approval.

The captain sat on his red folding chair at the tail end of the naka-no-shima with a map of the ocean behind him and the entire control room to gaze upon. Whereas the submarine was like the rest of the body, the captain was its brain; the rest of the crew were the rest of the organic entrails keeping the body together. Like a human body, the submarine moves at the behest of the captain. Every action is at the sanction of the captain and carried out at his discretion and will. Meanwhile, the officers under his command are like the body’s spine: they carry out actions at their own limited discretion but are ultimately always subject to the one on top.

“Put the sub in ultra quiet.”

Komatsujima gave the order.

“Control to all. Ultra quiet order in effect!”

At the order repeated by the IC (interior communications) personnel, the air in the submarine stood ghastly still.

Meanwhile, at the galley, Petty Officer, 1st Class Tokushima was peeling the skin off a potato with his knife when he yanked the peel into his mouth. Then another one. And then another one.

“Mmm! Tastes good! You’ll make for a good potato!”

Just as he was appreciating the raw yet juicy texture of the potato peels, the PA in the galley sounded.

“Control to all. Ultra quiet order in effect!”

“We’re going ultra quiet?!”

No matter how busy he gets, he wasn’t the type to slack off on orders. Maybe that’s why his name is Hajime: whereas others need to process orders when they hear them, for him they go directly to his soul as if the orders permeate through his skin. In other words, he gets things done the first time (Hajime means “first” in Japanese). Hence his dexterity and responsiveness when orders come, no matter what sort of business he’s sorting at the moment.

Whenever new recruits are asked “What is an order to you?” they always couldn’t come up with an answer. But for Hajime, the question and its answer are simple: they come when you least expect it. They come when you’re in the middle of dropping the big one. They come when you’re right in the middle of bathtime. Thus, it is imperative that one must always drop whatever they’re doing at the moment and do as ordered. This is the responsibility drilled into every single personnel aboard the vessel, for it is the least they could offer to the world in exchange for pay as they don’t even produce anything of value.

Be that as it may, the ultra-quiet order couldn’t have come at a worse time for Hajime. The Kitashio is host to 74 personnel, including Hajime and others who aren’t part of the crew. They may not have a role as exciting as those above them but it’s their duty to ensure everyone works on a full stomach, but the order came just as they were right in the middle of making those meals.

“Dammit! Could’ve finished peeling this potato…”

He quickly put the half-peeled potato in a resealable plastic bag and promptly tucked it away in the refrigerator. As for the potatoes that were still unpeeled, he put them back in the stowage containers under their chairs. Other culinary technicians and members of Squad 4 present in the galley quickly turned off most of the equipment.

“Tokushima! Come help get these boxes out!”

“Yes, sir!”

Tokushima and other culinary technicians took out boxes of preserved foods from their storage.

See, when the order for “ultra quiet” is given out, every piece of machinery besides those concerned with propulsion—including refrigerators and airconditioning—are turned off to try and reduce the noise the submarine makes. All off-duty personnel are to take to their bunks and minimize O2 consumption by making as little movement as possible, which also doubles to minimize noise. One couldn’t even go to the toilet since opening and closing doors and operating non-essential instruments that use running water are strictly forbidden when the order is active. These restrictions also naturally apply to the galley, which without the machinery necessary for cooking must make do with canned food.

“So… PO Matsubashi’s bed must be… this one!”

Having made his way to the crew quarters below the torpedo room, Tokushima climbed up to one of the topmost bunks and rolled over onto his side. He wasn’t part of the Kitashio’s crew, so he was given the submarine’s visitor’s special: a bunk right next to the heavily armed torpedo room. But since the torpedo room was likely to be manned at this time, he opted to instead find a nearby empty bunk so as to not get in the way of the crew.

“I wonder how long this will go on for.”

The submariner’s bunk was not built for space or comfort, but PO1 Matsubashi’s bunk had a bit of room from the ceiling so it was not as claustrophobic. But that was just because his bunk was the topmost and it was not without its own demerits: the ‘ceiling’ was actually mostly thick pipes running above the bunk and the bunk was close to the ventilation ducts.

“Ah well. We’re in the Special Region, after all; I may be a longtime submariner, but I haven’t dealt with this kind of situation. All I know is that I could count on good ol’ Kitashio, but dammit… I can’t tell what’ll happen.”

Petty Officer, 1st Class Natsuzawa, a fellow culinary technician lying in the bunk next to him, silently groaned at his statement. Petty Officer, 2nd Class Takada who was in the bunk below him also replied.

“No need to fret, Tokushima. We’ll get you to your objective in one piece. See, not even the Special Region could touch mighty old Kitashio!”

“Huh? Oh no, I’m not worried about that. I’m worrying about those poor potatoes I left…”

“Seriously? That’s what you’re worried about?”

Petty Officer, 2nd Class Kōda on the bottommost bunk chuckled.

“He’s a cooking fanatic, so go figure… But we’re actually in the same boat. At this rate, our vegetables will shrivel up in no time. All our hard work keeping them veggies at the right degree of freshness… down the drain.”

To prevent highly perishable vegetables from spoiling, culinary technicians Natsuzawa, Takada, and Kōda went to great lengths. They carefully cut out the parts that were already spoiling, constantly flipped them on their sides to prevent sore spots from forming, and even went to the lengths of inserting cotton padding in spaces to maintain structure. But now with the ultra-quiet order in effect, their work is stopped in its tracks. They were now racing against time, against their efforts turning for naught.

But they all knew that they were not on some cruise ship. They’re on a submarine. A warship. It goes without saying what comes first in such a situation. In addition to their duties, they are paid to exercise restraint and suck it up.

“For real, though, those potatoes were legit…”

Tokushima lamented as he stared straight into the low ceiling. He pondered over the crispiness of the potatoes and how they’d start to go mushy as time went on. Then he started slipping into the slippery slope of the imagination. All the dishes he could’ve made with such good potatoes.

Croquettes. Potato gratin. Hash browns. The sublime possibilities were endless. And all those infinite possibilities were slipping out of his grasp as the silent special dive order dragged on.

Hope steadily turned to sadness.

The hands of the clock strike in silence as the tension in the air lingers. In the time since the order was given, all sections have notified the control room that the ultra-quiet order is in effect. The machine room, the galley, the quarters… before long, the Kitashio was quieter than a whisper.

Ten, twenty, and then thirty minutes pass in total silence. The captain, Kurokawa, gave an order in a hush.

“Rudder, 5 degrees to port, slowly…”

If the rudder is suddenly turned, the action of the machinery will be louder, which will notify enemy submarines of their presence. To avoid such a scenario, all actions must be done with utmost care and delicacy.

“Rudder, 5 degrees to port, aye…”

Helmsman Petty Officer, 3rd Class Kiuchi repeated his orders as he slowly turned the rudder to port. Not long after, the submarine’s bow began to turn to the left; correspondingly, the numbers on the submarine’s course also slowly changed. But far before the number could reach 142 degrees, IC forwarded a report from the sonar room.

“Incoming message from sonar room: S-8-5 at bearing 211. They’re saying it has a flipper action signature.”

Besides the towed array sonar, the most sensitive sensors on the submarine are the ones fitted on the flanks of the hull. By turning the bow to the left, the starboard sensors were able to pick up the sound of S-8-5.

As for the so-called ‘flipper action’ signature, it is a type of acoustic signature first detected in the Special Region. Before, all sounds coming from living creatures were lumped into a catch-all category, the “animal cries” signatures. By the time they ventured into the Special Region, they realized the need to split the categories due to the new danger posed by unknown aquatic life to their submarines.

“Steady as she goes, 142…”

Kurokawa ordered the helmsman to maintain the course where their sonar would prove most effective.

“Steady as she goes, 142, aye… Steady at heading 142…”

The helmsman corrected for the port rudder action and once he reported that their course had stabilized, Kurokawa acknowledged him. They could now focus their attention on monitoring S-8-5.

“Have we identified S-8-5 yet?”

Kurokawa asked, to which IC phoned the sonar room. After receiving the sonar room’s hushed reply, IC relayed it to Kurokawa in a whisper.

“Not yet.”

The trouble is that it’s difficult to identify their target by their flipper action signature. Whether the target is ultimately just some harmless aquatic creature or the enemy, there isn’t enough data to conclusively tell.

“Shall we deploy the TASS, captain?”

Lt Cdr Komatsujima asked.

“No need. Katagiri will tell us if we need to.”

Besides that, Kurokawa nodded in affirmation to everything. He knows chief sonar technician Katagiri is doing everything he can and that encouraging or egging him on won’t necessarily get their jobs done faster. All that he could really do right now was just wait for more reports from him.

He closed his eyes as he maintained his dignified posture, holding back his impatience.

1221H Submarine Time

“You lost track of S-8-5?”

Checking in, Kurokawa went to the sonar room. However, Katagiri could only apologetically report that they lost their target.

“Yes, sir. We believe it went into the shadow zone…”

Hearing the vexation in Katagiri’s tone, Kurokawa bit his lips in restraint and gave out a simple order.

“Find it.”

It couldn’t have just completely disappeared if it were a living creature. It should still be there.

“Roger.”

As he left the sonar room and went back to the control room, he wondered how they lost contact.

He remembers this certain line: “A submarine fights just like a sniper.” As he wondered where he heard that line from, he started drawing parallels. In books and films, snipers are depicted as men donning ghillie suits and maintaining their postures for hours on end. They blend into the trees and grass, lie in wait as they pick out their targets, and ready their powerful sniper rifles for a ‘one-shot, one-kill’ type of action.

But the primary fight of a sniper lies in the process of how he got to the killzone. By knowing how the enemy thinks and moves, a sniper evades their attention, finds the best spot from which to engage them, and carefully tracks them with their excellent endurance. They then lay in the dirt, cover themselves in mud, get bitten by bugs, and wallow in their own filth for hours even days on end, only to have a sliver of time at the end to pull the trigger. If the only thing a sniper has going for them is a good shooting arm, they’d probably have died early in the hunt.

In that sense, a submarine does fight just like a sniper. Each moment of a submarine’s existence is crucial; there isn’t a single moment where they can relax.

“Hide in the depths, searching for the enemy…”

It sounds simple enough when said, but what it entails is an ungodly amount of endurance, hardship, patience, and calculations. Such a life is simply too boring to make a compelling story out of.

“What are our current ocean conditions?”

Lieutenant Atsugi, who took up the role of officer of the deck after Komatsujima’s shift ended at 1200H, replied to Cpt Kurokawa.

“Ocean temperature at our depth of 215 meters is 12.3 degrees.”

The depth is maintained by the diving officer of the watch at the range ordered by Kurokawa, which is more or less 50 meters. The reason why the depth tolerance was set so big was to minimize noise and keep operations to a minimum, which was unavoidable. But in the meantime, some metrics have drastically changed.

“The ocean temperature is different from a while ago.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kurokawa has had enough with this alien ocean. Clicking his tongue in irritation, he got up from his seat and turned to face the ocean map behind him.

Seawater is salty in general but the degree of saltiness (salinity) varies per location and depth. The same goes for ocean temperature. These two factors, along with pressure which gets higher the deeper one gets, influence the speed of sound in the ocean. The higher any of the three becomes, the faster sound travels. Because sound waves have the peculiar characteristic of bending toward where they travel slower, an omnidirectional sound wave that travels through the ocean, which has areas of varying salinity, temperature, and pressure, will produce spots where it physically couldn’t go. These spots are collectively called the shadow zone and submarines make active use of them to hide themselves from the enemy, just like a sniper donning a ghillie suit to hide their outline and blend into the foliage.

 The seas that the Kitashio had ventured to up to that point were shallow and the water temperature remained almost constant from the surface to a depth of 150 meters. But right now, they are currently in an area where the seafloor figuratively fell off a cliff and there appeared to be pockets of seawater with vastly different temperatures and salinity levels that collected near the depths. Apparently, before they knew it they had ventured into the upper edge of one of those pockets. As a result, the sound waves released by S-8-5 were plunging into the depths, missing the sensors on the Kitashio altogether.

The fastest way to solve this problem would be to change the submarine’s depth, but that wasn’t an option now that they lost track of S-8-5. This was because changing the submarine’s depth would mean moving the rudders, which would make noise. Using the sniper comparison earlier, this would be like moving to try and find the target, rustling fallen leaves and grass in the process. In the chance that S-8-5 is hostile, the sound of the rudders moving would give away their presence and location. Before they know it, the enemy will send a torpedo their way.

In the end, Kurokawa decided to maintain the submarine’s speed and depth.

They carefully measured the depth of the ocean floor as they quietly went. Slowly, delicately, and patiently, they searched for their target. Such is the way of surviving on such a hostile battlefield.

1415H Submarine Time

It has been seven hours since the ultra-quiet order. The Kitashio continued to sail at the absolute minimum speed.

Leaving the control room in the hands of the officer of the deck, Kurokawa once more ventured to the sonar room.

“Huh? Why are you guys still here?”

He found chief sonar technician Katagiri and Matsubashi still in their stations.

Submarine operations are split into three shifts, usually measured in six hours each. The shifts should have changed at 1200H so the two should already be in their bunks. And yet here they were, still glued to their consoles hours since he last checked on them. They probably haven’t determined S-8-5’s identity yet and they couldn’t pass the duty onto the next shift.

“Maybe this is it… No, this is it!”

Matsubashi murmured as he held onto the receiver.

“You really found it? S-8-5?”

“Yeah.”

Kurokawa turned his gaze to the Lofargram and BTR monitors, which showed all sorts of compositions of sounds that were propagating in the ocean in different colors and shapes. He couldn’t make out any of them, however. Matsubashi, though, looked confident.

“This is it.”

Kurokawa acknowledged him with a low “huh.”

No matter how much technology evolves, he understood the reliability of human gut feel, especially from those who know what they’re doing. The most advanced of machines exist for the sake of helping people. Hence, machines are ultimately just tools.

“Bearing?”

“250. It’s going down slightly to the right.”

“Is S-8-5 the same as the sample brought back by Nishishio?”

“There’s a bit of distance to the target so the short wavelength sound is dampened; what I’m hearing is just the long wavelength sound. In other words, I still can’t say for sure that they’re one and the same. I really need that short wavelength sound to be certain…”

“Okay… Has S-8-5 noticed us?”

“No… It’s moving in a straight line.”

“Alright. Continue to maintain surveillance of the target. Oh, and Katagiri, your shift’s up long ago. Go and rest. I can’t have the both of you out cold when we need you most!”

“Roger that, captain.”

As Katagiri replied with a triumphant grin, Kurokawa left for the control room. Arriving there after a couple of paces, a PO3 in charge of the officer’s mess was waiting for him.

“Captain, I’m here to remind you of your lunch. Please have it.”

“I’ll be on duty in the control room in a bit. Please, captain, have your lunch.”

With the PO3 was Commander Hachinohe, the Kitashio’s XO and the ship’s quartermaster, who put in a good word for the petty officer.

Having lost track of S-8-5 just before lunchtime and was thus pressed to find it, Kurokawa completely forgot about lunch. Now that they knew where S-8-5 was, he was free to have lunch.

“Oh… Right right. Thanks. Have the officer of the deck maintain our current heading and surveillance of S-8-5. Hachinohe, if there isn’t any change with S-8-5 in say… five hours? Yeah, if there’s no change in five hours, set us back to our original course.”

“Roger. Set the course back to the original by 1915H.”

“Thanks.”

Leaving command of the control room with the officer of the deck, Kurokawa retired to the officer’s mess.

The corridors in an Oyashio-class submarine are about as wide as the doors of a typical JR limited express train. The submarine has restrooms, visitor’s quarters, crew quarters, washrooms, and other spaces. Off to the side of one of these corridors behind a narrow entranceway is the officer’s mess.

On the captain’s table was a tray of biscuits and canned food. This sight wasn’t out of the ordinary under ultra-quiet order since cooking apparatuses are not allowed to be operated when the order is in effect. Still, even for someone used to the submarine diet like Kurokawa, the sight of such food was heartbreaking. If the highest-ranking officer in the boat is disappointed with this, it wasn’t hard to imagine that the grunts weren’t doing so hot either. The one saving grace in this disaster of a meal was the steaming mug of aromatic coffee next to the tray.

“This S-8-5 has gotta be the one Nishishio encountered, right, captain?”

While Kurokawa was enjoying his coffee after finishing his lunch, a man wearing work clothes bearing the rank of Captain who appeared to be killing time at the officer’s mess asked him.

This man was none other than Edajima Gorō, director of the Special Region Division of the Intelligence Services Group. Possessing the kind of rapport no one would expect one to have in a submarine, Edajima was in charge of all sorts of operations in the Special Region. This was the man who negotiated with the astronomers of Rondel to acquire access to documents necessary to create an astronomical almanac, which the JMSDF needed so that its ships could navigate the Special Region’s waters. Naturally, the reason why he is onboard the Kitashio is because of a mission; their mission as the Kitashio’s crew is to ferry him to his objective.

“Likely, yeah.”

Kurokawa nodded as he remembered the captain of the Nishishio, Captain Sakuma.

They may have rather simple maps of the seas of the Special Region nowadays, but this wasn’t the case three months ago when the Nishishio, the first JMSDF vessel to venture into the Special Region, took to the waves. Like an RPG player going through a dungeon for the first time, the Nishishio carefully and thoroughly advanced through the oceans. They surfaced to conduct astronomical observations, and dove into the waters to measure ocean depths, density, and currents—some of the simpler oceanography stuff.

But one day, they came across something. Knowing what they had to do, Captain Sakuma did what was expected of them: collect intelligence on the enemy and bring it back home. Even as they had a narrow brush with death, Captain Sakuma and the crew of the Nishishio braved the ordeal and made it back to their homeport. Everything they had collected back then was, of course, downloaded to Kitashio’s database.

Just then, the XO came running into the officer’s mess.

“Captain! We’ve confirmed seven flipping action-type signatures! Matsubashi’s convinced: S-8-5 is the armored whale that attacked Nishishio!”

Putting down their mugs of coffee, Kurokawa and Edajima silently rushed back to the control room. They requested updates on their current depth and distance from the seafloor, which came in one after the other.

“Here’s the report on the target’s movement: bearing 029, speed 12 knots, CAP 4300!”

“It’s gotten faster than expected. Think it’s gonna outrun us?”

“Wait! Movement detected from S-8-5!”

Just then, their target’s behavior changed. For some reason—the unpredictable fickleness of a living creature or perhaps some sort of behavior—the target is doing something else.

Wait, what was it again?! Kurokawa fumbled for the right word that had fallen through the cracks in his thinking. What could it be… is it ‘attack’? Yes… Yes, it is!

As soon as he found the word he was looking for, a chill ran down his spine and all the hairs on his body stood on end.

Breaking the ultra-quiet order, Kurokawa barked.

“Bastard’s on the attack! Engines at full power; take us to full speed, steady as she goes! Foreplanes at full pitch! Brace for impact!”

Soon after, continuous mechanical clacking similar to castanets being played echoed throughout the hull. A sonar technician glued to the monitors then screamed out.

“It’s pinging us!”

The action of ‘pinging’ isn’t only just to know if an enemy is there or not. It’s also for setting sights on a specific target—the Kitashio.

“Rudder, full to starboard!!! Foreplanes at full pitch; steady as she goes!!!”

The helmsman repeated his orders and swiveled the rudder, but there was a bit of a lag before the vessel started turning.

“Foreplanes at full pitch, steady as she goes, aye!!!”

After a few seconds which felt like forever, the Kitashio’s corridors turned into slides as the vessel dove into the depths. Tableware and empty aluminum cans fell and rolled onto the rubber matting. Personnel who weren’t able to respond to the captain’s order in time were thrown against the walls and the floor. PO1 Natsuzawa, who was clearing away the boxes filled with preserved food, fell back and hit his head against the wall loudly. 

The Kitashio continued on its downward clockwise spiral. Personnel held on for dear life as the unexpected roller coaster ride they were on went on and on.

“C’mon… C’mon!!!”

Tokushima murmured as he gasped for air.

“The Shkval has passed above our starboard! We’re clear!”

The crew quarters let out a collective sigh. After all, everybody knew what happened to the Nishishio.

The “armored whale,” known locally as the Cornu Cetus, is a ferocious sea creature classified as a Class B, Category 3 dangerous wildlife in the Special Region. Capable of growing up to 50-60 meters upon reaching adulthood, there is no shortage of stories of small wooden vessels and their crew being eaten alive by them. As its name suggests, it’s impervious to harpoons and swords, causing the locals of the Special Region to fear it as an evil god. Its most peculiar features are its thick, hardened, body-wide exoskeleton and sharp tusks.

When it hunts for food, it launches these sharp tusks at speeds faster than the speed of sound (underwater, too). The tusks are about six meters long, 50cm thick, and are coated in thick enamel similar to those found in kitchen knives. What’s most interesting is that when launched, the tusks travel through the use of interior machinery similar to torpedoes, though the construction is rather simple.

With the existence of animals in the Amazon using high-voltage electricity to hunt and creatures in the Special Region that could breathe fire, these kinds of creatures aren’t exactly impossible to imagine. Either way, biologists are dying to investigate these animals more closely, hoping to find answers on how these creatures developed such sophisticated physiologies.

During its excursion, the Nishishio found itself crossing paths with such an animal. Even with the information that such an animal exists, they didn’t know that the Avion Sea was also one of its habitats. Another characteristic of the armored whale is its violent territorial behavior; anything that dares to intrude on its territory, it mercilessly slaughters. The Nishishio’s hull may be made out of NS80 tensile strength steel but even that won’t fare nicely against a hardened tusk traveling at speeds in excess of 1500km/s. Nevertheless, the Nishishio came back home with all of its crew, and that is all thanks to their tireless training, Captain Sakuma’s calm and swift decision-making, and a large helping of luck.

When the Nishishio’s crew found out about what they had just encountered, they named the beast the Skhval after a Russian torpedo that had similar qualities to its tusk attack. The name stuck and the rest of the JMSDF started calling the beast with it.

Fortunately for them, one of the Skhval’s weaknesses was that once it launched a tusk, the tusk simply traveled in a straight line like an unguided torpedo. Adding on the fact that it had nothing like an explosive warhead and it made the tusk attack very easy to dodge. By keeping a certain amount of distance from a Skhval and immediately changing course as soon as it lets out a sounding cry—a sign that it’s readying to attack—one could easily get out of the tusk attack’s way. This was how the Nishishio survived the ordeal and Captain Sakuma’s pioneering tactic to deal with a Skhval.

Still, the fact that an aquatic creature possessed such a dangerously accurate long-ranged attack was surprising; it definitely earned it the capacity to be feared and respected. This is why Captain Kurokawa and the Kitashio have been very delicate in tracking it.

Kurokawa issued more orders.

“Raise the foreplanes!”

As the helmsmen returned the submarine to horizontal level, he turned to the starboard side of the control room and shouted.

“Now it’s our turn! Ready torpedoes for launch, ASAP!”

Torpedo specialists on station near the underwater launch tubes quickly get to work on readying the torpedoes for launch. The rapid clicking sound once more rang throughout the submarine.

“We’re getting another one!!!”

The cry wasn’t exactly clear but everybody knew that it came from the sonar room. Hearing it, Kurokawa reflexively barked at the helmsman.

“Rudders, full to port!!!”

The helmsman swung the controls left with all their might.

“Rudders, full to port, aye!!!”

As soon as the hull started to turn, a loud ringing metallic bang resonated throughout the hull.

“The Skhval has grazed our rear starboard hull!!!”

A chill ran down everyone’s spine. That was too close for comfort.

“Rudder, amidships!”

“Rudder amidships, aye!”

But everyone in the control room hardly budged from their positions. This wasn’t the time to be scared or surprised.

“Tube 1, ready to launch!”

“Tube 2, ready to launch!”

The chief torpedo officer reported to the control room, to which Kurokawa promptly reacted.

“Tube 1, launch!!!”

“Tube 1, set!… Shoot!… Fire!”

The weapons officer sitting on the starboard consoles in the control room turned his key. From the three forward-facing tubes on the Kitashio’s starboard bow, the uppermost tube opened, expelling a torpedo at immense speed and pressure. The telltale sound of water gushing at high speeds echoed from the bow throughout the hull.

“Launch bearing 281; torpedo on the way!”

“Commencing guidance!”

IC then forwarded a report from the sonar room.

“Skhval changing course! It’s running away to the right! Acoustic signature intensity increased!”

The armored whale turned around, probably having realized that what it was fighting was fighting back. Their torpedo, however, was wired for the chase. The final part of the cat-and-mouse game has begun.

The Skhval attempted to swerve all around the place in zigzags to try and break away from the torpedo, which was hot on its tail. Such swift and nimble maneuvers were unimaginable for a sluggish conventional submarine to replicate—hell, not even a nuclear submarine with its limitless fuel could try and move like it. What’s more surprising was that it was just as fast as a torpedo. Well, it was actually outspeeding it by a bit now that it’s going all out.

“Where is the Skhval?”

“Bearing 290… 295… 300!”

The armored whale was trying to escape to the right of the Kitashio, slightly diving and climbing as it went. But Kurokawa wasn’t simply just observing what it was doing; he was painting a picture in his head of the enemy’s path relative to their submarine and their respective options for maneuver. Then, he executed his next step.

“Foreplanes, at level! Rudders, full to starboard!”

“Rudders, full to starboard, aye!!!”

The helmsman turned the rudder as far right as it possibly could. Kurokawa then fixated his gaze on the bearing numbers as if waiting for something.

“Foreplanes, at level, aye!!!”

The helmsman then turned the rudder to the opposite side to cancel the turning inertia. Moments later, their course stabilized.

“Tube 2, launch!!!”

“Set!… Shoot!… Fire!”

A torpedo was ejected at speed from one of the port forward-facing bow launch tubes.

With the use of wire guidance, they intended to drive this second torpedo toward the expected course of the Skhval, which was still running away from the first torpedo. The beast appears to be fixated on the first torpedo behind it, which was periodically letting out piercing pings, and as such hasn’t noticed the second torpedo silently making its way toward it. Under guidance from the Kitashio, the second torpedo stealthily advanced towards a region devoid of anything but was where the Skhval was expected to pass.

“Torpedo 2, set for contact!”

“Contact!!!”

A giant bubble explosively opened up in the middle of the ocean. Caught in the middle of the explosive bubble was the armored whale.

Formed by the detonation of the torpedo, the bubble was like a delicate soap bubble created by the clash of immense water and explosive pressure. When that force is applied to a structure such as a watertight hull, the shockwave of the explosion reflecting off the hull instantly pops the bubble. But in turn, the immense force of the shockwave forces the wall of water against the watertight hull in an instant, piercing it like a spear would pierce an armored breastplate. This is the destructive potential of underwater explosions.

The intense pressure blast created by the explosion ran against the armored exoskeleton of the 60-meter Skhval, easily gouging it and breaking it apart. As if that wasn’t enough, the first torpedo joined the carnage. The second explosive bubble ripped apart the armored whale’s exposed body, dousing the surrounding seawater in blood.

Two booms echoed throughout the ocean, followed by the unsettling sounds of chaffing, writhing, and creaking, all of which could be heard on the speakers onboard the Kitashio.

Maybe it’s the dying cry of the Skhval? Or is it the hardened parts of the armored whale being crushed by the deep sea pressure? Or maybe it’s both? Who knows.

Silence once again engulfed the innards of the Kitashio. Then, Kurokawa’s ears were aflush with the unfamiliar sounds of his men cheering in victory. The agony from hours of the ultra-quiet order vanished completely from their faces, replaced by bravado and ambition. They were, in other words, “in high spirits.” The sight of their crew in such a state was an officer’s proudest moment.

The sounds of their dying enemy over the speaker got ever softer, ever farther. Then, the sounds of those sounds bouncing off both the seafloor and ocean surface came. The echoes continued to come and go before completely fading away.

“Attention all. This is your captain speaking. I’m proud to tell you that I could not be any happier serving with the best crew I know.”

Kurokawa took to the PA to broadcast throughout the submarine.

“But let me remind you that there are other threats out there. Don’t let your guard down.”

The armored whale was a living creature. That means that it isn’t alone, especially not in this area. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary if it had offspring or mates nearby; they have information that Skhval live in packs, after all. For that reason, this ocean was filled with dangers in a different sense from the Earth’s submarine-hunter-filled oceans. But the implication was the same: they must never let their guard down.

With that in mind, Kurokawa advised his men to keep their wits about.

It was the summer of the year 20XX. A portal to another world, the now infamous Gate, opened in Ginza in the middle of Tokyo’s Chuo Ward.

What came out were hordes of infantry and cavalry donning suits of armor reminiscent of medieval Europe. Following them were orcs, goblins, trolls—grotesque-looking creatures the likes of which were only seen in fantasy novels and films. When they crossed into this world, they bared their fangs on the people who were coincidentally in the area. The elderly, the youth, men, women, even those who weren’t Japanese were attacked. It was almost as if their goal was to slaughter as many as they could.

For people who had been used to living in a peaceful country in a peaceful time, they had no means to fight back. The tragic scene of horrific screaming unfolded as the assailants expanded out of the Gate. Shoppers, parents, their children, and foreign tourists were all trampled under the hooves of hundreds of horses as their cavalrymen speared and slashed anyone they couldn’t trample. Corpses filled the streets of Ginza as casualties mounted, dying the asphalt roads a deep red.

It was hell on earth.

The forces of the other world piled the corpses atop one another, creating a small mountain upon which they planted their military banners. Then, at the top of their voices, they declared the conquest and annexation of the land. It was a declaration of war to which there were no witnesses.

The Ginza Incident. This would be how later generations would remember the moment that the other world and our world came into contact.

After having suppressed the worst of the Ginza Incident at great expense, the Japanese government deployed the Japan Self-Defense Force to the other world—thereafter referred to as the “Special Region”—to demand the authorities on the other side for compensation for the loss of the people slain and damages wrought, the extradition of the perpetrators of the incident, and guarantees to never repeat the incident. The unit to be deployed was christened as the Joint Task Force (JTF) which comprised roughly a fifth of the combined strength of the Japan Ground Self-Defense Force and Japan Air Self-Defense Force.

The JTF then secured access to the Gate on both sides to ensure that the military forces of the Special Region couldn’t reattempt an attack. Afterward, the JTF defeated numerous attempts by enemy groups to retake the Gate. Seeing the necessity to ascertain the enemy’s circumstances, the JTF deployed deep exploration parties into the heart of the Special Region.

Amid the JTF’s deep exploration effort, a certain Itami Yōji and the 3rd Deep Insertion Intelligence and Reconnaissance Team managed to make contact with an individual claiming to be the imperial princess. Through her, they discovered that the world of the Special Region is ruled by an expansionist nation simply called the “Empire.”

Wishing not to let this opportunity slip, the Japanese government promptly commenced peace talks with the Empire. Interference from the United States, China, Russia, and other states, and upheavals and political violence in the Empire caused many setbacks, but through the efforts of Itami Yōji and the JSDF, the seeds of peace were protected. In time, they grew, and Japan and the Empire were able to formalize a peace agreement with provisions for economic exchange.

But the end of this story was only the beginning. A thorny path lay ahead for Japan. Peace may have been settled with the Empire, but they learned that there were also other countries and tribes in the world beyond. As humanity continued to expand its activities into the Special Region, the Japanese government, which has the monopoly on access to the Gate, was pressed by the international community to uphold the responsibility of establishing amicable relations with the people of the Special Region.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the rule of law or goodness of one heart that ruled the Special Region; it was power. In order to establish peaceful economic exchange with that world, it was imperative that they support their operations to curb lawlessness with their own power. For that, they called upon the JSDF to act as the stick to their carrot.

Of course, the JMSDF was no exception. Like their comrades over on the continent, they too set out on yet unknown seas of the other world.

If I had to choose between sublime and trash, the stuff he makes is definitely sublime. But for some mysterious reason, I don’t feel moved. Not at all. It’s a flat zero in interest factor. That’s because his dishes are run-of-the-mill, the ingredients and naturally good to use, and his techniques are safe and conventional. Cooking is a work of art! It’s the byproduct of years of experiences, emotions, and ideology carved into the cook; it’s supposed to be an adventure that tells someone more about the cook!

If you look at the preeminence of his father, you can see that it is born out of a life of disappointments due to setbacks and the hardships of trying to find the ‘new’ deliciousness after getting back up! That is why Chef Tokushima’s flavors are beautiful—no, they are divine! They are absolutely worthy of Three Stars! But his son, Hajime? It would seem like his father and his older brothers only taught him the techniques that worked, likely because “you’ll do well too if you follow them to the letter.” He has no doubts, no refutations, no self-assertions.

That is why Hajime is no more than a simple cooking machine—an empty, shallow figure who only avoids mistakes and failures.

He will get NO stars.

This was the rating handed to Tokushima Hajime by the editor-in-chief of the Citroen Guide. It was a harsh scrutiny of his abilities as a chef—no, as his person as Tokushima Hajime. Had it been someone else who got this review, they might have given up culinary arts altogether. This must have been the case, especially if their father and older brothers banded together to pamper them, teach them how to cook award-winning dishes, and instill in them—just a mere high school student—the motivation to go beyond the norm.

But Hajime was different. Naturally honest and upfront about his feelings, he ditched the kitchen and decided to earn more experience to try and give his “empty and shallow” life some depth. He surmised that maybe by then he might be able to create dishes that the editor-in-chief would find to be ‘moving.’

So he resolved himself, but how exactly does one go about giving their life “depth?”

Just as he was pondering that question, he laid his eyes on a JSDF recruitment poster and promptly made his way to the recruitment center. There, the recruitment officer, a member of the JMSDF, directed him to the naval forces. Had he laid his eyes on a police recruitment poster, he would’ve become a police officer; had it been a fire department recruitment poster, he would’ve become a firefighter. While the yakuza or other illegal organization types don’t exactly put out recruitment posters, he might’ve joined them if they were there at that moment. Thank goodness they weren’t, he sighed while looking back. In this sense, he really was no more than a “cooking machine.”

Naturally, his family was absolutely against his joining the JSDF. But when he reminded them that he had become who he was simply because he listened to what his parents and family said, they weren’t able to stop him. Henceforth, Tokushima Hajime became a member of the JMSDF.

Regardless of the Citroen Guide’s editor-in-chief’s cruel review of him, his culinary skills were insanely amazing. This was why even the JMSDF didn’t let him go. He was sent to the JMSDF 4th Service School to earn qualifications as a culinary technician. Because of his aptitude, he was stationed with the Takashio of the 2nd Submarine Squadron based in Yokosuka. Shortly after, he was stationed with the Hashidate auxiliary ship to serve as one of its cooks.

The Hashidate is a special kind of ship, one that’s more fitting to be called a floating reception hall. In times of disaster, it serves as a medical support and rescue command ship, and in times of peace, it receives distinguished guests from home and abroad and treats them to a luxurious meal. As a result, the Hashidate’s cooks are among the best the JMSDF has to offer. By being deployed with the Hashidate, a cook serving with the JMSDF can proudly consider themselves to be one of the best in the force.

But then during his tenure there, a certain man posed him some questions.

“A man of your skills entered the JSDF just so you could ‘get more experience outside the kitchen?’ Aren’t you doing the same thing here, just on some boat out at sea? Wouldn’t serving in the kitchen of your family’s three-star restaurant suffice?”

The man was Edajima Gorō, then a Lieutenant Commander.

Those were the words that set him on a winding path with the undesirable yet reliable Gorō. They were a bit nasty to the ears but that didn’t make them any less true. He entered the JSDF, concluding that he could never achieve growth just by being in the kitchen, yet since entering the force all he’s ever been in was a kitchen. Was that really something he could live with? At this rate, he’ll never live up to the Citroen Guide’s editor-in-chief’s expectations

“What do you think I should do then, Lt Cdr Edajima?”

“I don’t know. Just get out of the kitchen, I guess?”

Thus, Tokushima set his sights on the submarine course.

Anyone can apply for the submarine course, whether they are a culinary technician or of any other qualification. After passing the specialized underwater training course, he then set his sights on the Special Boarding Unit to try and reach the next level. But that is where he hit his limit and he realized how he just wasn’t cut out for combat.

“Ugh! It would’ve been cool being a special forces operator who had culinary qualifications!”

He had a brief moment lamenting his fantasy of a cooking nerd doubling as an SF operator going down the drain. God doesn’t give you two gifts, after all.

Nevertheless, his efforts were not in vain.

He crossed paths with Edajima once more and like the devil leading enticing someone with sweet promises, he had an offer for him.

“You’ve got heart, guts, and an indomitable will. If you’d like, you could allow me to make use of your special skills. Haha, don’t take this as some invitation to do something illicit. No no, I’m just giving you the chance of a lifetime. You see, where I’m going, there will be tons of things and creatures you’ve never seen, let alone heard of! Yes, I’m going to the world beyond the Gate. I’m confident that you’ll get the ‘outside-the-kitchen’ experience you desire, something that everyone you know will envy you for. What do you say?”

“Y-Yes! I accept!!!”

Whether Edajima was just taking advantage of Tokushima’s upfront character or Tokushima was allured by the thought of adventuring in the world beyond the Gate, he chose to head to the Special Region. There, he realized just how Edajima doesn’t choose the means by which he satisfies his desires. Nevertheless, Edajima was right: he did experience many things he wouldn’t have had he stayed behind in the kitchen.