Pathway to Japanese Literature

Lieutenant

“Hmm. Back again, are you?” With that, Captain Tagoto tossed the cigarette he’d been holding into the ashtray and then stared at the front of the name card with a troubled expression. In front, the duty soldier stood at attention, his face twisted into a grimace. This was the officers’ club at the XX Defense Flight Unit headquarters near the Imperial Capital.

“Oh? Captain... Who might that be?” About a week prior, Lieutenant Togawa—newly assigned to this flight unit—had stopped flipping through the phone directory and addressed his superior. “Well, that ‘Fireball’ Lieutenant has come again.” “What? ‘Fireball’ Lieutenant?”

With that, Lieutenant Togawa raised his eyebrows high,

“Ah, you mean Rokujō.” “So that Rokujō fellow was here?” Lieutenant Togawa’s eyes lit up like a boy’s as he glanced back toward the entrance. But there was no sign of anyone there.

To begin with, this “Fireball” Lieutenant called Rokujō Sōsuke and Lieutenant Togawa had been classmates. And once, while keeping watch on the Soviet-Manchurian border ahead, they had shared hardships in the barracks of an advance airbase, their heads resting side by side through life’s ups and downs. These two were inseparable comrades-in-arms, yet their personalities stood in complete opposition. In contrast to Lieutenant Togawa—a meticulous and composed military man ideally suited for a flight officer—Rokujō was an audacious officer whose entire being radiated combat prowess, as one might easily surmise from his nickname. And so, the two of them would often trade good-natured insults.

“What’s this? You! Keep fretting over numbers like this, and you’ll never score victories bigger than those spreadsheets!” When Rokujō Sōsuke would tease him like this, Togawa, for his part,

“Don’t talk nonsense. If you start battles and immediately forget all calculations like this, you’ll just end up getting stabbed clean through the gut by some no-account enemy soldier’s bamboo spear—that’s your fate.” he retorted. But in truth, these two officers had always respected each other’s strengths. It wasn’t as if Togawa’s words had twisted into prophecy, but sudden misfortune befell him nonetheless—forcing him to withdraw from the front lines.

This unfortunate incident occurred one day when he stood before a half-collapsed house to inspect the aftermath of a Soviet Air Force bombing raid—only for a Logistics Corps truck to come charging around a sharp curve toward that very spot. When he dodged aside with a startled cry, the soldier driving the truck—whether from inexperience or panic—wrenched the steering wheel the wrong way. The truck veered instead into the half-collapsed house’s support pillar, and with a thunderous crash, finally crushed that damaged structure completely. There, Lieutenant Rokujō—whether due to misfortune or a lack of thorough caution—ended up being crushed beneath the structure. Everyone immediately worked together to dig out the lieutenant’s body, but his injuries were so severe it seemed miraculous he still clung to life. In the end, ever since that time, Lieutenant "Fireball" had lost the use of his right arm, been withdrawn to a field hospital, and ultimately had his right arm amputated from the upper arm.

With one arm gone, Lieutenant "Fireball" could no longer pilot an aircraft. Therefore, he was evacuated from the front lines—but Lieutenant "Fireball" wouldn’t listen to anyone’s orders. He struggled relentlessly, yet no matter how hard he fought, he knew the amputated arm would never regrow as before—so they forcibly repatriated him to the mainland. “I know what that guy’s saying,” Captain Tagoto continued. “‘There’s no one but me who can smash through Soviet heavy pillbox clusters,’ he claims—demands I pull strings to get him back to the front immediately.” The captain shook his head wearily. “He’s come here thirty or forty times already, but no matter how much he begs, this particular matter simply can’t be helped.”

With that, Captain Tagoto shook his head from side to side with an utterly troubled expression. "Do you think he can manage even without a right arm?"

Lieutenant Togawa had been separated from Lieutenant Rokujō and dispatched to headquarters before this incident, so since then he had not met him.

“That’s right. He says, ‘I still have my left arm and both legs, a mouth full of hard teeth, and a thick neck.’ That fighting spirit is commendable, but this matter simply can’t be helped.”

As he was saying this, a booming voice came echoing from the direction of the reception. Captain Tagoto and Lieutenant Togawa involuntarily exchanged glances.

“It can’t be helped.” “Hey, sentry!” “Bring Lieutenant Rokujō here.” Captain Tagoto finally said.

“Captain.” “Would it be acceptable for me to remain here?” “Ah, that’s fine.” “Please do stay there and give Lieutenant ‘Fireball’ some comfort.”

Soon, a burly man led by the sentry entered the room; upon looking, he stood rigid in Civil Defense Corps uniform and indeed had a right hand.

New Civil Defense Corps Member

“Oh, that attire of yours…”

As Captain Tagoto voiced his bewilderment, the burly man respectfully raised his right hand in a military salute, “Ah, today I have come hoping that by showing you this appearance, I might set your mind somewhat at ease, Captain.” “Oh, Togawa—Lieutenant Togawa.” “It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it?” Such a burly man was, after all, “Fireball” The burly man was none other than Lieutenant Rokujō. For some reason—today—“Fireball” Lieutenant “Fireball” was uncharacteristically cheerful.

“Oh, getting to see you—I’m damn glad!”

With that，Lieutenant Togawa stood up and reached his hand toward Lieutenant Rokujō．At that moment，the lieutenant felt something hard and cold in his palm．When he looked，it was a “Fireball” made of steel and hard rubber．It was the lieutenant’s prosthetic arm．

“Lieutenant Togawa. In result, it was indeed my own defeat. Had I met you sooner, Lieutenant, I would have told you immediately, but until today I had no opportunity.” “Ha ha, what’re you on about?”

“However, Lieutenant Togawa. I declare that while losing my right hand has diminished my physical strength in appearance, my fighting spirit has instead grown more vigorous than before.” “Hmph, how splendid.” “Fireball.” Lieutenant ‘Fireball’ suddenly noticed and snapped a salute to Captain Tagoto,

“Ah, my apologies.” “Having met an old friend, I unintentionally delayed reporting to you, Captain…” “No—it’s of no concern.” “But what is this report about?” “Surely you don’t mean permission to return to your original unit has been granted—it doesn’t seem so.” “Though I caused you considerable trouble over returning to my original unit, today’s matter concerns something else.” “Please look at this.” “I have joined the Civil Defense Corps.” “Until permitted to return to my unit, I intend to serve there.”

“I see, that’s good.”

At this, Captain Tagoto’s face registered understanding for the first time. “So what kind of assignment is it?” As a captain, he still found himself concerned even about the details of his former subordinate Lieutenant "Fireball’s" assignment.

“Yes, the surveillance squad.” “Well now—the surveillance squad. So you’ve been assigned to quite the favorable position.” “It’s practically a waste to station someone like you at Lieutenant ‘Fireball’s’ surveillance post.”

Captain Tagoto had spoken the truth. "That is not the case."

Rokujō rebutted on the spot in a lively tone befitting Lieutenant “Fireball,”

“There has never been a time when the work of the surveillance post was as critical and fraught with difficulty as it is today.” “The situation is such that the Soviet Far East Army’s heavy bomber squadron may spread their wings and strike the skies of the Imperial Capital as early as tonight.” “I have resolved to commence my duties tonight.” “Hmm—you say you’ll commence your duties—but what exactly will you do?”

“Yes, I am to board the balloon.” “What? Board a balloon? What kind of balloon will you board, and what exactly will you do?” Captain Tagoto was somewhat surprised that Lieutenant “Fireball” had proposed boarding a balloon. “Yes, starting tonight, tethered balloons are to be launched over the Imperial Capital. Tonight there is only one, but starting tomorrow, the number is scheduled to increase by a few more. I shall board that first one and monitor the skies over the Imperial Capital at midnight.”

“Can you see at night?” “Yes, the moon will rise at three AM. Until then, I will detect the sound of enemy aircraft propellers using the E-type sound detector.” “Hmm, that sounds like hard work.” “Then I’ll leave it in your capable hands.”

Captain Tagoto was deeply moved upon realizing that even after becoming disabled, Lieutenant "Fireball" harbored a burning combat spirit within his breast.

That “Fireball” When Lieutenant Rokujō took his leave before Captain Tagoto and his old friend Lieutenant Togawa, he stiffened his posture even further, his face flushing crimson like a vermilion basin, “However, this Rokujō earnestly wishes to be permitted to return to his original unit at the earliest possible date and lead the charge in the assault on that Soviet Army pillbox formation, there to lay bare my corpse. Therefore, I fervently request that you both continue your tireless efforts regarding this matter without fail.” Declaring “Fireball” with solemn dignity, The lieutenant executed an about-face and departed.

After seeing him off, Captain Tagoto and Lieutenant Togawa exchanged glances,

“As expected of Lieutenant ‘Fireball’.” “At first I thought he’d given up on returning to his original unit, but given his words now—far from it! Seems the professor’s dead set on getting himself killed right in the middle of that Soviet Army pillbox formation no matter what.” “Ha ha ha!” With that, Captain Tagoto laughed cheerfully.

Delayed Ascent

That "Fireball" Lieutenant boarded the tethered balloon at nine o'clock that night at the XX position in the northeastern district of the Imperial Capital.

Around that time, a spiteful southerly wind began blowing with considerable force, and the balloon—crouched low against the ground—swayed billowingly. Initially, six personnel had been scheduled to board the gondola beneath this balloon, but when the crucial moment arrived, only Lieutenant "Fireball" ended up boarding.

“What on earth happened? It’s not as though they’ve lost their nerve.”

He laughed.

“Well, Mr. Rokujō,” said the old man from the Civil Defense Corps’ general affairs section. “The Squad Leader and the other officers are currently occupied, you see. How about postponing your ascent as well?” “I will board as planned,” he replied. “Enemy planes will come regardless of the wind if they intend to attack.” “No—it’s not about the wind strength. They say two or three suspicious figures were lurking around the fence behind this XX position. That’s why the Squad Leader and everyone are out inspecting right now. Doesn’t that unsettle you?”

The old man trembled his head violently.

“Suspicious figures? You really believe that?” “To cowards, earthworms look like snakes.” “Mr. Rokujō, if the officers hear such talk, they’ll scold you harshly.” “What’s there to scold about?” “Having one or two shady characters lurking about is normal during this conflict.” “No need for the squad leader himself to go making a racket.” “Leave that business to those staying groundside. We should board as scheduled.” “The enemy’ll send bombers whether we’re making a fuss or not—they don’t care.”

“That may be so, but they were searching around this balloon earlier too. From what the military police said, it seems a major Soviet Communist Party cadre spy called Kinchakov—who escaped after making an unauthorized landing last month from a cargo ship anchored off Yokohama—is mixed up in this. It’s quite the manhunt.” “Kinchakov... That name rings a bell.” “But Kinchakov remains Kinchakov, and a surveillance post remains a surveillance post—that’s all there is to it.” “Now then—the scheduled time has come. Go tell the crew to hurry up and untie the balloon’s ropes.”

“So, Mr. Rokujō, you’re still going to ascend alone after all?”

“Haven’t I said this repeatedly since earlier? Tell the crew that. If they keep dawdling, I’ll cut these ropes and ascend alone—drive it home sternly.” “What? Cut the balloon’s ropes? You mustn’t spout such violent nonsense, even in jest! Sever those ropes and we’ll be blown clear off the Earth!”

“Ha ha ha! Enough already—go hurry and get the crew moving.” “Understood.” As the old man ran off toward the other side, Rokujō Sōsuke was left alone by the balloon. The wind still howled shrilly around his ears, and the gondola—barely a meter above ground—rattled violently. When he peered into the dark sky, the balloon shook its massive frame as if howling at the heavens while the ropes creaked with alarming intensity.

The crew members Rokujō was waiting for never showed up. "What are they doing?" He clicked his tongue and slowly scanned the entire pitch-dark XX position. Then, several flashlights could be seen flickering intermittently like firefly flames. It must be the search party.

Hmph… So it was true after all. So the part about suspicious bastards infiltrating… But for Lieutenant “Fireball,” who had lived under strict military discipline, even if anything were happening nearby, he was deeply dissatisfied that the balloon had not ascended at its scheduled time.

"I guess there’s no helping it." "Maybe I should head down and give them a piece of my mind." Just as he thought this, the gondola suddenly lurched violently with a heavy thud and leapt two or three meters up from the ground. This could also be discerned from how the signal lights on the ground suddenly grew distant.

“Oh? What’s going on here?”

As he was saying this, the gondola lurched heavily once more and leapt another two or three meters upward. “Hmm…—”

At that moment, the lieutenant noticed a single figure frantically trying to untie the ropes in front of the ground signal lights. “Ah! Finally—a ground crew member’s arrived. But even so, just one person’s a bit much.”

As he spoke these words, the gondola lurched heavily once more—in that instant his hands slipped from the gondola’s edge, and he rolled across the bottom like a potato. By the time he regained his footing, the balloon was already rapidly ascending through the wind. From the ground, several flashlights were moving toward him. Yet every one of those lights was frantically tracing crosses.

Cross-shaped fire signal! Ah! That was a "caution required" signal after all!

“What’s this ‘caution required’ nonsense?!” As “Fireball,” the lieutenant was staring at the diminishing lights on the ground. “Caution Required” signal

Lieutenant “Fireball” noticed the aerial anomaly some time later—when he heard XX position’s siren wailing through the wind, followed by all available searchlights at XX position being trained on the balloon he rode. Until then, he had assumed that amid their busyness, the ground crew had rushed over to loosen Tethered Balloon No. 1’s ropes for him.

However, it was only when the subsequent overblown commotion of sirens and searchlights began that he finally came to harbor a certain suspicion.

"This is strange… What on earth are they making such a fuss about down there?" They had said no one else would board besides him, but perhaps there was still someone who had boarded. Could it be they were making a fuss over something like 'caution required'?

But if that were the case, why hadn't they sent a "wait for departure" signal? The "Caution Required" signal didn't sit right. No—what truly didn't sit right was how every last searchlight at XX position was now pursuing this balloon's path. If our departure was inconvenient for the base, couldn't they just pull the ropes and bring this balloon back down? Why wouldn't they do that?

Even “Fireball” The lieutenant too grew uneasy. Shielding his eyes from the searchlights’ blinding glare with his hand, he stared fixedly down at the commotion below.

Eventually, he noticed something gravely amiss for the first time. It concerned the ropes of the balloon he rode. A single rope had snapped clean through with a sharp twang, dangling limply in the searchlights' glare.

“Oh! That rope’s been cut!”

Involuntarily, he cried out in shock—but when he then shifted his gaze to the other ropes, an even greater shock awaited him. “Gah! That rope’s been cut too!”

He clung to the edge of the gondola and traced from one rope to the next. As a result, he discovered that all six mooring ropes tethering the balloon had been severed. In other words, there was no longer a single rope tethering this balloon to the ground. Ah, where on earth would a balloon without mooring ropes go? “Ugh, this is a disaster!” “Fireball” Boiling-hot blood surged through the lieutenant’s entire body.

“Failed! Failed! Failed!”

He grabbed the gondola’s edge and shook it like a zoo monkey. As time passed, the calamity grew in magnitude. On the ground, the searchlights now moved in cross-shaped patterns, signaling "Caution Required." The "Caution Required" warning was nothing but too late now.

At that moment, he noticed there might be a wireless set inside the gondola, so he bent down and looked around. “Hmm, there it is.” “That must be it.” Within the gondola’s faint lamplight, the black-lacquered panel of the wireless set came into view. As a flight officer, he had basic knowledge of wireless equipment, so he could distinguish which panel was the receiver and which was the transmitter. He hurriedly put the receiver to his head and turned on the switch. The vacuum tube lit up brightly.

After a while, a voice leaped out from deep within the receiver. “Ah, XX Tethered Balloon No. 1. “This is XX position.” “Ah, XX Tethered Balloon No. 1.” “Can you hear me?” “We have made contact with the ○○ Squadron, and an aircraft unit will be tracking you down, so please remain calm.” “Ah, XX Tethered Balloon No. 1!” “If you can hear this transmission, please transmit a signal from your end.”

It was the voice of the communications officer from XX position.

When he heard this, Rokujō felt his courage multiply a hundredfold. On the ground, they had properly noticed that this balloon had come untethered and begun drifting through the air. And it seemed the flight squadron hurriedly sortied and was now heading to rescue this balloon. Now all he had to do was not forget to inform the ground or any rescue aircraft of his location. All he had to do was activate the wireless transmitter’s microphone and speak into it.

Rokujō extended his left hand and turned on the wireless transmitter’s switch. The pilot lamp lit up brightly. The vacuum tube glowed inside the cabinet. He opened the lid, took out a microphone with a long cord from within, and brought it to his mouth.

“Ah, this is Tethered Balloon No. 1.” “Rokujō Sōsuke is transmitting.” “Currently, the balloon is being carried by the wind while rapidly ascending.” “Atmospheric pressure is currently seven hundred…” As Rokujō gazed at the luminous-needled barometer beside him, suddenly someone of unknown identity grabbed his left hand that was gripping the microphone.

Unexpected Phantom

“Ahh—” The “Fireball” Lieutenant, renowned for his boldness, let out a cry of profound shock from the pit of his stomach at this utterly unexpected ambush. He had believed himself utterly alone in the gondola drifting through the night sky—yet against all expectation, someone suddenly seized the wrist holding his microphone. Such profound shock was only natural. “Who— Who’s there?!” Ally or enemy? The moment Lieutenant "Fireball" turned around coincided with him feeling an intense, searing pain in his left wrist.

“Ah— Wh— What are you doing?!”

He cried out, but his wrist throbbed with such excruciating pain—as if the bone had been shattered—that he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Yet Lieutenant "Fireball"'s eyes captured the bizarre figure of his opponent. “Y-You… Who the hell are you?!” The suspicious man bared his white teeth and grappled him from behind. The brute strength was tremendous. “Japanese! Shut up! If you value your life, don’t resist!” The opponent’s words were in Russian. (Ah—A Soviet!)

This intruder, as previously noted, possessed formidable brute strength. Moreover, Lieutenant "Fireball" had taken a surprise blow to his left wrist that still hung numb. He couldn't muster any strength. Perhaps sensing this vulnerability, the assailant intensified pressure on the arm constricting Rokujō's neck. "Ugh... this bastard..."

“Fireball” For the lieutenant, this was a twofold crisis. Both were crises born of unexpected ambushes. Most men would have already collapsed unconscious by this point, but the greater the peril grew, the more fiercely “Fireball” fought back. This was the lieutenant’s defining characteristic. Even now, on the brink of suffocation, he used his peripheral vision to memorize the exact layout of critical instruments within the gondola.

“Die faster, Japanese!”

The suspicious Soviet intruder tightened the arm he had wrapped around Rokujō’s neck.

“Ugh...”

With a groan, Lieutenant “Fireball’s” upper body arched backward. “Aren’t you dead yet, Japanese?!”

"Ugh..."

“Fireball” The lieutenant’s upper body arched backward like a shrimp. The suspicious Soviet grappling him from behind could not withstand the lieutenant’s rigid head against his chest and was violently pressed against the gondola’s edge. “Hey! Don’t arch back like that.” “You’re a troublesome bastard, hmph.” It was at that moment that the suspicious Soviet forced Rokujō’s body forward. “Hyah!” A guttural cry—as though dredged from the depths of his being—burst from Lieutenant "Fireball’s" throat, he who had lain motionless as a corpse until this very instant. His body sank with a thud, as though diving into water.

“Whoa—!” With a strange scream, the body of the suspicious Soviet—who had been triumphantly clinging to the lieutenant’s back—suddenly reversed like a Nanking firework and flew forward with a heavy thud. At this moment, had Lieutenant "Fireball" let go, the suspicious Soviet’s body would have vaulted over the gondola’s edge and been hurled into a space with nothing to hold onto in an instant. The lieutenant appeared to anticipate this outcome, yanking the opponent’s sleeve toward himself with force. The man struck his tailbone hard against the gondola’s corner—painfully so—before tumbling upside down into the basket in a sliding collapse, where he lay motionless. “Why would you save the enemy, ‘Fireball’?” The lieutenant’s inner turmoil defied comprehension.

“How about it? Care to try again?” The lieutenant stretched out his leg and kicked the suspicious man’s head. But the suspicious man showed no resistance, as if he had lost consciousness. Seizing the opportunity, “Fireball” The lieutenant took up the microphone again, intending to entrust an urgent report to the radio waves, “Hah, this is Rokujō from XX Tethered Balloon Number One. “The radio waves should still be transmitting. “A Soviet had infiltrated this gondola. “Apparently he had climbed up from outside. “He’s currently unconscious, but I’ll conduct a thorough investigation later and report.”

The lieutenant's voice showed no difference whatsoever from his usual tone when speaking. This could not be accepted as the voice of someone clinging to survival within a drifting balloon bound for unknown skies.

Kinchakov However, Lieutenant "Fireball’s" transmission failed to elicit the expected response. When he sensed something amiss and investigated, he discovered the microphone cord had been cleanly severed at some point. Under these circumstances, the lack of response from the ground was only natural. The cord must have been cut during their earlier struggle. He immediately set about repairing it. If he didn’t restore communications with the ground soon, they risked losing all means of tracking where the tethered balloon had drifted.

When he glanced down at the ground, the XX position had already shrunk to the size of a tiny bulb inside a matchbox. The altitude was already 3,000 meters; though the exact direction remained unclear, it appeared to be drifting northward. The wind grew even stronger, and it became clear that the gondola was tilting severely. Fireball The lieutenant seemed to have focused too much attention on reattaching the microphone’s cord. The attitude he displayed outwardly did not appear flustered, but it couldn’t be said there was no panic in his heart. After all, believing that a major crisis would occur unless radio communication with the ground was swiftly restored, he had become too absorbed in repairing the microphone and neglected to pay attention to the suspicious Soviet.

The suspicious Soviet remained upside down as though he'd been slammed against the floor, but his eyes were slightly open, watching Lieutenant "Fireball’s" hands.

Before long，one of the suspicious man’s hands began moving slowly，searching inside his coat pocket．When his wrist quietly reappeared，he gripped a single imposing pistol．The suspicious man，still upside down，repositioned his weapon and took aim at Lieutenant “Fireball”．“Fireball”．

The lieutenant finally noticed at that moment. He thought something had moved inside the gondola and raised his face to look, only to find this terrifying weapon now pointed directly at him.

“Hey, Kinchakov.” “Go ahead and shoot me - but twisted up like that? You’ll never land a hit.”

Lieutenant "Fireball" barked in fluent Russian.

“What? How do you know my name…?” The suspicious Soviet had every reason to be startled—not only had the Japanese man abruptly begun speaking Russian, but he’d even called him by his own name. Admittedly, for Lieutenant “Fireball,” Russian happened to be his greatest strength, and he had simply recalled having heard Kinchakov’s name from an old logistics clerk before departing the XX position.

“Hey, Kinchakov. I knew you’d been chased by everyone at the XX position and had no choice but to jump in here.” “So what?” “What ‘no choice’?” “I cut the mooring ropes with a knife—I intended to escape with this balloon.” “I know that already.” “Do you think you can escape cleanly with this balloon?” “I have to get out.” “Even if you talk about escaping, this balloon just drifts wherever the wind takes it.” “Where it will descend—or whether it’ll stay up in the heavens forever without coming down—who can say?”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Japanese.” “A balloon’s gotta come down to earth sometime.” “There’s no staying up in the heavens forever!” Kinchakov made an insolent attempt at protest.

“If you understand that much, then that’s fine. Do you plan to fight the wind and rain alone until this balloon descends, or do you think it’s better for the two of us to fight them together?” “Fireball.” The lieutenant skillfully steered the conversation to a critical juncture.

“Hmph.” “If you understand that, then tuck that pistol back in your pocket.” “What do you think happens if you fire carelessly and hit the balloon?” “The balloon would burst into flames instantly—we’d crash to earth like molten candy with fire on our backs, saying goodbye to this world.” “……” “You’re a damn waffler, Kinchakov.” “Stow that pistol. Let’s work out how to get down safely and act on it now.” “No pointless moves.”

Being told that, Kinchakov inadvertently removed his helmet. He reluctantly stowed the sturdy pistol into his pocket. And like a weighted doll righting itself, he rolled his body over with a heavy thud toward "Fireball". Kinchakov faced the lieutenant.

“Ah, so you’re Kinchakov.” “You seem considerably older than me, but…”

“Fireball” The lieutenant maintained complete psychological dominance over his opponent.

Adversaries in the same boat

And then, this aerial drift born of a strange Japanese-Soviet pairing continued.

The microphone had been repaired, but even when attached, the transmitter wouldn’t function. It appeared there were malfunctions beyond just the microphone, but Rokujō—no specialist—couldn’t immediately pinpoint the faulty section. Therefore, of the wireless equipment, only the receiver served a purpose.

“Hey, XX Tethered Balloon No. 1!”

He could hear them calling out endlessly, but their voices gradually grew weaker. This meant they had finally drifted far from the XX position. The wireless was continuously reporting that a rescue squadron had been dispatched.

That was undoubtedly the case. Was it nearly 2 a.m.? A single reconnaissance plane—remarkably fast, marked with red and blue insignia—approached the drifting balloon. “Hey, Kinchakov. I’ll wave too, so you take this flashlight and swing it like this. You got that?” Rokujō had Kinchakov send signals as well, thinking that it would be good if either of them were spotted by the reconnaissance aircraft.

Kinchakov did not seem particularly enthusiastic, but he nevertheless cooperated and swung the flashlight in a circular motion. “Oh, since it’s flying right there, you’d think they should’ve spotted us by now…” “Fireball.” The lieutenant pointed upward. Through the pitch-black darkness, three aircraft marker lights moved along. They appeared to be gradually drawing closer. “Perfect!” “They’re definitely coming this way.”

“It’s a bit strange.” “At that altitude, it’s too high—it’ll probably pass right over the balloon.” Kinchakov made a remarkably logical point. “Like hell I’ll let them pass us by. “Hey, now’s the time!” “Wave the signal light harder!” The two men were convinced they had swung their flashlights with desperate vigor.

But the aircraft ultimately flew past nearly five hundred meters above the balloon, just as Kinchakov had said, and gradually grew more distant. “Damn it, they finally got away!” “It’s no use.” “With such a tiny light, it’s hopeless.” “On top of that, there’s a whole mess of tattered clouds spread out—surprisingly hard to see through from above.”

Kinchakov began speaking with obvious satisfaction. “Fireball.” The lieutenant discerned that Kinchakov was a rather exceptional Soviet-trained spy. If that was the case, there was all the more reason not to let his guard down from this point onward.

Before long, a little past 3 a.m., the moon emerged. After about an hour and a half had passed, the eastern sky began to lighten.

The wireless transmissions from the XX position that had been calling incessantly since the previous night suddenly became a faint sound. And before long, they could no longer be heard.

After that, even the rescue planes stopped giving chase.

Over the endlessly spreading sea of clouds, the balloon continued drifting at the wind’s mercy. Beyond it, not a single shadow of any living thing was visible. This vast sea of clouds might be heaven’s pathway. “Where among these clouds would they bury two corpses?” mused Fireball. The lieutenant too sank into sentimentality before the desolate celestial vista.

Sharp fangs “Hey, Rokujō. “Looks like the balloon’s stopped ascending!”

Kinchakov, who was slapping his body as if cold, spoke to Rokujō, who was engrossed in dismantling the transmitter.

“Hmph… Doesn’t seem to be moving anymore.” Rokujō nodded. When he looked at the altimeter, it was indeed an altitude of 8,000 meters. Even in summer, this cold was to be expected.

The balloon was stretched taut, fully inflated. “In this state, we’re just like a balloon stuck to the ceiling—utterly uninteresting.” Kinchakov made a carefree remark. “Hey, you—don’t you know anything about wireless systems?” Rokujō asked. “Well, I’m completely useless with that sort of thing.”

Kinchakov replied nonchalantly. There was an aspect where Kinchakov seemed to transcend life and death more than Rokujō did—a quality that grated on the "Fireball" lieutenant. The lieutenant too was somewhat irritated. However, there was a natural difference between those who merely lived in idleness and those who lived by their duty as imperial soldiers—it wasn't that Rokujō was the cowardly one. “Oh! The balloon’s starting to descend!” “Ah, thank goodness.” “It’ll get warmer.” “Hmph, don’t you go jumping into those clouds over there.”

Kinchakov started whooping. Rokujō had finally given up on the wireless apparatus. Ever since the aerial drift began, he had recalled his comrade Togawa and continued striving to approach this situation with meticulous care and composure, but no matter what he tried—no matter how he approached it—the single wireless apparatus refused to show any sign of repair. (After all, things beyond my nature are no good) He felt as though he had attained realization for the first time. At the same time, the strange gloom that had persisted until now seemed to have dissipated cleanly.

“Well, well—it really is going down and down.” “So this is finally the first step toward crashing?”

“Don’t go putting ideas out there.”

Kinchakov said, “There’s a rule that if you say weird things, they’ll definitely come true.” “A bit more restraint, you hear?” “Ah, well—eat this while you can.” “Then you’ll get your strength back.” Rokujō pulled out the field rations from the gondola’s cupboard and shared some with Kinchakov. Inside were heated field rations and solid whiskey. Since provisions for six people had been stored in advance, food wouldn’t be a problem for now.

The real problem was water. The water had been brought last night by an elderly clerk from general affairs, but he had only provided one day’s worth per person. The field rations filled their mouths. Unless water was poured over them from above, they simply wouldn’t go down. But if they didn’t conserve water, there was no telling what might happen next. Rokujō, his eyes darting wildly, looked over at Kinchakov’s face—the man’s own eyes rolling white as he wolfed down field rations.

“Oh! Clouds.” “We’re finally descending!”

In a mere moment, the balloon was enveloped in dense clouds. In moments, their clothes were drenched with water droplets, and soon streams flowed down them like rivers. From above their heads as well, small waterfalls came splashing down. Though they craned their necks to look up, they couldn’t see—the water droplets pooled on the balloon must have gathered and were now falling from above. But try as they might, they could see nothing. It felt as though they were viewing the gondola’s interior through polished glass. Kinchakov, seizing the moment, was lapping up the rainwater streaming down his face with his long tongue.

While the dense clouds had been below them or while they were passing through them, it hadn’t been so bad, but the moment the balloon emerged from the clouds and they came to look up at them from below, a sudden sense of falling overwhelmed them. Below lay a vast expanse of sea. And the sea surface was unexpectedly close—merely four or five hundred meters away.

“Ah, it’s the sea.” “Oh! The sea! What sea is this?”

“This color—it’s the Sea of Japan.” What Rokujō had said was not mistaken.

“If it’s the Sea of Japan, there should be plenty of ships passing through.” “Even if we crash, we’ll survive.” Kinchakov’s face suddenly lit up with joy, but then—as if struck by a thought—he pulled out that pistol from his pocket and thrust it at Rokujō. “What are you doing, Kinchakov?” “No—this isn’t a threat. I’m serious.” “When a ship comes into view, you’ll pull the ropes to release the balloon’s gas and descend to be rescued—but I’ve got a condition about that.”

“What do you mean by that?” “Out with it.” “Even if Japanese ships pass through, you don’t descend.” “In other words, the condition is being rescued by vessels other than Japanese ones.” “Of course, I won’t be letting you voice any objections.” With that, Kinchakov firmly placed his finger on the pistol’s trigger. “Fireball.” The lieutenant did not even make a surprised face.

“Instead of you gripping that thing, whether any ships are passing below is what really matters for staying alive.”

“Hmph—think I’d fall for such an obvious trick? Ranged weapons’ll beat you every time!”

Kinchakov, blatantly showing his true nature, said, “Fireball.” He made no move to holster the pistol still aimed at the lieutenant. (What a nuisance.)

Though he thought this, Rokujō showed no sign of minding the pistol pointed his way and continued gazing down from the gondola at the sea surface veiled in morning mist.

Kinchakov, on the contrary, let out a soft sigh.

Endless Drift

Had it not been for that mischief-maker called the discontinuity line, one of the two might have been rescued by a steamship navigating the Sea of Japan before long. And that aerial drift record might have ended in a mere ten-odd hours.

However, where it had been hiding all along, the mischief-maker called the discontinuity line collided head-on with the drifting balloon—a development that proved disastrous.

“Hey, the balloon’s rising again!” “Ah, no doubt.” “Hey, Rokujō!” “Look at that black cloud!” “Why don’t we boldly release the gas here and descend to the sea surface?” “What?” “I ain’t going down.” “I can’t swim, see?” “I’ll help you.” “When I say no, I mean no. Can’t you see this pistol?!” Kinchakov brandished the pistol. “Hmph, you. You’ve been pointing that pistol at me all this time—think that’s enough to scare me?”

“What? Expecting rescuers, Japanese? Come on—take a step closer, and a red blossom’ll bloom right from your chest with a single shot.” “Bastard!”

The words and the thunderous gunshot rang out near his ears almost simultaneously. "Hmm, got you."

Rokujō suddenly felt a pain as though a fire iron had been plunged into his right chest. When he touched his chest, his palm came away thick with blood. At that instant, he began choking violently. What burst from deep in his throat with a gurgling hack was bright crimson blood.

“Damn you—you actually did it!” “Fireball.” The lieutenant, refusing to yield to his grave injury, rose up defiantly. And as Kinchakov tried to readjust his grip on the pistol, he immediately lunged in and kicked. The pistol sprang upward with a pop and flew out of the gondola.

“Ah, I messed up!”

As Kinchakov reached toward the gondola's exterior, the "Fireball" lieutenant intervened. The lieutenant struck Kinchakov's skull with his right hand in an angry outburst. That right hand was not flesh. It was a steel prosthetic. Kinchakov emitted a bestial shriek before collapsing bonelessly onto the gondola floor.

“Fireball.” When the lieutenant saw that his opponent had stopped moving, he too collapsed right there on the spot with a thud. However, within ten-odd minutes of that, he once again slowly and laboriously lifted his head. And finally managing to get up on the spot, he vomited blood from his mouth again. “Ugh.”

He gritted his teeth hard. And he rubbed his chest area, then rolled up his jacket, pulled out a white undershirt, and ripped it apart with a tearing sound. He used the torn undershirt to press against the wound and stanch the bleeding. Still, his eyes and hand moved, attempting to tear the canvas cloth that was there, but ultimately failed, and he collapsed on the spot while still gripping that canvas cloth. That was “Fireball”— That was the break in the lieutenant’s memory—the point where his continuity until then had been severed.

At that moment, the balloon carrying both unconscious men plunged into the discontinuity line and was violently tossed about. A tremendous updraft dragged the balloon into its grasp—an unbearable force. The balloon, which had been plunging downward until this very moment, now began soaring upward with tremendous force. Tearing through one thousand meters, then two thousand in an instant, it continued gaining altitude relentlessly between the clouds as though hurtling beyond Earth itself. The surroundings were pitch-black as if they had entered a cave, and hail pelted through the air. From time to time, blindingly intense flashes of lightning lit up between the dense clouds.

It was unclear how much time had passed since then. Kinchakov seemed to have regained consciousness first; by then, Rokujō lay at the gondola’s bottom, barely clinging to life. Had Kinchakov tried to strangle Rokujō, it would have been simple, yet he did nothing at all. The reason remained unclear—perhaps Kinchakov had grown weary of attacking Rokujō again, or perhaps he had been daunted by Rokujō’s gruesome visage, still smeared from chest to face with fresh blood. Of course, Kinchakov too—having only regained consciousness—lay motionless at the gondola’s bottom, a state hardly different from Rokujō’s own condition.

“Ugh... slept well.” This was Rokujō’s first utterance upon regaining consciousness. Then, for about another three hours, he sank into a deep sleep.

The next time he awoke, he truly came to his senses. Inside the gondola, the splattered bloodstains had already darkened. He felt it was strange he was still alive. He stretched out his left hand and groped around again and again. Before long, two or three hard, round objects touched his fingertips. When he clenched them, brought them before his eyes, and opened his hand, it was solid whiskey. "Ah, this must be divine aid," he thought at that moment.

He greedily devoured the two pieces. That energized him as if it were an elixir. He involuntarily started bringing the last piece to his mouth but abruptly stopped, “Kinchakov!” he called out. “……” Kinchakov’s arm crept stealthily toward Rokujō’s arm as if to ensnare it, but the solid whiskey simply plopped down between them—and for several hours afterward, both men sank into a deep, insensible sleep.

About a day or two later—or so he estimated—both Rokujō and Kinchakov still lay at the gondola’s bottom, yet recovered enough strength to at least speak. This was because Rokujō knew where the food was stored and would pull it out to share between them. However, the real problem was that not a single drop of water remained. The two men remained lying down and occasionally spoke.

“Hey, Kincha. I wonder where we’re drifting around now.”

“This balloon first went north, then drifted west the next day.” “And it must have been another four or five days by now.” “Then this must have drifted all the way to the area around Outer Mongolia or Zabaykalsky Krai.” “Would it really have gone that far?” “Alright, today I’ll practice using my arm strength to sit up—I want to try peeking outside the gondola at least once.” “I have a feeling we’re somewhere around the middle of the Pacific.” And once again, the two sank into a deep sleep.

They had no idea how long they’d slept when an aircraft’s roar jolted them awake. As they focused, the plane seemed to circle endlessly around the gondola. At times they glimpsed aircraft-like shapes between the gondola’s edge and balloon—but with their vision weakened, nothing came into clear focus. Eventually they heard what resembled a siren. “Maybe it’s my imagination—but that siren’s tone matches ×× Base’s...”

“What are you saying?” “That’s Zabaykalsky Krai’s siren.” “I know well.”

After a while, both men suddenly received a violent shock and were hurled from the gondola before they could even gasp. It was only natural that both men lost consciousness the instant it happened. The balloon descended and descended until finally the gondola collided with the ground.

The next day, Lieutenant 'Fireball' awoke in a hospital bed. When he thought "Huh?" and raised his eyes, he was startled to find Captain Tagoto and Lieutenant Togawa there. The jubilation that followed need not be recounted here, but miraculously, the place where his balloon had landed was none other than the very same ×× base from which it had taken off seven days prior. It was an event as if it were a lie. Those who spoke of it and those who heard alike met the bizarre event with a barrage of astonishment, but the revelation that this was indeed the mischief wrought by the discontinuity line came later—after Lieutenant "Fireball" had regained his vigor and provided his explanation.

Kinchakov, unfortunately, had struck a bad spot when the gondola collided with the ground, suffered a concussion, and thus passed away to the next world.