He took a long sip, and then glanced at his intelligence officer.
“We need to get in touch with the Seawolf,” Keyes said. “And get me the captain of the ship patrolling in the Straight of Japan on the horn.”
Seventeen
Hardy checked the area for hostiles. Finding it clear, he trotted through the rain, and headed back into the musty warehouse. He caught up with Stiles, disabling the Tochka missile. Dead soldiers lay strewn about the rough, cement floor.
“We’ve got company,” Hardy said.
“I need more time.” Stiles didn’t look up, busy at work.
“There isn’t enough time to clean this place up.” Hardy glanced around at the bloodstained floor.
“You’ll have to start on them, while I finish up here.”
Hardy nodded in agreement. Then, he turned and headed to the wooden door. “Lock this behind me.”
Stiles nodded, but didn’t budge from his task.
Hardy smiled, knowing Stiles wouldn’t leave his post to secure the door. He headed outside into a heavy downpour and scanned the area. Nobody had arrived yet. He trucked off into the woods, setting up a position to flank arriving troop transports. Pungent decayed vegetable matter drifted from the damp forest floor. The spot he’d chosen was slightly to the rear of where trucks might unload.
He nestled down in the dirt and waited, patiently.
A few minutes later, a troop transport rumbled down the driveway. The truck approached at speed, headlights cutting through the grey evening. The North Koreans understood an assault had unfolded, but they might not expect a high-level threat. Probably think the commotion relates to rural thugs, Hardy thought.
The transport wound down the wooded drive and halted behind the vehicle the SEALs had commandeered. Hardy thought the move amateurish. He regretted not taking a moment to booby-trap the damn thing.
When the truck stopped, soldiers alighted from the rear, boots smacking gravel. They fanned around both sides of the transport.
Hardy lay in a prone position.
Aiming the MP-5, he slowly squeezed the trigger.
His shot struck an infantryman in the head.
The soldier dropped to the ground with a thud. Blood gushed out the hole in his head. His comrades looked at the wound aghast, and then scanned the woods, trying to figure out where the shot had come from. Hardy’s silencer helped conceal his position.
He popped off two more shots. A couple more soldiers fell to the ground. The rest of them dropped to prone positions and opened fire, wildly blasting into the woods without any sense of a target. Enemy bullets ripped through the forest to Hardy’s left. He’d smartly chosen to set a position further away, expecting two trucks to arrive.
Squeezing off a round, Hardy dropped yet another soldier. Reinforcements from the far side of the truck circled to a forward position. They set up under the truck and alongside their comrades. A cacophony of communications emanated from the vehicle. Twilight settling in began to obscure the enemy. Hardy squinted.
Then, the soldiers returned heavy fire toward Hardy’s location. Bullets tore into the forest, and rifle fire cracked repeatedly from a perimeter around the truck.
Hardy bawled up behind a tree and waited for a break in the offensive.
Rain danced through the tree tops. They’d narrowed in on his position, but he didn’t think anyone had seen his muzzle flash. Spent gunpowder drifted through the air. He had an opportunity to take a couple more out before they zeroed in on him.
Hardy squirmed to his right and nestled into a depression. A fallen tree gave him protective cover. He peered at the enemy, locating three soldiers lying on the driveway to the side of the truck, exposed more than the others.
When the enemy fire let up, Hardy squeezed off two head shots. Both riflemen twisted upon impact and kicked at dirt in the throes of death. The movement gradually subsided until they lay limp.
Fire erupted from all around the transport, a volley directed at Hardy’s position.
The enemy had him pegged. Rounds dug into the fallen tree and hit the soil all around him. Hardy couldn’t get a look at them. Raising his head would result in a fatal wound. He rolled further to the right, trying to gain a vantage point. He needed to observe enemy troop movement.
Hardy crawled to a stump and peered at them. The assault let up. But none of the North Korean soldiers advanced on him.
Keeping an eye on them, he reached into a cargo pocket for a grenade.
Then, a bullet shattered glass, and the transport driver flopped against the door window. Blood pumped from his skull. Stiles had joined the party, Hardy thought.
More bullets riddled the ground, striking a few of the soldiers lying under the truck in prone positions. Infantrymen took hits in the legs and back, and the firing pattern indicated Stiles broke toward the rear of the truck.
Soldiers flailed on the ground, disoriented. Hardy rose to a kneeling position and capped another one. Then, he pulled the pin on the M67 and lobbed it toward the truck.
The fragmentation grenade exploded in front of the transport, and soldiers writhed and cried out in agony from the shrapnel.
Stiles blasted away from the other side of the truck. All his semi-automatic rifle fire marked shots from an angle, avoiding dangerous crossfire.
Hardy stood and ran toward the back of the truck, firing his MP-5 while seeking cover from the damaged vehicle.
Flames blazed from the hand grenade blast. A soldier crawled out from under the truck to avoid further burns. Hardy shot the man in the chest as he tried to roll in a puddle. The soldier’s AK-46 erupted, wildly firing in every direction.
A bullet struck Hardy’s chest.
Pain spiked through his rib cage.
He tumbled to the ground.
Hardy rolled behind the rear wheel, caught his breath, then popped under the truck and fired away. He shot furiously.
Bodies jounced, as he riddled soldiers beneath the transport.
A couple of soldiers had wormed along the perimeter. Now, they scrambled to their feet and dashed toward the rear of the vehicle. Boots pounded the ground as they closed on Hardy with rifles ready to fire.
Hardy heard a click, a distinctive sound of the MP-5 being out of ammo.
Dropping the rifle, he reached for his sidearm, as the soldiers rounded the back of the truck. They turned the corner, rifles ablaze.
He squeezed the trigger on his 9mm, dropping the lead soldier.
The next soldier kept firing and struck Hardy in the thigh and chest. He fell to the ground clutching his P226, Sig Sauer.
Hardy rolled under the truck. He squeezed off another shot. The soldier flew backward as a round penetrated his cheek. Flesh tore and blood spurted, as the trooper dropped dead. Stiles trotted up and grabbed Hardy’s vest, dragging him out from under the truck.
He dropped a knee and looked at Hardy’s leg.
“How bad is it?” Hardy said.
Stiles smiled. “Looks like a through and through.” He chuckled and reached for his web-belt. Then, he fastened it to Hardy’s leg to prevent a bleed out. With the wound secured, Stiles circled the truck and checked the bodies.
A moment later, Hardy removed the belt and set it on the ground. Then, he pulled a first-aid kit from his commando utilities. He cut open the pant leg, exposing the bullet holes. Rainfall washed blood away in a crimson stream.
Cleansing the wounds, he breathed a sigh of relief. The bullet had passed through a muscle without hitting a major artery. He bandaged his leg, then grabbed the steel bumper on the truck and pulled himself up.
“All clear,” Stiles said, stepping from around truck.
“Well, that’s a relief.” Hardy shook his head, as adrenaline wound down.
“You going to be alright?”
“Let’s see.”
Hardy stepped over to his rifle gingerly. He picked up the MP-5 and ejected the magazine, then loaded a fresh clip. Slinging the rifle over a shoulder, he snatched up his P226 and rel
oaded it with two more rounds. Both weapons glistened from the drizzle.
“Seem to walk okay…” Hardy finally said.
“Yeah, but can you run?” Stiles picked his belt off the ground.
“My chest hurts a hell of a lot more than the leg. The leg just burns.”
Stiles shook his head. “Three shots in the chest in one short mission. Must really hurt. You’re going to be bruised all over.”
“Probably have a couple broken ribs.” Hardy laughed and it hurt.
He grabbed his chest. The joking sent pain spiking through his upper torso. “Might hurt to run, though,” Hardy confessed.
Stiles shook his head. “You’re a mess.”
“How far you get with the missile?”
“Almost there.”
They headed back to the warehouse with Stiles in the lead. Hardy trailed behind, limping. Both lungs constricted from the blunt trauma, and his leg throbbed from the bullet holes. A twinge of pain radiated through his thigh, causing him to hobble along.
As Stiles opened the warehouse door, Hardy heard something. He stopped and tried to listen through the rain. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Stiles replied.
“Stop walking and I’ll tell you.”
“Okay.” Stiles halted.
“That…”
An unmistakable sound of diesel engines on the country road rumbled in the distance. The noise was fainter this time. “We’ve got about five to ten minutes,” Hardy said.
“Should only take me five. Maybe you better start into the woods.”
Hardy shook his head. “Never leave a man behind, ever.”
“You’re not leaving me behind, just getting a head start.”
“Can’t take the chance,” Hardy said, checking his rifle. “They could arrive sooner than expected. You get back to work on the missile, and I’ll watch your back.”
“Sure thing.” Stiles started for the door.
“Besides,” Hardy continued. “My adrenaline will kick in… if we have to move out. We’ll do just fine.”
The door shut behind Stiles.
Hardy glanced around, checking for infantrymen headed through the forest. No sign of movement anywhere. But he figured it would be the longest five minutes of his life.
Eighteen
Kate obtained coordinates for the target, then her squadron descended through the storm toward Tokyo. Wind and rain pounded her windshield and shook the plane. She fought to control the joystick, and worked the pedals and levers to steady her rudder and flaps.
A downpour pelted her Harrier. She knew things would only get worse.
Crosswinds shifted the small fighter without notice, but the squadron was spaced far enough apart, so the wingtips didn’t collide. The deluge and impending darkness impaired visibility. Kate couldn’t see the planes at the farthest ends of the formation.
“Captain Able to squadron,” she finally said. “We’re closing in on target.”
“Roger,” a few pilots replied, flatly.
She took the response as aviators being focused on the task at hand. “All pilots confirm your status,” Kate demanded. “And check on your wingman.”
“Rocking steady,” Lieutenant Baker said. “Wingman looks fine.”
“Same here,” Lieutenant Merrill replied.
“All set here,” Lieutenant Stanley said.
“Roger that,” said Captain Wecker.
The jets ripped through the sky and dropped out of the clouds. Kate’s plane shook violently as her fighter descended toward the city.
Tokyo Harbor came into view. A macabre war scene lay before them, and the water was covered in a slick of smoldering flames. The pier was engulfed in an inferno, and the fire spread onto shore in a trail of havoc.
Buildings were smashed apart and ablaze, while power lines lay on the ground, ripped from poles snapped like matchsticks. Automobiles and tanks alike had been trampled and crushed. Metal parts were bent, twisted, and askew.
A trail of destruction led from the harbor inland. Everything was saturated as though a tidal wave had splashed down.
Kate spotted Tokyo Tower in the distance and traced the path of mayhem toward it.
Then, a powerful crosswind shot her plane sideways. Wingtips touched and her jet went into a spiral. Kate spun with the force, rather than fight it. The Harrier rolled, but she spun until the momentum ebbed and then righted the aircraft.
The plane continued to pull. Kate let the jet roll around again. As she twirled back into position, the force eased and she steadied the fighter.
She looked to her right and Baker appeared fine. His wingman further right fought to control his plane. The effort made the jet unstable, but he’d made it through the worst of it. Looking to her left, Wecker flew steady, but his wingman spiraled out of control. Merrill couldn’t steady his plane.
“Loop along with it,” Kate said into the communications link.
“Can’t get a handle on her,” Merrill gasped, desperately.
“He’s caught a backdraft,” Wecker said.
The wind compounded the problem with the jet blast. “You have to roll with it,” Kate repeated.
“He’s too far gone…” Wecker said. “Dizzy and disoriented.”
“Steady your flaps!” Kate snapped. “And hold your stick firm.”
“Trying,” Merrill responded frantically.
The plane finally leveled off and he moved back into formation.
“That was close,” Merrill muttered.
“Don’t fight the wind so much.”
“Easier said than done.” This from Lieutenant Baker. “Unless you’re an Able.”
Kate clenched her teeth at the derisive comment. Sure, her family’s military experience gave her an edge over others. But flying skills weren’t handed down through the blood stream. She worked extremely hard for every accomplishment.
Her squadron buzzed over the harbor and headed toward the city.
Kate directed them to fly a few hundred meters over the office buildings. Tokyo Tower jutted into the skyline in the distance.
The creature stomped down the city streets below, meandering toward the tower.
All the carnage resembled a military invasion. The sheer size of the beast alarmed her, with its jagged head and snarling fangs. As the creature trundled along, it filled the width of a main street. It stood almost as tall as the largest buildings. Large feet stomped on the ground, splitting the pavement and vibrating parked cars. And a massive tail dragged behind it, whipping from side to side.
Thick scales covered the creature, as though armored-plates hung all over its hide. Kate shook her head, wondering how they could defeat such a thing.
****
Hira clamped the hatch shut and hoped his driver could pull ahead of the creature.
The Kaiju straddled their tank and could easily crush them to death. Just thinking of the beast lingering above them, and the potential of impending doom at any moment, Hira grew claustrophobic. All sides of the tank seemed to close in, and it became difficult to breathe.
Rumbling over the city street, the tracks chipped into the tar and the diesel engine groaned. But the tank had picked up speed. Hira glanced through the viewer and both prodigious feet trailed behind them.
Judging from the size of the creature and the distance they’d moved away from its feet, Hira expected the head and snapping jaws were lingering above the tank. Sharp, jagged teeth, dripping with saliva stuck in his mind. The beast longed for red meat.
The tank swerved into a parked car and scraping metal echoed along the corridor of vacant office buildings. The Kaiju let out another menacing roar.
“He doesn’t like noise,” Hira said to the driver.
“That seems to be the case.”
“Try to keep to the middle of the street.” Hira looked into the viewer.
“Doing the best possible,” the driver said, shaking his head.
The driver didn’t speak again; he focused on operating
the tank. Hira placed them at a similar distance as the last time he checked. Somehow the immense, awkward creature kept pace. It’s pursuing us, Hira thought.
He turned to the gunner. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, sir,” the gunner replied.
“Wanted to get further away—”
“Understood.”
“We’ve got to take the risk and fire now.” Hira shifted in his seat. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and penetrate its scales, hit a spot that has already been shot.”
“The creature might slow up if we do.”
“Or it could topple on us.”
The gunner nodded, perceiving the gravity of the situation. “I’ll do my best,” he said to Hira.
Hira looked into the viewfinder to help guide the gunner.
A drop of saliva or snot from the beast’s nostrils dripped onto the tank. The lens on the scope blurred. Hira rose from the command chair and worked the hatch open. He popped his head out and marked their position.
“Fire!” Major Hira bellowed down into the cabin.
“Yes, sir!” said the gunner.
The turret recoiled as the round blasted from the cannon. Only a few meters away from the Kaiju when the gunner fired, the round sailed through the air.
A wail of agony howled through the night, as the round dug into the creature’s lower leg. The beast lost stride, and the tank pulled away. “We did it!” Hira yelled, as he climbed back into the cabin and sealed the hatch.
The gunner and driver cheered as they widened the distance.
Hira got onto the communications link with General Yoshi. “We’re making progress toward Tokyo Tower with the creature in pursuit.”
“I knew that you could do it,” Yoshi replied.
“We just gave the creature a blow. Apparently, it takes firing at close range to really make an impact on its scales.”
“I’ll get word to the Joint Task Force.”
“Thank you, General. I’ve got to get back to my post.”
Pacific Rising Page 11