Operation Red Dragon: The Daikaiju Wars: Part One

by Ryan George Collins

  For a few brief, glorious years, he had prospered as more and more people accepted the paranormal as plausible. Even if some of the eyewitnesses were obvious crackpots, the public still devoured the stories, fascinated by the possibility of a world far stranger than what they usually believed.

  Then Project Blue Book happened.

  Richard had seen it for what it was earlier than anyone else. Project Blue Book was not about investigating UFOs, but debunking them. All it took was a little reasoning to realize that some of the so-called “rational” explanations they put forth were more ludicrous and unbelievable than the notion of flying saucers from Mars. It was utterly ridiculous, but somehow, it had worked. The government had convinced the nation to doubt their own eyes by feeding them explanations that only made sense because they used familiar, earthbound details. They spoke of swamp gas and weather balloons, stars and hoaxes, anything that was of a terrestrial, easily identified nature, and whatever could not be explained was simply swept under the proverbial rug and otherwise forgotten.

  It reeked of a cover up, but it seemed as if nobody cared about that. People latched onto the explanations like remoras to a shark, and even forgot about the fact that quite a few UFO cases investigated by Project Blue Book were still unexplained, or that J. Allen Hynick, once an outspoken skeptical proponent of the project, had eventually become a UFO believer himself. None of that seemed to matter to the public, who would rather be spoon fed some cock and bull story about misidentifying the planet Venus than be called a crackpot for saying someone with extra letters after his name was wrong.

  When the UFOs metaphorically crashed, they took everything else with them, including monsters, ghosts, and the entirety of the Absurd. Under the watchful eyes of the government, science had adopted a strict brand of dogma to rival the Catholic Church, declaring that anything which defied already-known science could not exist, as if their understanding of the universe was absolute and there was nothing left for anyone to discover.

  These past few years, Richard had been having a hard time keeping his career afloat. It was not for lack of evidence or eyewitnesses, but rather because the papers simply refused to print his work because no one was willing to believe anymore. The few times he had attempted to sign on permanently with certain publications only saw him laughed out of their offices, for how could a whacko who believed in aliens and monsters possibly be counted as a real journalist?

  He sighed as he closed the folder, a motion almost akin to closing the lid on a casket. “Sorry Joe,” he whispered to, in reference to the man whose account was within. “It’s looking like nobody wants to hear your story.”

  Richard brought his coffee cup to his lips, only to realize that it was empty. He rose and tossed it in the trash, then hesitated. He stared at the folder in his hand, and in his despair, strongly considered disposing of the article in similar fashion to the cup. The Northwest Tribune was the latest in a long line of papers that had rejected it, and he was growing weary of this pursuit, which seemed more and more futile each day. He could easily declare the story a bust and move on to something else. Something completely different. Something that had nothing to do with…

  No, he thought. That would mean giving up. He still believed in the story, even if no one else did. There had to be someone out there who would be willing to print it, someone willing to listen, someone still willing to believe.

  There just had to be.

  He tucked the folder back into his case and left the coffee shop, never once noticing the sharply-dressed men in sunglasses who were watching him from across the street.

  Richard had begun his walk home at a brisk pace, but as he drew nearer to the hotel, his gait gradually slowed. He only had the room booked for one more night, and after that, he had no idea where to go. This would be his third month without having sold an article, which meant the money in his bank account was nearly gone, and he would probably have to use what little was left to go back to his parents’ home in Utah to regain his footing.

  Again.

  Richard loved his parents, who had supported him even with his odd career choice, but constantly going back to them whenever times got hard like this was starting to affect his self-esteem. It made him feel like a failure.

  Perhaps he was.

  He rounded the corner that would bring him to his destination, and slammed hard into what felt like a solid brick wall covered in fabric. He fell back, his bottom landing hard on the sidewalk.

  Shaking his head in an attempt to regain his senses, Richard looked up at what he had run into. As the details came into focus, he revised the question from “what” to “whom”, for it was a person he had collided with.

  The figure looked to be at least seven feet tall, a giant by any man’s standard, broad-shouldered and imposing. It – or he, apparently – was draped in a solid black trench coat that hung over his body unbuttoned, revealing a dark suit with blood red pinstripes beneath it. The suit, though nice, was covered in a network of stitches like jagged scars, as if it went through regular cycles of being damaged and repaired. His hands were covered by black leather gloves, and looked large enough to wrap around Richard’s entire head. A fedora as black as night sat upon his square head at a stylish angle, the wide brim casting a heavy shadow over the upper half of his face. A scraggy, reddish-brown beard on his square jaw framed a scowling mouth, and through the shadow cast by the hat, his turquoise eyes seemed to glow as if there was light behind them.

  The stranger’s glowing eyes were locked right on Richard’s, holding him mesmerized for a second.

  “Uh, I… Excuse me, please,” Richard stammered as he stood back up, dusting himself off. “I was lost in thought, so, uh… I wasn’t-”

  “Richard Godfrey?” asked the mysterious figure in a voice that was deep and gravelly, like the growl of a lion.

  Before answering, Richard took a small step backwards, preparing to run if he had to. This man, whoever he was, projected an overwhelming aura of power and menace which terrified him. “Yes…” he said, trailing off as if to silently ask why his identity mattered to the stranger.

  He thought he heard a click, and as he closed his eyes to blink, he felt a jolt of electricity surge through his body. His eyes reopened. The stranger was still standing before him, but his arm was raised now, a devilish-looking device in his gloved hand pointed at Richard’s chest. The object fizzled with electricity.

  Richard felt dizzy. He fell, but he did not hit the ground.

  Above him, he saw the faces of several normal-looking fellows in plainclothes who had caught him. These men were all staring at the man in black, who was growling orders at them. At least, Richard thought they were orders. He was having a hard time focusing. The world was fading in and out around him. Sights and sounds were equally hazy, and he smelled nothing but electric smoke.

  He was faintly aware of his legs rising off the sidewalk, maybe grabbed by someone else. He sort of heard two voices complaining that he was drooling on them.

  As his eyes closed, he was vaguely aware of being carried.

  Then he was aware of absolutely nothing.

  CHAPTER 2

  Nancy Boardwalk adjusted the antennae and checked the screen again. The image on the monitor was a bit clearer now, but still heavily distorted. She sighed angrily and smacked the television as hard as she could.

  For a few brief seconds, the image was crystal clear, revealing the spiked carapace of the behemoth in brilliant detail. Then the distortion returned, even worse than it was before.

  “Crap,” she grumbled.

  A sound like a heavy sack of potatoes being dropped onto a steel plate came from behind her. She was not startled; the sound was a familiar one at her office. She did not turn around, but continued adjusting the antennae, an activity she was growing sick of repeating and was just about ready to give up on.

  “Miss Boardwalk,” growled the menacing voice of her boss as he took his place beside her.

  “X,” she nodded
in reply. Nancy was one of the few people in the world who was not, and never had been, intimidated by X. His black and red gangster attire, glowing eyes, and gravelly voice had seemed like an act when they first met, and though she now knew he was the genuine article, she had just grown used to his mannerisms. She was casual around him, almost familial in some ways, and as his right hand woman, she was one of the few people alive who could get away with such behavior. “Sounds like you kidnapped another civilian. What memories will we be erasing this time?”

  “None,” X replied. “That would be counterproductive this time.”

  Nancy instantly knew what the seemingly vague statement meant, and turned around to see the unconscious body of Richard Godfrey sitting limply in a folding metal chair, his unconscious frame slumped down on the small metal tray set before him. “This is the reporter?”

  “The one and only.”

  “So we’re really going ahead with it?”

  “We have to.” X gave her a wary look. “Don’t tell me you’re having a change of heart this late in the game.”

  Nancy shook her head. “Of course not. If you and the General think this is the best thing to do, I’m behind you all the way. If this goes FUBAR on us, though, Stingray will have our heads mounted in his study. Even you wouldn’t come back from that.”

  “It’ll work out. Trust me.” X pointed at the screen. “Incidentally, what are we looking at here?”

  Nancy turned back to the screen, her mood darkening as she once again faced the scrambled image which had been taunting her since lunch. “The cameras are on the fritz, and I can’t make it any clearer than this for more than a second. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone was jamming the signals. Best guess is that Armadagger is passing through a nuclear test site somewhere in the southwest.”

  “And the others?”

  “Nothing. Every time the Akira sends out a probe, it vanishes, probably shot down. It’s like they know we’re trying to track them, and they don’t appreciate it. In fact, I’d say that’s exactly what’s going on.” She looked at X, one eyebrow raised like a wave on the ocean. “Behavior like that reminds me of just how smart they really are.” She instinctively reached up and grasped the cross which hung on her necklace.

  X’s leather-clad hands clenched into fists while he grimaced. “Yeah… Humbling to think about, isn’t it?”

  Though his tone remained flat, someone who knew X well – as Nancy did – would have recognized a slight hint of terrified awe in his voice. “You know, there are times that I really hope the Doc is right about them,” she said. Small reassurance, but it was all she could offer.

  Richard groaned loudly as he slowly regained consciousness. He tried to say something, but since his mouth was dry and filled with the taste of burnt toast, all he could manage was a very lackluster utterance of, “…ugh…”

  Nancy turned off the screen so it would not be a distraction and pulled up a chair opposite Richard which she plopped herself down upon. “Good morning, Sunshine,” she said in a welcoming tone. “How are we feeling today?”

  Richard rubbed his eyes and wiped the saliva from his chin. His head was pounding like a bass drum. He looked around, aware that he was not in front of his hotel or anywhere familiar. The room he found himself in was eerily similar to the office at the Northwest Tribune, but it was much bigger. The walls were covered with maps of the world, and the maps were covered with pins and labels, but what they signified, he could not even begin to guess. There were no desks, tables, or chairs, save for what he and the woman before him were seated in.

  “That depends,” Richard croaked in answer to the question. “Where are we? Er, that is…” He massaged his temples. “Where am I?”

  “Until you get the proper clearance, that’s classified,” X replied flatly.

  The sight of the cloaked figure jogged Richard’s memory and snapped him into panic mode. He nearly leapt from his chair to run, but Nancy rose and caught his shoulders. “Calm down,” she said softly but firmly. “Just sit.”

  The tone of her voice calmed him, as did her appearance. She was quite a beautiful woman, her face perfectly symmetrical, and her auburn hair pulled back in a smart bun. The bluish-gray suit which covered her fit body complimented the tone of her skin, creating an attractive figure to focus on. Thus, Richard did as she told him and sat back down.

  “Don’t be too worried,” Nancy continued. “You’re still safe and sound in Oregon.”

  X sighed loudly. “Thank you for undermining my authority in front of a civilian again, Miss Boardwalk,” he snarled.

  Nancy flashed X a Cheshire grin. “It’s what I’m here for.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh! Just remembered. Your mutant wife called earlier.”

  X’s dual responses of “She did?” and “Do NOT call her that!” were so close together that he almost said both simultaneously.

  Nancy’s grin only grew wider at his flummoxed response. “Why not just loosen up and admit you’ve got odd taste in women?”

  X’s head craned forward as though he were a hungry vulture, his glowing eyes becoming even brighter, as though they were attempting to burn into Nancy’s soul. “Need I remind you, Miss Boardwalk, that I could replace you with a brain-damaged lab rat and get better results than you give me?”

  Any other man or woman might have soiled themselves in a staring contest with X, but Nancy was not even slightly phased. “You always say that, but I have yet to meet this miracle rat. Look, Chakra called while you were out shopping, said she had some updates. Go ahead and give her a ring. I’ll get our reporter friend adjusted and registered.”

  “Make it quick,” X snapped. With that, he turned sharply, which caused the tails of his trench coat to snap like whips, and marched out the door.

  Nancy sat back down in front of Richard, and shrugged. “Hope that didn’t give you the wrong impression,” she said as reassuringly as possible. “He has this scary persona that I just love chipping away at from time to time, but usually, we work quite well together.” She looked around the mostly barren room. “I suppose you’ll have to excuse the lackluster decorating, too. We’ve been clearing this outpost of all essential equipment, which, thank God, doesn’t include the piece-of-junk TV set behind me.”

  She extended her hand. “I’m Task Marshall Nancy Boardwalk. When Tall-Dark-and-Gruesome isn’t around, I’m in charge.”

  Richard shook her hand, feeling a bit more relaxed now that his massive assailant was gone, but still perplexed by his situation. “Um, hi, I guess. I’m-”

  “Richard Godfrey, freelance reporter, born 1935 in Salt Lake City, Utah.”

  The relaxation departed, replaced by tension once again. “How-?”

  “We’re a government agency.” Nancy’s brow furrowed. “Well, sort of. We’re more adjacent. Well, actually…” She paused, then shrugged. “I’ll explain the details later. The important thing is that we know who you are, and we know about your interest in the Absurd, monsters in particular.”

  Richard’s eyes widened. “You’ve read my articles?” The realization that anyone had been reading his work recently came as a shock today, and his ego was boosted even as he was still confused by his surroundings.

  “Your articles are why you were brought here. Hold still please.” Without missing a beat, Nancy retrieved a strange-looking rectangular device from her pocket and held it in front of Richard’s face. A bright flash blinded him for an instant, and spots danced before his eyes. When they faded, he felt something small and plastic land in his palm.

  He looked to see what he had just been given. In his hand was a badge with a picture of his face on it. Next to the picture was a symbol that resembled a coiled red serpent with navy blue markings beneath it that might have been letters, but were too small for him to make out at just a glance in the poorly-lit room.

  “Keep that on you at all times,” Nancy said. “That’s your new all-access ID badge for your stay with us. Wear it prominently so people know not to sh
oot you.” She held up another object, about the size and shape of a pen, but with a button on the side and a small red light where the nub should have been, and placed it in Richard’s other hand. “Keep this, too. It’ll record audio and video of all of the important details for you. That button turns it on and off.”

  Richard could only sit for a moment and blink in astonishment, then finally asked the questions which he was only just managing to form with coherent words. “What is this? And how did you make this badge so quickly?”

  “New technology,” Nancy said, as if it were obvious. “Well, new to you, at least. We use it all the time. We might release it to the public one day. Maybe. I don’t know.”

  Richard looked at the badge again, and examined the strange letters more closely. He now realized it was some form of Asian writing. “What’s all this say? The writing looks Chinese.”

  “Japanese, actually. It says Ryu no Gurren. Roughly translated, it means Red Dragon.” Nancy stood. “That’s who we are: Operation Red Dragon. And we’d better get to the platform or X’ll have our heads.”

  Before he could ask what platform she was referring to, Richard found himself being physically dragged by Nancy Boardwalk out of the room and down a featureless narrow gray hall which inclined gently upward towards a simple metal door.

  Beyond that door, Richard was surprised to find himself led outside into an expansive grassy field. The building from which they had exited was deceptively small, looking like little more than a one-room shack. The only explanation he could think of for this anomaly was that the room and hallway he had woken up in was underground.

  He felt uneasy now that he was outside, but he was not entirely sure why at first. He quickly determined that his unease must have had something to do with the field itself. Something about it looked wrong to him, but yet again, he could not specifically name what it was at first. There was nothing obviously wrong with it. This was just a vast grass-covered field, simple and flat.