by JE Gurley
He had learned from his sources that Major Aiden Walker would go on the mission, as would his faithful companion Sergeant Costas. He applauded the decision. He only hoped Walker did not learn he had suggested his name to the Joint Chiefs of Staff as mission leader. In spite of any ill will the military had for Gate, they recognized Walker’s abilities. Gate hated to see his friend face danger again, but Walker had a knack for getting the job done, and that was what the Earth needed if it was to survive the war.
His desk phone rang, startling him from his reverie. He fumbled the receiver as he picked it up. “Rutherford here.”
“Dr. Rutherford, this is Director Stevens. Can you meet me at Mission Control in thirty minutes?”
He tensed, certain the director had bad news or else she would not have called. Unlike former Director Caruthers, he and the new director were not friends. In fact, she resented his unique position at NASA, deeming him an outsider. “Sure. What’s up?”
“We may have to launch early.”
He sat up abruptly. She had touched on one of his worst nightmare scenarios. “Damn. Be right there.”
An early launch of the Javelin meant a complete computation of new course parameters. Even a few hours could make a large difference on a 5-billion-mile flight. He suspected the director had not summoned him for that reason. The flight control crew could handle the computations. His role in the actual mission was minimal, that of a paid consultant. He had made enemies at NASA and in the military by stepping on toes and bypassing the normal chain of command during his search for the Nazir. Former Director Caruthers had shielded him whenever possible, but as Caruthers had warned him, the military had a long memory.
Heads had rolled after Kaiju Kiribati, and many who had barely escaped the ax held him responsible. He had learned to live with it, but Caruthers had grown tired of the constant infighting and had taken an early retirement. He now lived in a condo on the beach in Galveston. Gate envied him his freedom.
Gate, as a consulting astronomer, was included in the mission more as a nod to his past contributions than for any new input he could provide. The mission team had all the data he had accumulated concerning Haumea. Once the gravity drive fired up, Fire Team Alpha would be beyond interference by well-meaning NASA technicians. Fire Team Alpha. He had wondered why Walker’s previous team in which he had been included had been designated Fire Team Bravo. Now he knew. Fire Team Alpha was the Lance pilots.
The walk to the Christopher C. Kraft, Jr. Mission Control Center was the first time Gate had left his office in two days. Sleeping on the short sofa had put a kink in his back. He contorted his body to stretch his muscles as he strode purposefully down the sidewalk. The south Texas day was hot, muggy, and dusty. His long-legged stride ate up the distance between his office in Building 20 and Mission Control in Building 30 M. He listened to Herbie Hancock’s Nightwalker on his iPhone, in his opinion one of the legendary jazz master’s best works. He reluctantly turned it off and removed his earbuds as he entered the building, replacing the sounds of calm serenity with those of frenzied activity.
The room, with which he had become so familiar during the approach of the first three Kaiju, was unusually chaotic. In addition to the preparations for the launch of the Javelin and her sister ship, Assegai, NASA’s Mission Control handled all activities aboard the International Space Station and the Orion mission to place a new optical observatory in trans-lunar orbit. The noise level in the control center pulsed, as reports from technicians caused a stir, and knots of conversation spread around the room like ripples. He nodded at a few familiar faces, noted the increased security, but aimed his steps toward Samantha Stevens, NASA’s new director. As usual, a sea of frazzled, white-shirted technicians bearing clipboards surrounded her, assiduous to her every word. At a mere 5’5’’ tall, she was barely visible in the crowd. The crown of her easily recognizable bun stuck up like a Spanish comb. To an outsider, the short, frumpy, matronly looking director might not seem an imposing character, but those who had worked with her or under her knew better.
Samantha Stevens had fought her way up from an astrophysics department when women in NASA were a rarity. Lacking many of the social graces of her male counterparts, she bulldogged her way to the top using her expertise and her unshakable belief in herself and in NASA. She was neither colorful nor very likable, but she was efficient and dedicated to her job. Also to her credit, she did not step on toes. The military liked that; one of the reasons she presently held her position, not that she did not deserve it. Even Gate believed NASA to be in capable hands.
Today, as usual, she wore a simple two-piece gray tweed dress suit with a white blouse. An American flag pin adorned her jacket lapel. She glanced up at Gate’s approach, her expression grave. “Ah, Doctor Rutherford. I’m glad you wasted no time.”
“Moving up the launch is worth a quicker step.”
“Quite so. It will require a few schedule changes and many hours of overtime, but it is necessary.”
“Why has the launch date been changed?”
Stevens frowned. “We noticed a small adjustment in one of the incoming pod’s path, in fact, several course corrections. It is possible it will intersect Javelin’s orbit. We cannot take a chance.”
Gate nodded. He had suggested a slowly changing geo-stationary lunar orbit that kept the moon’s bulk between the Javelin and her sister ship and any incoming pods. The military had disagreed with him, deeming rapid access to the ships a military necessity. “I see.”
“You need not say, ‘I told you so,’ Dr. Rutherford. I concede you were right yet again.”
His cheeks reddened. He had wanted badly to tell her just that. “My job is to predict catastrophic events. The math was in my favor.”
“Be that as it may, the mission clock has started.”
That startled him. It also explained the increased activity in the control room. “So early. When are you launching?”
“In eight hours.”
Gate was so astounded, he sputtered as he replied, “But-but that’s not enough time to calibrate a new flight path.” An early launch jeopardized the entire mission. His anger at the aliens rose in his chest, threatening to consume him. The veins in his temples throbbed. He clenched and unclenched his fists, as he struggled to control his temper. Lashing out at the director solved nothing.
“We either launch now or risk losing our only offensive weapon.”
As daunting as recalibrating a course change was would be, he could tell she was reluctant to broach the real reason she had summoned him. He closed his eyes against the spinning room and took several deep breaths to calm himself. “I still don’t see why you require my help. Your people are quite capable of doing the math, even under such a rushed timeline.”
She stared at him with intense green eyes that sparkled like fire-lit emeralds when she focused her attention on someone. “You predicted the Nazir would do anything to stop the Javelin.”
“I don’t know if they are aware of the Javelin in particular, but they surely expected us to retaliate in some manner. They know we have interplanetary capabilities, and now we have their gravity drive technology. It would seem obvious that we would combine the two to strike at them.”
She nodded. “That’s what the Joint Chiefs believe as well.”
“I still don’t see why –”
“Doctor Rutherford, I want you to accompany the mission to Haumea.”
Her words were like a pronouncement of doom, as if his doctor had dropped the Big C-word during a physical examination. He had worked hard to make his role in the fight against the Kaiju one of numbers and astronomical data. The pain, death, and suffering he had witnessed still lay too heavy on his heart, a constant threat to his sanity. Now, she wanted him to jump into the flames carrying a can of gasoline. His anger faded as quickly as it had arisen, as if quenched by the new emotion seeking a home in his mind – Fear. His palms perspired. He wiped them on his shirt.
“Me?” he spluttered. “I-I-
I can’t go to Haumea. You’ve got a dozen –”
She cut him off with a stern look. “Doctor Rutherford, NASA and JPL are currently controlling five missions simultaneously.” Her voice was even and composed, but nevertheless strong and forceful, reinforcing why those she had intimidated called her a bulldog. She was a woman used to getting her way. “Our resources are limited. Any changes to Javelin’s course will take far too long to enact in the event of an emergency. We need someone there to navigate the Kuiper Belt safely. You are one of the few scientists capable of doing so. You’ve spent a year studying it.” A quick grin flashed on her lips. “I’m betting you have some of the orbital data memorized.”
She was right. He had always been good with numbers. “I …” His voice trailed off, as he realized her encomium was a tool to sway him. He took a deep breath to reign in his emotions and think more clearly. He had no ready reason not to go other than fear for his sanity and the more prosaic fear of death. Was mere fear reason enough to refuse when so many other people faced death? Should he value his life more than they valued theirs?
The director noticed his hesitation and pounced. “I would not ask this if it were not vital to the success of the mission, Dr. Rutherford. The Joint Chiefs want me to make it very clear that they will not order you to go. I’m not sure they could in any event. It is a request from a country very much in need of heroes.”
Heroes. The curse still followed him. His shoulders sagged in defeat. He knew when he was beaten, and she had smacked him down good by calling upon his patriotism and his ego in equal proportions. The problem with being a hero was that heroes tended to die. In a roundabout way, he was responsible for Walker’s inclusion on the mission. He wondered how Walker would feel when he learned the director had hoisted Gate on his own petard.
“I guess I don’t have much choice, do I? I mean, given the circumstances …” He sighed. “I’ll go.” He scratched his neck where the imaginary noose tightened around his throat.
“Thank you, Dr. Rutherford.” Some of the darkness left her face. Had she expected him to refuse? She motioned to an Air Force sergeant standing by the door. He walked over and stood behind her, his arms clasped behind his back. “Sergeant Brockton will accompany you to Building 32. Good luck.”
As Gate followed the guard to the Space Environment Lab for an all-too-brief session in a space suit in the thermal vacuum chamber, his mind scrambled for a way out, a means to avoid his fate. He wondered if he would ever see Mission Control again. Given what he faced, it did not seem likely.
5
August 11, Paris, France –
The blood of the Wasps LaBonner’s team had killed released alien pheromones that reminded him of the smell of rotten magnolia blossoms. Swirling through the air, the potent scent attracted hordes of the deadly flying creatures. The high-pitched susurration of their calls and the flapping of their leathery wings drowned out the groans of the approaching Kaiju. Each stride of the massive creature sent tremors racing through the Church of Saint Sulpice. Plaster cracked and sloughed from the centuries-old walls. Heavy candelabras danced across the tiled floor and fell. Inside the church, the stained glass window depicting the crucifixion shattered and fell. Wide cracks despoiled Delacroix’s famous frescoes on each side of the main entrance. The church had stood since 1646, but every step of the giant Kaiju wrote its doom.
The army of Wasps kept LaBonner’s team penned down in the north tower of the church, determined to wipe them out at any cost. It was almost as if they sensed the danger to the Kaiju LaBonner and his team posed. He and his two remaining teammates fought them off with a flurry of gunfire from their SCAR-H rifles, the M-134D minigun, and a handful of grenades.
He had no time to mourn Chalmers, Thayer, or his other dead men – Sanders, Anderson, Mackey, and Westlake. His fight now was to keep the list of the dead from becoming any longer. He pulled the pin on a grenade and rolled it down the steps into the midst of several Wasps climbing from the second-level terrace. The explosion shattered their bodies, but did little to impede the advance of the massed creatures behind them.
Private Spence’s position in the top turret of the tower allowed him to fire at Wasps attacking him and those attacking LaBonner and Mayer in the lower tower level. Louvers covering the windows partially protected them from the Wasps’ full fury, but the resolute Wasps ripped away boards at a pace faster than the three could kill them.
LaBonner had chosen the north tower both because its windows were covered and because it looked as if the Kaiju would pass closest to it, if it did not simply destroy the church, as it had so many other of Paris’ ancient buildings. LaBonner hoped they could hold out long enough to take a shot. He peeked around the corner and fired three quick bursts into the advancing Wasps. There seemed no stopping them. Each time he created a barricade of dead Wasp bodies, the other Wasps simply hacked and chewed them to pieces, as if they were an obstacle to remove and not dead crèche mates.
The incessant attack prevented Mayer or Spencer from breaking away to prepare for their shot at the Kaiju. It looked as if they would have to choose one or the other – defend themselves against the Wasps or fire their nuclear-tipped rockets at the Kaiju.
“Mayer!” he yelled. “Join Spence up top. Load your rockets and get ready. I’ll keep them off your backs while you take your shot.”
He didn’t know how long he could hold off the Wasps, but the Kaiju loomed closer with each enormous stride. The stench of putrefaction mounted as it neared. He estimated the pair had two minutes to line up accurate shots before it passed out of range or crushed them beneath it. He fired the minigun until he emptied the last ammo belt. He released the trigger and the six barrels spun down to silence. He dropped the minigun and slipped his SCAR from his shoulder.
Mayer passed him her two grenades. “Good luck, Sergeant.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you on the other side. Now, get moving.”
He watched her disappear up the steps, and then moved to the center of the room with the stairs behind him where he could cover all the windows and the door. When one Wasp ripped away enough louvers to poke its head through, he fired a long burst into its head. As it died and fell away, it enlarged the hole. A second Wasp took its place, clawing its way inside. More Wasps pushed through the door. They bunched together, impeding their progress. He continued firing, as he edged backward toward the steps leading to the top level.
He tossed two grenades across the room behind the leading line of Wasps. The twin explosions reverberated in the enclosed space almost deafening him. His ears rang. As he took a step backward, a sharp, burning pain in his side drew his attention. He glanced down to see blood. Shrapnel from the blast had peppered his uniform, exposing the TEP armor beneath. Blood seeped through his uniform from a wound in his side the armor had not covered.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.
A rage surged through him. He emptied the last magazine of his SCAR, spraying the Wasps in the door and at the windows. He tossed the empty weapon to the floor and drew his 9mm Beretta. As he hobbled up the steps to join Spence and Mayer, he suspected they would not be coming down from the tower. This would be their last stand against the Wasps. He didn’t want to die for nothing.
The pain of his wound and the knowledge of certain death brought clarity to his mind that had been missing. The fear subsided like an ebbing tide. As he entered the top tier of the tower, Mayer aimed her rocket launcher at the Kaiju, while Spence fended off Wasps with the butt of his rifle. She had a difficult time lining up a shot because of the Wasps bunched around the window. LaBonner picked up her discarded SCAR and joined them. The Kaiju was still 200 yards away, but looked like a fleet of ebony C-17s landing on top of them. Its broad belly blotted out the sky. Each stride brought the 600-foot monster fifty yards closer. To their credit, they had drawn the Wasps away from the Kaiju to attend to them. A fresh batch of Wasps spilled from the Kaiju to attack the tower, leaving the blisters open, the chance they had been waiting for.
Mayer let out a loud curse. “I can’t lock on from here,” she said. “I’m going to the roof.”
They both realized it was a suicide move. On the exposed roof, she would have seconds to fire before Wasps descended on her and ripped her to shreds.
He nodded. “Take the shot, Mayer,” he said. “Do me proud. Spence, cover her. I’ll hold the fort down here.” He tossed Spence the SCAR.
Using his 9mm, LaBonner fired single shots at Wasps trying to enter the tower. He wasn’t trying to kill them, only to keep them occupied. Mayer opened the trap door to the roof and crawled out. Spence stood on the top step firing up at Wasps buzzing the tower. A plume of fire shot from the rear of the launcher as the rocket left the tube. Mayer kept the laser pointed at an open blister along the creature’s side. LaBonner prayed the blisters remained open; hoping his presence in a church would wing his prayers along to the proper recipient.
The rocket soared toward the Kaiju. Mayer disappeared over the side of the tower, as a Wasp swooped down and snatched her up. She didn’t have time to scream. Spence picked up her launcher and realigned the targeting laser, ignoring the danger. LaBonner held his breath as the rocket, programmed to travel as deep into the Kaiju as possible before detonating, entered the blister. He hoped it reached the main corridor running the length of the creature where it would do the most damage.
He perceived the detonation in his chest before any visible sign of the explosion. A heartbeat later, the Kaiju’s ebony armor, designed to absorb and utilize energy, flashed a bright azure, as it tried to absorb the energy of the nuclear blast. It could not. The blast spread throughout the creature’s honeycomb structure, vaporizing flesh and killing the thousands of host creatures inside it, including the immature Wasps in the crèche nursery. Light erupted from each blister, from the spaces between armored plates, and from its open maw, as the blast disintegrated the internal organic components of the alien cyborg creature. The Kaiju stumbled when its legs folded; then, it fell prostrate on the ground, crushing houses and businesses beneath its bulk. The ground shuddered from the impact, collapsing buildings in an expanding concentric circle. The blast incinerated all the Wasps within a thousand yards. The Wasps confronting him stopped attacking as confusion set in.