by JE Gurley
LaBonner was not happy. He didn’t want more responsibility. The loss of his team was too poignant a reminder that he didn’t deserve a promotion. His first impulse was to shove the bars into a certain part of the colonel’s anatomy. Instead, he reached for them.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He hoped the colonel couldn’t read his thoughts.
13
August 14, Hamburg, Germany –
Captain Beman “Buzz” Caulder stared at the broken Hamburg skyline. A tear rolled down his cheek. The salty drop created a clean furrow down his soot-smudged face. Once, Hamburg had looked old and inviting, like a comfortable chair or grandmother’s house. Weathered brick, towering church steeples, dock cranes, placid canals, and bridges; it had been the greenest city in Europe, an industrial hub, a busy river port, and home to 1.7 million people. Now, it lay in ruins, a mound of smoldering debris, blackened corpses, and broken dreams.
Caulder’s Kaiju Killer Team Foxtrot had achieved their mission goal stopping Kaiju Hamburg, but it had cost him seven men. They had saved tens of thousands of innocent lives, but he hadn’t known any of their names, as he had his team. He would not see the faces of the citizens of Hamburg haunting him in his nightmares. He would see the faces of his dead team.
Kaiju Hamburg had crashed into the heart of Gluckstadt on the banks of the Elbe River sixty hours earlier and marched relentlessly through the German countryside and into the heart of Hamburg, Germany’s second largest city. His team’s nuke had stopped the creature, but not before it had smashed the city flat.
Sergeant Ron Warski, the only other survivor of K-Team Foxtrot, walked up behind him. “Our ride’s here.”
Caulder watched the Blackhawk helicopter circle the area searching for them; then, land in a clearing near a canal, raising a cloud of dust and ash that swirled above the chopper. Caulder noticed the dark waters of the canal bore detritus from the dead city – bodies, charred wood, half-sunken boats, broken and splintered trees, and dead animals – rolling northwards toward the North Sea. Eventually, the Elbe would cleanse itself. His soul could not. He had witnessed too much death and destruction. The single tear smearing his cheek was all he could shed for the dead. It was just too much to comprehend, too vast to wrap his mind around. He reached up a dirty finger and wiped away the tear.
“Yeah, grab your gear.”
London, Paris, Tiran, and now Hamburg – four Kaiju down out of eight. How many more people would die over the next few days? He shook his head.
“We’ve got work to do.”
The copilot greeted them as they boarded. He leaned out the door and yelled so that Caulder could hear him over the roar of the rotors. “I expected you guys to call in yesterday.”
“It took all day and night to worm our way through the rubble.” He didn’t add that he and Warski had spent half the day digging through the rubble of a collapsed building searching for Private Hayden Lollar. They had finally found him pinned beneath a steel I-beam. They had sat with him for two hours, as he died, a deathwatch. Caulder had Lollar’s dog tag in his pocket with the others of his team.
“Yeah, the city’s a real mess, isn’t it?” the copilot said. “Too bad.”
“Yeah, too bad.” Too bad, I lost seven men. Too bad, it took three days to stop the Kaiju. Too bad, there are more of them.
The pilot nodded to them as he and Warski boarded. A private stood behind a mounted M134 7.62mm minigun eyeing the landscape, wary of stray Wasps. Killing the Kaiju had slowed their rampage and befuddled them. With no way to feed, they would soon die, but they retained enough of their drive to kill to continue to be a menace. An unmanned GECAL50, a .50 caliber Gau-19/A, stood at the opposite open hatch. Without saying a word, Warski strode to the Gatling gun, clicked off the safety, and strapped himself into the harness, helping the other gunner keep watch over the dead city.
Outside, located above each door, a wing-like assembly held two removable pylons. Attached to one pylon on each side, AGM-114 Hellfire air-to-ground rocket launchers stood ready to take down any target on the ground. Having seen the Fleas and Wasps at work, the heavy armament did not offer Caulder any peace of mind. He sat back against the rear bulkhead as the chopper lifted off.
Just before leaving the German coast, a small swarm of Wasps attacked. Warski behind the GECAL50 and the private manning the M-134 killed six before they could get close enough to damage the Blackhawk by diving into the rotors, a common tactic they employed. Still confused by the death of their Kaiju host, the remainder broke off the attack and flew away.
Once over the North Sea, the chopper kept low to the water. A squall had blown in from the north, driving six-foot white caps before it. Between the heavy rain and the choppy seas, Caulder thought he might get his feet wet. Some of the waves looked as if they would roll right into the chopper. He donned the earphones and queried the pilot.
“What’s with the wave hopping?”
“Sorry, sir. Just got the word to keep the air corridors clear for emergency flights. They’re moving a lot of equipment and personnel around.”
“Why?”
The pilot smiled. “I just fly back and forth. I don’t ask questions.”
After killing the Wasps, Warski had taken the opportunity to catch forty winks. Caulder couldn’t sleep. Every rattle of the chopper jingled the wad of dog tags in his shirt pocket, seven of them – Benson, Edelman, Hodges, Hollister, Lollar, Maget, and Richter. Richter had been born in Bremerhaven less than sixty kilometers from Hamburg. He had been familiar with every street, had a story about every bridge, and knew the owners of many of the quiet rathskeller that now lay in ruin. Now, Richter’s body lay entombed with them, his dog tag all that remained. Caulder didn’t sleep because he worried that his decisions had killed his team.
Warski would never admit his concerns if he had them. He was a perfect soldier with no opinion on anything. He went where they sent him and killed what his superiors told him to kill. He slept the slumber of the innocent. He was a killing machine and did his job with a clean conscience. Caulder didn’t have that luxury. Command would assign him more men over whose lives he had complete control. Colonel Eckhart had assured him of his complete confidence. Caulder wondered if his confidence was misplaced.
He stared at the blackened scar of East London through the rain; a mirror image of Hamburg’s blackened rubble. Even in the downpour, smoke rose from a hundred heaps of smoldering debris. If they didn’t stop the Kaiju, all of Europe would look similar. He didn’t have the luxury of second thoughts. For every man he had lost, tens of thousands had died in Hamburg and the surrounding countryside. Every effort he made to spare his team cost more lives. As soldiers, they were expendable. As long as the mission succeeded, their lives didn’t matter. That was what he told himself, but his heavy heart would not let him believe it.
He nudged Warski. “We’re home.”
Warski blinked, glanced out the window, and growled, “Fucking rain. Does it ever stop raining in London?”
“It’ll keep the stink down.”
The Blackhawk passed low over a building with the word ‘Eagles’ written on the roof, a reminder that the 48th Tactical Fighter Wing with its F-15 Eagles, called RAF Lakenheath home. A few German Tornados were visible in front of the hangars. The chopper set down at the northeast edge of Runway 24 beside a rundown Quonset hut, HQ for the Kaiju Killer Teams. It wasn’t much to look at, but the teams didn’t spend much time there. For all its lack of comfort, it was home.
Corporal Chance Vance, wearing shorts, a faded Van Halen tee shirt, and an Atlanta Braves cap stood in the doorway of the hut holding a beer and watching the chopper land. He held onto his cap with one hand to prevent the wash of the rotors blowing it away. As Caulder approached, Vance took a long swig from the bottle and nodded.
“Caulder. Glad you made it.” He glanced at the chopper, noting that only Warski emerged. “Rough one, huh?”
Caulder said nothing about Vance’s lack of respect for his rank. The Kaiju
Killers were a relaxed outfit. “They all are.”
“I just got here from Albania a few hours ago. Alone. Sergeant Stoddard died on the way here. We gave him a beautiful burial at sea. His mama would be proud.” He took another swig. “Better than the rest of my team got.” He jerked his head toward the hut. “I’m it. Everyone else has gone already.”
Caulder stopped. “Gone where?”
“The States. Some hush-hush project. Looks like we rode the slow horse here.”
“What did the colonel say?”
Vance shook his head. “He didn’t say anything. I haven’t seen him. I did hear some scuttlebutt though.”
“What?”
“Wilson’s team is dead. The Ruskies nuked Budapest while they were there.”
Caulder’s chest tightened. “What was our response?”
Vance shrugged, but Caulder noticed a slight tic in his clenched jaw. “Not a damn thing as far as I can see. NATO hasn’t said anything, but a lot of hardware and personnel have been moving north over the last twenty-four hours. It doesn’t look good.”
“Stupid Russians. What did they think would happen?”
“They’re gamblers. They think NATO and Europe has enough to deal with already. They may be right.”
“What do you mean?”
Vance took another sip of beer, savoring it before swallowing. “Rumor is more Kaiju are on the way.”
Caulder stared at him in disbelief. “You’re shitting me.”
Vance held up three fingers in a Boy Scout salute. “I swear. I got it from a girl in communications. Lots of Kaiju.”
“Can you say, ‘We’re fucked’?”
Warski walked up. “Good. More for each of us.” He pushed past them into the hut.
Vance jerked his thumb at Warski’s back. With a questioning look, he said, “Is he all right?”
“Just being sarcastic. He watched a lot of buddies die.”
Vance lowered his gaze. “Yeah, been there, done that. Want a beer?”
Before Caulder could answer, a jeep pulled up in front of the hut. It stopped just long enough to disgorge its single passenger, and drove away. As the man approached, limping heavily, Caulder recognized him. He took in the bandages and the burn ointment on his arms and forehead and read a lot of pain and agony into the reasons. “LaBonner. You look like shit.”
“I get that a lot.” LaBonner glanced at the two men. “Is this it?”
“Warski’s inside, but, yeah, the others are gone.”
“Yeah, I know, to Haumea.”
Caulder stared at LaBonner wondering if the injuries had addled his mind. “Haumea?”
“They’re going to fight the Nazir in their backyard.”
Caulder recognized the disappointment in LaBonner’s voice. As much as he hated aliens, Caulder didn’t think he would have volunteered for a space voyage. Clearly, LaBonner did not feel the same way. “I wish them luck.” He noticed LaBonner’s new bars. “A promotion. Good for you.”
“Yeah, if you say so. The colonel insisted.”
Caulder noted LaBonner’s lack of enthusiasm. “Sounds like we’ll have plenty to do here.”
“Yeah, ten Kaiju hit in less than twenty-four hours and twenty more a week from now.”
Caulder’s face turned ashen. He sucked in his breath and exhaled. “You’re sure?”
“Just got it from the colonel. Maybe you had better report to him. You still have the rank. We’re hopping a transport for Dobbins first thing in the a.m. In the meantime, I’m getting some sack time.”
“Dobbins?” Vance asked, watching LaBonner’s back. “What’s up with that? We’ve got Kaiju here.”
Caulder shook his head, but he suspected it wasn’t good news. A knot grew tighter in the pit of his stomach. The Russians nuking Budapest, the additional movement of personnel and matériel, and transferring K-teams to the States all spoke of big plans afoot. If more countries decided nuking the Kaiju was the only solution, all hell would break loose. With Russia flexing its muscles and China shutting down all outside communications, the aliens might be the least of their problems.
“Stupid fucking humans,” he growled.
Vance turned up his beer and finished it; then said, “You got that shit right.”
14
August 14, USS Javelin –
Walker filled the hours waiting for word from Washington about Gate’s idea by pressing his team harder. Training made them forget about home and their destination. Only by focusing on the immediate threat would they have any chance of succeeding. The mission’s success concerned him more than survival. Failure was not an option. If they failed, there would be no home to return to. The time passed agonizingly slow. The information had to precede through the proper channels – first the Joint Chiefs, then the United Nations, and possibly even NATO, before the President made a final decision. The Javelin was a U.S. ship, but the U.N. had invested a lot of money in its construction and demanded a place at the table. He only hoped they didn’t debate it to death.
Walker firmly believed the President would turn them down. The U.N. had already agreed to nuke the incoming Kaiju. Risking the mission to stop a third of the Kaiju would not be an easy sell to politicians who clung to the hope of future elections, as if such a thing were inevitable in such apocalyptic times. Sakiri had forwarded the proposal with little enthusiasm. Walker was sure he had added his own objections to the message as a way of asserting his overall command of the mission. Walker did not begrudge him his opinion. If they failed, the majority of the culpability would fall on him.
Costas did not suffer the anxiety of the wait alone. Deprived of his booze, cigars, and women, he growled at every Alpha Team member like a bulldog guarding its bone. No slip-up or failure escaped his wrath. Walker considered speaking with his sergeant to get him to ease up, but decided that allowing his team to focus their hostility toward Costas was better than their resentment of him. Some might have construed his inaction as cowardly, but Costas could handle the pressure. Walker had sufficient worries to occupy his time.
Each of Fire Team Alpha’s ten members had endured rigorous training for a spot on a Kaiju Killer team. Most were former Rangers, Seals, or British SAS, and were among the best-trained and disciplined soldiers in the world. Now, necessity demanded they fight and possibly die in an entirely alien environment – deep space. Most of them had stared death in the face. Each had been a member of a team that had faced a Kaiju. No team escaped unscathed. Some did not escape at all. Many teams had fallen to take down their monsters. Millions owed their lives to the few brave men and women in the room who had volunteered to venture to the ends of the solar system to face an even deadlier foe – the Nazir.
Sakiri pushed through the hatch. Walker studied the colonel’s face, but the Lance pilot revealed nothing in either his mannerisms or his expression. He had a perfect poker face. Walker would have hated playing cards against him. “That’s enough for now, Alpha Team,” Walker told the group. “Grab some chow and leisure time.”
Costas narrowed his eyes at Walker but said nothing. The others filed through the hatch, eager to place some distance between them and the claustrophobic sergeant. After a few moments, Costas swung up into his hammock and closed his eyes muttering to himself.
“Any word?” Walker asked Sakiri.
“They agreed under certain conditions.”
The answer both pleased and surprised Walker, but the added codicil annoyed him. “What conditions?”
“They won’t risk any more Lances or risk the Assegai remaining in orbit any longer than necessary. She left Earth a day ahead of schedule with her original two-man crew.”
Walker sighed. “Well, that’s that. I expected as much. I guess we’re lucky they agreed at all.”
“They almost didn’t. Homeland Secretary Robinson lent his support to you. It looks like you have a friend in high places.” Sakiri’s tone implied that he resented Walker’s high-level support. “We’ll shut down the drive in six hours and st
rip the Javelin. The Assegai will increase speed and rendezvous with us in fifty-six hours.”
Walker made a rapid mental calculation and didn’t like the answer. “Whew! That’s cutting it close.”
“They are afraid to push the gravity drive and risk the ship. If the Javelin does the job, it will have been worth it. If not, we can expect the aliens to retaliate. If they do, we’ll give them a fight.”
You will. I’ll just be sitting here in a windowless box waiting. Something in Sakiri’s manner bothered him. He held something back. “Why did they agree? I was sure they would turn us down.”
“Things have changed. Ukraine nuked the Budapest Kaiju. It obliterated the entire city. Now, the U.N. plan to nuke the Kaiju is falling apart. World leaders are afraid the use of nuclear missiles might mask a covert attack by China or Russia. Some heated discussion erupted on the floor of the U.N. when Germany suggested that changing the mission benefitted the U.S. at the expense of the rest of the world. The President pointed out that whittling down the incoming Kaiju might give the U.N. a few extra days to bring some muscle to bear against the second wave. We could prevent a global war. I guess they feel the risk is acceptable.”
“What about you?”
Walker scanned Sakiri’s face for some hint of his true feelings. The U.N. had approved the plan, and he harbored no doubt that the colonel would do everything in his power to comply, but he needed to know Sakiri’s true mind. It could raise a shadow over any future suggestions Walker might make. He needed Sakiri’s full support, but did not want to step on his toes. He wouldn’t like it done to him, and Sakiri would undoubtedly feel the same way.
Sakiri’s face remained neutral. Walker thought he might have detected the slightest quiver in the corner of his cheek, but it could have been his imagination. Sakiri cleared his throat before answering.
“I will follow my orders,” he said.
Walker didn’t want to press, but the answer did not suffice. “And then?”