Kaiju: Deadfall, page 11
Nukes might. He knew the use of nuclear weapons would be a last resort, possibly causing as much damage as the creature itself, but the military was rapidly running out of options. Ishom, Girra, and Nusku could slowly and methodically destroy every large city in America, wrecking the country’s infrastructure and economy. While the behemoths were highly effective, he doubted the aliens would restrict an attack to only three of the creatures. More alien craft were probably already on their way to Earth, each containing one of the creatures or something worse. The military had to deal a crushing blow soon, something to give the aliens pause to rethink their strategy.
Girra continued its wake of destruction north closely following I-90/94, eliminating the Interstate as a route of evacuation. In the southern suburbs of metro-Chicago, the creature trampled homes and businesses, while the Wasps, unseen in the darkness until too late, plagued the mobs of people along the roads still trying to evacuate. Thousands went to feed the creature’s hunger. China Town, nested in the crook of I-55 and I-90/94, quickly became a blazing inferno. Fires sprang up everywhere the creature passed, spreading north and west on the southerly winds. The conflagration soon became the largest fire since the great O’Leary’s cow disaster of 1871. The wall of flame moved more swiftly than the fleeing humans. The Wasps darted just ahead of the flames, plucking people from the edges of the conflagration like birds snatching insects ahead of a forest fire.
From a relatively safe position atop a switching tower in the railroad marshalling yard along the Chicago River, Gate watched Girra enter the Loop area, heart of America’s banking and retail centers. In the pre-dawn darkness, backlit by the flames of the burning city, the ebony creature’s berserker rampage resembled a scene from hell. Through the shroud of smoke draped over the city, he witnessed destruction on a scale not seen since the bombings of Dresden and Berlin in WWII. Girra simply trampled smaller buildings beneath its massive spike-like legs, as if dancing an alien jig. Schools, museums, churches, banks – all suddenly ceased to exist. At the fourteen-hundred-foot-tall Willis Tower, the creature presented a new tactic. It used its tremendous mass to its advantage, butting the base of the structure like a battering ram until the tower began to collapse. The upper thirty floors toppled over onto the adjoining buildings, crushing them beneath its weight. Then Girra deployed its writhing nest of tentacles, using them to lever chunks of masonry from the standing rubble, methodically dismantling the building. Its attack was thorough, destroying each building before moving on to the next.
The creature shrugged off the fighter jets and helicopters harrying it as if they were annoying mosquitoes. All the while, the Wasps dipped into buildings and amid the piles of rubble, snatching up terrified survivors. More horrible than this scene of destruction, Gate watched helplessly as Girra’s forward legs derailed an El-train, one of the last trying to evacuate the city. The train and its dozen cars full of people plunged off the collapsing elevated tracks. The cars piled atop of one another and burst into flames. The creature’s tentacles reached into the shattered cars, plucking people from the flames and delivering them to its yawning mouth. Thankfully, he couldn’t hear their screams amid the clamor of destruction.
When Girra had completed its methodic destruction of the Loop area, it concentrated on the parade of Magnificent Mile skyscrapers along Michigan Avenue. The Tribune Tower went first, followed by the Wrigley Building, Trump Tower, and the John Hancock Center. As before, the tentacles came into play, telescoping to their full length and rooting through the debris like snakes pursuing rats. Clouds of concrete dust billowed through the streets, choking the life from any survivors the creature missed.
He watched riveted for three hours. That was how long it took Girra to devastate the city completely, reducing Chicago and its environs to untidy rows of smoking rubbish that had once been neighborhoods. Then, leaving only the rubble-strewn corpse of a city behind, the creature turned west, following I-290 out of the city. Gate watched it disappear into the distance, the heavy rumble of its passing slowly fading, only to be replaced by the steady collapsing of unstable buildings and the explosions of fire-ravaged buildings left in its wake. He had learned nothing useful that might help defeat the creatures, but he had learned one thing. Their enemy was determined and significantly more advanced than humans were. The aliens could sit back, seed the planet with deadly ebony seeds, and watch Earth’s devastation with glee, risking nothing but brutish, unthinking monsters. Unless someone came up with an effective defense, or a potent offense, Earth was doomed.
With fingers numb from the constant clenching of his fists in rage and anger, he punched in Caruthers’ number on his cell phone. The Director answered immediately.
“Gate, where the hell are you?” he shouted into the phone.
“Chicago.”
“Chi … are you crazy?”
“Not any more. I’ve seen enough. Can you arrange transportation back to Houston?”
“Certainly, but you might want to go to Nevada instead.”
Curious that Caruthers would suggest another trip, he asked, “Why?”
“They’re going to nuke Nusku. You might want to watch.”
The prospect of seeing one of the alien creatures destroyed by one of man’s deadliest weapons appealed to him in a dark way. His morbid scientific curiosity was satisfied. Now, he wanted to see the aliens suffer in whatever manner humankind could employ. He needed to see the aliens suffer to ease his own anguish and regain his sanity.
“Yes,” he hissed. “I would very much like that.”
“I’ll have a helicopter sent to your location. Where are you?”
Gate glanced at the nearby muddy waters of the Chicago River. Debris and bodies floated downstream toward Lake Michigan. The smell of burning oil and dead bodies rankled his nostrils. He didn’t want to remain in the area.
“I’ll meet it at Soldier Field.”
“Okay.”
He hung up. There was nothing more to say. He was sure Caruthers had seen scenes of the annihilation of Chicago on television and probably had a better view than he had. What pitiful words he could summon could never relay the massive destruction, the loss of life, or the futility of resistance. He worked with numbers. When even numbers failed, of what consequence were mere words. An artist might put to canvas what he was feeling, but to do so would require copious amounts of dark colors to match his mood.
He barely glanced at the wreckage and desolation on each side of him, as he picked a careful path through the rubble of West Roosevelt Road. He picked alleyways through deserted South Loop neighborhoods to avoid automobile clogged South State Street and South Michigan Avenue. Most residents abandoned their vehicles and fled on foot. Clouds of dust hung in the air, mixing with the dense smoke. Ash and dust blanketed every surface, painting the town a dull shade of gray. The stench was horrendous – exposed sewers, escaping gas, the stench of death. As he drove, he was surprised to see a handful of survivors emerging from the rubble, filthy, stunned, and frightened. He stopped to pick them up and shepherd them to Soldier Field along the western shore of Lake Michigan. The stadium had been spared the rampant destruction, an island of stability in a sea of waste. He would not leave anyone behind.
Nusku
14
Saturday, August 11 1:15 a.m. (PDT) Creech AFB, Indian Springs, Nevada –
Twenty hours later after boarding a plane in Bagdad, Walker and his team touched down at Creech Air Force Base, Indian Springs, Nevada, one of the largest military remote aircraft facilities in the US. A whirlwind of plane changes in Ramstein, Germany, Dobbins Air Force Base in Marietta, Georgia, Offutt Air Force Base in Bellevue, Nebraska had left him exhausted. The brief naps he managed to achieve in the noisy transports did little to remedy his lack of sleep and added to his uncertainty. He had learned from the pilot of the creatures inside the three objects, as he had diverted the plane from Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland for Dobbins in Georgia. What little he could learn of the three visitors from space from the newspaper he picked up in Georgia didn’t quell his growing unease. He was beginning to believe that he and his team were expendable. He had faced the possibility of death many times, but always there had been a way out, an escape clause. This time, it didn’t appear as if he would see home again.
While the others had been sleeping during the Nebraska to Nevada leg of the journey, he had said his evening prayers, Isha. The preparation had focused his disjointed thoughts, the words of the Koran had calmed him, the feeling of unity with Allah had succored his wounded spirit, but he was given no answers. He was adrift in a situation for which his training had not prepared him. He and his team were about to go into combat with a monster, a creature from another world.
It would have been comical if not true. He had seen news coverage of Ishom’s rampage. San Francisco and Oakland were smoking ruins. Hundreds of thousands had died in the carnage in both cities. Millions more were now refugees fleeing in every direction. The creature was now moving toward Los Angeles. In the heart of America, Girra’s swath of destruction through Indiana ran from Logansport north to Evans. It would soon be in Chicago. Entire divisions had sacrificed themselves in a futile attempt to stop the creature. Nusku had landed far away from any large cities in the middle of the Great Basin, but its inexorable advance on Las Vegas was so far unimpeded. Creech would be under attack by morning.
Colonel Starnes met him as he stepped off the ramp of the Hercules C-130 transport. Starnes stood in the pool of light cast by one of the two jeeps’ headlights. Starnes was a tall, thin man sporting a bushy white moustache above thin-set lips. A fat black cigar protruded from his mouth with two inches of white ash clinging precariously to the tip. His gray eyes were cold but commanding. He had the stoic appearance of a man who possessed little humor and brooked little divergence from all things military. Just the sort of man Walker detested. He removed the cigar and pointed it at Walker.
“Captain Walker,” he said. “I have a warehouse at your disposal. Your weapon is waiting for you. To be honest, I would much prefer it somewhere else.”
Walker appreciated the colonel’s honesty. No one wanted a nuclear warhead lying around, not even a low-yield W54 taken from an AIM-26 Falcon missile. “We’ll try to put it where it will do the most good.”
Starnes jammed the cigar back in his mouth, inhaled, and blew a cloud of smoke. “Our original plan has been scrapped.”
Walker didn’t like the sound of that. “Why?”
“The drone delivery of the nuke won’t work.”
He had suspected that the plan someone had conceived had been too simple and too easy. Nothing was ever easy.
Starnes counted off the problems on his fingers. “First, the blisters remain open for only a short time, creating a very limited window of opportunity. Second, we’ve learned that remote signals don’t penetrate very far through the black material covering the creature. It seems to absorb energy. None of the drones we sent into it broadcast for more than thirty seconds. We don’t know what’s inside it. Third, well, there is no third. The first two obstacles are sufficient.”
“So, we do nothing?”
“We have an alternative plan. You and your men have a few hours to catch some sack time and have some chow,” Starnes said with his lips clenched around the cigar. “Operation Bellyache will commence just after dawn. We can’t wait any longer than that.”
Walker winced at the nomenclature, Operation Bellyache. “Couldn’t they have come up with a better name?”
“Someone seems to have a sense of humor. I find little humor in possible annihilation.”
“Well, the W54 nuke should give it a bellyache. Are they certain a 250-ton yield is sufficient?”
Starnes hesitated. “The theory is that the super dense ebony skin of the creature will contain and enhance the blast, blowing out its guts. The low yield should reduce the problem of radioactivity.”
“What do you think?”
“Captain, we can’t risk a larger strike. Your weapon has to work.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“I heard you work best under pressure.”
Costas and his men threw their gear into the back of one of the second jeep, and then climbed in. Walker crawled in behind Colonel Starnes.
“Has anyone figured out a way to get the nuke inside the creature?”
“You’re not going to like it.” Starnes pulled the cigar from his mouth, tapped the end to knock off the ash, and motioned the driver to take off.
“I figured as much.”
The colonel yelled to be heard over the noise of the jeep. “When the Wasps swarm, the blisters remain open for a few minutes after the last of the creatures have left. We’re going to drop you onto Nusku’s back.” He paused a moment to search Walker’s face for signs of surprise. When Walker betrayed no such surprise, he continued, “You and your men will rappel down the creature’s flanks and enter through one of the open blisters.”
Walker nodded. Since he had first seen an image of the creatures, he had suspected the only safe way inside the creature was through one of the blisters. From the number of Wasps each blister produced, they had to be cavernous.
“Why risk my entire team? I could go in alone.”
“Commendable, but no one knows what you may find in there. You couldn’t carry the weapon and fight off any Wasps you might encounter. It’s better to be prepared.”
“How do we reach Girra – helicopter?”
Starnes shook his head. “No, choppers can’t approach the creature because of the Wasps. We think the noise attracts them. We’ve created paragliders that mimic the Wasps’ appearance. They should allow you to penetrate the swarm unmolested.”
Even with the military’s enormous resources, designing a paraglider within a few hours that would fool the Wasps was an iffy proposition. “Should being the operative word.”
Starnes shrugged his thin shoulders. “It’s a risk. You were given a choice.”
“Some choice – let more of our cities die or fly a drone inside the damned thing from close enough to smell its stinking alien-ass breath. Well, at least is considerably cooler here than Iraq.”
A slight smile creased the colonel’s face. “They said you were the top choice for the mission. I would like to see you come back alive.”
“It’s high on my list of priorities as well, Colonel.”
The jeeps stopped in front of a small building with a sliding door and no windows. Portable generators flooded the building’s exterior with light. Six heavily armed soldiers patrolled its perimeter. Two .50 caliber machineguns nestled behind sandbag redoubts kept away the curious. Starnes was taking no chances with the nuke.
“A truck will pick you up at in five hours for a final briefing.”
Walker nodded. “At least we won’t have to walk.”
As the jeeps drove away, Ty Howard, one of Walker’s men, slid open the door revealing the interior of the building. Five cots sat in a row the middle of the room. A port-a-potty in a corner proved to be their bathroom. Five folding chairs and a table holding a coffee urn and three chafing dishes was their mess hall.
“I see they spared no expense,” Howard said.
“What a shit hole,” Costas quipped, as he dropped his gear on the floor. “I’ve slept in better dives in Iraq.”
“Don’t worry about the accommodations. We won’t have much time for sleep,” Walker reminded them. “Chow down, and then do a complete weapons check. I want this mission to go off as smoothly as a virgin’s left butt cheek.”
Costas snickered. “Yeah, they could at least provide a condemned man with a last toss in the sack with a paid-for hooker.”
“Tomorrow night, I’ll pay for a dozen hookers, all shapes and sizes. Tonight, we prepare for the mission. Check out our delivery system.”
Howard plopped down on one of the cots fully dressed. “Somebody turn out the light, will you. I’ve got a sweet dream to finish.” He rolled over on his side and pulled a blanket over his head.
Jackson, the quiet man of the group, sat cross-legged on the floor, his disassembled M16 across his lap. He methodically cleaned and examined each part before replacing it. That accomplished, he removed each round from the half dozen clips spread out at his feet, carefully inspected them, and refilled each clip.
Walker poured a cup of coffee and examined the contents of the chafing dishes. One contained bacon and sausage. The bacon was so crispy that it was almost black. Another held unpalatable, runny scrambled eggs. The third was divided into two compartments. One held a mucilage-like mixture he assumed was sausage gravy, and the other rock-hard biscuits. He shoved a wad of bacon into one of the biscuits and found a quiet corner to sit. While munching on the biscuit and sipping coffee, he reviewed the photos of Nusku.
The creature was the size of a walking mountain, surrounded by a swarm of angry Wasps. Safely reaching the creature’s broad back would be difficult enough. Rappelling down the sides and gaining access through an open blister was pushing the boundaries of luck. Once inside, he had no idea of what they might face. From the number of Wasps pouring from each blister, the cavities were sizable, but no one knew if they interconnected or led deeply enough into the creature’s interior for the nuke to be effective.
If they managed to deliver the nuke and extract themselves, it still remained to reach the creature’s back and soar away before the bomb detonated.
