Pacific Rising

by John W Dennehy

  The carbon-based fuselage of the Harriers made them weigh half as much as the Osprey, coming in at about 15,000 pounds, compared to over 30,000. Someone’s head would role for any damage. But the commanding officers of the permanently assigned squadrons wouldn’t have stood for it. Either way, it was a losing proposition.

  Penton walked into the kitchen area and tossed his cover on the table. He removed the shirt to his utilities and draped it over a chair. The term blouse had never resonated with him. His quarters were comprised of a living area with a puffy leather sofa, and a kitchenette and dining area, adjacent to the living room. He also had a private bath and bedroom down a short hallway.

  He sat down in a leather chair matching the sofa. Penton pulled out his cellphone and stared at the floor, contemplating whether to call his daughter. The time difference with her in North Carolina was thirteen hours. Late afternoon in Okinawa would be the crack of dawn the next day in Wilmington. Wind rattled his window and the lights flickered.

  “Oh, what the hell…” He decided to make the call. If she didn’t answer, he’d just leave a message.

  The phone range only twice. “Hello?”

  Penton paused not responding, surprised she’d even answered. It had been a month since they had spoken.

  “Dad?” Caitlin said, nervously. “Why the silence? You’ve got me worried, here.”

  “Nothing to worry about, honey…” He paused, lost for words. “Just surprised you’re up so early, that’s all.”

  “Well, you know me,” said Caitlin. “Up in the morning with the rising sun.”

  He chuckled at her reference to a Marine Corps marching cadence. “Must not have been easy—” he finally said, morose.

  “What?” she said, clearly unsure of his meaning.

  “Growing up with a Marine.”

  “Had its good points, too.”

  “Like what?” he pondered aloud.

  “Kids at college spend too much effort trying to have a good time…”

  Penton sat up waiting to hear what she’d say next.

  “I’m up at the crack of dawn, going for a run, keeping in shape, staying healthy. And I’m getting straight A’s in school.”

  He smiled proudly. Caitlin’s accomplishments were one of the few things giving him comfort in life. “Must not have been easy on your mother, either.” He finally broached the subject.

  “She handled it fine.” Her voice crackled, trying to hold it together.

  “Not sure that was the case. Maybe I dragged her into it…”

  “My mother was a bright woman,” Caitlin protested. “I know in my heart that she made her own decision to join you in the Marines. And she decided on her own to stay with you. Nobody forced her to do anything that she didn’t want to do.”

  Penton sat quiet, brooding. He mulled the comment over. Having both grown up in the suburbs of Chicago, the couple naturally met at Chicago State University. He’d quit college after their freshman year to join the Marine Corps. Penton went through boot camp at Parris Island and finished his initial training, then ended up based at Okinawa for a year. He circulated back to the states when she’d completed her sophomore year. Penton asked her to marry him and she accepted. Then, he spent most of his career at New River Air Station in coastal North Carolina. She finished her degree in Sociology at Eastern Carolina University.

  “The accident wasn’t your fault,” Caitlin said, breaking the silence.

  “Maybe not the collision itself.” He exhaled. “But she’d still be here today, if it wasn’t for me. We’d been arguing… she left the house because of me.”

  “But… Dad,” Caitlin pled. “The police did a thorough investigation. Mom wasn’t speeding or driving erratically. She wasn’t doing anything wrong at all. The guy that hit her ran a red light after he’d been in a bar all afternoon.”

  Penton knew the story all too well. But he was never quite convinced that his wife’s agitated state of mind didn’t contribute to the accident somehow. A drunk driver hits the wife of a highly decorated Marine. Of course, the Jacksonville, North Carolina police would pin everything on a drunken nobody. “Should’ve treated her better,” he muttered, regret stirring up sorrow he desperately tried to keep locked away. A tear ran down his cheek.

  “Dad?” Caitlin said and paused.

  “Go ahead.” He leaned his head back, and tried to regain composure.

  “Please don’t get upset with me—”

  “I’m not going to get upset with you, honey.”

  “Well, I’ve got something to say about all of this,” she continued, “and I’m not sure that it will sit well with you… how I feel about it, that is.”

  “Say what you like,” he encouraged her.

  “You have a lot of grief to deal with,” she said. “And there are regrets. Don’t take this the wrong way.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You haven’t heard it yet.”

  “Go on.”

  “When you go on about your regrets,” she said. “It takes away from my memories. The time that I spent with Mom… our life… I don’t regret any of it. Regret… regret only cheapens my memories, and it’s all I have left of her.” She sobbed. “Can’t we just be happy for the time we had together?”

  Penton breathed heavily. The comment was a dose of reality. Out of the mouths of babes, he thought. “Perhaps, I’ve been a little selfish,” he finally said.

  “I don’t want you to feel bad about this. Time to move forward.”

  “How do you mean?” He wondered where she was going.

  “Your entire life has been about us,” Caitlin said. “Our family and the Marines have been your entire existence. Mom has been gone for five years, now. And you’ll be retiring soon… Maybe you should get out there.”

  “Get out there?”

  “Date.”

  Penton hadn’t dated in decades, not since college, before he’d met his wife. Couldn’t even respond to the comment. “I’ll be moving back to North Carolina, soon enough. Just up the coast from your school.”

  “Dad, I graduate in two years,” Caitlin said, taking a deep breath.

  “Not sure that I follow.” He sat forward in the chair.

  “Well, after I graduate… I’ll be moving along.”

  “How so?”

  Another long pause.

  Penton sat back, wishing he’d poured a Scotch. His head throbbed from the blow on the flight line. A drink and a couple aspirin would help.

  Still no comment.

  He glanced at the Marine Corps flag hanging on the wall. Underneath the flag was a drink cart. Penton contemplating getting up, fixing a Rusty Nail, but didn’t want to interrupt her thought process.

  “I’m pretty sure that I’ll be moving away from the coast.”

  “Never expected you to stay in coastal North Carolina, forever.” He forced a laugh. “Thought that you were going to get a graduate degree, though.”

  “I am going to graduate school… but I haven’t decided where.”

  “You’ll have to do what’s right for you,” he said, trying to sound supportive.

  “Chapel Hill has six courses of study for a Ph.D. in psychology, and we only have one here.”

  “Not trying to persuade you one way or another. But they started that program at your school with a practitioner’s focus, with the hope that graduates would stick around and serve the southeastern community.”

  “Sure, that’s what I wanted to do when I began my degree,” Caitlin said. “But once you get into the higher-level courses, you start to track towards a certain path. Haven’t decided which way I ultimately want to go, but I’d like to keep my options open… and consider a few graduate programs.”

  “I’m sure that you’ll make the right choice.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” She sounded uplifted. “That means a lot.”

  “Glad we had the chance to talk.”

  Even as the words came out of his mouth, Penton felt depressed. The thought of his daughter m
oving off was a dismal prospect. He’d come to expect that she’d get her advanced degree nearby and open a practice in coastal North Carolina. Penton pictured himself stopping by her house for cookouts, drinking a beer, having a normal life, like regular people.

  “Guess, we’ll just have to wait and see.” She projected a reassuring tone.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said, not convinced. “This is something to take one step at a time.”

  A lull fell over the conversation, as if the discussion had run its course. The storm raged outside his unit, battering the brick structure.

  “Dad?” she finally said.

  “What is it?”

  “Why did you call me?”

  “Maybe just to chat…” He searched for the right answer. “Catch up a bit.”

  “So early in the morning?”

  “We’ve got a hell of a storm kicking up,” he explained. “It reminded me of one that hit us in New River before you were born. Hurricane Hugo.”

  “Yeah, I remember hearing about that storm. Tore through the state like there’s no tomorrow.”

  “I guess the storm got me thinking of North Carolina… missing you.”

  “Bad weather can remind us of our mortality,” Caitlin said. “Lots of people died in that storm.”

  “Well, I have concerns about this one. Probably why I called.”

  Rapid knocking at the door caught his attention.

  Penton got up to check it out. A young lance corporal stood on the stoop as rain pounded on him. The kid pulled his trench coat tight, but rain poured on his head, soaking his cover, and ran down his neck.

  Opening the door, Penton looked into the young Marine’s eyes. Something had gone terribly wrong. Penton gave a quick goodbye to Caitlin. Then, he ended the call and got dressed to leave.

  ****

  Penton dashed outside to a white Chrysler van. Black inscription on the driver’s side door revealed staff officer insignia. Someone high up had sent for him. As the driver climbed behind the wheel, Penton slid the rear door open and hopped onto a bench seat.

  Glancing around the back of the van, he noticed it was spotless. The van belonged to the commanding officer of the base. Penton knew it the moment he slid inside. Most of the vehicles around base were not kept up to Marine Corps standards due to busy schedules, but the immaculate condition of this vehicle gave it away.

  An unsteady feeling overcame him as the van headed down a stormy street.

  “What’s this all about?” Penton shifted on the seat and dug the driver for information.

  “Not sure, Master Gunnery Sergeant.”

  “You must have some idea.”

  The driver shook his head. “Way beyond my paygrade, Master Gunnery Sergeant, Penton. All I know is that I have instructions to pick you up.”

  “And take me where?” Penton insisted.

  “Not at liberty to say.”

  Penton noticed a few palm trees strewn along the roadside. One of them had fallen into the street. The driver veered around it and momentum leaned Penton into the door. Wind drove the rain sideways and shook the van.

  Penton figured the impromptu meeting pertained to storm damage on base.

  “You’re taking me to the base command center,” Penton said, thinking the likely place for meeting about storm control.

  “You’re the one who said it, Master Gunny,” the driver replied. “Not me.”

  Penton’s throat suddenly grew dry. He was on the verge of wrapping up a thirty-year career and found himself bracing for an ass-chewing. A Harrier broke loose, or something flew into one of them and caused significant damage.

  He shook his head. If he’d brought the Harriers inside, one of the squadron commanding officers permanently stationed at the base would have complained. The training and deployed unit had been the path of least resistance. A move that no Marine should ever take. The hard way was always the better course of action.

  They took a right turn and Penton swayed into the door again. He righted himself and glanced out the window, confused. “If we’re heading to the command center,” Penton said. “Then, you’re going the wrong way.”

  Six

  General Yoshi still couldn’t believe what had appeared on the screen. The Ground-Self Defense Force set up a command center at a facility on the outskirts of Tokyo. As head of the Eastern Army, he’d planned for relief concerning the tropical storm. Then the storm was upgraded to a serious hurricane.

  He’d immediately made plans to increase the response for disaster relief. When an odd image appeared on a Maritime Self-Defense Force sonar screen, General Yoshi took precautionary measures and disbursed tank crews to the industrial area near the harbor, along with mobile missile crews. And he’d prepared a contingency squadron of F-2 fighters. The North Koreans always had him on edge, and he never totally trusted the Chinese. Then, he stood in the command center watching an incoming video communication.

  A massive Kaiju appeared on screen, having surfaced in the harbor.

  The beast lunged out of the water and sent a wave surging toward shore. A flood of water washed around the heavy armored vehicles, knocking a few of them over, and then sluiced towards the city.

  Defense forces had not readied themselves for an attack. Lorries were packed with potable water and food supplies, rather than ammunition and weapons. Only a handful of soldiers had been issued weapons and ammunition, merely for deterring looters. A problem more readily found in other countries during a disaster.

  The creature had destroyed a fishing trawler and a few smaller boats. Yoshi took note of the Kaiju’s size. It stood over sixty feet tall and lingered near a pier, which tethered a few large oil tankers.

  Zamera could cause immediate harm to the nation’s valued waterway. And Yoshi felt helpless.

  “Get me Major Hira and Colonel Sasaki on the line,” Yoshi commanded.

  “The communications link is down,” a sergeant first class responded.

  “How can that be?” Yoshi pointed at the screen.

  “We’ve got incoming visual, but no outgoing capabilities right now.”

  Yoshi shook his head in disgust. “This couldn’t have come at a worse time,” Yoshi griped, derisively.

  “The storm has interfered with our network.”

  “We’re supposed to be ready for a catastrophe, or war.”

  “The system should be back on-line within an hour. We’re also taking steps to enable the backup radios.”

  “How long will it be before the radios are functioning?”

  “We expect fifteen to twenty minutes.”

  The response time was much faster than Yoshi had anticipated, but he glanced at the screen and wondered if the delay would make it too late. He hoped his subordinates were prepared to make tough decisions without him.

  “That will have to do,” Yoshi finally said. “We’ll contact them once you are ready.”

  “There’s just one thing…” the sergeant first class said.

  “What is it?”

  “They have to understand the system is down, and step up their radios to accept our communications.”

  Yoshi couldn’t believe it. We live in a time when everyone took vacations in remote areas and carried on conversations with cellphones. “Wait!”

  “What is it, sir?”

  “Get me Major Hira’s cellphone number.”

  “That may take a moment.”

  A moment was a lot faster than fifteen or twenty minutes. In fact, a moment was all they had judging by the scene unfolding on the screen before him.

  ****

  Major Hira poked through the hatch of a battle tank. Rain pelted him and obscured his vision. He couldn’t get through to General Yoshi, but Hira had gone ahead and assembled a line of Type 90 battle tanks along the hillside overlooking the harbor.

  He’d also deployed a few missile carriers. Mitsubishi trucks loaded with six tubes that shot land-launched missiles were situated on a knoll above the line of tanks. The conventional warheads on the m
issiles, and the 120mm smoothbore cannon rounds fired from the tanks, would be enough to kill anything alive.

  Hira peered through his binoculars at the Kaiju ravaging the harbor. Waves pounded into its legs without the slightest indication it might falter. The beast had sunken a few vessels and feasted upon the castaways. Now, the creature turned its attention to the dock jutting from the shoreline. Large oil tankers bobbed in the violent water. Hira knew he had to move forward, but hadn’t received a communication from General Yoshi. Surely, the command center would be aware of these developments.

  He pressed his communications link and couldn’t get through. But the radios between tanks were operational. Hira ordered a younger officer to make radio contact with the command center. Just as he gave the order, Hira’s cellphone vibrated in his pocket. He’d brought the phone along as backup.

  “Major Hira,” he answered.

  “This is General Yoshi.”

  “We’ve got a Kaiju in the harbor, sir.”

  “I know all about it. This is the go-ahead to attack.”

  “You are aware of the oil tankers?”

  “We understand all of the risks,” Yoshi replied.

  “Consider it done.”

  Hira ended the call and gave the order to commence an attack. All the tanks raised cannons and crew members targeted the beast. The missile crews tilted their launch-pods upward getting ready to fire.

  The creature moved toward the dock, apparently taking interest in a few stragglers running along the pier. Skeleton crews remained on deck of the massive cargo vessels.

  Each giant foot surged from the water and plunged back down as the beast moved toward the pier. Stepping closer, the Kaiju’s tail whipped back and forth, cutting into the ten-foot waves. Seawater crashed into the shore as wave after wave battered the coast.

  Hira couldn’t comprehend how the creature managed to stay upright in the swirling currents.

  “Fire!” Major Hira commanded the tank crews.

  Cannon muzzles blared as ordnance exploded from the thanks. The rounds sailed through the air, following a trajectory toward the immense creature.

  The tanks bucked back, and then nudged forward.

  Hira’s head whipped back and forth.