Pacific Rising

by John W Dennehy

  The command center had a large flat-screen hanging on the wall, and someone had turned the volume up. Rear Admiral Keyes appeared on the monitor. His body pitched occasionally, indicating he’d tuned in from aboard ship. “Do we have everybody, here?” Admiral Keyes said.

  “Master Gunnery Sergeant Penton and Captain Able just walked in,” Colonel Tomkins replied.

  “Good,” Admiral Keyes said. “Now we can get started.”

  “That’ll be all,” Colonel Tomkins said to the driver.

  The lance corporal left the room and closed the door. Most of the seats were taken at the table. Colonel Tomkins motioned for Penton and Kate to step closer so they could gain a better view of the screen. Admiral Keyes sat on a posh sofa. They weren’t offered a seat at the table with the higher-level Brass. The base sergeant major sat at the opposite end of the table from Colonel Tomkins, though. Perhaps a privilege of serving in the main administration building down the hall from the commanding officer.

  Penton moved closer and stared up at the screen. Keyes had a dire look of concern on his face, revealing this meeting didn’t have anything to do with damaged aircraft on a flight deck.

  “This isn’t going to come across easy,” Keyes said after a moment.

  “We’re all ears.” Colonel Tompkins smiled kindly.

  “We’ve got a serious situation developing in Tokyo as we speak,” Admiral Keyes continued. “The storm is hitting hard and the city is basically under siege.”

  Penton felt his stomach turn. He figured North Korea or China had mobilized.

  Keyes seemed to sense the reaction of the Marines in the room. He shook his head. “This is not what you’re thinking…” he said. “Maybe it’s a whole lot worse.”

  Eight

  Hardy steered the SDV through the choppy waters of a small cove. Then, he directed the craft toward a pebbled shore. The nose touched ground and the SEALs disembarked, kicking off their flippers and taking to the beach while scanning for hostiles.

  They checked the brush and listened intently for foot soldiers.

  Nothing. Rain poured down on the forest and waves chopped at the shoreline.

  A quiet landing, just like Navy Intelligence had predicted.

  They busied themselves moving the SDV into a concealed location, and then the SEALs worked to camouflage the vehicle with netting and leafy branches.

  Once the SDV was secure, they got their equipment together and plotted a course for the missile location. Hardy decided to keep communications to a minimum, so they operated by hand signals.

  A path led from the cove into the woods. They followed the trail, being careful to watch for approaching soldiers. Hardy noticed bootprints in the soil and figured the area was heavily patrolled.

  He couldn’t understand why the North Koreans would place such an emphasis on the remote area, not far from the Russian border. Miles of coastal lands and dense woods made the area of little value given today’s modern intelligence and technology. Large troop movements, mobile tanks, and personnel carriers could be detected by satellite.

  They traveled a little further inland, and Stiles checked the ground with interest. Hardy moved closer to him. Stiles lifted his chin toward the latest boot imprints.

  “What has got you so concerned?” said Hardy.

  “There’s too much foot traffic.” Stiles shook his head.

  “I was thinking the exact same thing.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Not sure. But let’s move off the trail. We’ll plot a course through the woods.”

  “That will cost us some time,” Stiles reminded him.

  “Maybe, but saving a few minutes isn’t worth risking the entire mission.”

  “Roger that.” Stiles nodded in agreement.

  Hardy stepped off the path and headed into the woods with Stiles trailing a little behind him. They trudged along at a brisk pace, going up and down hills, and covered a mile in slightly over 15 minutes.

  Growing up in New Hampshire, he’d learned how to shoot a rifle, hunt, and track game. And Hardy lived near the ocean, so he spent summers sailing and scuba diving. His parents wanted him to go to college, but he needed to get away. The Navy had been a natural choice for military service. What started as a short hitch before going to college had turned into a lifelong career. He wondered sometimes about civilian life, what it would be like to have a regular job, a family. But the thought of going to an office every day was unsettling.

  Nearing the halfway point to the target, vehicle traffic reverberated from a nearby road and brought Hardy out of his thoughts. They crouched and listened intently. Sounds came from the northwest, rumbling. Hardy crept ahead and moved into a prone position, while Stiles hung back and protected the rear.

  Hardy crawled over the wet forest floor and came upon the roadway. Rain pelted the tar and obscured his vision.

  A moment later, three lorries rolled past, jam-packed with troops.

  He crawled toward Stiles, and then the unmistakable sound of tracked vehicles echoed through the valley. Hardy waited to see what headed their way. Then, tanks came rolling along the road, with cannons bobbing up and down, and the tracks chewing asphalt.

  A crew member rode with his head sticking out a hatch. The young man looked in Hardy’s direction as though the soldier had made direct eye contact.

  Hardy flicked off the safety of his MP-5 and slowly reached for a concussion grenade. If the tank stopped, he planned to shoot the soldier protruding from the hatch, climb onto the turret, and lob the MK3-A1 inside.

  His heart raced. All senses kicked into overdrive at the anticipation of a conflict. A surge of adrenaline drove up his spine.

  The tank slowed, and he prepared to shoot the man sticking out the top. Then it lurched forward and continued rolling down the street. Hardy breathed a sigh of relief.

  He shook his head in disbelief. Why hadn’t Intelligence picked up on this level of troop activity in the area?

  A scrambling on the woodland floor caught his attention.

  Stiles moved towards the road. Hardy held up the sign for him to halt, and then pointed to the roadway and signaled troop movement. His teammate flipped off the safety of his rifle and checked his combat knife.

  Hardy hoped they wouldn’t need either until reaching the missile location. Then, screeching brakes, and the metallic whine of a large truck coming to an abrupt stop, echoed through the surrounding forest.

  Boots smacked the ground as infantryman alighted from the back of a transport. Soldiers headed directly to the tree line with a senior non-commissioned officer commanding them. He instructed the troops to fan out and press into the woods.

  Stiles and Hardy exchanged glances. The opportunity to flee was utterly lost.

  Twelve soldiers assembled at the senior non-commissioned officer’s direction, fanning out around the truck.

  Hardy shouldered his rifle.

  He took aim.

  And squeezed the trigger.

  A bullet tore a hole in the leader’s head. He dropped to the pavement with a thud as blood gushed from the wound. Rain poured down and quickly diluted the crimson stream.

  Hardy’s rifle was equipped with a silencer so the younger soldiers stood around, dumbfounded, confused as to where the shot had come from.

  Stiles got into a kneeling position and fired two rounds, quickly knocking down soldiers with each shot. Hardy followed suit and took out a couple of infantrymen. The rest of them caught on and dropped to the ground, shooting wildly into the woods. Bullets from AK-47s ripped through the forest, cutting up leaves and snapping tree branches.

  Hardy and Stiles moved into prone positions in depressions in the ground. The North Koreans had the advantage, firing from an elevated position, and the sheer numbers of soldiers firing were bound to find a target.

  The operation was planned to approach by stealth, but the automatic rifle fire from the AK-47s lit up the forest and likely echoed for miles. Hardy pulled the pin on his grenade and lobb
ed it onto the street.

  An explosion tore through the soldiers, ripping a few of them apart with shrapnel.

  Others were stunned by the concussion blast. Hardy stood up and ran diagonally toward the enemy position. He fired his rifle on semi-automatic, spitting shell casings as he closed the distance. Hardy hit each of the prostrate soldiers as he neared their position until his rifle ran out of ammunition.

  Then, he swung the piece out of the way and drew his sidearm.

  An enemy soldier at the end of the line sat up and took aim. Hardy hadn’t transitioned weapons when the muzzle of the AK-47 flashed.

  He took a bullet in the chest and toppled over.

  Footsteps stomped through the wet ground behind him, and Stiles opened fire on the remaining North Korean soldiers. The man that shot Hardy took a bullet in the torso and one in the head. Stiles cleared the area as he’d been trained, then turned his attention to the driver of the truck. Hardy reloaded and raised his rifle but didn’t have a shot, so he traced Stiles’ movements closely.

  The troop transport rumbled to life and started down the road.

  Stiles hopped on a footboard and reached for his sidearm. His rifle hung on a sling that looped over his shoulder. He fired the 9mm Berretta into the driver’s shoulder. The wounded driver braked, trying to bring the truck to a halt.

  The transport swerved to the edge of the road and stopped before rolling off the roadside down an embankment. Hardy got to his feet.

  Stiles finished the job with a kill shot to the head. Blood and bone fragments splattered the opposite window. He hopped to the ground, holstered the pistol, and Hardy checked the back of the truck for more troops. Empty.

  Grabbing his rifle and running at port arms, Stiles double-timed back to the scene and checked the bodies strewn alongside the roadway. Every one of them was dead, so he trotted over to Hardy to see how he was doing.

  Hardy waved him off and took a deep breath. The bullet hit him square in the chest where body armor covered his torso.

  “That gear saved your life,” Stiles said, chuckling.

  “Wouldn’t have pulled that stunt if I hadn’t been wearing it.”

  “What’s next, Chief?”

  “Get the road clear of those bodies, ASAP.”

  Stiles nodded in agreement.

  “No telling when another truck will come along.”

  They tossed the dead soldiers into the woods, making sure the corpses weren’t discernible from the road.

  After the soldiers were hidden from view, Hardy jogged up the road to the truck. He pulled the driver from the cab and dragged him to the woods, leaving the door open so the heavy rain would wash some of the carnage away.

  Then, he tore a piece of cloth off the driver’s jacket and headed back to the truck.

  “What are you doing?” Stiles asked, curiously.

  “Cleaning off the truck,” Hardy said. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

  “Just wondering the game plan, that’s all.”

  Hardy shook his head, disappointed Stiles couldn’t keep up.

  “I mean… why do you care if the truck is clean?”

  “Because we’re going to drive it right to the missile site.”

  Stiles looked at him wide-eyed. Maybe the prospect seemed over-the-top risky. Hardy shrugged. “You got a better idea?”

  “Not really,” Stiles said, shaking his head.

  They climbed into the cab with Stiles behind the wheel. Hardy checked his MP-5 and looked over the rest of his weapons.

  The slug to the chest hurt like hell. He wondered if the bullet cracked a rib.

  ****

  As the truck eased away from the battle scene, Hardy glanced in the rearview mirror on the door. There wasn’t much of a sign that a conflict had taken place. He figured they were good to go for a while.

  “So, what happened back there?” Stiles finally said.

  “A crew member in the tank spotted me in the woods,” Hardy replied. “Just dumb luck, but he likely wasn’t sure what he’d seen. I bet they called in and some Brass decided to have infantry soldiers check it out.”

  “Makes sense,” Stiles said. “A bad break, though.”

  “Yeah, and we’re out here in the middle of nowhere surrounded by a sizeable force.” Hardy inhaled deeply. “Those soldiers didn’t seem to know exactly what they were looking for when we hit them.”

  “So, what are you saying?” Stiles pressed.

  “Communications were spread by the North Koreans about us,” Hardy explained. “But they clearly do not know much.”

  “That’s good,” Stiles said. “But they’re going to get suspicious when the infantry soldiers don’t report in.”

  Stiles had a point.

  Hardy glanced at the radio on the dashboard, and he considered if one of them should respond to the next communication from the North Koreans. Both SEALs spoke the local language, so a communications barrier wouldn’t be an issue. He wondered if the North Koreans used code words for a basic operation like this, or if they addressed soldiers by name.

  “Thinking about faking it?” Stiles said, as though reading his mind.

  “Might buy us some time, if we can pull it off.” Hardy shrugged. “But it could also bring the whole North Korean army down on our heads if we slip up.”

  “How much time do you think we have… if we don’t respond?”

  “They will know something is up immediately. Might already suspect it when they don’t hear from the senior NCO who got tapped right away.”

  “So… what do you think?” Stiles repeated.

  “I think we’ve got five minutes to get to the missile site, and reinforcements will head right there if someone doesn’t hear from this truck soon.” Hardy scratched his chin, contemplating. “Maybe gives us fifteen to twenty minutes to get there, take out the guards, and dismantle the missile.”

  “That fast?” Stiles questioned.

  “Yup. Intel dropped the ball on this one.”

  “How so?”

  “All of this troop activity isn’t an exercise… it’s meant as a safety measure for the missile.”

  Stiles gulped, and then pressed on the accelerator.

  Nine

  Major Hira remained in position. Fighters buzzed past the creature’s head and swooped around to attack. The planes shook violently in the heavy wind. Closing in on the Kaiju, the jets simultaneously released their missiles. At the same time, a contingency of tanks fired their cannons, and land missile crews let their ordnance rip.

  The creature stood in a blaze of flames, as oil streamed from the broken vessel into the harbor catching fire. Hira watched the carnage in awe. The beast turned toward the bursts of weapon-fire igniting from the hillside. Then, the Kaiju let out a deafening roar, which carried a guttural sound along with the raging wind.

  Everything exploded at once, as the missiles and 120mm rounds pounded into the creature. Smoke and haze intermingled with flames rising from the ocean. Waves crashed toward shore as the storm raged on.

  The scene grew obscured by the attack, and Hira wasn’t sure whether the creature remained standing. He ordered all the teams to reload, expecting the jets to make another pass, and riddle the creature with machinegun fire. Lifting his binoculars, Hira checked for the result of the attack.

  Flames and smoke wafted through the rain, continuing to conceal the battle scene from view. Hira wiped the lenses on his binoculars and tried again. Still, he couldn’t make anything out.

  “Report on the target!” Hira yelled into the communications link.

  “Target hit,” crew leaders responded in unison.

  “What is the target’s condition?” Hira demanded.

  A moment passed without a response from any of them.

  “Target condition?” Hira repeated.

  “Can’t make out the target through the hazy conditions,” a tank commander said. Others followed suit with similar reports.

  Major Hira shook his head. He tried his binocula
rs again and looked toward the harbor. Flames raged as the jets buzzed in for another pass. “Hold your fire,” Hira commanded the ground crews. “Let air support take another crack.”

  The jets closed in on the spot where a volley of ordnance had exploded. Wind blew hard into the fuselages, shifting a few of the planes off course. Hira hoped for a precautionary volley of machinegun fire, strafing a fallen and severely wounded creature. After all, the thing was merely a giant lizard. Nothing could survive such a violent attack.

  Something shimmered in the haze. The Kaiju staggered and plodded toward the shore.

  Hira wanted to give the order to fire, but the fighters were on course for the target. Fighter jets swooped in front of the creature and rattled off machinegun fire. Rounds pelted its thick hide. A menacing roar thundered louder than the jet engines. The creature shook its head, more annoyed than injured. Turning to mark the path of an approaching jet, the creature swatted the plane from the sky.

  The fighter spiraled into the ocean and exploded upon impact with rough waves. Hira couldn’t tell if the pilot had ejected. A few other planes soared high above the Kaiju, and then moved in for another pass.

  Machinegun fire erupted from the planes as they stippled the armored-plated hide with lead. The creature wailed in agony, and then lifted a claw into the path of an oncoming plane. The jet flew into its palm, like hitting a brick wall. The plane exploded on impact, and the Kaiju barely registered a blow, tipping slightly on its right leg.

  Another plane buzzed by at a safe distance and emptied its munitions into the creature. Rounds whizzed by its head while a few found purchase. The remaining fighters zipped off into the distance.

  Hira surmised the fighters had run out of ammunition. The planes were battered by the weather, jostling through the sky, and then flew out of eyeshot.

  “Fire!” Hira ordered when the area cleared.

  “Yes, sir,” the tank commanders said.

  “Roger,” the missile crew commanders replied.

  The hillside erupted with another volley of rounds and missiles directed at the creature. Hira wiped the binoculars dry and peered through the torrential rain. The Kaiju waded toward shore, moving at a steady pace.