Pacific Rising

by John W Dennehy

  Tank commanders popped out of both hatches, goggles strapped to their helmets. A pause in the firing, while the gunners reloaded and recalibrated.

  “Let’s hop into the woods behind us,” Stiles said.

  “We can’t leave the missile here.”

  “Okay, we head inside.” Stiles nodded. “I can make another adjustment to it, then we bust out the back of the building.”

  “No.” Hardy shook his head. “We can’t leave the missile in their hands.”

  “What are we supposed to do? Fight the entire North Korean Army?”

  “Yeah, but only for a little while.” Hardy chuckled, reaching for a concussion grenade. “I’ll take the tank on the right, and you get the one on the left.”

  Stiles slipped along the passenger side of the truck and poked his head around the rear to break off and flank the enemy. With Stiles in position, Hardy leaned around the hood of the transport and fired a round into the neck of the tank commander on the right.

  Then, he bolted toward the tank, running across the path of the approaching armored-vehicle. Stiles did the same, only he fired and ran to the left.

  Machinegun fire erupted from the tanks. Bullets dug up the ground at Hardy’s heels.

  Hardy came up even with the tank then dashed at it from the side. Pulling the pin on his grenade, he flung his rifle around so the MP-5 dangled from his back. Then, he jumped onto the side of the tank and tossed the MK3 inside.

  He hopped off the tank and rolled away.

  A blast exploded out the hatch, along with pieces of metal and limbs. The tank rolled along and bashed into the transport and came to a halt.

  Immediately moving into a kneeling position, Hardy reached around for his rifle and shouldered the weapon. He readied to fire.

  Nobody exited the tank.

  Hardy scanned the other one.

  It rolled along.

  Stiles stood on top of the tank with a grenade in one hand and his SOG SEAL knife in the other. A North Korean soldier protruded halfway out of the hatch and held Stiles by the wrists. Both warriors struggled in a death dance.

  Machinegun fire blasted from the tank as it circled around towards Hardy.

  Hardy aimed his rifle.

  And shot at the soldier fighting Stiles.

  A 10mm round struck him.

  He hit the North Korean behind the ear. Blood gushed out of the bullet hole. Stiles tossed the man off the tank and whipped his grenade inside. Stiles jumped from the tank, as scraps of metal and flesh rained down from the explosion.

  Another diesel engine grumbled up the driveway. Hardy figured a troop transport would arrive at the scene. Blood soaked through his pant leg, and his wounded thigh burned. His chest ached from being shot repeatedly.

  “Screw this!” Hardy bellowed and broke for the disabled tank.

  He climbed on top and peered into the hatch, holding his sidearm ready to fire. Nothing moved within the cabin. Poking his head inside, pistol in hand, Hardy found all the occupants torn to pieces.

  He slipped into the tank and shoved the driver aside.

  Then, checking the engine and controls, he found the concussion grenade hadn’t destroyed everything. He backed the tank up then maneuvered the turret to face the approaching driveway. Cannon loaded, he verified the trajectory, then he stepped over to the machinegun and perused the cartridge belt.

  The troop transport rolled down the driveway.

  Hardy fired the cannon.

  A 120mm round burst through the air.

  It smashed through the windshield.

  The ordnance exploded and the truck burst into flames, then the transport exploded. Flames billowed into the air from the blast.

  Soldiers alighted from the truck. Many held AK-47s ready to fire, while others rolled to the ground, trying to snuff out their burning uniforms.

  Hardy moved to the front of the tank and opened up on them with the tank machinegun. Bullets riddled the advancing troops and dropped them in their tracks. A few soldiers darted for the woods, but Stiles took them down.

  Soldiers crawled under the first transport, presenting a threat to Stiles. They fired at him from a covered, prone position.

  Hardy climbed out of the tank and tossed a fragmentation grenade. It rolled under the truck.

  The grenade exploded, killing soldiers, and others wailed in pain. Some lay limp, torn apart. A couple wormed out from the driver’s side, and one wriggled out the passenger side. They broke around the truck. Hardy signaled to Stiles; he’d go around to the passenger side and leave one to Stiles.

  Hardy cleared the hood of the large truck. He fired and a North Korean soldier dropped to the ground, a round bored into the infantryman’s skull.

  Hardy came around the side of the truck. The other soldier was gone.

  Dropping to the ground, Hardy scanned the tree line. He’d expected the amateur to flee the scene. But the guy was smart enough to avoid getting shot running away. A bullet dinged the door of the truck above Hardy’s head.

  Another bullet tore up the ground in front of him.

  Hardy marked the soldier’s position from the second muzzle flash. He squeezed the trigger of his MP-5, and the soldier cried out in pain, toppling over. Clutching the AK-47’s handgrip, the soldier compressed the trigger in the throes of death.

  The Russian weapon fired rapidly, stippling the side of the truck with rounds.

  Raising his rifle, Hardy plugged a hole in the man’s head, putting an abrupt end to the writhing assault.

  Stiles ran up beside him. “You alright?” he said to Hardy.

  “Fine,” Hardy replied. “How about you?”

  “Doing much better than you, my friend.”

  They chuckled at the comment while Hardy got to his feet.

  “What now?” Stiles said.

  “We wait.”

  “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

  “Those are the orders.” Hardy shook his head, wondering what other troops would emerge on the scene before they were through.

  Twenty-Four

  Maki held Mother’s hand tight. Power was out through most of the city, and the street was blanketed in darkness. They moved along slowly and she tried to glimpse the sidewalk through intermittent shadows and down-pouring rain.

  Tanks rumbled by and Maki felt safe. The military will protect us, she thought.

  Her mother pressed ahead, surefooted. But Maki tripped occasionally, unable to see the curb openings for driveways and side streets. She wondered when they could go home and hoped her father somehow found his way out of the flooded alley.

  Another set of tanks rolled toward them. Then a soldier protruded from an open hatch. “Run!” he yelled to them.

  Mother picked up the pace as fast as she could, impeded by the darkness.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Maki noticed the soldier in the tank shaking his head. “We’re going the wrong way,” Maki said.

  “This way leads to our apartment.”

  “Let’s turn back,” Maki insisted.

  “There’s nothing back there except for stagnant water.”

  “All those tanks…” Maki panted. “They aren’t going to fight.”

  Her mother stopped in her tracks and looked down at Maki, baffled.

  “The tanks are fleeing the monster.”

  Then, Mother looked all around them, and Maki did as well. Nothing but a silent roadway and empty buildings. Mother shook her head. “We’d hear commotion.”

  Maki stomped her rain boot, and the ground rumbled.

  Her mother looked at Maki, aghast.

  “It’s not me,” Maki said, pointing.

  Mother glanced up, and her mouth dropped open.

  The Kaiju slinked down the street, moving its head back and forth, sniffing, while an enormous tail whipped from side to side. Each footstep crumpled the tar beneath pointed claws, and shockwaves reverberated over the pavement.

  Sidewalk and street undulated and cracked. And her mother stood motionless, paralyze
d by fear, trepidation.

  “We have to run!” Maki yelled, pulling her mother’s arm.

  “Oh, my,” Mother exclaimed, trembling.

  “Now!” Maki insisted.

  Mother turned and dashed across the street, pulling Maki along with her. A narrow side street appeared in the shadows. “This way,” Mother said.

  Thunderous steps marked the creature’s pursuit.

  “It’s after us!” Maki screamed.

  Mother nodded, acknowledging their plight. She pressed onward.

  The vibrations got stronger, wavering the ground beneath their feet. Maki stumbled a few times. She worried the Kaiju would close the distance before they could get to safety.

  Looking back, the creature rounded the corner and stalked down the side street. Its ginormous body could barely fit between the buildings. The confined space seemed to perturb the creature.

  A loud roar resounded through the tight corridor. Then, a whirlwind followed the soundwave, almost knocking Maki to the ground.

  She lost pace and mother kept pulling her arm. Maki tripped and fell.

  Their hands separated and her mother sped onward, unaware.

  “Mother!” screamed Maki.

  More thumping, and the pavement shook. The Kaiju advanced.

  “Mother!” Maki called, lying on the ground.

  All at once, her mother seemed to register that something wasn’t right. She looked at her hand, then glanced back at Maki. Mother spun around and ran toward her, as the creature closed the distance.

  The Kaiju moved near, and Maki smelled its fetid breath. She didn’t have to look to know how close it had gotten. The ground shook and undulated like riding a wave.

  She braced for impending doom. Maki shook her head, trying to dissuade her mother from approaching.

  But her mother didn’t heed Maki’s warning.

  She raced up and pulled Maki to her feet. “Run!” Mother blared.

  Maki scrambled ahead.

  She swatted for her mother’s hand but snatched at air. Maki glanced back and saw her mother standing in the road, intently staring the creature down.

  “Mother!” cried Maki, turning back.

  “No!” Mother yelled. “Run… Maki! Run!”

  Maki did as she was told. She ran ahead and sprinted until the street stopped shaking. Ran until her lungs burned and her legs wobbled.

  Then, she slowed to a jog and peered over a shoulder.

  The Kaiju stood in the middle of the narrow street with its head tilted back, chewing greedily. Mother was nowhere to be seen. Maki began to cry.

  Blood and saliva dripped from its mouth, then a shoe spit out and floated through the stormy air, clattering on the pavement below.

  The Kaiju lowered its chin then stomped forward, swallowing. A bulge wormed down its throat.

  Maki took a deep breath and plugged ahead. She traversed debris in the roadway, shattered glass and chunks of concrete. Loud stamping feet trod after her. Turning a corner, she noticed a pile of rubble in the street.

  A decimated building lingered before her, with the exterior torn apart. Maki ducked into the edifice, slipping out of sight.

  Twenty-Five

  Penton sat on a canvas bench seat, leaning against the fuselage of the V-22 Osprey. The rotary engines hummed through the heavy rain, and the aircraft shifted occasionally in the heavy winds. Despite the horrendous conditions, the bird flew through the storm quite well. Droning engines allowed him to slip into a half-sleep.

  A couple hours later, turbulence shook him awake. He glanced around. The crew chief sat nestled on the opposite bench. An M2 Browning .50 caliber machinegun was mounted in the rear of the aircraft. The weapon fired from the tail-end with the ramp open. Otherwise, the aircraft didn’t have offensive capabilities. Penton shook his head at the design, thinking about every other Marine Corps aircraft with heavier firepower.

  “We’ve picked up a tailwind,” announced the pilot, Captain Simmons.

  “How far out?” Penton replied into the communications link.

  “We’re descending into Tokyo, now.”

  “Let’s drop the loading ramp.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Hydraulics hummed through the cargo space, then the ramp opened like a giant mouth, grinning at the destruction below. Wind and rain whipped inside, fluttering the sleeves and pant legs of Penton’s flight suit.

  “Would you like the pleasure?” This from the crew chief, Staff Sergeant Blakely.

  “It’s your ship,” Penton said. “I’m just along for the ride.”

  “Had to ask… Master Gunny.” Blakely tethered himself to the fuselage with a safety line. A stocky fellow, he eased up to the machinegun, while wind gusted inside the aircraft.

  Blakely took a seat behind the M2, then inspected the cartridge belt and feed with the precision of a skilled professional. He turned back to Penton, grinned, and gave the thumbs up. A large ordnance emblem was plastered to the front his helmet. The omnipresent flaming bomb flanked by aviation wings was surrounded by bursting red and orange flames.

  Penton wondered where he’d gotten the custom paintjob.

  The Flying Tigers patch on the breast of Blakely’s flight suit was standard, though. Penton’s Blade Runner patch was more colorful. Marine Corps uniforms were bereft of individual unit markings, a hallmark of making Marines a cohesive fighting force, with little to distinguish various units. Only a few standouts were found on their uniforms: jump wings, aircrew wings, and the ordnance disposal badge. Unit identification was nowhere to be found, except in the airwing, where flight suits, flight jackets, and hangars adorned the patches of numerous unit command structures, a symbiotic carryover from Naval aviation.

  Penton, like most Marines, collected patches from the various bases and units where he served during his time in the Marine Corps. The markings on Blakely’s flight suit were a sad reminder of the comradery he’d miss upon retirement.

  The Osprey dipped to the left, approaching Tokyo from the east. As the aircraft flew over the harbor and above the city, a path of massive destruction came into eyeshot. Flames blazed from burning oil and numerous structures whisked into the darkening sky.

  A trail of decimated property left crushed vehicles and shattered buildings in its wake. Penton’s view out the rear of the Osprey followed the monster’s course. He didn’t have the opportunity to observe what lay ahead.

  “Christ,” Captain Simmons stammered.

  “This is unbelievable,” the co-pilot grumbled.

  Penton wondered what could be worse than what he’d seen behind them.

  “I’ve got Admiral Keyes on the line,” said Simmons.

  “What are my orders?” Penton insisted.

  “I’ll patch him through.”

  Then came the admiral’s voice: “Master Guns?”

  “Yes, sir,” Penton said.

  “Glad to have you onboard,” Keyes said. “We might be able to use your skills in more ways than one…”

  ****

  The distinctive sound of rotor blades whapping through the storm woke Kate from a slumber. Clambering to her feet, she moved toward the broken wall and peered through a crevice. An Osprey circled the building, and hovered near the torn parachute caught on the corner of the roof.

  Then, the aircraft flew ahead; it passed by the broken walls in the upper floors, as though inspecting the damage. Her heart raced with anxiety. She feared the rescue team would leave before she could signal her position.

  Kate patted down her flight suit, not finding anything useful.

  The flare gun remained attached to the ejection seat, along with a survival kit. She shook her head as the aircraft started to rise.

  “Damn it!” she muttered.

  She couldn’t run after it. Even if her ankle hadn’t been injured, the effort to descend the next couple of floors would take too much time. The Osprey flew higher into the air.

  Kate reached for her sidearm, and stuck the barrel out a broken window.
r />   She fired a 9mm round at a car on the ground, and the shot echoed down the street of broken buildings. Rain gusted inside. Kate waited a moment, then fired again, allowing the crew enough time to spot the muzzle blast.

  The Osprey paused in mid-air, then quickly descended, landing in the middle of the street below. Kate’s heart fluttered with elation. She holstered the pistol and made for an exit.

  Descending the concrete steps, she couldn’t believe how dark the stairwell had gotten. Scant light reflected through the tiny windows on the metal doors at each landing, providing just enough illumination for her to discern the steps in the shadows. Emergency lights no longer functioned in the decimated building, and the stairs were slippery from the sprinkler system.

  Kate moved along carefully. She wanted to avoid slipping and injuring her ankle further. When she reached the lower landing, Kate stepped for the door leading outside. Then, she heard whimpering from a nearby hallway.

  ****

  Penton grabbed his M-16 equipped with an M203 grenade launcher. He knew the weapon wouldn’t do him any good if he ran into the creature, but having it in hand felt like the right thing to do.

  He descended the ramp and stepped into a torrential downpour. Penton walked down the dark street, glancing upward at the devastated building. He stepped around rubble while scanning the broken façade for signs of Kate Able. Through the shadows and deluge, he pinpointed the location where he’d seen the muzzle flare. Then, he scouted the building in search of a likely egress point.

  He headed around a corner of the tower and noticed a side street leading along the backside of the building. A metal door flung open.

  Penton shouldered his rifle.

  Kate hobbled outside with a young girl in tow.

  He lowered the M-16 and ran to them.

  Kate’s face was smeared with soot and dust. She grinned from ear to ear, happy to see him. “Never expected to find you on the rescue party,” Kate said, and laughed.

  “It’s sort of what I do,” Penton said, coolly.

  “Flying into decimated cities and rescuing people… that’s what you do?”