Pacific Rising

by John W Dennehy

  The officers sat up straight when Keyes entered the room. The suit sat slumped in a chair. As he expected, General Yoshi appeared in the corner of the viewing screen. General Yoshi had a dire concern on his face. Keyes glanced around the room, taking in the audience, and considered what he was getting ready to do.

  “Everyone out, except the XO and Intelligence Officer,” Keyes barked.

  The officers sitting around the command room didn’t seem to register his order right away. Many of them appeared baffled, perhaps not believing or uncertain of what they’d heard. When the chief of the boat stood up, a few of the officers settled back down, likely thinking Keyes meant for enlisted personnel to leave.

  “Out!” Keyes screamed. He kicked a chair with the heel of his shoe for effect.

  Suddenly, the officers sprung from their chairs and bolted out of the room as though they were back in basic training. Officers hustled out of the hatch in single file. The suit stood up with his palms held out, questioning. Keyes grunted at him. A moment later, only Admiral Keyes and the intelligence officer remained in the room.

  “Where the hell is James?” Keyes snapped.

  “Right here,” Commander James said before the intelligence officer could respond. He’d evidently gotten tied up in the hall, waiting for the parade of officers to clear the room. Keyes shook his head at the situation.

  “Both of you take a seat,” Keyes said, motioning toward the plush sofa.

  They sat down as directed, but he remained standing with command of the room. Keyes looked up to the screen and addressed General Yoshi, bowing slightly as a salutation.

  “Admiral, please explain the meaning of this,” General Yoshi said.

  “Sir, please advise if you are in a secure location.”

  Yoshi glanced around then nodded in affirmative.

  “Anyone able to listen in on my conversation with you?”

  The general smiled and shook his head. “I’ve been having my discussions with you from my briefing room, alone.”

  Keyes smiled at the response.

  “Then, I fill in my staff officers after we talk. At least this is our approach since we first discussed the use of the missile.”

  “Yes, the use of the missile is very sensitive information.”

  General Yoshi smiled kindly then nodded.

  “We feel the recent attack on the monster,” Keyes continued, “did not fare well.”

  “No, it certainly did not.”

  “We were thinking…” Keyes motioned toward his officers, “that conventional weapons of any sort may not work on this creature.”

  Yoshi nodded. “Even if we overwhelm the creature with a stronger wave of attacks, you think that we will fail.”

  “The storm has settled down. We could try it, but I do not expect it will work.”

  “A heavy attack would cause the creature to seek safety out at sea,” said General Yoshi. “The Kaiju would resurface and ravage the mainland again.”

  “I’m afraid so.” Keyes shrugged. “You know more about the creature’s capabilities than us. But the initial assault came because of the beast surfacing in Tokyo Harbor. This creature is amphibious and can live on land and under the water. Your theory is sound.”

  “Japan is doomed, then.” Yoshi shook his head, dismayed.

  “Perhaps not,” Admiral Keyes postulated.

  “Go on, then.” General Yoshi stared back at him with interest.

  “We might have an alternative,” Keyes explained. “Another nuclear missile that might blow the creature apart.”

  Yoshi nodded, and said, “Continue…”

  “Our special operators have commandeered a cold war missile.” Keyes paced about the command room. “An old Soviet Tochka OTR-21.”

  “We are familiar with this missile,” Yoshi said, grinning.

  “The Tochka has a wider blast radius than the Tomahawk. We are thinking that if it strikes near the creature, the missile will blow it to pieces. Our concern is with the much higher level of radiation.”

  “My concern is with the stability of such an antiquated weapon.”

  “We admit there is some risk involved.”

  “How do you plan to get the missile into place and fire it?”

  “These are all good questions,” Keyes replied. “We’ve got a cold war veteran on the ground, highly experienced with ordnance.”

  “Sounds like a makeshift launch.” Yoshi shook his head.

  Keyes glanced over at his executive officer. The reaction wasn’t promising, and Keyes wondered if General Yoshi might decide to try another volley of conventional weapons, drive the creature back into the sea, and live to regroup and fight another day. Ultimately, it was Yoshi’s call and his country would suffer the consequences. Keyes didn’t want to press the use of the missile but merely provide it as an option.

  “The decision is entirely yours,” Keyes finally said.

  “My concern is not with the fallout after a successful blast,” General Yoshi said after a moment. “But rather taking the chance of putting it to use and having to deal with the nuclear effects without even getting it off the ground.”

  “A valid point,” Keyes admitted. “We have confidence in our technician, though.”

  General Yoshi seemed to contemplate the situation. “Time is of the essence,” he finally said. “The Kaiju is likely headed north and will reach Mito soon. Waiting will mean the end of that city. And we will lose the opportunity to take the Kaiju down in the countryside.”

  Keyes felt adrenaline pump through him. He anticipated permission for attack.

  “Let’s move forward with the missile launch,” Yoshi said. “Ready your forces for a wave of joint conventional attack should the effort fail.”

  “Yes, sir!” Keyes replied, already in motion. He turned to address the two officers in the room.

  “Admiral?” Yoshi murmured.

  Keyes looked back toward the screen.

  “Let’s hope your ordnance technician is up to the task.”

  The screen faded and Keyes felt a sinking feeling in his gut. Such a plan had never been attempted before. He wondered if they could really pull it off.

  A vision crossed his mind of the missile exploding a few feet above the ground.

  Thirty-Five

  Penton administered another dose of medicine to Kate and gave Maki her injection. Everyone seemed to be holding together, and he wasn’t feeling very sick himself. Sunlight broke through the dissipating storm clouds. He gazed out the window at the waves plying toward shore at a northern angle.

  Then, he looked at the crabgrass, fluttering in the same direction, away from the small industrial building. “The wind is blowing the fallout north,” Penton said.

  “Well, that’s certainly helpful…” Kate sounded despondent.

  “Maybe we’ll get out of this—”

  “Yeah, so long as that beast doesn’t head this way.”

  He listened intently but couldn’t hear a sound from outside. The creature habitually thumped the ground and caused vibrations when chasing after them. “Something tells me that it’s headed away from us.”

  “What makes you say that?” Kate asked.

  “Too damn quiet. The creature made a lot of noise chasing us.”

  “We were on city streets and a highway. Now, the thing could be walking on soft earth. I’m not convinced that it headed in the other direction.”

  “The creature would have been upon us by now.”

  Kate shrugged, conceding to his point. Then, she reached for the computer screen and pressed the Skype icon. A frustrated face appeared on the screen. The admiral’s nostrils flared with heavy breathing, and his brow tightened into wrinkles.

  Stepping toward the computer, Penton noticed the mouth moving, but he couldn’t hear any words. “We’ve got a technical problem with the audio,” Penton said to Kate.

  Then she fumbled with the computer and the sound of Keyes’ voice boomed through the small industrial office. “About time
!” Keyes shook his head. “We’ve got a major crisis and the two of you are standing there playing guessing games about things we already know.”

  They both glanced at the screen, dumbfounded.

  “Just because you couldn’t hear me… doesn’t mean I couldn’t hear you.”

  “We were just trying to prepare—”

  “Enough!” Keyes paused and adjusted the collar of his shirt. He looked back up at them with an earnest twinkle in his eyes. “The creature was headed north the last time he appeared on our satellite video.”

  “What happened to the satellite feed?” Kate asked.

  “Nothing,” Keyes said, shaking his head. “The damn thing slipped back into the water. Our last view of it… indicated that the creature tracked to the north.”

  “So, we might not be in the clear,” Kate concluded.

  “Most likely… it’s headed north.”

  “Are we being extracted?”

  “Sort of…”

  Penton moved closer to the computer, leaning over Kate’s shoulder with his hands on his hips. He perused Admiral Keyes’ demeanor, trying to discern the politician that lurks beneath high-ranking officers.

  Keyes took a deep breath and stared at them for a moment. “We’ve got a Super Stallion headed your way.”

  “So, we are being extracted,” Kate said.

  “The helo is carrying some delicate cargo,” Keyes replied.

  “What do you mean?” Penton interjected.

  Keyes forced a smile and then divulged the plan.

  Penton shook his head. A vision of the missile launching ten feet into the air and exploding with him nearby came to mind. And the vaccinations on hand were used up.

  Looks like this is it, he thought shaking his head. My final stand… and it will be in a covert op handling unauthorized nukes.

  ****

  A while later, the whop-whop of massive rotors brought Penton out of deep thought. He sat up in the metal folding chair, trying to pinpoint the distance of the approaching helicopter.

  “They’re here,” Kate said, pointing toward the sky.

  “Not quite,” Penton corrected. “About half a click out.”

  “But it sounds so close…”

  “They are coming in right over the water, fast. The sound carries to low points like where we are situated.”

  Kate smiled, admiring his experience.

  “We should get a move on it now, anyway.”

  Penton stood and adrenaline rushed up his spine. Marines learn how to wait for dire situations in laid-back ways. They curl up in helicopters, transport trucks, and assault vehicles, often sleeping until the moment to disembark. Then, they rush ahead, fueled by adrenaline, senses honed and acute.

  He’d noticed a steel ladder bolted to the concrete block wall in a corner of the office. It led to the rooftop where he planned to meet the arriving helicopter. Penton mounted the metal rails and climbed the ladder. Maki followed after him, assisted by Kate.

  Penton worked a bolt loose and flipped the steel hatch open. It clanged on the deck as he scrambled onto the roof. He looked over the conditions: a flat rooftop with gravel covering a thick membrane; a wall rose above the roofline with a radio tower from bygone days bolted to the brick.

  Making his way to the edge of the roof, Penton scanned the horizon and saw the Super Stallion moving swiftly across the water. The helicopter was painted olive drab. He hadn’t known whether it would be a Navy chopper or the Marines. Silver would have signified a Navy aircraft. Soon, he observed the word Marines written in block letters on the tail.

  Penton smiled at the sight of his comrades flying in to the rescue. A moment later, Maki shuffled up beside him and grabbed his fingers. He gently tightened his fist around her little hand. “You’ll be in safe hands soon,” he said, smiling.

  Kate stepped beside him and the three of them watched the helicopter buzz over the choppy ocean waters.

  While waiting for the chopper, Penton had wondered if he could even pull off the assignment. He also thought about how to say good-bye to his daughter, concerned about the prospect of never seeing her again.

  Now, his mind laid out the tasks at hand; he contemplated what had to be accomplished, step-by-step. Every fiber of his being channeled energy at the colossal undertaking, and failure no longer became a consideration.

  He turned toward Kate and put his hands on his hips. “That chopper is coming in fast,” he said. “And we don’t have time to argue. I want you to extract with the girl pronto. I’ll stay behind and get the missile ready.”

  Kate shook her head. “The mission is more important than either of us. I’ll stay behind and lend you a hand.”

  Penton admired her spunk. He looked into her eyes and felt a tinge of regret.

  “Don’t try and stop me,” Kate said. “I out-rank you.”

  “Someone has to look after the girl,” he reasoned.

  “There’s an entire aircraft full of capable Marines that can watch out for her.” Kate pointed toward the incoming Super Stallion.

  “What about your ankle? How’s it doing?”

  “A lot better, now that I’ve given it some rest.”

  “Maybe you should tighten up your boot, just to make sure.”

  “Good idea,” Kate said, bending down and reworking her laces.

  Wind gusts whipped at Penton’s flight suit as the helicopter closed in. Rotor blades squealed and blasted air-current down at them. She kept talking, but he didn’t hear a word from a few feet away.

  The Super Stallion hovered overhead with the Tochka missile slung under its belly. Moving into position, the pilot steadied the aircraft. Then the ramp at the rear of the helicopter slowly began to open. Hydraulics eased the ramp down, and a thick rope dropped toward the deck, with one end fastened to the rear fuselage and the other cascading down to the rooftop.

  A Marine in a flight suit stepped across the open ramp, wind gusting into the aircraft. He gingerly walked over the metal decking, a few stories above the ground. The job wasn’t for someone with a fear of heights.

  He wrapped his leg around the rope and dropped from the bird. Flight boots pinched off the rope, slowing his descent.

  Nobody followed after him. Penton realized it was a skeleton crew aboard the Super Stallion.

  The crew chief hit the deck and ambled over toward them. His aviator’s helmet had an ordnance symbol painted above the visor: an antiquated bomb with a flame, flanked by large aviation wings. A grim reaper sticker was plastered behind the ear-piece. He was short with a West Coast smile.

  “Master Gunnery Sergeant…” the crew chief said to Penton, offering his hand.

  Penton shook his hand quickly. “Thanks for dropping by.”

  “I’m Staff Sergeant Bishop. Here to help you unload that bastard.”

  Bishop pointed toward the missile. Penton looked up. It hung in a harness, lying horizontal to the deck. Shaking his head, Penton looked at the lad doubtfully. The kid cracked another California grin. His sandy blonde hair crept out from under the flight helmet, grown to the maximum regulation length.

  “Guess we should get started,” Penton said, moving into position.

  “Just hope we can do it… without the darn thing dropping on our heads.”

  Penton registered a twang in his voice, a mountain state. The kid had joined the Marines from some rural town and took a liking to the West Coast lifestyle. A Hollywood Marine, probably went to boot camp in San Diego, and spent most of his career at Marine Corps Air Station – Pendleton.

  “Let’s improvise, adapt, and overcome,” Penton said, but his words carried away with gusts of wind from the rotor blast. Bishop had already moved into position.

  The remaining flight crew on the aircraft lowered the tail of the missile, dipping it toward the roof. A moment later, they slowly released the main line, tethering the missile to the helicopter. The large ordnance eased closer and closer to the deck as the pilot worked to steady the chopper in position above the rooftop
.

  Lower tailfins touched the roof deck, then Penton and Bishop grabbed hold of the top fins and yanked the missile off the gavel. They made for the radio tower, pulling on the missile, while the pilot slowly veered to the left.

  Penton felt the helicopter bob right, and the missile lunged back, causing him to stumble. He caught his balance just as Bishop tripped. The younger Marine fell, landing splayed across the rear of the missile. Tailfins clanged into the gravel, and the missile slid in the harness, dropping down, fins reverberated another clunk onto the roof deck.

  Staring up at the straps holding the missile, Penton realized they could not allow it to lift off the deck again. The darn thing would drop from the harness and go straight through the roof, then fall into the basement below.

  He stepped away and signaled to a crew member. Freeze!

  A young Marine peered from the open hatch at the rear of the aircraft and nodded. Harnessed to the fuselage, he leaned out and observed the situation below. The Marine nodded again. He seemed to be talking into the communications link.

  The helicopter remained hovering in place.

  Moments later, the young Marine leaned down and gave a thumbs-up to Penton. They would hold the position until Penton told them to move.

  Penton pictured the pilot desperately working the foot pedals. He knew they didn’t have much time. He stepped over to Bishop.

  “We’re going to have to drop her… right here!” Penton yelled.

  Bishop looked confused and glanced over toward the radio tower, as though trying to measure the distance.

  Penton pointed to the unraveled rigging. “No way!”

  He’d punch the kid before letting him foul up the situation worse.

  “Get the tail down,” Penton said, “and I’ll work them through righting it up.”

  Bishop nodded and grabbed hold of the tail.

  Penton admired the kid’s courage. The missile could easily slip loose and crush him to death.

  Stepping back, Penton made visual contact with the pilot.

  Penton rose his arms into the air like a referee showing a completed field goal. And then he slowly moved them to the left, like a tree bending in a storm. The pilot nodded and the helicopter shifted left.