Operation Red Dragon: The Daikaiju Wars: Part One

by Ryan George Collins

  OPERATION RED DRAGON

  The Daikaiju Wars, Part One

  Ryan George Collins

  Copyright 2018 by Ryan George Collins

  Dedicated to my parents, Lehann and Randy Collins, who called me into the living room to see my first Godzilla movie on TV with no idea what they were starting. Thank you both for supporting me through the years.

  “Canst thou draw out leviathan with an hook? Or his tongue with a cord which thou lettest down? Canst thou put a hook through his nose? Or bore his jaw through with a thorn? Will he make many supplications unto thee? Will he speak soft words to thee?”

  ~ The Book of Job, Ch. 41, v. 1-3 (KJV), now believed to be an early description of a Daikaiju.

  PROLOGUE

  December 8, 1952

  Richard Godfrey had heard of Doctor Daisuke Armitage before, and even though he was fighting a cold and probably should have stayed in his dorm to rest, he forced himself out of bed to attend the doctor’s seminar. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity that he simply could not miss.

  Dr. Daisuke Armitage was one of the few people in the world for whom the term “living legend” was most probably literal. A Japanese-American by birth, the man was such a fantastical figure that some did not actually believe he existed, and the good doctor seemed to like it that way. According to the rumors, being regarded as semi-mythical made it easier for him to do his work, which fell into the realm of investigating, and sometimes confronting, the paranormal, or as he was known to call it, the Absurd. Some rumors even said that Armitage himself was such an Absurdity; they said he was ageless, possibly immortal, and there was even photographic evidence showing him alive and well going back to at least the early 1900s. Armitage had never denied the allegations. In fact, he had never addressed them at all, which only served to maintain the mysterious atmosphere which engulfed his life.

  The seminar was exclusively for the journalism students at the university, and attendance was strongly encouraged, but not mandatory. Richard could not for the life of him figure out why a paranormal investigator would want to speak to journalism students, a collective renowned for their jaded cynicism, or why the college had agreed to let him. All he knew was that, as an aspiring journalist himself, he was naturally curious. As far as he was concerned, he had to see this Daisuke Armitage for himself.

  The lecture hall was far from packed. Although it was capable of seating upwards of two-hundred people, Richard counted only twenty present, himself included. He was not quite sure if he was disappointed by this turnout or not. He supposed that would hinge on whether or not Armitage turned out to be a crackpot wasting everyone’s valuable time.

  The dean came out onto the stage and gave a brief introduction, in which Richard noticed a curious hint of something in his voice. To Richard, the dean sounded deeply respectful, almost reverent, as though he were introducing the Pope. So, at the very least, there were members of the faculty who took this mystery man seriously.

  When Daisuke Armitage took the stage, Richard was startled by how ordinary the man looked. He was surprisingly short – or, at least, far shorter than Richard had imagined he would be – and dressed professionally but unremarkably, with a sweater vest pulled over a plain collared shirt and dress pants. The only sign of physical age about him was the dusting of gray hair on his temples and pencil-thin moustache, and his only unusual accessory was the monocle over his right eye. His expression was completely neutral, showing absolutely no indication of emotion, yet in spite of this, his eyes were exceptionally bright and alert.

  Armitage stood at the microphone, and immediately began his lecture. His opening monologue was one he used often, and he knew it by rote. “It is a commonly accepted fact among philosophers that the universe is an inherently absurd place. It is also a commonly accepted fact among philosophers that commonly accepted facts among philosophers are not commonly accepted facts among regular people. This is, in and of itself, considered to be inherently absurd, thus lending credence to the commonly accepted fact among philosophers that the universe is an inherently absurd place. It is pure hyperbole, and yet it continues to build in an increasingly absurd fashion, looping back on itself like Oroborus devouring its own tail, until any philosopher who supports the idea attempts to prove that his limbs are made of elastic by putting himself on the rack, and thus becomes a philosophizing torso in a travelling carnival.”

  The line received a chuckle from the crowd, since the last part was intended as a joke. As Armitage continued his talk, though, it became evident that his view of the world as an absurd place was to be taken quite seriously. Throughout the rest of the lecture, he presented eyewitness accounts, films, photographs, and countless pieces of evidence pointing to the existence of monsters, aliens, and other strange phenomena that flew in the face of science and reason as man knew it, and yet were so compelling that it was hard to dismiss them. He offered little in the way of hard scientific answers, for even he, with his own extensive knowledge of science and reason, knew only so much, and he was both brave and intelligent enough to admit that.

  After two hours of a presentation filled with potentially world-shattering accounts, Armitage delivered his concluding statement. “So, why have I shared this with you, students of the free press? Why not speak to the science majors or, perhaps, the fantasy writers?” His already narrow eyes narrowed even more, as if they were flashlights focusing powerful beams of light on the crowd. “I chose to speak to you for one very important reason, and you had best listen carefully and take my words to heart, for you will not hear them anywhere else. Journalism is championed as the voice of Truth, the best way to deliver facts to the public, but it is only as good as the people practicing it. Even now, I am sure that many of you doubt my words. Are there any here who think me insane? Be honest, now. I shan’t judge you.”

  Of the twenty students, half raised their hands in affirmation.

  “In that case, ask yourselves why you still doubt. Is it because my evidence is lacking? Or is it, perhaps, because it contradicts what you believe to be true?” He paused, letting the question sink in before continuing. “If it is the former, I invite whoever feels confident that you can to step up here and disprove me now.”

  He paused again, and waited. No one accepted his challenge. “If it is the latter, as it now clearly appears to be, then you must either extract such bias from yourselves, or else extract yourselves from journalism entirely. You cannot allow bias to dictate how you report, because bias is a knife that cuts Truth to shreds. All that I have shown you today should have been the biggest news stories of all time, yet they remain in the realm of what is derogatorily called ‘pseudoscience’ because people choose not to take these stories seriously. The people in this room are the future of journalism.” Richard suddenly felt as if Armitage was staring directly at him. “Some of you may even achieve greatness one day. But whatever path your careers take, you must remember to only speak the Truth, no matter how unbelievable it may seem. If it seems too absurd to accept, research it. If your research forces you to consider altering your perception of the world, then maybe your perception was never correct in the first place. Either way, it is your responsibility as journalists to always report the Truth.”

  After the lecture, Richard neither knew nor cared how many of his classmates had been affected by the doctor’s words. All that mattered was how they had affected him. He believed everything the mysterious man had said, from the absurd accounts that had comprised the bulk of the lecture to his closing remarks about bias.

  That day, Richard Godfrey vowed to become a great journalist who only reported the Truth, and
from that day on, he, too, would focus on the Absurd.

  One week later, something very absurd happened that would eventually be significant in Richard’s life. Although he was vaguely aware of the story when it was reported, thanks to the air of secrecy surrounding it, he would remain unaware of its greater impact for several years.

  Two years prior in 1950, some business entrepreneurs had built a small rustic resort at the foot of Mount Fujiyama in Japan, and it had quickly become quite a popular honeymoon destination. On the resort’s patio sat a hot tub, and in this hot tub sat Taizo and Akiko Tanaka, who had been married just three days prior and had arrived that morning. Their trip had been a hectic one, fraught with delayed trains and irritable cab drivers, and so after getting their bags into the honeymoon suite, they had gone to the hot tub to just relax and enjoy each other’s company. They were both eager to get to certain other honeymoon activities, but there was time enough for that later. For now, the exhausted pair were content to let the churning hot water boil away the tension from their stiff muscles.

  It was Akiko who first heard a low rhythmic humming that was not generated from the tub, but it was Taizo who first looked up to see the oblong craft above them. He pointed it out to his new wife.

  “What is that?” Akiko asked as she looked up, squinting to keep the sun’s brightness from blinding her.

  Taizo also squinted as the craft descended closer to the building. “Not sure,” he said. “Looks like a jet without wings.”

  “Maybe it’s a UFO from space!” Akiko exclaimed. “Oh, wouldn’t it be so exciting if aliens landed here?”

  Taizo grinned. “It would be quite a memorable honeymoon.”

  Whatever the thing was, others at the resort had noticed it as well. Crowds were forming on the patio, the snow-covered yard, and anywhere else that provided a clear look at the object. Those who had cameras grabbed them and snapped photographs of it.

  Loud static filled the air, followed by the equally loud voice of a man speaking in fluent Japanese which projected from the craft. “Attention! Attention!” said the voice. “All civilians, please evacuate the area immediately! This is an emergency! Please evacuate the area immediately!”

  The message was repeated in English, yet nobody moved at the behest of either language. Everyone was too fascinated by the strange craft above them, especially now that it had spoken in two recognizable dialects. The onlookers chattered like hens, speculations flying left and right about the mysterious ship. None of them even noticed that the ground was beginning to tremble.

  By the second time the message had repeated in both languages, an unearthly noise filled the air, sounding like nothing less than the ghastly roar of a demon.

  The ship suddenly swerved to the side, narrowly avoiding the impact of a flaming object twice its size. This new object was not flying by its own power, but appeared to have been launched or thrown. Stranger yet, it was vaguely shaped like a dinosaur, although the flames and the way its extremities flailed about limply as it sailed above the resort pointed to it being very dead. The thing landed in a clearing on the slope, and the flames were smothered by the snow as it rolled away like a discarded, burnt ragdoll.

  The sound of trees and earth splitting, overlaid with the growling of something which sounded impossibly large, washed over the crowds from the summit.

  All eyes turned to where the flaming creature had come from, the mysterious craft now completely forgotten. Above the trees, they could see the upper half of a monster, its scaly skin shining as red as the fires of Hell itself, marching towards them. In the grip of its massive hands was another dinosaur-like beast, writhing and struggling in vain to halt the red giant’s advance.

  Few stared long enough to take in any more detail than that.

  Panic ensued.

  Taizo and Akiko leapt from the hot tub. The jolt of emerging from hot water into freezing winter air barely registered with either of them. They did not dry themselves or don their bathrobes. They just barely managed to slip their sandals back on before vaulting over the patio rails into the snow, clad only in wet bathing suits.

  As the vacationers fled, Akiko dared to glance back. The giant was striding past the resort, its swaying tail knocking casually into the building as if the beast did not even notice it was there.

  She did not stop to wonder if their possessions had been destroyed, nor did she stop to wonder what this giant was.

  She just kept running.

  The day after the Tanaka’s terrifying honeymoon encounter, Bill Forbes was a thousand miles from civilization, hiking the Rocky Mountains all on his own.

  This trip was easy for him, even in the dead of winter. The Rockies were practically his second home. He spent more time hiking the hills than doing anything else. Usually, he was a wilderness guide, but this week, he was taking some time for himself. As it happened, his wandering had taken him to a narrow valley he had never hiked before, and he would stop every few miles to map out his trail. He figured that if it turned out to be safe enough, perhaps this could be a new path to take visitors on.

  The terrain on which he currently trod was most unusual. The ground was relatively smooth, and might have appeared as a flat plane to the untrained eye and foot, but Bill was aware of a very slight incline as he progressed, like what he imagined a bug might feel when climbing on an upside-down plate. Even more curious was the forest of craggy spires in this place. The spires were much taller than him, averaging at least twenty feet from base to tip, if his guess was right. He might have considered them stalagmites, given how narrow and conical they were. The problem with that notion was that he was not in a cave, nor did this area show any signs that it had once been an enclosed space.

  Naturally, he had taken pictures. He knew some geologists back in town who could probably tell him what the strange formations were.

  As Bill sat down by such a formation to rest his bones before continuing, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He suddenly felt as though he were being watched.

  Was somebody else there? That should have been impossible, unless someone either had followed him or was terribly lost. He doubted there were any campsites here, for he had seen no evidence of human activity beyond himself.

  He glanced around, looking for any signs of life around him. From his current vantage point, he could see no one. The sand was too fine and the wind too strong for any tracks to remain for long. Even his own tracks had been swept away by the wind at this point.

  It struck him that if he really was not alone, his unseen companion might not be human. It could very well be a mountain lion. That made sense, this being completely wild territory, but it also meant he could be in grave danger.

  Luckily for him, he had encountered predators in the wild before, and thus had experience. He knew the best way to deal with predators was intimidation. Only the most desperately hungry beast would attack something that presented itself as too much trouble. He just had to play his cards right, and present himself as an alpha who was not to be trifled with.

  As Bill stood and prepared to put on his best intimidating front, he heard a chattering noise echo through the spires which made his skin crawl. This was a new sound to him, certainly not the sort of noise a mountain lion would make, nor was it the wind howling through the valley.

  This unfamiliar element put Bill even more on edge. Slowly, his eyes scanned the spires around him. His gaze settled on a very large tan boulder sitting on the smooth sandy ground about fifty feet away, though he was not sure why he was noticing it. There were many boulders here. He had passed a dozen like it without any concern.

  Then it struck him that this particular boulder had not been there before.

  The boulder rose off the ground, supported by eight jointed legs as thick as tree trunks. A pair of long pinchers uncurled from beneath it and reached out towards him, snapping angrily. From behind rose a large, curled appendage with a deadly-looking spike at the end that was impossible to mistake for anything but a sting
er.

  Bill froze as recognition kicked in.

  It was a scorpion. At least, it looked like a scorpion. All of the details were unmistakable, yet Bill’s mind refused to accept that this creature really was a scorpion. It was huge, bigger than a school bus, which was supposed to be impossible outside of bad monster movies. Bill remained transfixed by the sight as his rational mind refused to believe what his eyes beheld.

  The scorpion took a step forward, snapping Bill from his stunned trance. He turned tail and ran, his struggle to comprehend now forgotten.

  The scorpion pursued, moving much faster than he expected from something its size. If it did not need to maneuver the spires, the thing might have outpaced him easily. As it was, the scorpion was still gaining on him, and it was likely to catch up soon.

  Frantically, Bill’s eyes scanned the strange valley for something that would either grant him a tactical advantage or provide him an escape. As he searched, he became aware of other giant scorpions, dozens of them, crawling down the steep, craggy walls of the valley. Shock hit him when he realized that the beasts were moving in formation like a pack of wolves. He only spared a moment to realize how strange this was, since scorpions were not pack animals, but any further curious observations were dismissed when he realized in horror that they were all converging on him. They even made adjustments to keep him in their sights as he ran.

  At long last, he spied salvation ahead of him: a cave in the rock face of the largest mountain. The mouth was big, but did not look big enough for the scorpions to follow him through, or so he hoped. Regardless, it was his best bet. He just had to get there before the scorpions crawling down that section of the mountain range got close enough to cut him off. He kicked into high gear, pushing himself to run faster than he had ever run before.

  Dry explosions sounded behind him, and he dared to risk a glance. The first scorpion had been joined by two others, and the exploding sounds were their tails and pinchers striking the ground and spires. Maybe it was just his fear warping his perception, but it seemed like each strike was getting closer to him.