Operation Red Dragon: The Daikaiju Wars: Part One

by Ryan George Collins

  *****

  The docking process went so smoothly that Richard hardly felt any difference from when they were flying.

  As he followed everyone else down the exit ramp, he found himself within a massive golden hangar. Along the walls, arranged in neat little rows, were other small ships similar to the one which had brought them here. Men and women dressed as mechanics – he could not count how many, but he guessed there were likely more than a hundred – scurried about like drones in a beehive, tending to the various ships. He noted a distinct mix of races in the hangar, predominantly skewing towards Asian-looking people.

  Directly before them stood two Japanese men, one of whom took a single step forward. He wore a pristine white military jacket adorned with medals, and a matching cap adorned with gold embroidering. His face showed a few wrinkles, and the hair on his temples was graying slightly, but his eyes shone with the vitality of a young, energetic man; in fact, his eyes seemed to glow in similar fashion to X’s eyes. He stood bolt upright as though his spine were a solid iron rod, and his hands were clasped behind his rigid back. He immediately struck Richard as a very noble, distinguished, proper man.

  The fellow behind him was dressed in khakis and had a distant, unreadable expression on his face. He remained completely motionless. The tightness of his lips and obvious clenching of his jaw made it seem like he was very deliberately keeping his mouth closed.

  X stopped right in front of the well-dressed man. “General Tsujimori,” he said curtly.

  “X,” was the equally-curt reply.

  “Traitor,” X shot back.

  “Freak,” the response.

  “Fascist.”

  “Nationalist.”

  “Slant-eye.”

  “Gaijin dog.”

  How much longer the verbal tennis match might have lasted, and who might have won, was a question that would remain unanswered that day, as the hangar suddenly echoed with a girl’s voice shouting X’s name as excitedly as if he were a member of the Beatles.

  The owner of the voice sprinted across the entire hangar with blinding speed and wrapped her outstretched arms around X’s towering figure like a pair of especially affectionate boa constrictors. Even under the shadow cast by his fedora, everyone could see X’s face turn beet red with embarrassment.

  Richard could not take his eyes off the girl and how strange she looked. She seemed awfully young – if he had to guess, she could not have been much older than twenty – and although she was obviously Japanese, her eyes were large to the point of being cartoonish, and had an odd glow to them similar to X’s and the General’s. Her hair was cropped short and shimmered a rich, deep shade of green, yet the color looked natural as opposed to being dyed or a wig. Oddest of all were the brown canine ears atop her head, and the matching tail that stuck out from beneath her shockingly short skirt. His first instinct was to assume that these attributes were part of a costume, since he had heard that Japan had strange trends in fashion, but as he watched the ears twitch and the tail wag excitedly, he realized – yet still had a hard time accepting – that they were real.

  The girl buried her face in X’s chest, which was as tall as she stood. “Oh, X, I missed you soooooooooooooo much!” she squealed.

  X slowly raised one of his restricted arms at the elbow and patted her awkwardly on the back. “Nice to see you too, Chakra,” he mumbled.

  The girl, Chakra, squealed again, her tail wagging even more furiously, flicking her skirt side to side as it went.

  The well-dressed Japanese officer, whom X had referred to as General Tsujimori, allowed himself a satisfied grin at X’s embarrassment before clearing his throat loudly. “Chakra-chan,” he said, his voice carrying authority. “Why are you not at your post?”

  The authority either did not register with Chakra, or she deliberately ignored it. “I hate watching the radar! It’s boring!” she whined. “Besides, I wanted to get a look at the reporter.” She released X and approached Richard, who was still staring at her. She looked him up and down, then snorted. “Looks like a pansy to me. You Italian?”

  Richard blinked at the strange question and stammered a response. “Huh? Ital-uh… No…”

  “Could’ve fooled me with those linguine arms.” In the blink of an eye, Chakra was back at X’s side, her arms once more wrapped around him, her voice switching back to a tone dripping with affection. “Not like you, X. You’re big and strong and handsome.”

  X swallowed loudly, his stoic expression on the verge of breaking. “Chakra,” he said in a quiet, tense voice as he blinked sweat from his eyes, “there are people watching. As much as I appreciate the affection, could you please tone it down a bit?”

  Chakra slowly slid her arms away so as to maintain contact for as long as possible, and looked up at X with bedroom eyes. “I get it,” she said, her voice adopting a sultry tone. “You want me to save it up for later, when we’re alone.” She walked her fingers up X’s arm. “You save up some of your strength too, stud muffin.” She gently touched the tip of his nose with a playful, “Boop!”

  She strutted away, her hips and tail swaying like a bell in the Notre Dame Cathedral.

  X saw the General smile mockingly. He straightened his now ruffled coat. “You’re just jealous,” he grumbled.

  Richard turned to Nancy. “Who-”

  “That was Chakra,” Nancy replied.

  “She-”

  “-Has dog ears and a tail, yes.”

  “They-”

  “-Are real.”

  “How-”

  “Not now.”

  Why she was not answering became apparent when she pointed at the General, who was now standing right in front of Richard. It was strange, he thought, that this man was being called a general when his attire was that of a navy admiral, but then again, that was most certainly not the strangest thing he had encountered today.

  “Richard Godfrey, I presume?” the General asked.

  When Richard nodded, he continued. “I am General Ishiro Tsujimori of the Glorious Imperial-”

  “Ah-HEM!!!” The sound came from X, who shot the General a dirty look.

  The General sighed. “Formerly of the Japanese Army. You know, back when it still existed.” There was vitriol in the way he spoke the last word. He motioned to the man in khakis. “This is my right hand, Captain Hirata Catigiri.”

  Catigiri bowed, but said nothing.

  “On behalf of the Red Dragon Operation,” Tsujimori continued, “I welcome you aboard the Akira, my flying fortress.”

  “Our flying fortress, if you don’t mind!” X snapped. “Don’t forget that this is an international group, Ishiro.”

  Tsujimori turned to glare at X. “Don’t forget that this ship was designed in Japan.”

  “And built in America.”

  “Well, that wouldn’t have been a problem if we still had a working economy and military, but since we can’t have nice things like some countries…”

  Nancy stepped forward, her hands raised in the hopes of quelling the bickering. “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” she said as if talking to squabbling children. “We can measure which country has a longer peninsula later. Let’s not give our guest the wrong idea. We are a united front, yes?”

  Though the argument ended, Tsujimori and X wore expressions that told of their intent to resume it another day, as they often did. “Anyway,” Tsujimori said, turning back to Richard, “welcome aboard.”

  He offered his hand to shake, and Richard was confused to see it clad in a tight purple rubber glove. As he took the General’s hand, he felt the hair on his arm stand on end. He observed the man carefully as he quickly broke the handshake and left.

  There was static electricity in the air around Tsujimori, though where it was coming from, Richard could not begin to guess.

  “Come on,” Nancy said, pulling him from his thoughts back into the hangar. “I’ll show you to your room. It’s not much, but it’s a place to have all to yourself.”

  Richard noticed som
e of the workers carrying suitcases off the shuttle, and realized they were his. They must have packed his things without him knowing, probably while he had been unconscious. That made it clear he was in this adventure for the long haul, whatever it turned out to be. He may have had no clue where he was or where he was going, but at least he would have some amenities.

  He yawned, suddenly realizing how incredibly tired he was. “Thanks. I could use the rest after a day like this. I definitely need time to process all of this…this weirdness.”

  Nancy smiled. “Oh, Richard, the weirdness is only just starting.”

  Richard had no idea how things could possibly get much stranger, so for the sake of being able to sleep peacefully that night, he chose not to read too deeply into Nancy’s retort. Then again, he was not sure he would be capable of sleeping at all after a day like this.

  When he got to his room, fatigue set in, and he crashed hard onto his bed.

  Thanks to the experimental technology used in its construction, video calls and text messages could be made and received just about anywhere on the Akira, with the exception of toilets and showers, because no call was important enough to interrupt those activities. For calls that fell under Class-A Security – the highest possible level, which only X and General Tsujimori could take (or, in their absence, Nancy and Hirata) – there were specially secured, soundproofed rooms that required passage through sophisticated security systems to access. There was one such room on every deck of the Akira, all located towards the front of the ship.

  These rooms were also incredibly cramped and unbearably hot, as if whoever designed them wanted the occupants to be as uncomfortable as possible. Such was the price of international security, not to mention keeping so many different machines running in such a closed space.

  In such a room, someone was contacting Michael Sun in America, letting him know that Richard Godfrey was aboard the ship. This someone was instructed to keep a close eye on Richard, but to otherwise not interfere just yet.

  Richard Godfrey would likely have to be terminated if he posed a security threat, but not until it was necessary.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Akira flew through the night, passing a small, unremarkable island at around midnight. This island was not on any maps, and being a fairly new landmass, it had no signs of life anywhere upon it.

  Beneath it, however, things were different.

  The bugs had found this island only recently, and their master recognized its value. It was close enough to the larger land masses that travel would be fairly easy, yet far enough away that the tiny human creatures would not be concerned by it until it was far too late.

  This made the close passage of the flying object disturbing.

  Although the others of their kind had encountered it in the past, the bugs did not quite understand what the flying object actually was. Only their master could really comprehend it, but he possessed a mind equal only to a few who walked the Earth. The bugs knew the flying thing was sort of shaped like a log that burned on one end, but logs were not supposed to fly, nor were they supposed to be made of stone. All they knew was that the small human creatures, particularly the dangerous ones, went inside of it to move across the ocean.

  The bugs hated the little human creatures quite passionately. The human creatures were the ones who stood in the way of them reclaiming the Earth. This hatred was something the bugs had in common with their former enemies, the reptiles, and it was enough to warrant an alliance…at least, until the humans were gone.

  If only they were easier to exterminate, the planet would have been reclaimed long ago.

  The flying object passed by without incident. Apparently, the tiny human creatures were as unaware of the bugs’ presence on the island as they had always been.

  Even so, an opportunity had presented itself, and their master refused to let it slip past him.

  The tiny human creatures weren’t the only ones who could fly, after all.

  Chakra was having a very hard time staying awake. Not that there was much reason for her to try. Of all the jobs on the Akira, radar operator was the most boring one she knew. She would take janitor over this any day. At least then she could go wherever she wanted to on the ship, maybe overhear juicy details of people’s lives and covert missions while she pretended to sweep the floor, and occasionally get a buzz from the chemical fumes. But no, she was stuck on the bridge, surrounded by a dozen other men and women seated at their own control panels, far removed from where the exciting stuff would happen.

  That was another part of the problem. Everyone else on the bridge was actually doing something that kept the Akira flying. Chakra, meanwhile, was just sitting there, surrounded by the bridge’s gold-colored walls that created the illusion of soft light, watching a glowing line swirling around a dark green circle over and over and over and over, waiting for things that weren’t guaranteed to even show up.

  Any idiot could do this stupid job. She wanted to do more. By rights, she should have been doing more. She had been designed to do more.

  Not helping her exasperation was how tired she was. She loved X enough to have married him not long after they first met, and she loved the nights they spent together, but sometimes those nights saw the two of them staying up very late, and she had to be at this boring post really early in the morning. She had hardly gotten any sleep, and she was paying for it now by drifting in and out of consciousness at her post.

  She smiled as she thought back to the previous night, and a happy sigh passed through her lips. Despite her frustration, it had definitely been worth it.

  Though she did not remember falling asleep, a light bleeping noise worked its way into Chakra’s sensitive canine ears and woke her. She snorted, shook her head – an action that, in true canine fashion, traveled down her body and exited through her tail – and wiped the drool from her chin and the radar screen. Chakra was many things, but a graceful sleeper was not one of them.

  Indeed, there was a blip on the radar, some fifty nautical miles away, closing in fast. It registered as a bright shade of lime green against the dark tint of the screen.

  Then another blip appeared beside it.

  And another.

  And another.

  Within seconds, there were too many to count.

  She checked the signatures. They all came back green.

  Chakra smiled in spite of herself as her tail wagged. She knew from countless prior experiences that the blips were enemy targets who had every intention of attacking and destroying the ship, but that meant action. There were too many for the Akira to deal with, even with all of its weaponry. The ship would easily be overwhelmed by the encroaching swarm.

  That meant X and the General would have to take care of the attack.

  Maybe she could join them this time.

  She slammed her fist on the large red button beside her station, setting off the warning klaxons, and switched on her intercom microphone. “Incoming bogies at eight o’clock!” she exclaimed in a chipper tone that contrasted starkly with the approaching danger. “Signatures confirmed green! ETA ten minutes! Charge cannons, or else we’ll all die horribly! Those of us who can, at least!”

  With that, she leapt from her seat and ran off the bridge before anyone could stop her. Not that Chakra abandoning the radar came as a surprise to anyone. She did this all the time. Despite how reckless it was for her to do, especially in an emergency, the bridge crew had gotten used to it. Whoever was sitting next to her usually wound up covering her post in addition to his own. That she kept doing this without any serious repercussions did not endear Chakra to many of the bridge crew, but they knew nothing was to be done about it either.

  Chakra ran as fast as she could through the Akira’s winding halls, knowing exactly where she was headed. If she made it in time, maybe X would let her join the fight. If not, she would probably wind up stuck on one of the observation decks again.

  Either way, she had no intention of missing this.

  At firs
t, Richard thought the blaring klaxon was being made by his alarm clock, and he would wake up in his apartment in Oregon and realize that whole experience with those Red Dragon people had been nothing more than a crazy dream fueled by something strange he had eaten last night.

  He dispelled this thought rather quickly. The klaxon was far too loud to be his regular clock, and once the sleep had been rubbed from his eyes, the room he found himself in was neither his hotel room nor his parent’s house, but the single cabin Nancy had brought him to.

  So it definitely was not a dream, and he still had no clue what he had found himself roped into.

  Though a still small voice in the back of his mind was screaming at him to act with urgency, since klaxons usually signified danger of an immediate nature, he rose slowly and groggily, more annoyed by the noise than anything else. He had no idea what the klaxons meant. Maybe it was a regular function of the ship. For all he knew, it was an alarm clock, a way to make sure the crew had no choice but to be awake for duty.

  Richard looked out the small round window beside his cot. The sun was just starting to peek above the horizon. He groaned. Even supposing that this was a military vessel, what could possibly be so important on the ship that it required everyone to be up at the literal crack of dawn?

  His eyes adjusted, and he saw movement. Dozens of tiny dots, visible even in the dim light, floating through the air, growing slowly bigger, like distant objects drawing nearer.

  He rubbed his eyes again. The dots did not vanish, but continued to grow. So it was not an illusion caused by bleariness. Whatever they were, they were real.

  To Richard, it looked like they were flying in formation.

  With that realization, Richard snapped wide awake. Klaxons plus objects flying in formation almost certainly meant action of some sort.

  He leapt from his bed and ran for the door, not even bothering to change out of his pajamas. That would just waste time, and if something big was about to happen, he had to be there. Journalism took precedence over fresh clothing and fashion sense.