Hell of a way to get started.
Rear Admiral (Lower Half) Tom Dunston let out a long breath as he stared at the mirror in his cabin onboard the USS Eisenhower. The carrier strike group – his carrier strike group – had barely been at sea a week when they'd been ordered to Trinidad and Tobago. The fear at the Pentagon was that General Moscoso finally lost what little sanity he possessed and blew up a cruise ship and more than a thousand civilians. Dunston didn't even get a chance to get his feet wet as carrier strike group commander and already they had him in the middle of an international crisis.
This is what you wanted, isn't it? This was why he'd worked so hard to become an air group commander, then executive officer, then captain of his own carrier. He'd put in time at the Naval War College, even let his marriage disintegrate, just so he could one day command his own carrier strike group. More than half-a-dozen ships, nearly a hundred aircraft, roughly 7,000 men and women. All under his command.
And now he was leading them into harm's way.
Dunston shook off the worries. He'd led sailors and airmen in crisis situations. In the First Gulf War, Bosnia, Afghanistan, the Iraq War. Granted, he'd never led them in a force this big. But it shouldn't be too difficult. Even the great Chinese military strategist Sun Tzu once said, "The control of a large force is the same in principle as the control of a few men. It is merely a question of dividing up their numbers."
He could do this. If he didn't want to be in the thick of the action, he would have tried to get some cushy job at the Pentagon and spend his days reading reports and playing golf.
No, Dunston was where he needed to be, where he wanted to be. If the Venezuelans wanted to try anything, as a famous wrestler once said, they could, "Just bring it!" His one carrier strike group had enough firepower to annihilate the entire Venezuelan navy and air force, and have plenty let over to hit their major bases and command and control facilities.
He checked out his stocky frame in the mirror, patting his gut. His paunch had gotten a little bigger over the past couple of months. Time to start hitting the gym, and the Ike had a gym as good as any civilian health club.
Dunston got a towel from the head, grabbed his gym bag, and walked for the hatch.
That's when the phone near his bed rang.
"Yes?" he answered it.
"Sir, it's Captain Patterson," came the baritone voice the group's sea combat commander. "We've received a message from the Bradley." He referred to the Robert G. Bradley, their anti-submarine warfare frigate. "They've picked up a large sonar contact headed our way."
"Submarine?"
"Unknown, Sir."
"All right. I'm on my way to CIC."
Dunston hung up the phone and quickly changed into his uniform. He strode through the metal corridors, adrenaline surging through his veins. Something was about to go down, he could feel it.
"Admiral on deck," announced Patterson, a stout, intense-looking black man, as Dunston entered the red lit Combat Information Center.
"At ease," Dunston replied as he glanced around the multitude of consoles and wall monitors. "Report."
"Bradley is currently tracking an unknown sub-surface contact, twenty-five miles west of our position and closing."
Dunston nodded. "Sound general quarters throughout the battle group. Get Bradley's commander on the horn."
The klaxon blared through the CIC, along with the announcement. "General quarters, general quarters. All personnel, man your battle stations. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill."
Dunston looked up at one of the HD monitors on the bulkhead of the CIC, noting the disposition of his strike group. Currently they had two combat air patrols up, each with a pair of F/A-18 Super Hornets. Two ASW Seahawk helicopters also prowled the sea around them. His gaze moved to another monitor, this one linked to an E-2C Hawkeye AWACS plane. Its APS-145 radar covered the air space all the way down to Venezuela. The few aircraft they had up did not venture past the coastline. He also didn't see any Venezuelan navy vessels within striking distance.
"Admiral." Patterson handed him a phone.
He took it and put it to his ear. "Admiral Dunston here."
"Sir, Captain Haddock," replied the skipper of the Bradley.
"What can you tell me about this sub-surface contact?"
"We're still trying to identify it. Our estimates put it between seventy and eighty meters."
Dunston nodded. "That sounds like a sub to me. Have you identified the type?"
"That's the thing, Admiral. Sonar isn't picking up any kind of engine noises. Not only that, but it's traveling upwards of fifty knots."
"Fifty knots?" Dunston made no attempt to keep the surprise out of his voice. No submarine on Earth could travel that fast. "Are you sure?"
"Positive, Admiral. One of our Seahawks is en route to intercept. I can patch through an audio and video feed to your CIC."
"Do it."
"Yes, Sir."
Within seconds a shot of the ocean from the Forward-Looking Infra-Red nose camera of Bradley's Seahawk helicopter appeared on one of the CIC's monitors.
"Feed received. Thank you, Captain. Dunston out."
He hung up the phone and watched green-hued water flash by on the monitor.
"Sonobouys deployed," radioed the pilot. "Sorrento, you got anything?"
Dunston presumed the pilot was talking to one of the sensor operators.
"Contact bearing one-six-five. Speed fifty knots. Torpedoes armed and ready to fire."
Dunston scowled for a second, cursing the rules of engagement set by Washington. They couldn't fire unless fired upon, no matter how threatening their opponent looked. And right now, this looked like a very threatening opponent.
"Contact approaching the surface," reported the sensor operator. "Forty meters . . . thirty meters . . . twenty. My God, this thing is big."
"Is it a sub?"
"Negative. No sounds of ballast tanks blowing. I'm picking . . . something."
"Be more specific, Sorrento," the pilot demanded.
"I don't know. Some kind of high-pitched noise. Can't make out -"
The water exploded beneath the Seahawk.
Several gasps echoed through the CIC. Dunston's eyes widened when he saw the reptilian head filling the camera. An angry, trumpeting roar blasted over the speakers.
"Oh my God!" cried the pilot. "Oh my-"
The image shook, then turned to static.
XXXXX
Ulljrex let a smile creep across his human mask. Elation filled him as he looked upon the floating three dimensional image of Titanosaurus and the US fleet, compiled by the small nanobot sensors that laced the monster's hide.
"There!" General Moscoso shouted behind him. "There's one of their ships. Sink it! Kill the damn Americans."
Even Moscoso's usual overdramatic yelling couldn't spoil his mood. How could it? He was about to kill humans. A lot of humans.
Ulljrex tapped a few of the touch sensitive screens on his panel. He watched as Titanosaurus let out another roar and propelled through the sea. Just a handful of human miles away sailed one of the Americans' knife-like ships, its center dominated by superstructures and communications and sensor masts. Titanosaurus' sensors identified it. The USS Robert G. Bradley, an Oliver Hazard Perry-class frigate.
The ship turned right as Titanosaurus approached. Puffs of smoke erupted all along its length. Tracers and shells from its Phalanx gatling guns and 76mm cannon streaked through the air. Clouds of orange and black burst across Titanosaurus' body.
The monster didn't slow down.
The Bradley continued its barrage, even as Titanosaurus towered over it. It unleashed a roar and brought down a massive, clawed hand. The Bradley snapped in two like a twig. Titanosaurus swiped at it again. The superstructure exploded into metal splinters. A third strike resulted in a fireball tearing through the ruined ship's fore section. Probably munitions detonating.
"Yes, Titanosaurus!" Ulljrex shook a triumphant fist in front of him, while Moscoso roared with laughter. "Forward. Destroy the rest of the human ships."
"The carrier!" Moscoso shouted. "I wanted to see their precious carrier ripped to pieces."
"It will happen soon enough, General." Ulljrex didn't look at the human. All his attention was on Titanosaurus as he plowed through the sea.
Four dots appeared in the air. F/A-18 Hornet fighters. Jet-propelled, restricted to inside the atmosphere, a top speed of around Mach Two.
He laughed inwardly at the thought humans considered these things advanced.
Fiery orange trails shot out from under the Hornets' wings. Harpoon anti-ship missiles, all headed for Titanosaurus. The human planes banked away from the approaching monster. The six missiles neared Titanosaurus, who just roared and continued through the water.
Fireballs blossomed across the monster's chest. It let out an angry roar and continued forward.
The Hornets circled round, diving and firing their cannons. Tracers struck Titanosaurus' head and neck. It roared again and lunged into the air, lashing out with its arm. One of the Hornets shattered into a thousand little pieces.
The Eisenhower lay just a few miles away. More missiles streaked through the air, Tomahawks and Harpoons from the cruiser Normandy and the destroyer Forrest Sherman. More fireballs exploded lit up Titanosaurus' body. Ulljrex guided him toward the Normandy. The cruiser launched more missiles and fired every gun it had. He quickly scanned a sensor readout. What little damage the human weapons caused was quickly repaired by the nanobots.
Ulljrex smiled, then ordered Titanosaurus to halt.
"Why did he stop?" blurted Moscoso. "Keep going! Destroy that ship!"
"He will, General. But this time, we will give the humans a surprise. We will show them a weapon Titanosaurus did not have the last time they saw him."
Ulljrex ordered the monster to raise its right arm and aim it at the Normandy. It continued to fire its missiles and guns, to no avail. He smiled and tapped one of the control screens.
Three of Titanosaurus' talons shot off his fingers, just like the claw missiles of Mechagodzilla. While they contained no explosive warheads, the electromagnetic currents generated by the nanobots propelled them forward at speeds in excess of Mach Ten.
The front half of Normandy completely disintegrated. An evil, flaming cloud of orange and black consumed what remained of the cruiser as its missiles and shells detonated.
Ulljrex softly chuckled, imagining the fear the humans must be feeling right now. One of their most advanced warships had been annihilated in the blink of an eye. For a moment, he expected the remaining vessels to turn and run away.
Not that he would let them escape.
But that didn't happen. The destroyer Forrest Sherman kept up its attack, firing guns and launching missiles. Titanosaurus roared and swung round to face it. The nanobots had already constructed new talons to replace the ones that had been fired. Those new ones flashed through the air and tore apart the Sherman.
Ulljrex sent out another command, guiding Titanosaurus east, toward its primary target. The USS Eisenhower.
XXXXX
Dunston wanted to run, and scream, even cry. Never in his life had he been so scared. The missiles and Triple A fired at him in the Gulf War and over Bosnia was nothing compared to the unstoppable monster he saw on the monitor.
Another Harpoon fired from an F/A-18 hit Titanosaurus' shoulder and exploded. The monster barely noticed it.
Tremors of terror raced up Dunston's legs, then took over the rest of his body. Sweat covered his face. He looked around at the other personnel in the CIC. More than a few had ceased their duties and gaped at the monitor as Titanosaurus drew closer to the Eisenhower.
"Are we still transmitting all this to Southern Command?" he asked, hoping to get the men and women in here to refocus on their jobs, and to try and shove aside his fear.
"Yes, Sir," Patterson answered.
"Good. Alert all aircraft and weapons operators. Tell them to aim for Titanosaurus' eyes. Maybe we can blind the ugly bastard."
"Yes, Sir." Patterson's response didn't sound as confident as Dunston would have liked. Then again, he seriously doubted that would work. But better to do something with a slim chance of success than just sit here and wait to die.
A sleek, knife-shaped vessel crossed in front of Titanosaurus' path. The Mahan, and Arleigh Burke-class destroyer, and the last surface escort of the Eisenhower group still afloat. Fiery contrails rose from its missile launchers and arced over toward the monster. Flashes from numerous guns flickered up and down Mahan's length. Tracers and explosions peppered Titanosaurus. A few struck its head. The monster shook it off kept going.
Dunston swallowed. How could this be possible? Titanosaurus had died more than 30 years ago, killed by Godzilla.
He then remembered how the alien Simbaaku had controlled the monster. Could they have returned and resurrected Titanosaurus? If so, what did that mean for the world?
Horrified gasps ripped through the CIC. Dunston watched as Titanosaurus reached down and grabbed the Mahan. He then lifted it out of the water. Dunston expected the monster to crush it in his hands, as easily as a man would crush an empty tissue box.
Instead it held on to the destroyer and made a beeline toward the Eisenhower.
Dunston stood silent. What orders could he issue? Ike was already at its top speed of 31 knots. The carrier was launching a steady stream of Sea Sparrow and RIM-116 surface-to-air missiles at Titanosaurus. Not that they did any good.
The beast kept coming. Three hundred meters. Two hundred. One hundred. It continued to hold the Mahan.
Dunston clutched the back of the nearest chair, steadying himself as his legs shook. He wished he had the chance to call his son and daughter and apologize for being such a neglectful father.
Titanosaurus swam alongside the Eisenhower. It lifted the destroyer it carried over its head and roared.
Dunston closed his eyes.
I failed.
XXXXX
Ulljrex chuckled as Titanosaurus brought down the destroyer and used it to impale the Eisenhower. The pointed bow smashed through the flight deck. Titanosaurus drove it deeper into the bowels of the carrier. Gushers of flame shot up from both ships as fuel and missiles and shells exploded. Enormous gashes spread across the Eisenhower. More explosions went off. The carrier broke in two, its bow and stern both rising in the air.
General Moscoso howled with laughter. For once, Ulljrex didn't mind.
"See!" the human screamed. "See! You Americans thought you were invincible. I have proven you are not. All your great ships were smashed as easily as I could crush a grape."
Ulljrex growled to himself. You have proven, General? All the mud-sucking human had done was stand around and scream and laugh like a lunatic. He and his fellow Simbaaku had destroyed the American ships. Without them, Moscoso would be another so-called human leader making boastful speeches without the power to back them up.
Once the shattered remains of Eisenhower and Mahan slipped beneath the water, Ulljrex guided Titanosaurus fifty miles north, where the Truman carrier strike group sailed. No doubt warned of the monster by the doomed Eisenhower group, Truman's escort ships formed a defensive line to protect the fleeing carrier. They bombarded Titanosaurus with missiles and shells, aided by squadrons of F/A-18 Hornets.
Titanosaurus smashed through them all. He eventually caught up to Truman and tore apart the carrier.
Moscoso went crazy with joy. Ulljrex even found himself laughing louder than before. As he gazed at the wreckage of the Truman group, and thought about the Eisenhower group's destruction, he recalled a witticism he came across during his research on human culture. "What do you call a hundred lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? A good start."
If a hundred humans at the bottom of the ocean was a good start, then 14,000 had to be a very, very good start.
But it is just a start.
Ulljrex sent another signal to Titanosaurus. The monster dove under the water and swam south.
Toward Trinidad and Tobago.
TO BE CONTINUED