Titanosaurus fell onto the remains of the convention center, flames and smoke billowing from his chest. Millions of nanobots converged on the damaged area, covering over burned flesh with new skin.
The alien-controlled monster roared and struggled to sit up. Godzilla's tail whipped around and clubbed the side of Titanosaurus' head. He rolled over two city blocks, crushing buildings and vehicles.
Titanosaurus pushed himself to his feet. Godzilla charged and smashed into him. Arms flailing, Titanosaurus stumbled backwards. He crashed through Minute Maid Park, shattering the third base side grandstands and destroying part of the beige brick wall in left field.
Godzilla roared and rushed up to Titanosaurus. He kicked the monster in the side and sent him soaring into right field. The stands and retractable dome exploded in a cloud of plastic and metal. Titanosaurus struck the ground and rolled over several buildings before coming to a stop at Franklin Street. Godzilla crouched and leapt over the ruins of Minute Maid Park. He crashed down on Titanosaurus, driving him through the street. Gaslines ruptured. Fireballs shot into the air all around the monsters. Godzilla roared and stomped on his foe. Titanosaurus swatted at his leg, ripping off chunks of skin. Godzilla ignored it and brought down his foot on Titanosaurus' chest, again and again.
The fallen monster reached up and grabbed Godzilla's foot. He pushed, sending his adversary flying backwards. Tremors shook downtown Houston when Godzilla struck the ground.
Titanosaurus rose and turned his back to Godzilla. He swung his tail back and forth. Godzilla fought a losing battle to get to his feet against the hurricane-force winds. Chunks of wrecked buildings pounded his thick green hide.
Titanosaurus spun around. His tail settled. The winds stopped. He roared and charged Godzilla. The other monster tried to get up when Titanosaurus buried a foot in his gut.
XXXXX
"Yes . . . Yes!" Ulljrex's fingers stabbed at the controls in front of him. "Kill him. Kill Godzilla once and for all."
"Commander."
"What?" Ulljrex turned to a tall Simbaaku to his left.
"The American President has contacted us," reported Fikduth. "He wishes for us to cease our attack on Houston before more, in his words, innocent life is lost."
Ulljrex growled. "I don't care what that spineless mud-eater wants. Ignore him. I have a city to destroy, and an Earth monster to kill."
"Commander Ulljrex," said the other Simbaaku in the control room, Murpel. "The marines from Puerto Cabello report they are unable to break through the enemy force holding the access road."
Ulljrex's disgust grew. By all accounts, the enemy numbered anywhere between 50 and 80. The Venezuelans had well over a thousand marines at Puerto Cabello. Yet they couldn't defeat the vermin sitting on that road? How incompetent were these Venezuelan humans?
Now more than ever, he regretted having to forge an alliance with Moscoso's worthless nation.
Speaking of Moscoso . . .
Ulljrex spotted the fool standing near a monitor showing the frigate Almirante Brion and two POVZEE-class patrol boats converging on four ships making for Caracas. Four ships that, according to all reports, were moving at barely ten knots, and had not fired a single shot at the Venezuelan capital.
Very suspicious.
"General. Order your ships to return to Puerto Cabello at once. I also want you to have every warplane currently airborne redirected here."
Moscoso swung around to face him, his face ablaze. "What? Are you mad? They're invading my capital!"
"No they are not. It is a deception, to draw your ships and jets away from here."
"A deception?" Moscoso threw his arms out to his sides. "Dozens of explosions have gone off throughout Caracas. Government buildings and military bases are in flames."
"Those reports are exaggerated."
"I will not allow my enemies to take my capital!" Moscoso stomped toward Ulljrex. The general's two bodyguards tensed, the grips on their Uzis tightening.
"Who will take your capital? The Americans? Their country is fractured and in turmoil. The Russian and Chinese humans are too far away to launch an invasion this quickly, as is NATO. And even humans are not brainless enough to invade another country with just four ships. This must be the work of the Trinidadians and their mercenaries. Caracas is a feint. This," Ulljrex pointed to the floor, "is their true objective. Now order those ships and aircraft here at once."
"You do not give me orders! I rule this country! And those ships and planes are staying in Caracas! Now go back and make your monster kill Godzilla before I have you shot!"
Rage exploded like a supernova inside Ulljrex. He held Moscoso in his burning gaze. Did this mud-eater dare to threaten him?
"Fikduth. Murpel." Ulljrex spoke in a deliberate tone and nodded toward Moscoso's bodyguards.
The two Simbaaku nodded. In a flash they were on their feet, laser pistols raised. The bodyguards managed to lift their Uzis a few inches before blue beams sliced through their chests. Moscoso watched, mouth agape, as they crumpled to the floor.
"Wha . . . What is the meaning of -"
The general turned and looked down the barrel of Ulljrex's laser pistol.
"Understand this, General. I don't care about your damn capital, not at all. This base is the only thing that matters to me and my race, and you will defend it with every resource at your disposal."
Moscoso's jaw quivered. Sweat broke out all over his face. Ulljrex resisted the urge to smile. Here was a human who spent his entire life threatening and killing others. But when someone threatened him, he trembled in fear.
General Moscoso was nothing but a coward.
"You . . . You cannot kill me. You need me. Without me you will ne-"
Ulljrex squeezed the trigger. Moscoso stiffened, smoking holes in his forehead and the back of his skull. His lifeless body teetered, then fell to the floor.
"It appears, General, that you are wrong." Ulljrex grinned as he stared at Moscoso's corpse. He then looked over to Murpel. "Tell the Venezuelan ships and aircraft around Caracas to head to Puerto Cabello immediately. In addition, order all Venezuelan army units based in Caracas to report here. I want those damn mercenaries and their friends annihilated."
"Yes, Commander. What if they question the orders?"
"Tell them they come directly from General Moscoso, and that they will be shot if they do not obey."
"Yes, Commander."
As Murpel issued the orders, Ulljrex took one last look at Moscoso's body. He had hoped to keep the general around a little while longer, at least until the entire planet was under their control. Not that it mattered. The Venezuelans would take their orders from him now. And if they had problems with that, they could take it up with Titanosaurus.
XXXXX
The Simbaaku just got his laser pistol out of its holster when Ruffin tackled him. They both went to the floor. Gunfire erupted around him. He saw the pistol clattering to the other side of the corridor. Ruffin rolled alongside the Simbaaku and drove the point of his elbow into his face. One, two, three times. The alien's head lolled from side-to-side. A soft moan escaped his lips.
Ruffin checked down the corridor. Two Venezuelan marines and another Simbaaku lay dead, a pool of blood forming around the alien's head. Ruffin scrambled to all fours and straddled the surviving Simbaaku.
"Best. Take some men and cover the stairwell," he ordered as he Duct Taped the alien's wrists.
"Yes, Sir."
Ruffin didn't watch the former sergeant major exit the corridor. Instead he pulled out his KA-BAR knife and slapped the Simbaaku a couple of times.
"Wake up, asshole."
The Simbaaku blinked and looked up at him.
"What's your name?"
"P-Pelgret."
"Okay, Pelgret, here's how it's gonna work. I ask you a question, you answer. Simple enough, huh?"
"I turn my back on you, human slime."
Ruffin shrugged. He assumed that to be a really bad insult for Simbaaku. "Go ahead and turn your back on me, so long as you answer -"
Muffled gunfire came from the stairwell.
"It appears we have company," said Fetisov.
Ruffin ground his teeth. His eyes narrowed at Pelgret. "Okay, I don't have time to be nice." He flashed the blade of his KA-BAR in front of the alien's face. "Where's the control room for Titanosaurus located?"
"Eat mud!"
He moved the blade closer to Pelgret's forehead. "You know what scalping is? American Indian tribes used to do it in the Nineteenth Century during the wars out west. They took a little off the top, if you know what I mean. Now, where is the control room for Titanosaurus located?"
Ruffin pressed the blade against the top of Pelgret's head.
The alien tensed. "You won't do this. You can't. You American humans have rules against torturing prisoners of war. It's in that Geneva Convention, and your country signed it."
"I don't work for the US Government any more, and since the survival of my species is on the line, I don't give a shit about the Geneva Convention."
The gunfire in the stairwell grew louder.
"Answer my question!"
"Eat mud!"
Ruffin grabbed a handful of the Simbaaku's hair. He moved the blade back and forth. Pelgret cried out as blood seeped from his scalp. Skin and hair pealed away. Ruffin felt a stab of nausea. This wasn't something he ever imagined doing. Mutilation was what psychopaths did. But weighed against the live of six billion people, his sensibilities didn't mean jack.
He continued sawing. Pelgret continued screaming.
"Fifth Floor! It's on the Fifth Floor!"
Ruffin withdrew the knife. "Where on the Fifth Floor?"
"At the end of the corridor. But it will be guarded. You'll never get in there."
"Trust me, we will. Now, how many of you Simbaaku are here?"
"Six. There were six of us left from our original mission."
Ruffin nodded. With the one nearby dead and another Simbaaku floating in the underground dock, they were down to four.
"Did you send a message to the rest of the Simbaaku about what you're doing here?"
"No. Our subspace communicators were destroyed along with our ship. We were going to use one of your primitive radio telescopes to send a message once Godzilla was dead and the Earth under our control."
A brief wave of relief swept through Ruffin. At least he didn't have to worry about an armada of Simbaaku ships headed for Earth.
"Thanks."
Ruffin got to his feet. Fetisov came over to him and whispered, "What do we do about this one?" He nodded down to Pelgret.
Ruffin looked at the alien. Hiding him in a room or closet was a risk. Someone could find him, and he'd spill the beans on them and rejoin the fight. And considering all the trouble the Simbaaku have caused Earth, he didn't want a single one of these cocksuckers walking around his planet.
He caught sight of the laser pistol lying on the floor. He picked it up and examined it.
"Let's see if those suits of theirs are laserproof, too."
Ruffin pointed the laser pistol at Pelgret and pulled the trigger.
It refused to budge.
Pelgret chuckled. "The trigger has a biometric sensor. It only works for Simbaaku. You can't use it to kill me."
Ruffin scowled, then threw away the laser pistol. "That's okay. There are other ways to kill you."
He brought up his MP5 and fired a three-round burst. Pelgret's head exploded in a mass of brains and blood. Part of him felt troubled at killing a bound, unarmed man, or alien. But the Simbaaku wanted to conquer his world, and probably wipe out the human race. In a war for survival, normal rules went out the window.
Ruffin turned to the others. "The control room's on the Fifth Floor. C'mon!"
XXXXX
"Explosions from the direction of the Nelson! Nelson is hit. Repeat, Nelson is hit."
Invisible icy fingers clutched Borgman's chest when he heard the report from Sergeant Mickers. Nelson had been tasked as the main troop transport for the Trinidadian soldiers, and would evacuate them and the American paratroopers upon completion of the mission. Without it, they could be stuck in Venezuela.
Borgman shoved those concerns aside. He had to deal with the submarine.
"Vector the helicopter on the submarine's position. I want that thing taken out."
"Yes, Captain," replied the anti-submarine warfare officer, Lieutenant van der Bij.
"Enemy submarine bearing zero-nine-nine, fourteen hundred meters," announced Mickers. "Contact identified as Type 209-class."
Borgman nodded, quickly recalling what he knew about that type of sub. German design from the early-to-mid 1970s. Complement of 36, up to 22 knots submerged, and eight bow-mounted torpedo tubes. Old, but still very effective.
"Two more torpedo tubes opening," Mickers called out. "They've fired! Two enemy torpedoes, bearing one-zero-one, twelve hundred meters and closing."
"Deploy Nixie," Borgman ordered as he grabbed the phone for the bridge.
"Captain to bridge."
"Bridge."
"Hard to starboard, flank speed. Two enemy torpedoes bearing one-zero-one, twelve hundred meters and closing."
"Hard to starboard, flank speed, aye," came the reply from the bridge.
Borgman felt van Speijk slew to the right. Lieutenant van der Bij reported that the AN/SLQ-25 Nixie had been deployed. The towed anti-torpedo counter-measures device flooded the water with false ship sounds that, hopefully, would draw the torpedoes away from their ship.
"Enemy torpedoes one thousand meters and closing," announced Mickers. "Nine hundred meters . . . eight hundred meters."
"The chopper has a fix on the enemy sub," reported van der Bij. "Releasing torpedo."
"Enemy torpedoes seven hundred meters and closing."
"Captain, Bridge," Borgman said into the phone.
"Bridge here."
"Hard to port."
"Hard to port, aye."
Borgman gripped the nearest console as van Speijk made a tight left turn.
"Five hundred meters and closing," said Mickers. "Torpedo One is turning away from us. It's going for the Nixie."
"And Torpedo Two?" asked Borgman.
Mickers paused, pressing a hand against one of his headphones and staring at the electronic green waterfall image on his sonar screen. "Still on an intercept course with us. Bearing one-three-eight, three hundred meters and closing."
Nausea burned Borgman's stomach. His heartbeat filled his ears as he gripped the phone tighter.
"Captain, Bridge."
"Bridge here."
"Hard to starboard on my mark."
"Hard to starboard on your mark, aye."
Mickers called out the shrinking distance between van Speijk and the torpedo. "Two hundred-fifty meters . . . two hundred meters . . . one hundred-fifty meters."
Borgman held his breath, trying not to shake.
"One hundred meters . . . ninety me-"
"Mark! Mark! Mark!"
"Hard to starboard!"
Borgman leaned with the sharp turn. He tensed, praying for the torpedo to miss, while bracing for impact at the same time.
"Fifty meters . . . forty . . . thirty . . . Torpedo Two veering to port. I think it was fooled by the Nixie. Torpedo Two has passed behind us, continuing straight."
Several sighs of relief rippled through the CIC. Borgman had to resist adding his own to the mix. As captain he had an image to maintain.
"Sub-surface detonation," said Mickers. "Bearing one-four-seven, thirteen hundred meters out. I have hull-popping noises. Enemy submarine destroyed. Repeat, enemy submarine destroyed."
Borgman allowed the tension to drain from him, but only for a few seconds. "Sonar, stay alert. The Venezuelans still have one more sub left."
"Aye, Captain," Mickers replied.
"Any word from the Nelson?"
"The helicopter reports Nelson broke in two and sank," stated Lieutenant van Lente, the communications officer.
"Any word of survivors?" asked Borgman.
"Negative."
Have the chopper search the area where the Nelson went down. Also, vector the Trinidadian patrol boats to that location."
"Aye, Captain," said van Lente.
Borgman checked the monitor with the hacked CIA satellite feed. Tracers flickered back and forth through the darkened forest as the American and Trinidadian soldiers engaged the Venezuelan marines. They needed to resume their bombardment or else –
"Captain! Multiple aerial contacts inbound!"
XXXXX
Lieutenant McGlothen ducked down behind the shell crater and slapped a fresh magazine into his M4. He rose, drew a bead on a muzzle flash and fired. He had no idea if he hit the marine or not.
Tracers flashed through the darkness non-stop. The roar of gunfire enveloped the area. Dozens of marines advanced through the trees, taking advantage of the lull in van Speijk's shelling. McGlothen prayed the Dutch frigate took care of that submarine soon.
What if the sub gets them?
He tried not to think about that.
Mortars and anti-tank rockets exploded among the Venezuelans. Unfortunately, the Venezuelans had mortars and anti-tank rockets of their own, as evidenced by the burning wreckage of the captured EE-11, the twisted .50 caliber machine gun, and the smoldering corpse of the paratrooper who had manned it.
The contrail of another anti-tank rocket streaked from the American/Trinidadian lines and burst in the forest. Two marines flew through the air and crashed into the ground.
McGlothen bit his lip. They were running out of rounds for both their rocket launchers and mortars, and there would be no one to resupply them. The Venezuelans, however, could get more rockets and bombs back at Puerto Cabello about ten miles from here.
He squeezed off a couple of bursts. Those commando guys better knock out that control room quick. We need to get the Hell out of Dodge.
"Lieutenant," Corporal Spillman, the radioman, called to him. "I've got Air Guard planes twenty miles out. They want to know if we need air support."
"Tell 'em hell yeah we need air support. Kellan."
A tall paratrooper with a grenade launcher under the barrel of his M4 slid over the McGlothen. "Yes, Sir."
"I want one green flare on each side of the road, seventy yards out."
"You got it, Sir."
Kellan shoved a flare cartridge into his grenade launcher, aimed to the left of the road, and fired. Seconds later he shot another flare to the right of the road.
"Spillman. Tell the pilots everything east of those flares is hostile. Hose 'em down."
"Yes, Sir." Spillman repeated the instructions to the inbound pilots.
McGlothen soon heard the roar of propellers overhead. He looked up and saw a Trinidadian C-26 Metroliner, one of the planes that attacked El Libertador Air Base, fly overhead. The twin-engine plane dipped its left wing. Tracers streaked down from its windows and laced the Venezuelan ranks. Less than a minute later a second C-26 arrived and strafed the enemy.
While McGlothen was happy for the extra firepower, he knew those light machine guns the Trinidadian planes carried didn't back the punch needed to fully stop the Venezuelan advance. He wished he could call on an AC-130 Spectre gunship with its 25mm and 40mm cannons and 105mm howitzer.
He also wished he had his entire regiment here.
While he was at it, he also wished he was married to Carrie Underwood.
None of those things were going to happen. As Chief Briggs told them back at Piarco Airport, they had to rely on whatever was available.
The C-26s returned for a second strafing run. McGlothen popped a fresh magazine into his M4 when they came in for a third run.
That's when he saw a reddish line streaking through the night sky.
What the hell's that?
He swallowed a breath when the realization hit him.
"Spillman! Warn the pilots! There's a missile on -"
A thunderous crash erupted above him. He looked up and saw one of the C-26s tumble toward the ground in flames.
Seconds later another missile turned the other C-26 into a fireball.
"Holy shit!" Spillman gaped at the burning remains of the Trinidadian plane falling to earth.
McGlothen noticed another reddish glow in the sky. Not a missile contrail. This came from the exhaust of two engines, which silhouetted twin tails and swept wings.
It was a Venezuelan SU-30 jet fighter, and it was diving at them.
"Geddown!" McGlothen shouted. "Everybody down!"
He crouched down in the crater as the SU-30 opened up with its 30mm cannon.
XXXXX
Titanosaurus roared and drove a knee into Godzilla's back. He then grabbed the monster by one of its plates, lifted it up, and slammed it into the ground. Asphalt and earth collapsed around Godzilla. Titanosaurus roared and stomped on his foe's head. Godzilla growled and tried to push himself up. Titanosaurus stomped on his head again.
Signals from the Simbaaku nearly two thousand miles away directed Titanosaurus to a nearby building. The monster ripped it off its foundation and pushed it forward. The steel and glass skyscraper slammed down on Godzilla. A gigantic cloud of dust and debris erupted and spread throughout downtown Houston.
Titanosaurus reared back its head and unleashed a triumphant roar.
That's when a rumbling came from the cloud. Titanosaurus stood his ground, eyes locked on the mass of brown.
A green head with a stubby reptilian snout poked through the dark cloud. Godzilla shook his head, then roared and stomped toward Titanosaurus.
Titanosaurus roared back and brought up its right hand. He aimed the four kinetic-charged claws at Godzilla's heart.
TO BE CONTINUED