Chapter 12: Mothra's March.
Following the German's crushing defeat at the hands of Varan, the monster had slowed down. It began to travel westward through the green German countryside. Fritz and Reinhart were still tailing it, but they kept their distance. Without an army to back them up they'd be easy pickings if Varan decided he was hungry enough to go after them.
Fortunately, the monster seemed to be recovering its strength following the battle. Shortly after destroying the dam, it entered a small lake to rest. The lake was shallow enough that Reinhart and Fritz were able to see the monster's back spines protruding out of the water. They watched and waited as evening pressed in. Varan remained in the lake for forty-eight hours sleeping before becoming active again.
The Wehrmacht by this time had managed to throw enough units together to begin shadowing the monster again, but they had no plans to re-engage Varan unless he threatened a populated area. Instead, they focused their efforts on evacuating civilians out of its path. They stayed far enough back, or ahead, so the monster wasn't aware of them.
As the days passed, the strategy was proving to work well enough. Varan's pace was still slow enough that it wasn't too difficult for the Wehrmacht to operate around it. With no military pressure on him, Varan seemed content to take his time. Reinhart meanwhile was grinding his teeth the whole time. He hated letting the monster have free rein to do as it liked, but he knew there was nothing for it. The majority of the German military was still heavily engaged in disaster relief effort and would continue to be for some time.
Despite their efforts, there was still deep standing water all along the six-hundred mile length of the Elbe River. It ran right through the middle of Germany, ensuring that the disaster was felt by nearly everyone in the country. Most citizens of the Reich were either affected by the flood directly or had friends or family who were. Homes were lost, people were displaced. Some lives were ruined, while others were simply ended. Much of the economic recovery the Germans had achieved following the depression of after the Great War had been undone in just a day. The German stock market dipped to the lowest it had been in ten years.
Only after three days had the waters begun to recede enough to allow the bodies of soldiers drowned on the battlefield near the broken dam to be collected for proper burial and by that time, the flood waters had pushed corpses all over the countryside. Accounting for all the lost men was going to take a long time. Only the tank crews, trapped inside their machines, were easy to recover since the water could only push the twenty-five ton fighting vehicles so far.
A few miraculous survivors were found here and there, but it was only a handful of men out of the thousands that had been. Losses from the battle were virtually one-hundred percent. It was a black day for the German people when the causality report was made public. Reinhart knew what it would say, but he read the report with Fritz anyway.
"We threw everything we had at that thing and it wasn't enough." Reinhart lamented. "The most powerful weaponry at our nation's disposal and it all amounted to nothing. That thing killed thousands of our countrymen in mere seconds."
Fritz had little to say in response. He was still wandering through the fog of shock with everything that had happened. Reinhart perhaps had an advantage over him in that he'd already gone through something more traumatic with the monster prior. Reinhart sat in the truck with Fritz and stewed.
"This monster killed my parents and my brother because we didn't have the means to defend ourselves." He began. Fritz looked over to him curiously. "I'm going to change that. If it takes the rest of my life, I'm going to build a weapon that is strong enough to take that thing down." He promised.
Reinhart then exited the truck and walked away down the dirt road alone.
Meanwhile in France, Mothra had been significantly more active. She had not stopped once since hatching. The giant worm was like a machine, nonstop eating and moving, no rest. This took the French by surprise. They were having a hard time keeping up. They had assumed, wrongly, that she would likely move at a similar pace as Varan. But in the time it took Varan to cover thirty miles, she had managed to travel over one-hundred miles. Perhaps it was because he was cold blooded and she was not? Mothra was advancing Northeast, it was unclear what motivated her, but she was going somewhere at full speed. She only slowed down along the way to eat.
Dr. Jacquier insisted that Marcus, and the rest of Admiral Nimitz's entourage, continued to be part of the research team following Mothra. He noted that: The circumstances had changed, but the mission had not. He was still keen to study the monster. The name Marcus had coined for the creature had stuck and was being readily used to refer to her. That remained their most significant contribution thus far. They were hard pressed to keep up Mothra, she was pretty much consistently on the move.
Only one thing slowed down the research group initially. It was Dr. Jacquier himself, he wanted to ensure that all the left over portions of Mothra's egg were collected prior to them departing. He saw the fragments as precious samples and wouldn't risk any of them falling into the wrong hands. He placed a few calls to key members of the French Parliament, and with that, help arrived within hours in the form of a fleet of trucks and workmen.
Truckload after truckload was filled up the shell fragments. It took well over a hundred trucks to carry away the precious cargo. The vehicles lined up entire road to the facility, further than Marcus could see. One by one, they pulled away in a huge convoy carrying away their prize to a secret location for further study.
When they were done, Dr. Jacquier noted the investment in the egg had already been worthwhile. They had lost the Atrium facility, sure, but through Mothra's hatching, they had gained all the raw materials she left behind. The new mineral found within the eggshell could prove invaluable in the future. With their business at the facility done, the research group got on the road and began driving to catch up with the Larva.
It took three days before they finally caught up with Mothra. She was devouring another field when they found her. The team had however been keeping tabs on her through reports in the mean time. Marcus noted two important things from them:
First, Mothra seemed to be reluctant to engage the French military forces that were sent out after her. Marcus took a map and drew in her path since leaving the facility. It winded and weaved around. Mothra seemed to be actively avoiding French patrols. Whenever they started to build up in strong numbers ahead of her she'd change course.
Second, while Mothra was doing extensive damage to the vineyards she came across, she had in fact bypassed several large wheat fields and apples orchards.
France was the sixth largest country in agricultural production in the world and thee largest one in Europe. Many countries depended on France's export goods to feed their people. If those crops were to disappear overnight, a great famine would occur. Marcus could not be certain, but it appeared to him that Mothra was limiting herself to only eating the non-essential cash crops and bypassing the rest. How she could tell the difference was a mystery to him. He couldn't rule out that she just preferred grapes, given a choice.
Even limiting herself, Mothra had already eaten up over a billion dollar's worth of grapes. It was going to be a very hard year for wine drinkers. On the other hand, it was going to be a great year for those merchants who already had large supply of wine stored. At the rate she was going, Mothra would wipe out well over half of the total crop before she was done.
In the years to come, wine from 1940 was extremely rare and horrifically expensive. Oddly enough, it was a good year for wine as far as taste. So if you could get your hands on a bottle, it was expensive, but at least it wasn't disappointing.
The loss of crops was extensive, but not sacrificed in vain. Mothra had grown significantly since hatching. The larva was at least an additional third larger since the last time Marcus had seen it. If her goal was to get strong, the grapes seemed to be doing the trick for her. Not everyone was happy about that though.
French General Charles De Gaulle was put in field command in the operation to counter Mothra and he was a lover of wine. He seemed to take the larva eating up the grape crop rather personally. Even so, he was cautious to engage her after the German army was devastated fighting Varan. He was determined to be more careful.
The General's approach was patient, and he could afford to be. In addition to keeping her distance from the French military, Mothra was also avoiding populated areas. She was sticking to the wide open rural countryside, either to stay close the crops that could be found there, or other reasons. Either way, it kept the pressure off of De Gaulle to act prematurely. He could afford to wait until he was ready.
The General carefully studied the map and positioned his troops in ambush zones hidden along the way to the vineyards that were the closest in Mothra's immediate path. Then he hunkered down and waited to pounce. To his surprise, Mothra changed her heading before even getting close to the traps. De Gaulle was shocked, it didn't seem possible.
Somehow Mothra knew they were there, but it wasn't clear how. The ambush zones were over twenty-five miles ahead of her, and thus, they were literally over the horizon. So they were well out of visual range. The vehicles were stationary and their engines were off, so they could rule out that Mothra was feeling the vibrations of the tanks and trucks through the ground. It didn't seem likely that the larva could hear or smell them from that far away either, so the French were stumped.
General De Gaulle needed advice, and as he was the closest thing they had to an expert on the creature, he asked Dr. Jacquier how Mothra could possibly know they were there and avoiding them so easily? Marcus was listening in on the discussion and had an idea about it, but kept quiet. He was not the person the general asked and he wanted to see what the doctor had to say on the subject. Maybe his theory would line up with his own.
Marcus knew that Mothra was able to touch the minds of those around her within a certain proximity when she was in her egg. Now that she had emerged, it seemed reasonable to assume that she was still capable of doing that. In fact, Marcus figured the ability was probably even stronger now. He felt that she was sensing the other living creatures around her through similar means and using that to identify potential threats. If she was able to do that, it was easy to see how she knew exactly where to go and what to avoid.
Dr. Jacquier, however, made no such proposal and offered no theories. He instead plead ignorance and stated that he'd need more time to study the monster before offering any meaningful answers. His response sounded reasonable. Dr. Jacquier had not disclosed anything he told Marcus to anyone else, and because of that, General De Gaulle had no reason to doubt him. He accepted the doctor's explanation without question.
Marcus knew better though. He just stared at Dr. Jacquier, wondering what his game was. Only the two of them knew anything about Mothra's apparent ability. Was the doctor still trying to protect the monster? And if he was, could he still be under her influence?
This troubled Marcus. Since Mothra had hatched and traveled some distance away, he'd felt less impacted by her presence and more in control of himself. He figured that the doctor should be in the same boat. That suggested to him that the doctor was making his own decision with a clear head. But if that was the case, why would he keep the information to himself? Marcus pondered on it for a moment and came up with two possible reasons:
First, it could have been that the doctor simply didn't want to propose such a radical theory to men who had not felt the same influence themselves. Thinking back to when he tired to tell Brock about it, his response was skeptical, despite the fact that he himself had felt something strange while being at the facility. Marcus knew the theory would be a hard sell to normal straight-laced military men. He figured if he tried on his own, there was little chance they'd hear him out. Even if he had Dr. Jacquier backing him up, there was no guarantee they wouldn't both be labeled as crazy.
Second, the doctor might just have believed of his own accord that keeping it to himself was the right thing to do, even if he thought the others would believe him. Marcus mulled it over himself and wasn't sure what the right decision was. Mothra was not not inflicting massive damage on France. She was just trying to eat and survive. It was hard to blame her for that. She was also actively avoiding getting into trouble.
If there was going to be fight, it would be because they brought it to her. If Marcus kept his mouth shut however, Mothra might just be able to avoid the French military until she was able to get to wherever she was trying to go. In the long run, it might prove to be in France's best interest to let her do just that. Marcus got the feeling that Mothra would leave French soil of her own accord if given enough time.
None of them, not even Marcus, understood Mothra. They didn't know what she was or what she wanted. The big bug seemed to have a purpose, but Marcus couldn't even begin to guess at what that could be. Still, he somehow knew she had a part to play in whatever was to come next. His gut feeling was that helping the French military attack her would be wrong.
Marcus looked up from his inner thoughts to see that Dr. Jacquier was watching him. Perhaps the doctor was trying to ascertain if he was planning to say anything. When their eyes met, the doctor seemed satisfied with whatever he found there. Marcus turned and walked away from the main conference room, he had made his decision.
As Marcus exited, he found Williams pestering Brock just outside. Williams appeared unusually unsettled by the recent turn of events.
"So why do you think the giant worm would bypass the wheat and go for the vineyards?" He heard Williams ask.
"Maybe the little spud just likes getting loaded?" Brock answered. "Who knows."
"Do you think Varan knew what it was doing destroying the dam?" Williams rapidly changed the subject.
"I don't know, maybe it just likes Krauts to be washed before he eats them." Brock answered callously. Williams looked a little disturbed considering it. "Marcus said it's an amphibian, so it could be as simple as it likes its environment soggy. It's hard to guess at the motivations of a giant lizard."
"Amphibian." Williams corrected him.
"Yeah, that's what I said before." Brock said irritated. "Same thing."
Marcus could tell Brock was not in an approachable mood, so he instead retired to a quiet corner and sat down with a pencil and paper. He began writing a letter to Shauna. He had not written to her since before coming to Europe, so it was long overdue. He expected he'd be getting a little grief about it later.
Marcus set that worry aside and instead focused on recounting everything he hadn't gotten a chance to tell her about since his last letter. Primarily he wrote about his experience at the facility with the egg. It was still pressing on his mind and he had to get it out. He needed to explain his feelings to someone who wouldn't think he was crazy. Of course, he couldn't be certain what she would think of any of it. From an outside perspective he was sure it did sound crazy.
He wrote to Shauna just how bad of a place he had been just prior to coming to France and how it melted away after going to the facility. Even though he felt less influenced by the egg at that point, he had still retained the calm feeling it had brought him. He was grateful for that. He'd had a dramatic turn for the better.
Marcus concluded the letter by telling Shauna that he was doing fine and was going to continue to help investigate the monster for the time being. Also, that he missed her and he'd write again when he could.
In Japan, Akira had been summoned into a private briefing. Following his recent success, his superiors had another assignment in mind for him. There was trouble brewing to the north. Through their network of spies in Russia, the Japanese government had discovered that the Soviets were planning a massive assault on the Rodans by land and air.
The aim of the attack however was not meant to kill the Rodans, but rather to drive them out of Russian territory. Such an operation would likely result in immense causalities for the Russians, much like what the Japanese had incurred during their assault. However, the Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin, did not care about how many of his men had to be sacrificed as long as they accomplished his goal. He just wanted the pair of monsters out of Eastern Russian territories so he could focus on the west.
In the west, his efforts to invade Finland were floundering. Finish resistance had been far fiercer than expected and they were receiving more outside support than anticipated. The fact of the matter was the Russians were being slaughtered on the battlefield. Assault after assault failed to gain them much of anything and their casualties were quickly mounting. A victory in the east, even a costly one, would help bolster moral in the west.
The Japanese however were concerned that the Russians could drive the Rodans back into their own territory, which was unacceptable. Between that and the advantage of having the Russians fighting a prolonged war on their western border, the Japanese felt compelled to act. Their plan was relatively simple, they would launch a covert operation to disrupt the Russian's plan by sneaking an enhanced radio device into the Russian camp and activating it. The signal would draw the Rodans down upon the Russian's staging ground before they were ready to launch their attack.
The device would be similar to the one used in the earlier test, only stronger. The Japanese spies indicated that the Russians were already beginning to get into position in the staging area. Unfortunately, their routine radio chatter had apparently not been enough to get the Rodan's attention on its own. It was likely because the signal was too weak from such a long distance. Thus, Japanese would have to employ something stronger.
Akira understood the Japanese Navy was still in shambles and not ready for another engagement with the Rodans, so this mission's success was vital for the future of his country. He readily agreed to fly the mission.
In the Mediterranean, there was a unspoken strangeness in the aftermath of the earthquake. A subtle disquiet. The local fishermen living along the Libyan coast, where the earthquake had originated, felt it keenly. It was something they couldn't see, but felt in their bones. The foreboding feeling gnawed at the corners of their consciousness. Some of them stayed out of the water for a few days following the earthquake. However, none of them could afford to stay out indefinitely. They all had families to feed and livelihoods to make.
They ventured back out onto the open water and hoped for the best. Two days passed without incident and they had reasonable good catches. On the third day however the seas seemed deserted. There were no fish to be found by their nets and, by the end of the day, one ship failed to return to port. The day after, two more went missing. It was not unheard of for an occasional fisherman to be claimed by the sea, but for three to disappear in the space of two days, that was unusual. Following that, the remaining Fishing boats remained in the safety of the harbor.
The fishermen called a town meeting to discuss the missing men and ships. The villagers were scared and angry and were quick to find a scapegoat for their problem. Some of them suspected the local pirates of being involved. There were calls for an armed mob to gather and assault the pirate's lair to clean them out.
The leader of the local fishermen, Omar, decided they needed a more temperate solution, as there was no proof the pirates had anything to do with the missing men. He announced that he would approach the local pirates known as the Hayreddin raiders himself in order to ascertain wither or not they knew anything about the disappearances. It was a risky move on his part. If they were involved, he would almost certainly never return, but Omar didn't think they were. The pirates had little interest in the small affairs of the fishermen. They weren't wealthy enough to steal from. In fact, the two groups co-existed rather well, they often bartered with one another.
The pirates were typically more interested in the larger Italian supply ships that came through. Omar knew the pirate's leader personally and the reason he formed the group to begin with was to resist the Italian's occupation of their land. Libya had been taken from the Ottoman Empire in 1911 by the Italians and made into a colony. Not all of the Libyans were happy with that arrangement. Many fought back any way they could. Piracy was just one of the ways for them to hit back.
Upon approaching the pirates and discussing the problem, Omar discovered that one of their ships had disappeared too. He started to realize whatever was going on was bigger than either of their groups. The Hayreddin raiders were always well armed. They would not have succumbed easily to whatever took them. What they needed was a bonafide warship to investigate their troubles. There was a major issue though. The Libyans had no navy of their own to speak of. As much as Omar hated to do it, he knew he would have to swallow his pride and turn to the Italian navy for help.
Sixty nautical miles northeast, a large task-force from Italian Navy was running exercises. Specifically, they were out testing a new weapon. Though the Italian Fleet had taken no part in the international efforts to patrol for Angirus in the Pacific, the story had been widely covered on by Italian newspapers and their government were following the story closely.
Angirus had managed to elude the international fleet's combined efforts by retreating into waters deeper than they were able to pursue. While there were no signs of the monster since its defeat, it was still widely believed that it was alive and well, sitting just beyond the reach of the patrol craft above it.
Italy had the fourth largest navy in the world at the time and dominated the Central Mediterranean. With all of the advantages their powerful surface fleet brought them, the Italian Admiralty was concerned with running into a similar situation. The raw firepower of their Battleships wouldn't amount to much in the face of engaging a target that could remain submerged indefinitely.
They needed a way to respond if a Kaiju appeared in Mediterranean waters and retreated to the depths. As it happened, the Italians had already been working on a secret project for months that had been shelved, but with monsters like Varan and Mothra suddenly appearing in Europe, the Admiralty put there R&D department into overdrive to get prototypes produced for testing. Varan's rampage through Germany wasn't very far away from Italy's north border and that fanned the flames of their fear. They wanted to get prepared as soon as possible.
Their aim was simple, to be able to bombard an underwater target at extreme depths. Regular depth charges had their limits and proved to be vastly inadequate where Angirus was concerned, so they were trying to produce a new type of depth charge that could go far deeper with much greater firepower. If they couldn't kill a target, they hoped to at least be able to force it to the surface where their battleship's heavy guns could get some work done.
The Italian task-force was carrying the fruits of the R&D department's labors, the first Neptune depth charge prototypes. The Neptunes had twice the explosive potential of the next best depth charge and could go more than twice as deep as well. The bigger and badder depth charges required special rigging to be put in place to cater to their increased size. Because of that, destroyers could not be used and cruisers were selected to carry them instead.
The Italian sister cruisers Zara, Gorizia, and Fiume were carrying the experimental ordinance. They lined up in and orderly fashion and one by one let their cargo slip over the side. The charges were set to explode at a depth that would give the ships plenty of time to escape the explosions, but their captains weren't taking any chances and ordered the cruisers to flank speed once the barrels had made contact with the water.
Meanwhile, sonar operators were monitoring for sounds to measure the results of the test. Under normal circumstances, a depth charge would explode relatively soon after being dropped, as they were designed to attack submarines closer to the surface, but these were a different breed. Success would instead be measured by how long they could go before detonating. Tense moments passed as they waited for results.
Finally the sonar men heard the first rumble, followed by a gush of water exploding up at the surface. One by one, the charges were all going off at their desired pre-set depths. There were cheers aboard the Littorio, the huge battleship that served as the flagship of the fleet. The admiral signaled for the cruisers to set off a second set of depth charges, just to be through.
The cruisers responded to their orders and came about. They dropped their charges and the second set of tests produced similar results as the first. The only hitch was the sonar operator reported hearing a unexpected secondary explosion following the primary explosion of one of the depth charges. He wasn't sure why this was the case. It was possible that there was a minor mechanical problem, but if that was the case, it didn't stop the detonation.
The officer theorized that there may have derelict submarine sitting on the bottom of the ocean floor. What they heard could have been the pop of the hull rupturing. There were no active sonar pings prior to the testing and they had screened heavy ahead of time to be safe. They couldn't know for sure what happened, but it didn't overly concern them. Everything was quiet in the aftermath. The important thing was the depth charges had preformed as designed.
With that, the Italian warships sailed for home, the testing could be declared a success. They would be able to report back that mass production could begin.
In France, the situation had changed considerably. Mothra stopped eating crops and began heading due north. Her predictable established pattern of behavior was broken. The French had set up an ambush just ahead of her at the next vineyard in her path. Mothra came close to the field, closer than she had gotten to military units prior, but she still completely ignored them and the field. It could have been that she was simply avoiding the trap, but then again, something seemed different his time.
Indeed, after another three hours had gone by Mothra bypassed another field, only that one was completely unguarded. Marcus and the rest of Dr. Jacquier's research team had to scramble to catch up. They had been anticipating Mothra slowing down slightly to eat the unguarded field as she had done before. With that seemingly being over, they had to pile into the bus and get on the road to keep pace.
At that point, General De Gaulle knew it was time to escalate his efforts. If they were going to force a confrontation with Mothra, now was the time. He wasted no time getting his forces reorganized. His plan going forward would be more aggressive. The general placed tank platoons all over the map along the most likely routes Mothra would take. They were arrayed in a crescent formation with units forward on the wings and back in the center. If Mothra continued forward on her present course, she would quickly find herself surrounded on three sides by them.
From there, General De Gaulle's plan was relatively simple. He would use the tanks on the wings of his formation to funnel Mothra towards the center where he had concentrated his artillery. With so many forces fanning out on the flanks, avoiding them was virtually impossible.
Mothra pressed on, seemingly unconcerned with the French army closing in around her. General De Gaulle was a little surprised. Considering her behavior from before, he had expected her to at least try to maneuver away from his men. Instead, she stubbornly held her course due north, coming right at them.
From his command tent, De Gaulle watched his subordinates move miniature tanks pieces around on the battle map. As the recon reports continued to flow in, the tanks platoon pieces closed in inch by inch on the miniature representing Mothra. The general wondered what could be driving her? As it was though, the whys weren't so important. It didn't change what he had to do, which was to stop her there and then. He ordered his tanks on the flanks to press in and attack.
Above the battlefield, a squadron of French fighter planes loomed. They were loitering while waiting for orders. Their only assignment thus far was to keep taps on Mothra's movements and to report back to HQ. As she had yet to change course or speed, it was a pretty pedestrian job.
One of the pilots was Jean-Pierre, a young man from Orleans recently out of flight school. He was a little nervous as it was his first real mission. Heck of a way to begin a flight career. It wasn't what he imaged. He had always saw himself fighting against the German Luftwaffe when he signed up for the French air-force, but life always finds a way to surprise you.
With little else to do, Jean-Pierre just watched as events began to unfold below. He could see tanks platoons closing in on the monster from both sides. Things were about to heat up. The tanks lined up in an orderly fashion and started opening fire. Jean-Pierre could see the shells popped against the side of the massive worm. If they bothered the monster, it didn't show. It just kept moving, ignoring them. The tanks continued to fire and there was a near constant barrage. However, it was obviously that its hide too thick for tanks to penetrate.
As the barrage continued, Jean-Pierre heard the cracking of his flight leader's voice through the radio. Their squadron was to engage the monster. He tightened up and focused on the task at hand. The planes around him lined up and, one by one, banked left and then downward towards their target.
Jean-Pierre lined up the monster in his sights, but he didn't quite feel right about it. It didn't stop him from preforming his duty though. The flight leader in the plane in front of him opened up with his cannons and Jean-Pierre followed suit as if by instinct. One by one, the rest of the fighters let their cannons roar. Lines of tracer rounds dotted their way down towards the monster until they started to connect.
Jean watched as the red hot tracers from his cannons struck the worm. They had no effect. In fact, he even spotted a few of them bounce off. He got a sinking feeling seeing that. The planes pulled up and out after several more seconds of machine gun fire. The monstrous worm continued along un-phased. The planes reported the results of their attack and went back to tracking the monster.
Shortly there after, Mothra had reached the artillery lines in the center of the formation. The gunners kept their cool, quietly preparing to attack. The artillery was arranged on the hillsides, just lying in wait. Their orders were to wait until the monstrous worm had closed to point blank range, to ensure maximum impact. The monster played right into their hands. It chose to pass right between both of the primary gun emplacements. They were going to be able to bracket it with shells from both sides.
They waited until it was almost directly between them, when every one of their guns could be brought to bare. Only then did they began to hammer away at its sides. The artillery flashed and thundered violently, their shots almost instantly hitting their target. The monster was not able to shrug off the heavy artillery's firepower as easily as it had with the tanks. For the first time, it noticeably slowed and then stopped altogether.
Mothra's head began to turn toward the artillery on her right and she opened her mouth. From within shot out a focused stream of high-pressure silk. The silk raked its way down the line of artillery. The first man to be hit by it flew fifty yards like he had been hit by an enormous fire hose. As the stream went down the line of artillery, men became hopelessly suck to their guns, equipment, and the ground. They were no longer able to reload shells or do much of anything other than be stuck in whatever position they were in when they got hit by the sticky secretion.
One stubborn soldier was still able to move his arm enough defiantly fire his cannon one last time, but he failed to realize that the barrel had been blocked by the silk. When he tried to fire, the ordnance went off inside the artillery piece, blowing it, along with all the men around it, into little chunks. Following the explosion, the right wing of artillery fell silent. No one else even tried to fire another shot.
With that, Mothra turned her head and repeated the same attack to the left wing artillery group with similar results. She managed to neutralize both positions in the space of thirty seconds. The majority of men were still alive, but hopelessly trapped, unable to move. Because of that, they were effectively out of the fight. With the cannon's attack stifled, Mothra moved on.
By this point though, more tanks from the back-line reinforcement section had moved forward to support the cannons and appeared in front of Mothra to begin their own assault. The tank's opening rounds struck Mothra in the face. She responded in kind, once again using her silk to immobilize them. One by one, the tanks were hit and effectively frozen in place.
The tanks could not maneuver and, for the most part, could not rotate their turrets either. The crews within were still free to reload and fire unabated, but without being able to readjust their aim, they would not be able to hit Mothra once she moved out of their cross-hairs. One tank crew learned the hard way the same lesson the artillery men had. Some of Mothra's silk made its way far down into their gun barrel and jammed it up tightly. The tank exploded from the inside when a shell backfired on them. Choosing to continue the attack was risky business, the other tank crews passed on it.
With the tank column pacified, Mothra moved around them to avoid crushing them. The French had not given up though. General De Gaulle ordered in the heavy bombers he had waiting in the wings on standby. They arrived just a few minutes after the failed ground assault ended.
Mothra by this point seemed to be out of patience. She did not allow the bombers to get close enough to drop even a single bomb on her. She lifted her head towards the sky and shot web at them. Her silk hit the bomber's propellers and stopped their engines instantly. With their propulsion disabled, the heavy bombers fell from the sky like bomb-filled rocks. Each of them hit the ground shortly after and exploded on impact.
Jean-Pierre watched in horror as his fellow airmen died. Other French ground forces were closing in, but he could see that the battle was already lost. Jean realized it had been lost before it even started. He could see they never stood the slightest chance of stopping the monster.
Jean's flight group drifted to Mothra's side as they watched the last of the bombers get demolished. They quickly realized they too were within her ability to strike after seeing the bombers go down, but only after it was already too late. She could hear the sound of their engines and perceived them as another incoming threat. She turned towards them and let loose with another stream of silk.
Most of the fighters saw it coming and maneuvered to get out of the way, knowing only too well what would happen if it hit their engines. All but two of the fighters managed to evade the stream. Jean-Pierre however was one of the two unfortunate pilots who were not so lucky. His engine stalled and the nose of his plane dipped down toward the ground.
Jean-Pierre panicked, knowing that he was in serious trouble. He tired to remember his training. It became clear to him he had no choice but to abandon his plane. He grabbed the handle to his right within the cockpit and turned it to open up the plane's canopy, preparing to bail out. Only it didn't budge. He cursed and continued to struggle with it, putting as much of his weight on it as he could. His panic was growing more intense with every passing second. He knew he didn't have much time.
'Why won't it move?' Jean punched at the window in frustration trying to break it. It was at that point he noticed Mothra's silk had not only taken out his propeller, but also had hit the side of his plane's fuselage. The edges of the silk had reached the outer frame of the canopy. He realized that the silk was holding it shut and it wasn't going to open no matter what he did.
Jean felt a sinking that wasn't his aircraft plummeting from the sky. The plane was going to go down and he as trapped inside. He knew he couldn't do anything to change either of those things. He was going to die, it was inescapable. He only had a precious few seconds to make peace with it. Heck of a way to end a flight career. Life always finds a way to surprise you.
The fighter finally hit the ground and Jean's suffering came to an end. A general withdraw order was issued moments later. All French forces still engaged were ordered to retreat.
An hour later, the bus carrying the research team found its way to the battlefield. Mothra had long since moved on, but in her wake, she left a pretty good perception of how the battle went. The bus had to drive around the wreck of a fighter plane that had crashed directly onto the road they were on. Some fires were still burning from where the bombers had landed. Overall, there had been very few casualties, but anything hit by Mothra's silk was still right where she left it.
Other French units had arrived just after the battle concluded and were still trying to get their comrades out of the webby mess. Some men had even managed to trap themselves in the process. The French first tried to pull their fellow countrymen out by hand, which was laughably ineffective. Next they had tried to cut them out with axes and saws, which only saw them loss their tools to the silk.
The bus itself actually drove over a random strand of silk and lurched to a stop when one of the tires got caught in it. Marcus and Brock flew forward out of their seats crashed into the back of the seat in front of them. Brock issued a string of curses as they got to their feet. Marcus meanwhile wondered what happened and exited he bus to look. He had expected to see a pothole and instead discovered the silk holding the tire in place.
It was unclear how to best dislodge the bus or ensnared soldiers. Most of the artillery men were in no real danger, except for the few who were wounded by shrapnel from the exploding cannon. The rest would be ok since rescue teams had direct access to them. The real concern was the tankers. They were trapped inside their vehicles without food or water. If they couldn't devise a way to get to them quickly, they'd be in trouble after a few days.
On the bright side, they still had radio contact with the crews and advised them to remain calm. They were promised their rescue was of the utmost priority. The wounded artillery men were tended to the best they could be without being able to physically move them. Dr. Jacquier seemed to have other priorities. He was pretty pissed off that they wouldn't be able to immediately follow Mothra.
By the next morning, little progress had been made in freeing the trapped men and the tension was rising. The tank crews were getting stir crazy and claustrophobic being stuck in their machines for over twenty-four hours. It was starting to dawn on them that they could die of thirst in another forty-eight hours if the situation didn't improve.
Marcus and Brock were sitting and watching the French efforts fail. Marcus felt guilty wondering to himself if things would have turned out any different if he had said anything days ago when they had met with General De Gaulle. There was no way of knowing. He only wished he could do something to help. Brock was lighting up a cigarette and blowing smoke with a frown on his brow. Marcus just watched him trying to think, then it hit him.
"Brock, can I borrow that?" Marcus pointed to his lighter. Brock looked down an shrugged.
"Sure, but these things aren't go for you kid." Brock tossed Marcus the lighter and his pack of cigarettes. "You shouldn't get stared with them."
"The lighter alone will do, thank you." Marcus tossed the cigarettes back to Brock and then ran to nearest artillery piece. One of the trapped French soldiers jumped, surprised by Marcus' sudden appearance. The man said something to Marcus, but he couldn't speak French. Marcus rather assumed it was something along the lines of: 'Hey, what are you doing?'.
Marcus opened the lighter, ignited the flint, and then put the open flame under a strand of silk attached to the man's leg. The fire burnt right through it on contact. The French man seemed a little concerned that Marcus was going to light him on fire in the process, but fortunately the webbing didn't actually catch on fire. Marcus got goosebumps with the thrill of success. He then got to work, slowly cutting the rest of the French soldier free. Brock came up behind Marcus while he was in the process. He was still puffing out smoke when he saw Marcus' discovery.
"Brock, spread the word to anyone with a lighter, we can burn through it!" He requested.
"Can do." Brock smiled and flicked his cigarette to the ground.
Smokers in the camp were worth their weight in gold for the next hour. By the time they were done, they had managed to free all the trapped artillery men. The tankers were still trapped though. For them, something a little more heavy duty was in order. The French officers went and acquired some blow torches from the nearby town that had a machine shop.
It didn't take long after their return get the hatches to the tanks open. It would take quite a while longer to get the tanks back to operational conditions, but at least their men were free to enjoy the cool morning air of the French countryside. The bus was likewise freed, which pleased Dr. Jacquier beyond words.
Meanwhile in the Sea of Okhotsk, Akira had landed a large seaplane in the lagoon of the island outpost where he had previously tested the radio lure on Rodan. It was to be the final stop before the mission would begin in earnest. They just had to refuel one last time before heading out. The island garrison was also loading the plane up with additional fuel cans so they could refuel while in the air. It was going to be a long trip and since they were heading into hostile territory they wouldn't have a chance to refuel on the ground before getting back.
When the the seaplane had taken on all the extra fuel cans necessary to get to there destination and back they made preparations for take off. The extra weight made getting out of the water a little more challenging for Akira, but he managed. The benefit of taking off from the water was there was plenty of extra runway for him to work with. They caught air and were on their way.
The crew for the trip was kept to a minimum to save on weight. Aside from Akira, there was a co-pilot named Ken and two army soldiers. One of the soldiers was just a no name grunt, only there to help carry the device and by another gun if they ran into trouble. The other man, however, was a hard noised Japanese army officer who outranked Akira, Major Saito.
Akira was piloting the mission, but Major Saito was the one calling the shots. He had the coordinates for the rendezvous point with their contact on the mainland. He seemed to know them personally. Akira deduced that Major Saito was connected to the spy network in Russia in some way, perhaps as a handler, given his familiarity with their contact.
Perhaps it was just his nature or his years in the spy game, but Major Saito was cold towards Akira. Despite his efforts in the name of the Empire the grisled old man didn't seem to trust him. The Major only told Akira as much as needed to for him to carry out his role in the mission and seemed more concerned with Akira following his orders to the letter than anything else.
The mission's timetable was his utmost concern. He wanted them to stick to it as closely as possible. Akira could understand why. The longer their contact sat waiting at the rendezvous point the more likely they were to get noticed. They could have some troublesome questions to answer if they were found by the wrong people. On the other hand, if they arrived too early the plane could be spotted and that would be even worse.
The plan was to arrive in the dead of night to minimize their exposure, then get in and out of the Russian encampment unnoticed as quickly as possible after delivering the package. They would fly back out the following morning and hopefully get word of the mission's success upon their return.
As the hours went by, Akira had little else to do but think. It occurred to him that if it came down to it, Major Saito was probably the type of man who would rather gun them all down than allow them to be taken captive by the Russians for interrogation. Akira could understand why. The secrecy of the mission was just as important as the mission itself, probably even more so.
Failure of the mission could mean the Russians drive the Rodans out of their territory, but there was no guarantee that would happen. Discovery of the mission though, successful or not, could potentially lead to a second war with the Russians. At the very least, it would sour their already bruised relations and paint Japan very poorly within the international community.
Given that they had just strengthened their ties with the United States and European powers through their mutual cooperation with their operations against Angirus, Baragon, and Rodan, discovering the act of sabotage would be poor timing indeed.
Marcus and Brock had just piled back into the bus with the research team to continue their pursuit of Mothra, who was continuing Northward unopposed following the battle. The freed French soldiers wanted to take both of them out for drinks following their rescue, but there hadn't been enough time.
"So where is it going now?" Brock asked as they got sat down.
"Paris." Marcus answered. "My money says she'll end up in Paris."
"How do you know?" Brock asked perplexed.
"I don't really." Marcus answered. "It's just a hunch."
"She's heading due north right now. Paris is northwest of here. Less North and more West." Brock noted. "I'll bet you five dollars she doesn't go there." He challenged.
"So to be clear, if she goes anywhere else in the world other than Paris, I lose?" Marcus asked.
"Yep." Brock replied. Marcus considered it.
"Ok, it's a bet." He smirked.
A few hours later, Mothra had entered an area of farmland full of hedgerows. Hedgerows were mounds of earth meant to keep cattle in and to mark boundaries between tracks of land for farmers. They dated as far back as the Roman times. The mounds generally were raised a few feet at sharp angles and had trees and shrubs growing directly out of them. The gave the landscape a more majestic look, but they were also making it very difficult for the French Army to keep up with Mothra.
For the pursuing tanks and trucks, they were a terrific obstacle to overcome. The tanks could power over them, but not without slowing them down considerably and putting a strain on their engines. Going over them was not even an options for the trucks. They, along with the tow artillery and the research bus, had no other alternative but to go around.
Mothra on the other hand had no problem with them. She was simply able to bull right over them. With her size, they were barely a bump in the road. The tanks eventually elected to follow suit with the rest of the pursuing forces after figuring out just how many hedgerows they would have to cross over. Their machines would likely break down before they were done.
After crossing through the valley full of the hedgerows, Mothra changed course moving directly due West. The tanks and trucks of the French army were still caught up in the middle of the labyrinth of hedgerows behind her. It became apparent that she had only gone through there to shake off her pursuers. It looked like Paris was her goal after-all. Brock frowned at Marcus and then slapped five dollars into his hand.
The French government immediately panicked. There weren't any significant ground forces between Mothra and Paris and she was rapidly approaching the city. They began to evacuate Paris and threw together a last ditch effort to prevent the monster from entering the city. The French air-force commandeered as much pesticide as they could, which turned out to be many barrels full. Once obtained, they loaded them into heavy bombers and took to the sky.
Marcus was impressed with the ingenuity of the plan. The French must have figured that Mothra, being insectoid in nature, might share some of the same features of actual insects. The mode of action of the insecticide was to attack an insect's spiracles. Spiracles were the small external openings commonly found on the abdomen of an insect's exoskeleton. They allowed air to enter their respiratory systems, and thus, the poison would suffocate its target.
The bombers with the barrels of the chemical quickly found their target about forty miles away from Paris. They were careful to stay high enough in the sky to avoid being hit by Mothra's silk. It would be hard for them to pinpoint her from as high up as they were, but with the type of attack they had planned, accuracy was not going to be much of a factor anyway. They just had to get them to land close.
The payload was dropped from the bombers and the chemical spread all over the surrounding area as barrels smashed all around Mothra. Her body was engulfed by the ensuing cloud of mist. She stopped and took notice of the mist for a second, but then continued on un-bothered by it. As it turned out, Mothra was not the same as other insects, or perhaps it was simply that the scale of her organs made the chemical's mechanism of action useless against her. Whatever the reason, the attack failed and Mothra was on the cusp of entering the French Capitol.
By the next morning, Mothra had entered the outskirts of the city. Paris was a very old city, having been founded over two-thousand years ago in 250 BC by a tribe of Gauls known as the Parisii. In its long history, the city had seen many foreign invaders, including the likes of Julius Cesar, but it had never seen anything like Mothra before.
Paris was the center of the world in art and culture. The city was littered with monuments, landmarks, and other works that were irreplaceable. All of which were at risk of being destroyed with a giant monster on the loose in the streets. The city held its breath as Mothra entered.
Marcus and the research team had driven all night long and came into the city just a few minutes after Mothra had. The streets were empty aside from the few odd people curious to see the monster for themselves and the few French army units that had manage to enter the city overnight.
The damage Mothra was doing to the city was fairly negligible. She was mostly sticking to one wide avenue and avoiding buildings. On occasion though, one structure or another would get in her way and she'd topple it over with her mass by happenstance. Mothra seemed to have a goal in mind and nothing else was distracting her from achieving whatever it was.
As Marcus sped down the street in the bus, he couldn't help but feeling like he was on a tour. He was on a bus after all in the most visited city in the world. They passed some of the famous landmarks like the Louvre art museum and the Notre-Dame Cathedral. Marcus felt a sense of aw seeing them for the first time. He had never been to Paris, and even under the turbulent circumstances, the city was a sight to behold.
As they continued down the street and caught up with Mothra, her goal became clear. As it turned out, it was the Eiffel tower that brought her to the city. She was headed right for it. The tower, tallest structure in Paris, stood at eighty-one stories. It had been built for a World's Fair to celebrate the centennial of the French Revolution and had been a symbol French freedom for over fifty years already. Its reign was now threatened to be toppled over by a giant insect. The onlookers watched with baited breath to see what would happen.
Mothra came to a stop just short of the tower's base and looked up as if to examine it. She only paused for a moment. Whatever she had been trying to deduce, she seemed to be satisfied. The gigantic caterpillar crawled half of her body up the tower and began to spray silk high above her head. The silk hit the top of the tower and the spray that had gone straight up started to rain back down. It landed on the connecting strands on the tower.
The tower meanwhile was holding strong under Mothra's weight. The tough metal frame stood unbending against the extra weight and pressure of her body. The designing engineer would have been proud if he had still been alive to see it.
The bus came to a stop a few blocks away and the research team watched as Mothra worked. Slowly, but surely, her silk strands became interwoven and began to take form. Marcus finally understand what the larva was doing as it disappeared behind its webbing.
Two hours later, the process was complete and the larva had encased itself in a cocoon.
Quick little shout out to Jon and godzillafan1. I usually respond to all my reviews with PMs, but this is the best I can do since you two don't have accounts on fanfiction. Anyhow, I really appreciate the feedback. I put a lot of work into this.