Chapter 18: Signs and Portents.
-July 14th, 1954. North Island Naval Air Station, San Diego, California.
A navy pilot puts on his flight suit in the base locker room. He grabs his helmet from the shelf, zips up the suit, and makes his way out to the hanger. Waiting for him inside is a brand-new fighter. It is a F-86(E) Sabre, a specialized variant of the aircraft that has been altered to allow it to operate off of an aircraft carrier. The pilot's orders are simple: Test out the new plane to ensure it is in mission ready condition and to familiarize himself with the controls to get a feel for how the aircraft handles.
As he approaches, the pilot is greeted by the ground crew. They push stairs into place which allows him to climb into the cockpit. The pilot puts his helmet on and climbs inside. He gets settled in, checking the controls and preparing the jet to taxi towards the runway. With the click of a few buttons the canopy closes, and engine begins to hum and whistle as the systems start up. The aircraft begins to creep forward slowly out of the hanger. The ground crew clears a path and the jet inches its way into the light of the early morning sun. The pilot lowers the sun-visor on his helmet to compensate.
"Tower to Seadog One." A control operator's voice crackles over the radio. "You are cleared for takeoff. Proceed to runway number two."
"Acknowledged tower." The pilot replies as he continues his way towards the runway.
The pilot's mind begins to wander as his craft slowly approaches the final stretch of concrete of the airstrip. He thought back to the past.
...
"You know kid, you should really consider a change in career." A voice told him, echoing in his head. "You don't want to be a sitting duck the next time this happens, do you? I'm telling you, in the air is where it's at."
...
The pilot came back to the present as he absent-mindedly lined up his plane for takeoff. He had done it so routinely by that point that he could practically do it in his sleep. He recalled back to the first time he had done it. It was quite a different story.
...
He throttled back and the plane lurked forward. The force of it took him by surprise. The hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end. The aircraft gained more and more speed as he went. His initial nervousness had transformed into excitement but was threatening to spill over into fear. His breathing increased and became somewhat irregular as he tried to contain himself. He could feel the lift under the wings of the plane starting to catch. He tightened his grip on the controls.
'Oh shit!' He thought as he realized there was no turning back anymore. 'Shit, shit, shit.' His plane completely lifted off of the runway. He needed to release some pressure. "Aaaaaaaarrrrrhhhhhhh...!" He cried out loud, no longer able to hold it in. His stomach felt like it was floating. The plane bound up into the sky and he started to feel pure excitement and joy. "Yaaaahhhhhhooo!" He exclaimed.
"Cadet Ryan, you've left you Com on." His commanding officer's voice boomed over the radio. "We can still hear you down here."
...
Marcus smiled, thinking back to it. He was embarrassed and caught a little hell once he landed, but he had successfully flown on his own. A major accomplishment in his book, he had come a long way. Marcus' first time flying solo was a mixture of fear and frills. It was one hell of a rush, one he learned to enjoy over time. Being in control made him feel so much more comfortable in the air. Landing though was still pretty scary most of the time.
Marcus lurked backward as he throttled up. His new Jet had a lot more kick to it than his first plane, or even the last jet he was in. He got a little thrill out of it, though it was a lot tamer than it used to be for him. Marcus rocketed down the runway and caught air, zooming up into the clouds. Once he had reached the proper altitude and leveled out the Sabre, he pulled a few basic maneuvers to get a better feel for the controls, just to see just how sensitive they were. It was so second nature to him his mind began to wander again.
...
A lot had changed over the years. Once his initial tour of duty in the navy had ended and Marcus settled down back in the States with Shauna. As they were both free from the military, they decided to get engaged to be married. Joe said it was a little premature, that he was still so young and needed to get out and live a little more, but Marcus was certain it was what he wanted to do.
...
Marcus lifted his hand from the controls and fidgeted with the ring attached to his dog tags. Years later and he still knew it was the best decision he had made in his life. Shauna made him happier than anything else on the planet. She was the perfect woman for him.
...
The wedding was held in San Francisco. Leading up to it, Shauna made good on her promise to show Marcus the whole city. It was one of the most charming and relaxing cities Marcus had ever been to. He loved every moment of it, aside from the trolley ride on one of the steepest streets in the country. It actually looked like the big drop of a rollercoaster from the top. Shauna kissed Marcus to help distract him. It worked pretty well.
The pair went on to ride cable cars, feed the seals bread at Fisherman's wharf, walk through the art museum, attend a Giant's baseball game, walk in the park of the Palace of Fine Arts, try new and interesting food in Chinatown, take a tour of the harbor on a boat, got a real close look at prison on Alcatraz, and finally crossed over the Golden Gate Bridge in a taxi to climb into the hills. They ended the day by getting a breathtaking view of the city's skyline. It was somehow better than their time in Paris.
They stayed with Shauna's parents. As it turned out, she was not joking when she said they were well off. Her parents lived in what could only be described as a mansion on the waterfront. Shauna's father was some type of real-estate tycoon who was really starting to make it big. Their wealth made Marcus a little uncomfortable. His own beginnings were quite humble by comparison.
Shauna's parents were more than welcoming to Marcus though. They seemed to respect his uniform and service record. Shauna had been talking him up for months, laying the groundwork for his introduction. She was as skilled a diplomate as she had been a nurse. She may have done too good of a job. Marcus was a little overwhelmed by their friendliness. It was like they already knew him in and out, but to him they were perfect strangers. He was at a real disadvantage.
Much like Shauna in their early days, her parents were always a few steps ahead of him in conversation. They saw to his every need. It was the first time in a long time Marcus felt like a child being pampered. His head was spinning by the time he went to bed that night.
By the next morning, Shauna and her mother were already at it talking about making their plans for the wedding. Marcus left them to it. He knew well enough to let the girls handle the details and to simply nod his head if they asked an opinion from him.
Instead, Marcus focused his attention on tracking down his friends and family for the wedding. He devoted a lot of time to writing letters. Priority one was his own mother. He had not seen her since sneaking away to join the service and he was dreading coming face to face with her again. Marcus had given his mother plenty of reasons to hold a grudge against him and it was time to face up for his many crimes against her.
Marcus mailed his letter of apology and then waited. In time, his mother wrote him back. He was almost too afraid to open it, but when he finally did, the letter he got in return surprised him. His mother had not only forgiven him but was proud of his accomplishments. She was delighted to hear that he was home, safe, and seemed to have matured. In part though, she lamented that he had grown into a man and was already getting married.
Marcus wired his mother some money so that she could come out ahead of the wedding and meet him face to face again for the first time in years. Marcus chose to meet her in at a café along the waterfront and made his peace with her. As a bonus, Marcus' kid brother came along with her. He had grown two full feet since Marcus last saw him. He was two years into high school and had fortunately not followed in his troublesome big bother's footsteps thus far. In fact, he was really more of a teacher's pet.
While the wedding plans were still being made, Marcus also wrote Joe and the rest of his surviving friends from the Enterprise. Brock was still in the service himself, as he was a career marine, but he was able to take some peacetime leave to join them. It was a tough choice whether to make him or Joe the best man, but Brock had the advantage of saving Marcus' life twice during their travels, and thus gained the honor. He was surprised to say the least but honored.
Joe was not sore about the choice. He was more interested in chasing the bridesmaids around anyway. Best-man duties would only be a distraction for him, he had not changed much. Joe ended up getting slapped pretty hard by one of the bridesmaids during the wedding reception but found comfort and sympathy in the arms of another one later in the evening.
Shauna meanwhile got the fairytale wedding she was hoping for. A grand church, white flowers, an amazing dress, a beautiful reception hall, elaborate decorations, and best of all, Marcus spent all his money on a huge rock for her to show off to all her friends. It was the whole nine yards. She loved the pageantry, the music, the dancing, and most of all, securing her hold on Marcus for good. He did not mind though. She was worthy, and well-worth surrendering to. He was going do his best to treat her like royalty for the rest of her life.
...
Marcus continued to put the Sabre jet through the normal paces. All the systems seemed to be in good working order. The controls felt a little tight, but that was not usual for a plane fresh out of the factory. It just needed to be broken in a little more to loosen it up. Marcus guided the plane over to the gunnery zone and picked out a few test targets. He checked out the cannons first, finding them to be satisfactory as he tore up a dummy truck to shreds.
Marcus then looped back around and armed his rockets. He lined up his sights and pressed the button on the stick to fire them. Two rockets whooshed away from the wings and down towards a decoy tank. One of the rockets missed to the left, but other one landed right beneath and sent the tank flying up into the air. The weapons seemed to be functioning properly.
"This is Seadog One." Marcus picked up his com. "Testing complete, no issues to report, returning to base."
"Roger Seadog One." The tower operator replied. "Proceed."
Marcus banked the Sabre left and started back to the airfield. He flew back the scenic route which brought him by the harbor. He noted a carrier in dock that had not been there the day before. He shook it off and let his mind wander to what happened after he and Shauna were married.
...
The world in general had quieted down for a time. A few years of relative peace followed after the disappearance of the monsters. Only the Rodans remained semi-active, but as long as they were left alone, were not a serious cause for concern. The sightings that did occur were few and far between. Marcus credited Mothra for it. After defeating Kameras, she seemed to be keeping the other monsters in line, or at least out of trouble.
Marcus could only assume that though. Mothra herself disappeared off the map after flying east. As the years went by, Marcus could not help but wonder where she had gone and what was she doing. He felt slightly abandoned and disgruntled by her suddenly leaving. After all, whatever connection she had to him was strong while she was around. It was a source of him strength for him.
After Mothra's departure, most of her influence had gradually faded away from Marcus. There was at least one lasting effect, a gift off sorts. The traumatic stress from Marcus' past was not affecting his day-to-day life. He was able to live very normally for someone who had seen the things he had.
Regardless, Marcus still felt some resentment towards her. There had been a place inside him which was once filled with her warmth and light. It had gone dark in her absence. What was left in its place was an empty feeling, and he did not like one bit. It was like a part of him had left with her. He had to learn to live with the felling of not being whole.
Marcus and Shauna had been married for a couple years when the war broke out with Russians and Chinese communists. By that time, they had a little daughter named Lilly and Shauna was pregnant with a boy. They had a nice house with a white picket fence and a good little dog-o to patrol the yard.
A call went out for 'All Good Men to Come to the Aid of Their Country'. There was talk about a draft being instituted. While it pained Marcus to leave Shauna, he felt honor bound to answer the call. He knew they were going to need good fighting men and he was the right age and had plenty of experience. Shauna hated to see him go but understood. She had her parents to fall back on should the worst come to pass.
Marcus didn't just barrel into the war head first though. Instead, he decided to follow the advice of Roger, the pilot who had saved him years ago on the Ranger. Marcus joined the Naval Academy Flight School in Annapolis. It requires two years of previous service of sea duty, a requirement which Marcus easily met. The training was meant to take twelve months, but in light of the war breaking out, they rushed new recruits through the process. In the end, it only took only half the time.
On graduation day, Marcus walked out of flight school with the rank of Cadet Chief petty officer. But there was a catch. He had to agree to serve for seven years, even if the war did not last that long. Marcus was going to have to put his civilian life on hold for a while.
When Marcus had reached the front lines of the war, the navy was already starting to phase out older propeller planes models in favor of jets as their primary strike craft. With a little extra training, Marcus adapted to them. The missions were pretty easy for a time. What passed for the Chinese air force was already in shambles. The majority of Marcus' early missions were just strafing runs on ground targets. As the war moved into its final stages, Marcus was involved with several air-to-air dogfights against Chinese jetfighters.
The Chinese hardware was up to the challenge, but by that point in the war, the American pilots were highly experienced tacticians in the sky. Their skills were far beyond that of the Chinese rookies who were still struggling to adjust from obsolete propeller aircraft. When the ceasefire was finally declared, Marcus had downed four enemy aircraft all on his own. He fell a little short though, one more air-to-air victory and he would have achieved the status of Ace.
...
Marcus was over the airbase again and brought his Sabre back in for a landing. The wheels of the jet squeaked as they hit the runway and the plane began to slow down gradually. Marcus taxied the aircraft back into the hanger. His canopy opened as he came to a stop and the crew wheeled the stairs back into place to allow him to exit.
"How'd she handle?" The ground chief asked as Marcus came down the stairs.
"No problems Rich." Marcus smiled to him. "Why did they want me to test this one out anyhow?"
"Well, this is a new type of Sabre Lieutenant." Rich pointed back to the aircraft. Marcus looked to see the aircrew folding up the wings. "This particular type is meant for carrier operations. They wanted to make darn sure the wings would hold up under the usual stresses of combat. My understanding is there's a whole litter of them waiting to be loaded up on the Essex."
"The Essex huh?" Marcus grunted. "I thought I saw an extra carrier in the harbor as I passed over."
"Yeah, there's something odd going on around here today." Rich noted. "I saw a whole drove of new officers on the base earlier today. Didn't recognize any of them. They had a different type of unit patch I'd never seen here before."
"Oh yeah, what did it look like?" Marcus asked.
"I think it was an owl with its wings spread like an eagle." Rich replied. "It was clasping a black and yellow shield with a coat of arms on it. What was really weird is it looked like there was a dragon, a microscope, a book, and an atom symbol all in the coat of arms. What the heck is all that about?"
"Lieutenant Ryan report to the Admiral Evan's office." The PA system in the hanger crackled to life.
"Maybe I'll find out." Marcus shrugged as left Rich behind in the hanger. "Hope they don't want me to test out all of those new jets."
...
Marcus entered the administration building, wondering what he was being called in for. Surely Admiral Evans did not want to get the field test report about the Sabre directly from him? That would not be very like him. The admiral was a very 'by the book' officer and that would break the usual chain of command.
When Marcus reached the corridor just outside of Admiral's office he came upon a zoo. The area was filled with men and chairs. A hastily thrown together lobby was put up in the nearby rec room. Marcus just stopped, taking it all in, and asked himself what the heck was going on. Had a war been declared that he was not aware of?
The men around Marcus were not from his own unit. In fact, as he scanned the room, he discovered that most of them were not from any single unit. Instead, the room was filled with a hodgepodge of soldiers and sailors from all sorts of backgrounds. Some of the men were even different branches of the military entirely. There were even a few civilians mixed in.
As Marcus continued to look around, he noticed two guards outside of the Admiral's office wearing matching uniforms. They happened to be wearing the same unit patch that Rich had described. It was the owl with the odd coat of arms. Marcus noticed a new detail that Rich had left out. Above the coat of arms, it read 'Archimedes'.
Marcus was aware that Archimedes was both the name of a famous Greek inventor and also the name of Merlin's pet owl, but he had never heard of a military unit by that name before. Marcus also noted that the dress uniforms of the guards were not associated with any branch of the United States' military he was aware of. Like the unit patch, the uniform colors were primarily black with yellow trim here and there. For a moment, Marcus wasn't even certain the guards were American, but the uniforms did resemble Marine Corps dress uniforms, colors aside.
As Marcus stood there trying to figure out the puzzle, someone came out of the Admiral's office, someone he recognized. It was Brock, wearing a more traditional Marines uniform. He caught sight of Marcus and made a B-line towards him.
"Brock, what are you doing here? How the hell are you?" Marcus greeted him. "I haven't seen you since the wedding!" He grabbed the big man by the shoulders and giving him a big slap on the back.
"I'm fine Marcus." Brock shook him off, obviously a little uncomfortable. "Remember where we are." He leaned in, scowling slightly at Marcus. Some of the other soldiers around them were staring.
"Your right." Marcus agreed. "I just got a little excited, that's all." He stood up strait and offered him a hand to shake instead. It seemed to please Brock. After the handshake, he saluted. Marcus returned the favor.
"You outrank me now." Brock mourned, pulling at the bars on Marcus' uniform. "I'm going to miss the days when I could order you around and bark at you whenever I wanted."
"I don't think I'll miss that as much as you do." Marcus laughed. "It looks like you've put on a little rank yourself since the last time I saw you, 'Staff' Sargent." Marcus admired the additional stripes on Brock's jacket.
"Yeah, well they weren't easy to come by." Brock smirked. "There were a bunch of Chinese I ran into who preferred I not be around to wear them, but I set them commie-bastards strait."
"I believe you did." Marcus nodded. "In the traditional Brock way, I'd assume?"
"Damn skippy, I told you they would end up turning on us in the end." Brock remarked. "I was ready when they finally did. Anyways, that's history. Right now, I'd wager you're here for the same reason I am. I was summoned to this base to be recruited and I reckon they're going to try to do the same with you."
"Recruited… for what?" Marcus asked confused. "I'm already in the navy. Who are these people Brock?" Marcus motioned to the pair of odd guards. Just then the office door opened again, and an ensign popped his head out.
"Is there a Lieutenant Ryan out here?" The ensign asked.
"Present." Marcus replied, raising a hand to draw his attention. The ensign spotted him and waved for Marcus to join him in the office.
"You'd better go." Brock said. "Remember lieutenant, you salute the rank, not the man." He saluted Marcus and went on his way. Marcus didn't like something about the way Brock said it. It did not feel like he was trying to poke fun at him. Instead, it rather felt like a warning.
Marcus started for the door, not having much of a choice. He wished that he had a little more time to talk to Brock and ask a few more questions. He had no idea what he was walking into, but there was a pit in his stomach that told him he was not going to like it.
Marcus entered the office to find that Admiral Evans was not there. In his place, he found a different Admiral. Marcus noted that his uniform had the same patches as the guards outside. He was a heavy-set man and carried himself more relaxed than most men who attained the rank of admiral. He had his feet up on Admiral Evan's desk and was smoking a cigar. If Admiral Evans had been there to see it, it would have sent him straight through the roof. Marcus stood at attention and saluted for a few seconds before he was noticed.
"Ah, Lieutenant Ryan, I see they found you." The admiral behind the desk spoke. "Good, I've been looking forward to this." He took his feet off the desk and sat forward to get a better look at Marcus. "I'm Vice Admiral Malek. You must be wondering why you are here, come on in and have a seat." He gestured to the chair in front of the desk.
"Yes sir." Marcus replied.
"Well, I'm not one to beat around the bush." Vice Admiral Malek began. "I'm assembling a team and looking for qualified personal. I've been given leave to cherry pick anyone I want from various branch of service. And what I want is people with experience. This is not going to be a burger and fries' outfit. Oh no, I only want the best. Do you know what I mean son?"
"Well, not really sir." Marcus replied. "You haven't said what your team is for."
"Didn't I?" Malek asked before quickly recovering. "Well, it's actually quite simple. I've been put in charge of what we are currently calling 'Special Branch'. It is an international military organization under the supervision of the U.N. security council. It is primarily a research division meant to study monsters, but also has the potential to hit those big bastards hard when the need arises. Does that help clear it up some son?"
"Yes sir." Marcus replied. "It does."
"Good." The Vice Admiral smiled before continuing. "At this time, Uncle Sam is providing the majority of the military hardware and other resources, but other U.N. member countries are providing specialists and other support personnel. Mostly scientists who are experts in their fields of study. There are a few faces you should remember. I believe you are acquainted with Dr. Orsini for instance. He is to be one of our principal researchers."
"Yes sir." Marcus answered. "I remember him."
"Our branch of the organization is primarily naval based, but we will be acting in conjunction with of elements of the U.S. army, Airforce, and Marines, as well as the armed forces of many foreign allies. Like the recently established U.N. 'peace keeping' forces, we will have access to territory that would otherwise be out of our direct jurisdiction. Meaning if a crisis should arise somewhere in South America for example, we would be able to gain military access with relative ease."
"A benefit of the war coming to an end is the U.S. Navy has more warships than it knows what to do with. The majority of the capitol ships in the fleet are just sitting in port collecting barnacles. The surplus is in our favor. I've been put in command of several vessels that were not on active duty. It is only a handful of ships for now but given time we will grow. Though my command only encompasses a relatively small force, it will still have some good hitting power. We will be able to hold our own in a fight."
"Our main purpose is to try to study the Kaiju. In case you haven't heard the term before, that's the name the Japanese adapted for the giant monsters that appeared sixteen years ago. It translates to 'Strange-beast'. The name caught on at a conference some time ago and it has become the common term for those things now."
"Our organization is not formally part of any of the existing branches of the military. It is relatively small for the time being, but I'm hoping that it will grow when we're proven our worth. The organization's aim is to gain a better understanding of the kaiju so that we can better combat them."
"I see from your file that you served under Admiral Nimitz for quite a long time." Malek noted. "From 1938 to 1941, a very interesting time to be in the navy, wouldn't you agree?"
"I saw a lot of things." Marcus agreed. "Admiral Nimitz was a fine man and a good officer. I suspect he would not approve of me turning into a flyboy."
"I would say you have seen a lot of things." Malek ignored the comment about Nimitz. Instead, he was intently reading through Marcus' file, seeming to take notes. "We need someone who is very experienced and versatile." Malek looked back up at him. "Which is why you are here. I need men with a certain type of experience. It says here that during the war you had four confirmed kills in a Sabre jet fighter and flew over fifty sorties?"
"Well, it was actually older jet models for a time early in the war." Marcus noted. "But yes, I eventually flew a Sabre jet. That was when we started using forward airbases for operations that were too far inland for carrier strikes. Near the end of the war, we just couldn't get too much work done from a carrier because the flight time from the coast took too long. It didn't leave us with enough fuel for combat operations."
"And in addition, I see you flew a Chickasaw helicopter too?" Malek asked. "How did that come about?" "Cross-training to fly helicopters, that's a little unusual, isn't it?"
"It is." Marcus agreed. "The trouble with operating out of a forward base is sometimes it's a little too close to the action. A Chinese infiltration unit managed to attack our airfield in the last year of the war. They were on us before we knew what was going on. The first couple of mortar rounds came in barracks of the helicopter pilots. The Chinese killed a number of airmen before the base garrison was able to repel them. After that, we were a little short on pilots." Marcus explained. "We ended up having more machines than men. Our captain was a pragmatic man. He ordered that myself and a few others were trained to pull double-duty until we could get replacements. It took a while though. I mostly flew med-evac missions with the helicopters, no actual combat."
"And when you got back to your carrier it says your ship's captain also had you preform anti-sub recon missions in helicopters, is that correct?" Malek asked.
"Yes, when he learned I knew how to fly choppers I got put into the rotation." Marcus answered. "He thought it would help take some of the pressure off the regular guys. Fighters pilots weren't seeing as much flight time with most of the action happening inland. It was something to do, so I didn't mind. After a while, my motto became: If it flies, I can fly it."
"You served aboard an Essex Class carrier for the most part, is that correct lieutenant?" Malek moved forward with his questions.
"Yes sir." Marcus replied. "And a Yorktown class before that."
"For our organization's purposes, we've specially modified the USS Essex to carrier Sabre jets." Admiral Malek noted.
"Ah, that would make sense sir." Marcus remarked.
"How so?" Malek asked curiously.
"Well, I was ordered to test out one of those new Sabres today and saw that there was a new carrier in the harbor." Marcus answered.
"Well spotted lieutenant." Malek smirked before returning to the file. "Now this I do find very curious. It says here that you have a fear of heights. I can't help but find it amusing that you'd chose to become a fighter pilot when being up in an airplane must bother you."
"That's a pretty fair point admiral." Marcus smiled. "My wife asked me the same thing back then. It requires a little explaining. When I was a kid there was big bridge than ran across the river near my hometown. When my family would drive over it, I'd cover my eyes it scared me so much. When my father found out, he insisted I sit up front with him. He told me: 'You have to face down the things that frighten you. Otherwise, you'll be running away from things your whole life.' I don't remember a lot about the man, but I do remember that. He drove me across that bridge back and forth a couple dozen times until it did didn't bother me anymore."
"Your old man sounds like he had a good head on his shoulders." Malek observed.
"I'm sure you'll find the battle of the Ionian Sea somewhere in that file." Marcus continued. "At the end of that engagement with Gezora, a few things became very clear to me. First, where monsters are concerned, you are generally better off in the sky. The pilot who saved me that day pounded that message into my head. His name was Roger, and he was correct about that in my estimation. When you have seen a Kaiju as close up as I have, the fear of heights drops a couple of rungs on your priority list. It seems trivial in retrospect. Being in control of your destiny makes a difference too. I learned that there is a great deal of difference between flying yourself and being flown. I think half of my issue was just the feeling of not being in control."
"I can see the logic there." Admiral Malek agreed.
"I'm curious sir." Marcus changed the subject. "There were better pilots in my squadron, men with a lot more kills, why do you want me?"
"There were more aggressive pilots, yes, but looking through your entire record, not just counting your time as a 'flyboy' as you put it. You've consistently shown better instincts and deductive reasoning than your comrades. You've also had a much broader experience. The way I see it, you are a 'think before you act' kind of guy. You analyze a situation before making a move. While hesitation may by a disadvantage in air combat, being cautious and using your head serves my purpose better than someone who is just trigger happy and gets a lot of kills. But let's not downplay your piloting skills too much, you were a good pilot when it counted. You never lost a fight anyways. My old C.O. used to say any mission you come back from is a good mission."
"Sir, permission to speak freely?" Marcus asked.
"Granted." Malek replied. "What is on your mind?"
"It feels like all of this is a little too late." Marcus remarked. "The kaiju that appeared sixteen years ago have all but disappeared. Sightings are very rare these days and attacks are even rarer. What is there to study? Aren't the monsters all dormant at now, so what's the point of all this sir?"
"Dormant perhaps." The Vice Admiral Malek noted. "But I fear they won't stay that way forever lieutenant. Sightings are not so rare as you might think. You'll recall the incident in New York that happened during the war?"
"I do." Marcus answered. "But that creature was significantly smaller than the other kaiju, does it even qualify? Also, didn't that one die after it fell off the Empire State building?"
"Well, there are a couple things about that case that are not common knowledge." The Vice Admiral replied. "If I tell you, it doesn't leave this room, understand?"
"Yes sir, you have my word." Marcus agreed.
"Most of this information is classified." Malek began. "The government's official stance is that the creature who fell from the top of the Empire State building and was mortally wounded before retreating out of the city. The official report states that they found a body sometime later, confirming his demise. That however… is a grossly misleading statement. Only about one-quarter accurate. The creature did indeed fall from the tower under heavy machine gun fire from swarming fighters, but he in fact managed to grab a hold of the building on the way down, catching himself before hitting the ground. He then proceeded to retreat into New York harbor to escape the planes, but no body was ever found. The government spun out the story about a corpse to prevent a general panic in the New York area. The thought of the creature continuing to run free in streets would cause problems. They figured it wasn't going to return, so a little white lie wouldn't hurt anything. Well, maybe it is a 'big furry lie' in this case." He smiled. "Anyhow, the people responsible for bringing it into the city were quickly hushed. It was not hard to convince them. Their silence was the only way they were going to avoid huge fines and lengthy prison sentences for all the destruction the creature had caused in just a few short hours."
"I didn't know about any of that." Marcus admitted. "I'm a little shocked they were able to cover it up so well."
"The streets had been cleared of civilians for the air attack." Malek pointed out. "Only a hand full of people outside the military saw what really happened and those who did see were paid off."
"Pretty amazing story." Marcus remarked.
"Oh, well there's even more." Malek continued. "Before the creature escaped, we managed to get a man on the inside to study the specimen for a couple days. He made a remarkable discovery about it. Through some blood tests, and other methods of analysis, he determined that subject wasn't fully grown yet."
"Are you saying it was just an adolescent?" Marcus asked in astonishment.
"I'd say more like a toddler." The admiral replied. Marcus' jaw fell open slightly.
"A toddler did all that?" Marcus commented. "I wouldn't want to see what his papa was capable of."
"Best we can determine, he's the only one." The vice admiral replied. "No others were discovered on the island he was found on. But I am certain he has been growing over the years. Before too long, we are going to have to worry about what he is capable of doing on his own. There is no way to know how quickly he'll mature. But there are more pressing things to worry about presently." Malek pulled out another file and put it on the desk. "This is a secret report that describes a string of ships that have gone missing in the Pacific of the last three months. More importantly, there's also this:"
The Vice Admiral pulled out a picture from the file. He handed it across the desk to Marcus. It was grainy, but Marcus knew immediately that it was a photo of the monster Kameras. The moment he saw it he also realized that it was not an old file photo from Kameras' first appearance. The monster looked to be on a tropical beach somewhere. The topography in the background could not be mistaken for being anywhere in north Africa.
"When was this taken?" Marcus asked.
"The better question is where?" Malek pointed out. "It was taken three weeks ago on Pango island in the Pacific."
"So, you think Kameras is on the loose out there and sinking ships?" Marcus asked. "How the heck did he get there? The last he was seen was in the Mediterranean fourteen years ago."
"I imagine he swam there." Malek answered. "He's had plenty of time to do so. As to whether he is responsible for the ships disappearing, we're not certain yet."
"Another great question is why is he out there?" Marcus noted. "It doesn't make sense to me that he'd swim thousands upon thousands of miles away from his home territory unless he had a purpose in being there."
"We don't know that either." The Vice Admiral admitted. "It's honestly a bit of a mystery and that is what we are heading out there to find out. It may have something to do with the type of ships out there that are going missing." He noted. "You want to know something else strange? The missing ships are almost exclusively large Russian freighters."
"What do you know much about the ships?" Marcus inquired.
"Not much." Malek replied. "What we do know is that the Russians are pretty upset about them disappearing. They will not say what the cargos were, but clearly it was something important to them. Meaning, they were likely not just a regular merchant ships. They were most likely military ships in the guise of civilian freighters. We suspect they were carrying something either illegal, valuable, or both. Beyond just monster hunting, that is something we are hoping to learn more about while we are out there. The regular navy has been on the lookout for wreckage, or even better, and intact cargo vessel to detain and search. So far, no dice though."
"How far away were the ships that disappeared from Anguirus' last known position?" Marcus asked.
"See, now that is the type of thinking that landed you here in this office Lieutenant." Vice Admiral Malek smiled. "You like consider all the options, not just what is in front of your face. But to answer your question, it's not so far away, but I've been keeping tabs on the patrol ships that still swept the trenches where Anguirus was last seen. They have reported no unusual activity, but that doesn't mean Anguirus didn't sneak away in the night or something. I find it is best to be prepared for anything where Kaiju are concerned. Underestimating them in the past has cost countless lives."
"Oh, and there was one more thing that's probably worth mentioning." Malek noted. "Mothra was also spotted in the Pacific." Marcus flinched when Malek said the name. The admiral spotted it straight away. "Yeah, I thought that would interest you. They lost her quickly and have no idea where she was going or what she was doing. This was before the ships started going missing, so it's just one more mystery floating out there in the vast Pacific." Marcus sat there letting the information sink in for a moment before speaking.
"Sir, you are aware my service obligation is almost up?" Marcus remarked. "By the time we sail all the way out there, I'll only have a few weeks before my time is up. I'd be coming back home before doing a whole lot. I'm not sure what good I'll be to you in such a short amount of time."
"Oh, that won't be a problem Lieutenant Ryan." The Admiral smiled. "I've gone to the trouble of having your tour of duty extended for two more years."
...
An hour later, Marcus was on the phone with Shauna sharing the news with her. It was not going well.
"That trumped-up turd! Can he do that?" Shauna shouted so loudly and angrily that the phone practically shook in Marcus' hand as he held it. "Who the hell does he think he is?!" She continued. Marcus had the hold the receiver away from his face to wait out the barrage. He didn't hear every word she said but he picked up enough to know she was very upset. When she quieted down Marcus began to speak again.
"Yes, I think he actually can." Marcus acknowledged. "I realize that it is not fair, but I don't think there is anything I can do about it. The same thing happened to a few of the other guys in my squadron and they are tearing their hair out right now trying to find a way out of it. I think we aren't going to have any recourse but to accept it."
"I just don't believe this." Shauna said, calming down some. "How can this be legal?"
"The other guys say that he activated a special clause in our terms of service." Marcus explained. "Something new they put in during the war to prevent veteran pilots from dropping out of service during at crucial moments. The Admiral is bending the clause as far as it can go with this, but it seems like it is going to hold up under scrutiny. I'm at the mercy of his whims for now."
"Do you want me to get daddy to help?" Shauna asked. Marcus' father-in-law had done quite well during the war. He used his considerable wealth to invest heavily into arms manufacturing and made millions of dollars in profit. After the war, he used his fortune to support a run for a Californian Senate seat in Congress and had won. He was not only rich, but also powerful and influential. However, accepting his father-in-law's help would be emasculating for Marcus. He preferred to stand up and deal with his problems on his own as a man.
"No, I don't think that would help." Marcus answered. "The Vice Admiral couldn't have done this on his own. He has connections somewhere high up the chain of command, likely in the Pentagon and perhaps even as high as the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I think it would do more harm than good to try to push this. It might even damage your father's pollical career if he got involved. I think it is better if he stays out of it."
"What happens if you just refuse to report in?" Shauna asked.
"Well…. first I'd be arrested and dishonorably discharged from the navy." Marcus began. "Then I'd likely spend three to five years in prison, then I'll get fined somewhere between three to ten-thousand dollars, and finally I'd end up with a criminal record for the rest of my life, which would prevent me from being hired at most jobs."
"Well daddy could easily cover your fines and give you a job." Shauna pointed out. "And he might be able to do something about the jail time too." Marcus was more than a little surprised with Shauna. Was she suggesting her father would try to bribe a federal judge?
"Honey…?" Marcus began unsure of what to say next.
"I'm sorry." Shauna quickly cut him off, perhaps realizing the gravity of what she had just suggested. "I don't know what I am saying, I'm just really upset right now." Marcus could hear her tearing up on the other side of the line. "I just can't believe this is happening right now and that we are so powerless to do anything about it."
"I know sweetie." Marcus did his best to comfort her. It was so difficult to hear her so upset without getting upset himself. "If I thought I could get away with it, I'd disappear off base tonight and come to you now." He wished he could hold her and tell her everything was going to be alright. "But I just think it would make things worse. It's better to serve out my time in the service than either on the run or in a jail cell. I promise I'll get back to you as soon as I can, it is my only priority now."
...
The very next day, the official transfer orders came down and Marcus was instructed to report to the USS Essex for duty. Marcus was feeling low as he trudged up the ramp onto the carrier, like an indentured servant coming to work off his debts. He found a few other members of his squadron who had been called up like he was on the flight deck. They were also wearing their gloom for the situation pretty loudly. Standing amongst them was someone Marcus hadn't been expecting to find, his old mentor Roger.
"Roger! They dragged you into this too?" Marcus lamented.
"Yep, they said I had the right 'experience'." Roger answered. "Guess that's what I get for dropping a bomb on that overgrown squid all those years ago."
"Yeah, they gave me a similar line too." A voice rose from behind Marcus. He turned to see it was Joe.
"Oh no Joe, not you too." Marcus moaned.
"Reporting in as gun captain I'm afraid." Joe replied. "I guess 'not dying' a couple times makes me some kind of expert on monsters."
"Wait a sec, are…?" Marcus began.
"No." Joe interrupted him, anticipating the question. "The rest of the boys from the Enterprise were smart enough not to stay in the service. It's just me they snagged." He let out a sigh. "You know, it is a damn shame they decommissioned the Enterprise, but she just wasn't big enough to launch fighter jets. I guess this heap will do."
"It's going to have to." Marcus agreed.
Marcus turned to see another group of men coming up onto the deck. Brock was among them leading the way, but he wasn't the only person Marcus recognized. Several men in civilian clothing were right behind him. First there was Dr. Orsini and close in toe was an Asian man. There was something familiar about him, then it hit Marcus, it was Ling, the translator he had met at the Zao-Ming conference in China. Marcus walked over to greet them.
"Doctor, it is pleasant to see you again." Marcus offered his hand, which the doctor quickly accepted and shook. "Glad you have you with us."
"Did they force you in too?" Joe asked, coming up from behind Marcus.
"No." Dr. Orsini laughed. "I came voluntarily. The Science alone is all the motivation I needed."
"It doesn't hurt that they offered him a huge payday either." Brock spoke up, somewhat cranky. Dr. Orsini smirked, but did not answer, seeming somewhat embarrassed by Brock's statement. It must have rung a little true. There was an awkward silence, so Marcus changed the subject.
"Ling, is that you hiding in the back?" He asked.
"It is." Brock grumbled, not letting Ling have a chance to answer for himself. He pushed his way through the crowd and walked away. "But I can see how you'd be confused, they all kind of look alike to me."
"You'll have to excuse him." Marcus scrambled. "He's not himself today."
"I think that's exactly who he is every day." Ling countered calmly. "I've spoken with him before. Pay it no mind my friend. I am not so easily offended as that. In China, one learns to weather mean spirits."
"Alright, no reason to dwell on it then." Marcus shrugged. "Instead, let me ask, what are you doing here? You're pretty far away from the old country."
"Sadly, I have not been to the old country in a while." Ling answered. "My family was forced to flee when the communists took over. I'm afraid rich old noble families do not hold with the same honor and prestige they used to there. If we didn't leave the country, our wealth would have been confiscated and we likely would have been persecuted. Fortunately, I made some contacts within your government during the Zao-Ming conference and was able to make arrangements to have my family and property brought here to the United States before the whole country was overrun."
"That's terrible." Marcus remarked. "But I'm glad you found your way here to the States."
"Yes, it has worked out well so far." Ling smiled. "This is a great land of opportunity for my family. Your Admiral Malek recruited me as a linguist for your organization. Like Dr. Orsini, I am a civilian contractor. I am not getting paid quite as well as he is, but I feel I own a debt of honor to your country for taking in my family. My skills should prove quite useful, I was meant for a position like this."
"How many languages are you fluent in now?" Marcus asked.
"I've actually lost count." Ling smirked. "But I've brought my books in case we run into something I'm not familiar with."
"Show off." Marcus smiled.
...
The fleet departed around noon. It consisted of the carrier USS Essex, the battleship USS Nebraska, and a modest number of escort ships, including several small escort carriers, a few cruisers and destroyers. The Admiral was correct, a small fleet, but it could punch above its weight class.
The Nebraska was the muscle if they ran into trouble at close range. Along with her sister ship, the USS Montana, her cannons had the highest hitting power of any ship in the U.S. fleet. Vice Admiral Malek requested both of the super battleships for his special task force but was granted the services of only one. Fleet Command did not want too many expensive eggs in one basket.
The escort carriers were too small to launch jet aircraft, but they were well-equipped to base scout helicopters for search missions. They escort carriers were cheap and easy to produce, which made them ideal for high-risk missions. With an engine upgrade, they would be able to keep up with the flagship, the Essex.
...
It took weeks for the fleet to reach their destination, and in the meantime, they had received an interesting report for Fleet Command. Wreckage from one of the missing Russian freighters had been discovered. The ship was found aground on a beach and had been gutted. Whatever cargo the vessel had been carrying was gone, along with half of the ship. She had been torn in two and only the fore section of the ship remained. What was especially odd was that when the ship's wreckage was swept over with a Geiger counter the device detected a massive quantity of ionized particles, indicating a substantial amount of radioactive contamination.
This was significant, because American Government had suspected for months that the Russians were trying to smuggle radioactive materials to a secret Chinese base hidden somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. If the Chinese were developing nuclear technology, it would violate their treaty and upset the balance of power in the region. There was plenty of suspicion, but zero evidence up until that point.
U.S. spies on the Chinese mainland had found nothing to indicate there was any nuclear development there. An island base however would allow them to do their research quietly, far away from prying eyes. The Chinese organization believed to be conducting the research was codenamed 'The Red Bamboo', but as of yet, there was no solid proof that they even existed. The discovery of the radioactive Russian freighter was the first real clue that supported the theory.
Vice Admiral Malek was given a new set of orders, ones that were top priority. While he was permitted to continue his search for Kameras, he was also to search for another Russian freighter that had gone missing just a few days prior. Malek's task force just so happened to be within range of her last known coordinates. He was given three primary mission objectives: #1 locate ship and determine its destination. #2 Find evidence of nuclear materials. #3 Find the Chinese base and covertly recon it.
Vice Admiral Malek determined the best way to accomplish all three objectives was to locate the ship and shadow it. If they could follow the freighter undetected, then they could at the very least determine its course and identify the most probable areas the base would be located. If they were very lucky, they might be able to follow the ship all the way to its destination.
Marcus pointed out to Admiral Malek that there was another possible way to find the Chinese base without having to locate the Russian ship first. If they were to equip their search aircraft with Geiger counters, then they might be able to detect radiation escaping from the test area. The Vice Admiral loved the idea and had the fleet alter course to the American base near Bikini Atoll. It happened to be the location where the United States' nuclear tests had been conducted. There they could collect all the gear necessary to make Marcus' plan feasible.
Upon arrival at the base, Vice Admiral Malek discovered it in a bit of an uproar. It had been recently discovered that nearly all of the radiation in the test area had disappeared. Only trace amounts of radiation remained, a fact which seemed impossible given its history. The nuclear scientists projected it would take many years before the radiation levels would drop to such a low level. They were baffled, having no reasonable explanation.
With the equipment collected, Admiral Malek had the fleet set back out to begin their search. They left the mystery at Bikini Atoll for the scientists there to unravel. A few days later, one of the search helicopters had a hit on its Geiger counter. There was a trail of particles which lead them to a nearby island. Marcus flew an investigation team to the island in one of the Essex's helicopters to have a closer look. They landed near the shoreline to make a horrific discovery. The beach was covered in dead sea life. It was mostly fish, but also dolphins, sharks, and seals.
"Jesus Christ, what happened here?" Marcus asked dismayed.
"Don't touch any of them." Dr. Orsini warned the group. "Don't even go near them. I'm detecting high levels of radiation." He was wearing a radiation suit and pointing his Geiger counter towards the bodies. The needle was bouncing up and down forcefully.
"How far out of the Bikini contamination zone are we?" Brock asked.
"We're over a hundred miles into what should be the safe zone." Dr. Orsini replied.
"What? That can't be right." Brock barked back to him in disbelief. "You think the radiation just got up and walked its way over there? We have to still be within the contamination ring."
"No, we're defiantly outside of the contamination zone." Dr. Orsini countered. "Whatever happened to these animals was recent, they've probably only been here a day or two."
"I don't like this, lets get out of here." Marcus suggested.
...
The fleet kept on the trail of the irradiated particles, which eventually lead them to another nearby island. The second island showed signs of being inhabited. Small huts could be seen from the search helicopter. Another team was put together, this time Ling was brought along.
When the team landed, they found the beach of the second island was in similar shape as the one before it. Worse, the local people were found to be suffering from a strange illness. Ling was able to communicate in part with them. The islanders told him there was a terrible storm that passed through two nights ago, one which had ruined many of the homes in their village and killed many of their people.
Ling also discovered that over half of the tribesmen had already eaten the fish from the beach. Upon hearing that, Dr. Orsini tested them for radiation. Sure enough, the people were found to be contaminated with lethal levels of radiation. There wasn't anything that could be done for them. Several tribe members had died already. Ling warned the unaffected tribesmen about the fish, telling them they were cursed and not to eat them. There was nothing else to do.
As the night closed in, Marcus lifted the search team off the beach in the helicopter and returned to the Essex. They could see funeral pyres beginning to burn below. The chopper was dead quiet, except Brock began to sing softly.
"I've seen bodies turned blue, their eyes turned white, fires burning their remains in the night, and I think to myself, what a terrible world." The rest of the team only listened, chilled by it.
...
The search helicopters briefly lost the trail of radiation but managed to pick it up again a day later. The trail led them to their biggest discover yet, a damaged Russian freighter stuck in the middle of a coral reef. The ship was mostly intact, but the portside hull had massive damage amidship. The vessel's structural integrity overall appeared to be holding together.
They were not registering any distress call from the stranded ship, but attempts were made to establish contact with any survivors who might still be aboard. First, the Essex tired her signal horn. No response was given in return. Then Admiral Malek tried using the signal lights, with similar results. Finally, a short-range radio transmission was sent. Admiral Malek did not want to risk alerting any other ships in the area to what they had found. Again, there was no response.
Marcus was dispatched to do a close fly by to investigate the deck, just in case the Russian ship's radio equipment was nonfunctional. He noted some of the lifeboats were missing, but not all of them. No one was on the deck. The ship was quiet as a grave and appeared deserted.
Vice Admiral Malek meanwhile sent a coded message to Naval Headquarters, reporting their discovery and looking for further instructions. As expected, headquarters wanted the ship boarded and investigated. If the vessel was abandoned, then it was all the better for them. By maritime law, any ship left abandoned on the sea could be legally boarded. The vessel itself and anything found aboard could be seized by the party who discovered it. It was the perfect situation for them as they wanted to do just that.
The freighter was sitting too high in the reef for a boarding party to climb aboard by boat, so it was decided that instead they would land on the deck to investigate the craft. Marcus once again got the duty to fly over the boarding party, but this time it was not Dr. Orsini and Ling accompanying him, but instead a squad of fully kitted-out marines. It wasn't said, but Marcus assumed that if there were still Russians survivors found aboard, there wouldn't be any left alive by the time the marines were done sweeping the ship.
"Why us?" Brock asked the marine officer in charge of the boarding party as they climbed aboard the helicopter. "This wasn't our mission. There are other navy ships who have been assigned specifically to this task who would be better prepared for it. Can't we just wait for them to arrive?"
"Unfortunately, no Sargent." The officer replied. "There is a short window of opportunity here and we're the closest ship." He began to explain. "HQ reported that there were Russian ships dispatched to find this vessel after it disappeared. We do not know where they are now. They could arrive at any time for all we know. Therefore, we can't afford to wait. That ship could be holding proof that the Russians are providing nuclear assets to the Red Bamboo for weapons development. Moreover, it is perched in a very precarious spot. There is no telling how long it will stay nestled in that reef before the waves knock her out of place. We need to get in there before she sinks."
"Great, so potentially drowning is also a distinct possibly on this mission." Brock complained. "It just keeps getting better. I hope landing on her doesn't throw off the balance too much. Hey Marcus, better be gentile!" He shouted up to him. "Otherwise, we all get to take a swim!"
"Aye, aye!" Marcus replied before taking the helicopter up.
"How'd that son of a bitch end up in such an unstable spot to begin with Sarg?" One of the other marines asked.
"Hell if I know." Brock replied. "Probably involved vodka comrade."
The helicopter left the deck of the Essex and flew towards the Russian ghost ship. The dark hulk didn't look too welcoming to Marcus. It did not help that it was already dark. Marcus remembered going to a spook-house when he was a kid, and the feeling was the same.
"Remember marines, we're looking for two things." The marine officer reminded them as they approached. "A manifest and any type of physical proof we can pin on the Russians. Ideally, we walk away with both."
"What, the pictures of the ship they took earlier isn't enough?" One of the younger marines spoke up.
"Nope." The officer simply replied. "We wouldn't be here if it were. The Admiral wants something more concrete."
"Don't worry private, this is going to be fun." Brock joked. "It beats the hell out of staying on the ship playing cards. Just watch your step in there."
The helicopter came over the hull of the Russian vessel. Marcus looked for a good place to land. The ship was fairly level, so it was not going to be all that difficult. Still, finding a spot that was clear of debris and flat took a little doing. Marcus spotted a suitable location and brought the chopper in slowly, ensuring that the spotlight from the chopper and the side gunner were both facing towards the ship's superstructure to keep an eye out for trouble.
As they landed, Brock opened up the side door and the marines poured out of the helicopter, spreading out along the deck looking for cover. There was no opposition though. The deck only had random debris here and there. Marcus shut down the engine and the helicopter blades slowly slowed came to a halt. The marine officer left the cockpit and gathered his men up to enter the vessel.
Marcus' job from there on out was simple: wait out the search team until they returned. The side gunnery would stay at his station to keep Marcus company and mow down anyone who wasn't a returning U.S. marine. The operation was meant to take thirty minutes in and out.
...
An hour later, neither half of the squad had returned or reported in. Marcus attempted to radio them but got nothing but static in return. He was starting to feel anxious. It had been far too long, something was wrong. The gunner suggested that maybe the metal hull of the ship was blocking their short-wave signals.
Marcus thought it was possible, but what was keeping the team? Maybe they had stumbled onto something more significant than they were expecting and it was just taking more time. The only thing that bothered Marcus was if they had just lost their radio signal or run into some type of obstacle inside, then they should have sent a runner back to report the situation. That had not happened. Marcus sat their stewing on the situation, weighing the options. He took one last look as his watch and finally got impatient. He decided he needed to do something proactive.
"I'm going in there private." Marcus told the gunner.
"You're what?" The gunner replied.
"Just stay here and keep your eyes peeled soldier." Marcus barked at him impatiently. "I'll be back just as soon as I find out what is going on. Until then, cover me."
"Yes sir." The gunner replied, not knowing what else to do.
Marcus took off his helmet and took an assault rifle from the rack as he exited the helicopter. As he walked out into the cool night air he fidgeted with the weapon, trying to remember all the ins and out of the gun. He wasn't used to handling a weapon like it. Marcus attached the bayonet to the tip, loaded in the cartage, and then took the safety off.
'Ok, I should be ready for just about anything now.' Marcus thought to himself as he walked towards the door.
As he got close though, Marcus noticed just how dark the corridor and was suddenly a little less certain of himself. He had to remind himself that he was a grown man and shouldn't be afraid of the dark. He took out his flashlight, clicked it on, and shined it down the passageway. It was empty.
Marcus took a few steps inside the corridor and got a cold chill down his spine. His instincts told him he should turn around and go back the way he came, but he knew he needed to press onward. Members of his team were missing. More importantly, his friend Brock was missing. He could not just leave without them.
Marcus continued further down the hallway, panning his flashlight from side to side. He was being as quiet as he could and listening for any sounds to give him a clue what was around him. He didn't hear anything but could smell something odd. It was not the sort of scent Marcus was used to smelling on a ship. He couldn't identify what it was.
Marcus made his way to a stairwell and began to walk down. He could only hear the sound of his boots hitting the metal stairs. He thought about calling out to see if any of the team were close enough to hear him, but something told him that was a bad idea.
As Marcus continued to descend the stairs, he spotted something out of place on one of the steps. It was some type of goop. He bent down to take a closer look and noted was white, slimly, and dripping down. He almost touched it with his fingers, but then thought better of it. Marcus shined his flashlight upwards to see if there was a leak coming from somewhere above him in the ceiling but couldn't see any source for it.
Marcus continued on and reached the bottom of the stairs. There he found another long corridor. This corridor had a number of rooms branching off every couple of feet. They looked like crew quarters. Marcus wished that he had brought the door gunner with him at that point. Every doorway he had to cross had another one on the opposite of it, which meant to check one he'd have to turn his back on the other one. Marcus very carefully and quietly poked his head around the corner of the first room. It was empty. He turned and looked into the one on the opposite side and found it equally vacant.
One by one, Marcus began to clear rooms. There was no sign of the marines having passed that way, but also no signs of the crew of the ship. Marcus began to wonder what happened to them. Had they abandoned ship? If so, why?
Suddenly Marcus felt awfully stupid. The freighter was supposed to be transporting nuclear materials. What if there had been a radiation leak that caused the crew to abandon ship? If that were the case, the freighter could have been drifting for days, leaving the trail of radiation they had been following. It would explain the dead fish and poisoned villagers they had encountered along the way. It fit, and in a bad way. The gash in the freighter's hull could have been cause by a collision and resulted in it spilling radioactive waste everywhere it went.
In his haste to rush in, Marcus had not grabbed a Geiger counter to check for radiation inside the ship. For all her knew, he could have already walked through enough radiation to seal his fate. It would explain why none of the marine team had reported in. They might have opened up the wrong door and contaminated themselves. For all he knew, they were already collapsed somewhere below decks dying.
As Marcus stood there contemplating his possible death, he started to become aware of a noise coming from behind him echoing in the stairwell. It was almost like a rhythmic tapping of finger or nails along the metal walls. From time to time there was also a soft, low toned, chirping. Marcus had no idea what was causing either noise, but it was unnerving. He started to step backwards, shinning his light towards the stairwell.
Marcus stood there waiting for whatever it was to come into the light. He raised his weapon, ready to fire. There was something moving in the darkness of the stairwell, but it was on the far side of the wall and Marcus couldn't get a good look at it. He didn't want to fire without knowing for sure what he was firing at. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end.
All of the sudden, whatever was in the stairwell let out a loud shrill chirp, which made Marcus jump and loose a little of his composure. Afterward, Marcus heard the noise of rhythmic scampering coming from the metal ceiling above him and several other areas, all moving towards the stairwell.
Marcus knew it was time to run. He turned away from the stairwell and made a break for the far end of the corridor. He ran, trying to hold onto all his equipment, in particular keeping his flashlight steady enough out in front of him to see where he was going. The last thing he needed was to trip on something he couldn't see. Marcus came to the end of the corridor and then took a left turn. It brought him to a large metal door, one which required him to turn a wheeled hatch to open.
Marcus had no choice but to briefly pocket his flashlight and shoulder his rifle while he used both of hands to open the hatch. He was briefly in the dark and defenseless while doing so. He cranked as fast as he could until finally, he heard the pop of the door seal. Marcus scrambled into the room on the other side. As he closed the door, he could hear the sounds of scurrying in the dark corridor he had just been in. Marcus used the wheel on his side to seal it shut again.
Marcus took a moment to take a deep breathe and try to recollect himself. His heart was pounding, and his breathing was heavily after running so hard. He grabbed the flashlight back out of his pocket as he caught his breathe and took a look around at his surroundings. To his horror, he found himself standing in the middle of a room full of bodies. Marcus lost his nerve for a moment, realizing he was hardly safe where he stood. He recognized that the corpses around him were Russians, and that they had obviously been part of the ship's former crew.
Marcus needed assess the situation and make some quick decisions. He could see that the dead Russians were armed with small arms and melee weapons, but they did not do much good against whatever attacked them. He saw a little blood that was green and obviously wasn't human, so the sailors were able to wound their attackers, but didn't actually kill any of them. There were only Russian bodies scattered about. Marcus saw that there was food and water stacked up inside the room, so it looked to him like the Russians were trying to hold out until help arrived.
Marcus panned the flashlight around and spotted a door on the other side of the room which looked like it had been broken into. It was clear to him that whatever had attacked them was strong enough to force its way through the door given enough time. Marcus took a closer look at the nearest corpse and noticed the man hadn't just been killed, but rather there was something wrong with the body. The corpse looked emaciated. The eyes were sunken in and the skin was wrinkled, as if the man had been sucked dry of his body fluids. Upon further inspection, Marcus did find puncture wounds in the man's chest. He felt sick, realizing what had happened to all the men around him. They had all died horribly.
Marcus could hear the sounds of whatever attacked them at the door he had closed, they sounded like they were scratching at it. He was not about to find out what they were. He ran over to the broken door on the far side of the room and tried to open it. It was no good though. When the door had been broken though, the latch that opened it had been bent, there was no chance of getting it open that way. Instead, Marcus gave it a good solid kick, hoping to break it open, but to no avail. The metal was not going to bend to his will.
The noise he made, however, seemed to gain the interest of whatever was behind the door on the far side of the room. Marcus could hear them beginning to test the metal and force their way through. Worse, he could hear other noises above him starting to move around to the other side. If they got there before he could escape, he'd be trapped.
Marcus had one last option though. He could get down on his belly and try to squeeze himself through the hole in the door. It was going to be tight, but he guessed that there would be enough space for him to force his way through. Marcus slid his weapon and flashlight to the other side and then climbed through. He did manage to tear his uniform on the metal as he passed, but he made it.
As Marcus cleared the door he got to his feet and decided that he needed to get back topside as soon as possible. He could hear noises around him closing in. If any of the other team members were still alive, they were on their own. Marcus took off at full speed, looking for another stairwell.
He found one a minute later and began the climb up. As he did, Marcus heard a noise above him. He moved the flashlight just in time to see something coming down at him. He didn't know exactly what it was, but he did know that it wasn't a man. Marcus dropped the flashlight to his side and reached out with his rifle to deflect whatever was coming at him.
Marcus couldn't see his attacker, but he felt the weight of whatever it was hit against his weapon. It was heavy enough to knock Marcus off his feet, but it never actually touched him. His assailant hit the floor with a thud and let out a loud screech. The bayonet on the tip of Marcus' rifle was lodged deep into whatever it was. Marcus tried to pull the knife out and leave, but it was stuck pretty tight. Marcus did not want to give up his only weapon, so he pulled the trigger on his assault rifle and let loose three rounds into his attacker. The force of the bullets ripping through flesh was enough for Marcus to finally tear his bayonet free.
With weapon in hand, Marcus continued to climb up the stairwell. He did not hear the sound of his attacker following him, so he assumed that it was either badly wounded or already dead. Either way, he did not care much so long as it didn't get back up again. Marcus took his flashlight out when he felt like he was out of immediate danger to take a look back at it. However, he was already too far up the stairs to get a good look at its body. He could only see some green blood that had spread far enough out into the stairwell to spot. Though curious, Marcus was not about to go back and take a look. He just needed to keep moving.
When he had reached the top of the stairs, Marcus doubled back through the corridor, trying to make a B-line back to the helicopter. He moved as quickly as he could but was also being cautious of his surroundings. Failing to see another attacker could mean instant death.
Marcus kept going until he found the body of one of the marines. He stopped to take a look at him. Unfortunately, he was already dead. He had been killed the same manner as the Russian sailors. Marcus didn't know any of the marines well enough to know which one it was, but it definitely wasn't Brock. The body was far too small to be him.
Marcus noticed the dead marine had a folder in his hands. It appeared to be the ship's manifest. Marcus grabbed it. If he left it behind, then everything he had just went through would be for nothing. He stuffed the folder into his flight suit and quickly moved on.
Marcus continued down the corridor full speed, looking and listening for any would be attackers. As he came to an intersection of corridors, he ran into Brock coming from the other direction. The two men pointed their weapons at each other for a second before recognizing one another.
"Marcus, we need to get the FUCK out of here." Was all Brock said before taking point and leading the way forward. Marcus said nothing and followed. As they drew near the exit, Marcus could see Brock carrying a case with a Russian star on it.
The pair finally reached the open air of the deck. They were just seconds away from the escape helicopter. The other Marine officer had already made it back to the chopper, but with only two of his men. The door gunner briefly turned his weapon towards them but did not fire when he recognized them. As they reached the helicopter the marine officer began to speak.
"Sgt. Brock, are any of your boys still alive?" The officer asked.
"No, nobody else in my group made it." Brock answered. "I did manage to get this though." He handed the case over the officer.
"What you see is all I got left too. The rest are KIA." The marine officer replied, taking the case. "We got the manifest from the captain's quarters, but then lost it on our way out."
Marcus was getting the helicopter prepped for takeoff but was listening to the conversation. He took the time to pull the folder out of his suit and handed it to Brock, who in turn handed to the officer.
"Outstanding boys." The marine officer said with glee. "Well, there's no point in staying any longer then. Lieutenant, get us the hell out of here."
"Roger." Marcus replied, a cold bead of sweat running down his forehead.
As the chopper began to lift off the deck, the door gunner spotted movement near the passageway and opened fire. Marcus was focused on flying and could not turn his head to see, but the powerful machine gun poured a stream of shells into the corridor and only a green mist poofed out as they tore through.
When they radioed what had happened to the Vice Admiral Malek he had he guns of the USS Nebraska turn on the Russian freighter and tore her to pieces bit by bit. They already had everything they needed from the ship. They had the photographic evidence of the ship's existence, the ship's manifest which included a list of all of the cargo, and thanks to Brock, they had a uranium rod that was meant for a nuclear reactor, physical evidence of what the ship had been carrying. Anything else on board the ship was getting shredded by Nebraska's eighteen-inch shells and was going to end up either exploded or on the cold ocean floor.
By the time the super battleship's guns fell silent, there was not a trace of the Russian freighter left. The mission wasn't over yet though. Now that they had proven the Russians were trying to smuggle nuclear materials to the Chinese, they needed to locate the Red Bamboo's secret base.