Chapter 10: The Watershed

Admiral Ryan climbed down the steps into the archive to find Penwood waiting for him with a hot cup of coffee and a whole stack of fresh case files. Penwood seemed to perk up when he caught sight of Marcus.

"Good morning Penwood." Admiral Ryan greeted him warmly. "You seem a bit more ready for the day than I am." He noted with a bit of weariness in his voice.

"That's an affirmative, sir." Penwood replied politely. "It's an interesting story, and I like the way you tell it." Admiral Ryan only stood and stared at the young clerk. He found it odd that Penwood was so enthralled by the tale.

"I've been curious about something Penwood." Admiral Ryan began. "You seem surprised by the events of my story as they are unfolding. Surely you should have already heard something about these events before. How is it, that this all seems new to you?"

"Well sir, I was home schooled." Penwood began to explain. "My mother was perhaps a little overprotective, and very religious. For obvious reasons, I don't think she wanted me to know too much about what actually happened. Of course, I had friends growing up who would tell me things. But the stories of children don't give you the whole picture. In fact, only a small fraction of it thus far. So, in many respects, I'm hearing the truth of things for the first time."

"Ha, well I know a little something about overbearing mothers myself." Admiral Ryan chuckled. "They always want to shield us from the harshness of the world, but sometimes, the best protection is getting out there and seeing things for what they are, growing to understand them. Ignorance is no defense. Fathers, on the other hand, know the value of throwing a child into the deep end of the pool and watching them learn how to swim themselves. Then again, maybe a little guidance from time to time isn't so bad." He smirked. "I guess it takes all kinds."

Penwood returned the smile.

"When faced with danger, there are primarily three types of people Penwood." Admiral Ryan went on. "There are those who run away at the first sign of trouble. Those who freeze up, not knowing what to do. And those who rise to meet it head on. I tend to admire and relate to those who choose to fight. But for the species as a whole, you need each of those personality types. Those who run away usually survive. Those who freeze up get to see the results of those who fight and learn from it, good or bad. And if no one ever stood their ground, our race would have perished long ago. Anyhow, you aren't here to listen to a philosophy lesson, you are here for a story." Marcus changed gears. "Where did we leave off?"

"Here, I marked it." Penwood slid a file over to him, it was titled: 'The Battle of the Yellow Sea'.

"Oh yes." Admiral Ryan nodded, recalling. "The Japanese had just got their bells rung by the Rodans. To put it into more literal terms, the IJN lost five capitol ships, four heavy cruisers, and several destroyers. Also, a score of other vessels had suffered major damage during the battle. The Japanese air losses were even worse. About forty percent of the men and aircraft that participated in the clash were lost."

"Taken all together, Japanese losses would have cost billions upon billions of dollars, if tallied in today's money." Admiral Ryan continued. "And this was on top of the ships the IJN lost earlier in the year fighting Anguirus. It was truly a staggering blow for any country. The Japanese would rebuild, and they would remain a strong regional power, but their naval dominance in the Western Pacific was shattered that day. They were no longer an immediate threat to the Chinese, the European colonial powers of the region, or us."

Penwood nodded in understanding and then took a sip of coffee.

"Now you're probably wondering to yourself, if capitol ships are so costly to replace, then why bother with them?" Admiral Ryan went on. "I'll tell you Penwood. Having a strong navy makes you a player on the World-Stage. Big guns equal clout and prestige. It is true of most powerful nations today, and it was certainly true for the Japanese at that time. Just a few decades prior, they were seen as a second, or even a third-rate power, but then they defeated the Russian's Grand Fleet in the early 1900s and they continued to develop more powerful warships in the years that followed. That victory thrust the Japanese into the international spotlight, and they wanted to remain in it. Navies are expensive sure, but they are a projection of a nation's power away from home."

"With enough influence and money from sea trade, you can take over the world." Admiral Ryan continued on. "The British Empire is probably the single best example of turning naval dominance into supreme power. They used to say that the sun never set on the British Empire. That was true, and that was accomplished in large part due to their fleet. The British controlled swaths of land throughout the globe. They certainly never could have built and maintained such an empire without a strong naval arm. I suppose, in a sense, a navy is like a high stakes bet. The investment up front is big, but the rewards can be even bigger. Anyhow, I'm getting off track with my naval rant, back to the subject at hand..."

…

In the Yellow Sea, Akira was circling the carrier Akagi in his fighter. He was biding his time, waiting for his turn to land. His fuel gauge was inching its way closer to the red line, but Akira was calm. He knew exactly how far you could push a Zero before the fighter would give out.

The sun was hiding behind a wall of clouds and the wind was picking up. Even from a thousand feet above, Akira could see the Japanese fleet had taken a beating. Ships were still burning and sinking in the sea below. Bodies of sailors littered the water, some living, and some already beyond help. Their white uniforms stood out starkly against the dark waters. Vessels that were undamaged were lowering down nets and taking on survivors from other ships that weren't so lucky. Though there was an urgency to get the survivors out of the water, it seemed as though the action of the day was over. The Rodans had retreated northward out of radar range, which made Japanese commanders feel more secure.

After ten more minutes of circling, Akira finally landed back on the deck of the Akagi. He taxied his fighter to the flightdeck's forward elevator and was immediately brought down inside the main hanger to be inspected for battle damage. Once the Zero was brought to a halt below, Akira jumped down from his cockpit and surveyed his surroundings. The mood in the hanger deck could not have been more different from what it had been like earlier in the day.

When the fighters had been getting ready to launch, the hanger had been full of commotion. Overconfident pilots rearing for action, excited sailors cheering and shouting, encouraging the airmen to give the monster hell. Now the room was as quiet as a tomb. Despite being one of the last flyers to set back down, Akira still found the hanger was occupied by less than half the number of aviators that had set out. The Akagi's air-groups had taken a particularly hefty number of casualties during the course of the battle.

Akira could see one of the other pilots sitting on the floor with his back resting against the bulkhead. He was shaken from the fight, staring down at nothing in particular. The rest of the men appeared to be processing what had just happened too. It was a dismal scene. The Japanese had been decisively beaten, and they all knew it. Moreover, it had not even been much of a contest. They had been like an army of mice trying to assault a Lion's den. The truth of the matter was starting to set in. It was a crushing defeat. Bravado had been the Japanese's pet at the outset, but only in the aftermath of the fight, did they realize just how futile the effort had been. As the pilots all stewed on this fact, tempers started to flare. Someone needed to be held accountable.

Akira could see one angry pilot shouting at a flight-officer, demanding answers. He wanted to know why all his friends had been thrown away like trash. His superior, not having a good answer, simply replied that it was their duty to die for the Emperor at a time and place of his majesty's choosing. The answer proved to be quite unsatisfactory to the incensed pilot. He had to be restrained by the two remaining men of his squadron.

Oddly, in the wake of this flagrant display of insubordination, the officer simply walked away, ignoring the pilot. Akira got the impression that the officer secretly sympathized with the aviator, and that he wished to avoid arguing with him any further. If the incident escalated any more, the flight-officer would have little other choice but to punish the angry pilot, which he seemed opposed to doing. Suffice to say, it was a bizarre scene to be found on the highly disciplined flagship of the Imperial Japanese Navy.

Following the outburst, Akira surveyed the other pilots and crewmen around him. He concluded that most of them felt the same way. Though they all kept quiet about it, the airmen all seemed to recognize that they had been sent out into the jaws of death by their superiors. It was bad enough that they had been defeated, but the blatant disregard for their lives from High-Command made it an even harder pill to swallow.

A few hours later, the IJN fleet was recalled back to port to regroup and reassess the situation. In the meantime, Japanese authorities did their best to keep track of the pair of Rodans. Radar stations set up in mainland Japan occasionally picked up the monsters and indicated that they were still flying northward. However, the last tracking station in Hokkaido lost the duo as they retreated even further north out of range. Several more hours after that, a small flotilla of Japanese destroyers and other patrol craft were dispatched northward into the Okhotsk Sea in an effort to relocate the Rodans, but with no success.

…

In Germany, Wehrmacht forces converged on Essenheim following Varan's attack on the village. Soldiers did their best to clear the streets of debris and render aid to survivors. Amongst them, they found Reinhart crawling around blindly in the rubble, still feeling the effects of being exposed to a massive quantity of tear gas.

The soldiers rescued Reinhart and brought him to a makeshift hospital. The medical staff there immediately began to treat him. Fortunately for Reinhart, tear gas did not generally do permanent damage to the eyes. He was stripped down and washed. Reinhart's contaminated clothes were disposed of and then his eyes were flushed with fresh cool water. There was a time when such a thing would have embarrassed him, but not anymore. Not after what he had been through.

Reinhart started to feel the burning leave his face for the first time in hours. Though the residue was finally gone, his eyes and throat were still inflamed from prolonged exposure to the gas. The relief workers gave Reinhart water to drink and lay him down in a cot to recover. As he had been awake for hours, and wandering around in pain the whole time, Reinhart was quick to fall asleep.

Reinhart's reprieve was short-lived though. Only a few hours later, he was awakened to serve a solemn duty. The bodies of the villagers killed in the attack had been lined up along what remained of Essenheim's main street. They needed to be identified before burial. The majority of Essenheim's residents were either dead or in worse shape than Reinhart, so it fell to him to identify his parents, brother, and other friends he'd known.

As Reinhart walked out of the tent with some assistance from a soldier, his eyes were overwhelmed by the light of the midday sun. From Reinhart's perspective, he might as well have been standing on the surface of Mercury. Even with his eyes tightly closed, the daylight was too bright for him. He cupped his hands over his face and retreated back into the relative darkness of the tent to let his eyes adjust.

Inside the tent, there was only a sliver of light coming in from the outer flaps, but even that took Reinhart a minute to tolerate. Eventually, his senses caught up, and he was able to sit there with his eyes wide open. With that accomplished, Reinhart was ready to try his luck outside again. This time, he wisely began with his eyes shut and stood there while they adjusted little by little. Soon after, he was able to peek out with no trouble.

Though Reinhart's eyes still hurt, in particular when a gust of wind would hit them, a peek was all he needed to proceed forward. The soldier led him back into Essenheim's ruined streets. It was a blessing for Reinhart that he was unable to get a good look at his once beautiful home. However, even without being able to see the devastation clearly, the memories of the previous night none-the-less started to come back to Reinhart. He had to fight back tears, which made his eyes burn even worse.

That hardship didn't stop Reinhart though. He pressed onward with his guide, undeterred. It wasn't until they started to approach the line of bodies that Reinhart began to slow his pace. Once within sight, Reinhart's knees got weak. He hoped the soldier hadn't noticed, but he did. Their pace slowed considerably, almost to a crawl, but still, the soldier respectfully ignored it and said nothing.

Step by step, they came closer to the bodies. Through his impaired vision, Reinhart started to recognize people he had known his whole life. In a small village such as Essenheim, everybody knew everybody else. Every stride took him past another friend or acquaintance. He saw Hannah, Mila, and Elena, the girls that had made such an impression on his brother the night before. Then he saw Sven, the owner of the local pub and Hannes, the friendly baker. More and more death followed, until Reinhart finally came to his brother Heinrich and then his parents.

Each of the bodies were battered and bloodied. They were mere shadows of who they'd once been, but undoubtedly his kin. For Reinhart to see them like that was painful in all senses of the word. They were unnatural. Lifeless. Like terrible, full-scaled dolls staring off into space with their dead eyes. Suddenly, Reinhart couldn't take looking at them anymore. He stopped breathing. His chest felt tight. His eyes somehow burned even more than before. It suddenly felt like a heavy stone had formed in the pit of his stomach. He tried to keep his composure, but it was of little use. Tears streaked down his face as he boiled over.

Seeing that Reinhart was so upset, the soldier bent down and closed the eyes of his Father, mother, and brother. He asked Reinhart just one question: If he was certain? Reinhart only nodded, not capable of forming words, then urged the soldier to take him back to the tent. He was on the verge of a complete breakdown. Without another word, they departed.

…

In the Soviet Far East, above the peninsula of Kamchatka, a cargo plane was flying supplies to one of the remote Russian military outposts located in the wild frontier. It was one of the few places on the planet that was still largely untamed by man. A place of vast, unspoiled natural beauty. Though also a land of cold, and often harsh, weather.

"This is Sergei to Outpost K, Sergei to Outpost K." The cargo plane's pilot radioed to the base. "I'm about a half-hour out from touchdown, over."

"Outpost K to Sergei, we read you loud and clear." A gruff voice crackled back on the other end, Sergei recognized it.

"Oh… Boris my friend, it's nice to hear your voice!" Sergei greeted him. "Do me a favor, and make sure our comrades on air-defense duty today are aware I'm coming. It would really spoil my good mood to get shot at."

"Affirmative comrade." Boris replied. "I must say. I'm looking forward to seeing what you've brought us this time."

"How are conditions down there? Am I going to skid on the runway?" Sergei asked, having done so before at Outpost K.

"Negative. I think the boys knew you were coming." Boris answered. "Everything was cleared away yesterday. The weather today has been nothing but sunshine down here. I assume it is similar up there?"

"No troubles so far." Sergei reported. "It's a good day to be in the sky Comrade."

"Good, fly safe Sergi and I will see you soon my friend, signing off." Boris cut out.

"Goodbye Boris." Sergei put down his mic.

Sergei's plane was called 'Lucky Old Olga'. Sergei Yukov was a retired officer from what used to be the Imperial Russian Air Services, which had been rolled into the Soviet Air-force since the Czar was overthrown. Sergei was lucky enough to avoid being caught up in any red tape after the change in government. It probably helped that he served with distinction and never made any waves whatsoever.

Since becoming a civilian, Sergei had been able to negotiate a contract to bring supplies to the smaller Russian outlier bases that were littered throughout the strategically located Kamchatka Peninsula. The Soviets maintained a large military presence there, as it served as their main naval base in the Pacific and guarded their Far East interests.

The supplies Sergei brought in were mostly the 'non-essential' kind. Of course, he brought in the standard fare that was on the books, but his plane was fairly large, so as a side business, he also brought in certain items that were 'off the books'. He specialized in particular types of foods that were restricted, expensive brands of cigarettes, strong alcohol, pornographic magazines, and other various products that were considered contraband. The type of items the generals back in Moscow would consider taboo, but to the soldiers stationed in the middle of nowhere, simply essentials for living.

As such, the men at the remote bases would pay whatever was necessary to get their hands on them. Sergei was fair though, he wasn't going to die rich from exploiting the soldiers, but then again, he wasn't going to die poor either. Such an enterprise in a newly communist society carried some risks, and security had been tightened since the Japanese expansion in the region. Given the two country's recent history, the Russians had every reason to be wary of the Japanese. The Japanese had stunned the world by defeating the Czars forces in the Russo-Japanese War of 1904. It might have happened a generation ago, but the Russians certainly hadn't forgotten the humiliating defeat, and in the meantime, the Japanese had become ever more aggressive in recent years.

With tensions so high, Sergei's supply drops had become that much more important for the morale of the common Russian soldiers. For all they knew, the Japanese could land on their shores at a moment's notice, so any distraction was a welcome one. When soldiers on the ground saw Lucky Old Olga approaching their landing strips, they would always come running out with fists full of rubles.

Sergei loved to fly, and Kamchatka was a beautiful place to do so. The large peninsula was dotted by a ring of fire. It was the one place in Russia with a volcanic belt, containing around one hundred and sixty volcanoes, twenty-nine of which that were still active. Night or day, they were a sight to behold.

Of course, Sergei had sense enough to avoid the skies around active volcanoes when they were being particularly lively. Still, he always found it sad that travel to the Kamchatka Peninsula was so restricted. To outsiders and Russians alike, access was very limited. The Soviet government saw the territory as so strategically important that a person had to have a special pass just to set foot there. Luckily for Sergei, he happened to have one of those.

The minutes rolled by like seconds as Sergei surveyed the breathtaking Kamchatka landscape. Before he knew it, he was just a couple miles out from his final approach to Outpost K. Sergei had not made a trip out there in nearly six weeks due to ongoing inclement weather. He figured the base must have been long out of his wares since last visit. Sergei smiled to himself, expecting he'd be getting a hero's welcome upon arrival. He imagined it would be like Julius Cesar getting a Triumph through the streets of Rome.

Sergei banked Lucky Old Olga through a patch of clouds and hit some unexpected turbulence. He could hear bottles of vodka rattling against each other within their case in the hold.

"Yeesh, the air out here is rough today." Sergei tightened his grip on the controls and the plane steadied. 'Boris could have warned me about the crosswind.' He thought annoyed. The turbulence passed and he relaxed again. "Better go check the goods quick."

Sergei flipped on the autopilot and quickly made his way back to the hold. As reliable as Lucky Old Olga had always been for him, he didn't trust the autopilot as much. He was always worried that it would suddenly stop working. Sergei crouched down and inspected the vodka bottles closely. After a quick glance, he didn't find anything out of place and decided to head back up to the cockpit.

As Sergei stood up, he thought he saw a flicker of a shadow through one of the plane's side windows. He carefully crept up to the window and looked out. He saw only blue sky, dotted with fluffy white clouds.

'I must have imagined it.' Sergei thought to himself, almost laughing. But then he saw something out the window, and any thought of laughter instantly became a memory. "B`lyad!" Sergei shouted. He began to panic as he ran back up to the controls of the Lucky Old Olga. Once he got there, he immediately put the plane into a hard dive.

The nose of the old cargo plane was nearly pointed directly at the ground. Sergei was pushing the plane into an eighty-degree dive, which was hazardously steep. Bottles of vodka slipped from their casing and started to break against the cabin wall. One of the bottles found its way all the way up into the cockpit.

Sergei ignored everything else as he continued to dive hard. None of it would matter if he didn't escape. Just as he came within a thousand feet of the ground, the force of something large passing over him sent Lucky Old Olga into a tailspin. The plane continued out of control, and downwards toward the ground. Sergei fought with the stick and somehow managed to regain control of the plane around the five hundred feet mark.

Terrified, Sergei leveled out and then looked into the mirror that he had installed just outside of his cockpit to see if he could locate his attacker behind him. To Sergei's surprise, he was able to see it. To his relief, it was above and behind him, and moving off. He sighed, comforted by his near escape. He had somehow managed to dodge the monster, and it looked like the creature had given up.

'Maybe it just didn't like being that close to the ground?' Sergei thought to himself suspiciously, unsure why the monster had given up so easily. He only had a moment more to consider the thought. As Sergei continued to watch the monster move away through his rear-view mirror, he had not noticed a second creature coming straight at him from the front. Sergei had just enough time to shift his gaze forward to see the oncoming threat for a second before it hit his plane. The Lucky Old Olga disintegrated into a thousand pieces and Sergei along with it.

Below, Outpost K was already burning, and the Rodans were moving towards Outpost J, which was located further to the north.

…

Meanwhile in the Philippines, Marcus was finally released back into full active service. Before even being officially discharged from the hospital, he was ordered to report to Admiral Nimitz's headquarters. Lieutenant-Commander Williams, the admiral's aide who still seemed to have-it-in for Marcus, was waiting and approached him as he was signed out of care.

Williams escorted Marcus across the Naval Yard and to the temporary offices Admiral Nimitz was occupying. On the walk over, the Lieutenant-Commander didn't say a word to Marcus. He simply kept a stern military frown and led the way, expecting nothing from Marcus but to follow his lead. At last, Lieutenant-Commander Williams brought him to an office door and knocked. Marcus could hear the admiral's voice coming from the other side, urging them to enter.

Upon stepping inside, Marcus found the admiral reading over the fresh battle report the Japanese had just submitted from their encounter at the Yellow Sea. Nimitz appeared skeptical of their casualty figures. The admiral had sources within Japan which indicated the losses submitted in the report had been grossly underestimated. The Japanese were intentionally downplaying the huge naval losses they sustained in just one day of combat. One could hardly blame them. Cooperation or not, it would be downright foolish to disclose to a rival power just how deeply wounded they actually were. The Japanese didn't want to look vulnerable.

Despite the depth of the ruse, Admiral Nimitz was intelligent enough to immediately see right through it. Deceptions aside, the report did contain three facts that were very relevant. First, the Japanese had failed to strike a meaningful blow. Second, there were in fact two Rodans, not just the individual creature as everyone had assumed. Third, both monsters had retreated north, out of Japanese and Chinese territory. What the Imperial Japanese Navy did, or did not lose, was minor in the face of the other facts.

"Ah, Petty Officer Ryan, glad to see you back to active duty." Admiral Nimitz greeted Marcus warmly when he noticed him. "Sit down, sit down. I'm assuming you are not up to speed, so take a look at this." Nimitz handed Marcus the battle report. Lieutenant-Commander William's lip curled slightly upwards with disdain, seeing the confidence Admiral Nimitz had in Marcus.

Marcus, meanwhile, was oblivious to the commander's contempt. As he read through the report, his emotions jumped from astonishment that there were now two Rodans to contend with. Then to awe, reading about the Japanese heroics during the battle. Finally, to horror, as he read out the casualty reports at the bottom. What particularly got to Marcus was the hand-written note Admiral Nimitz had written-in about what he guessed were the actual number of Japanese losses. His estimates were staggering.

"I can see the weight of understanding on your face sailor." Admiral Nimitz noted.

"Well, the reports spell it out pretty clearly sir." Marcus said, looking grim. "It didn't go well for the Japanese. Worse than predicted, in fact."

"Yes, to say it went poorly is an understatement." The Admiral agreed. "Regrettably, I don't think our navy would have performed much better in the Imperial Japanese Navy's place. A lot of men and material were expended for no practical gain. It was both a tactical and strategic loss. The only good that came of it is now we know we're dealing with two dangerous opponents instead of just one. Though… I'm not sure what we can do about it. These creatures have every advantage over us. They have no obvious weaknesses, and we can't so much as touch them in the sky. I've been in the Navy for a long time, and I can tell you one thing: the future is in the sky. Carriers and air power are making the strength of the surface fleet obsolete. But now these things come along and dominate the sky. They're so fast and powerful, no aircraft can keep up with them, and no plane has the firepower to even scratch them. We have no answers for how to deal with them."

"Maybe the correct answer is not to engage them then." Marcus suggested. "Why play a game we know we can't win?"

"You are suggesting we just give up?" Lieutenant-Commander Williams asked with a sneer.

"With respect sir, all I'm saying is, why engage on their terms?" Marcus answered. "I think we have to wait. To beat an enemy, you have to understand them. We certainly do not understand the Rodans, not yet anyway. We don't know what they are or what they want. Once we do, we can formulate a more practical plan to deal with them."

"So, in the meantime, you just want us to let the monsters run free and wreak havoc?" Williams countered. "We certainly cannot allow them to do that."

"I think that would be better than attacking the monsters like the Japanese tried to do." Marcus reasoned. "We need to watch and wait. Sometimes doing nothing is the hardest thing to do, but it's the right thing to do."

"Well, doing nothing won't be an option if these creatures threaten our interests." Admiral Nimitz cut in. "There will be political pressure from back home to do something, and hell to pay, if we do nothing. Although, I see the merits of avoiding a full-scale assault at this time. Perhaps we should just focus on a defensive strategy until a better solution to our problem presents itself. Fighters don't seem to be getting the job done. I think investing in heavier AA cannons would be the most prudent move for now. We simply have to prepare as well as we can and hope for the best." Just then, there was a quick secession of knocks on the admiral's door.

"Admiral, we're getting news about the Rodans!" An Ensign shouted excitedly from outside. "You need to come see!"

Admiral Nimitz dropped what he was doing and exited his office. He followed the Ensign to the radio room within Naval HQ. Marcus and Lieutenant-Commander Williams were quick to follow as well. As they entered the communications center, they found the radio operators in an uproar. They were frantically trying to keep up with incoming messages. It was a veritable storm of paperwork.

"It started about an hour ago sir." The Ensign began to explain. "We intercepted just one signal at first, but now we are getting flooded by maydays from Soviet outposts all over the Kamchatka Peninsula." The Ensign motioned for the officers to bring their attention to a map of Kamchatka he'd brought into the communications center. "The first signal came from here in the south". He put a red pin in the map to mark it. "The first thing we found odd was, despite originating from a military outpost, the message was not encrypted in any way. That is very peculiar. Not typical of the Soviets at all."

"I see, go on." Admiral Nimitz urged him.

"Well, I think they were in too much of a hurry to get the signal out to bother with encryption." The Ensign continued. "As soon as I saw the message come across, I made it a top priority, but the message was still in Russian, so it has taken us a while to translate it. In the meantime, we've received several other frantic and uncoded messages. The follow-up transmissions have been easier to translate, as they share certain words and phrases that are in common with the first. They point to one thing: These bases are under attack by the Rodans." The Ensign quickly pulled out a copy of the message transcripts, so the admiral could see for himself. Words such as: "Large", "Bird", and "Attack", were commonly used in each message. It wasn't difficult to see the pattern.

"What else can you tell me, son?" Admiral Nimitz asked.

"Following shortly after the first attack sir, two others happened almost simultaneously in different locations, both of them just a little bit further northward." The Ensign looked to the map again. "Here… and here." He placed two more red pins into the map. "Then two others, here and here." He placed two additional pins. "And right now, we are picking up a signal from yet another base here that appears to be under attack presently." The Ensign placed one final pin. "All of this just in the space of an hour!"

"They're hitting them so damn fast." Admiral Nimitz noted, sounding troubled. "Williams, bring me the strategic map of that area from my office." He ordered. "The one with all the known Russian bases marked."

"Yes sir!" Lieutenant-Commander Williams disappeared to fetch it. A few moments later, he returned and outstretched the larger and more detailed map on the table for everyone to see. Admiral Nimitz put the smaller map next to it and looked back and forth, noting the locations of known Russian military facilities on the strategic map, and seeing, one by one, that they were being hit by the Rodans.

"It looks like they are clearing them out methodically, sir." Williams noted.

"Yes, but how are they locating them?" Admiral Nimitz asked suspiciously. "The Rodans are fast, sure, but in the time it is taking them to fly from one location to the other, destroying the bases, and then moving on, it's like the monsters have a map of their own to follow. Now it's reasonable to assume that if the Rodans spent enough time flying around up there, they would eventually be able to find and destroy all the Soviet bases. But the fact of the matter is they are knocking them off in no time at all. Am I the only person impressed by this?" Nimitz paused, looking around to his men before returning his attention to the map. "Once the monsters are done with one site, they make a B-line to the next one. It's like they already know exactly where the Russian bases are."

"Perhaps they do." Marcus suggested.

"How could they possibly know that?!" Williams asked incredulously, sounding bewildered and even a little frightened. "They're just animals!"

"That is true, but a lot of animals can detect things that we cannot." Marcus pointed out. "My science teacher used to say that birds can sense the magnetic poles when they migrate, and bats use sonar in flight to identify things around them. Maybe the Rodans have their own way of detecting things while they fly."

"So, what are these things using then?" Williams asked.

"Perhaps they can detect radar waves?" Marcus proposed. "Something has been bothering me since the attack on our fleet in the South China Sea. I was sitting with the radar operator when we detected the first Rodan. Initially, the creature's course was almost random, as if it was just flying around aimlessly, but once it came within a certain range, it made a B-line for the fleet. It was over a hundred miles away at the time, so there's no way it could have seen us at that distance, no matter how good its eyesight is. So, it must have had another way of detecting us."

"I agree with that observation. However, the Russian bases on the Kamchatka Peninsula don't have radar stations yet." Admiral Nimitz pointed out, shooting down that theory.

"What about radio waves then?" Marcus asked. "Maybe these things are able to sense the electromagnetic wavelengths of radio signals. At this point, all of the Soviet bases out there are panicking and transmitting distress signals, calling for help. In doing so, they could be pinpointing their positions for the monsters to track. That is, if the Rodans can indeed detect radio signals."

"That... actually seems possible." Admiral Nimitz admitted. "If it is true, that would explain a couple things, particularly how the Rodans have been choosing their targets. Ships, planes, and bases. All of those would have radio equipment."

"We could test that theory by alerting the Russians sir." Marcus suggested. If the bases that have not been touched so far were to stop transmitting..."

"I'm afraid I'm not authorized to share any information with the Russians at this time." Admiral Nimitz interjected firmly. "Certain politics prevent that. If it were the Japanese, that would be another story, but the Russians are not part of our pact of cooperation."

"Politics...?" Marcus was a little shocked. "But Sir, people's lives are at stake!"

"Do not question the Admiral, he knows more about the situation than you do!" Lieutenant-Commander Williams snapped at Marcus.

Marcus wanted to rear back and belt Williams in the mouth at that moment, but he knew the consequences of striking a superior officer. It would not end well for him if he did. Though he felt conflicted about it, Marcus decided to keep his mouth shut. He could only stand there and continue to listen to panicked Russian voices pour through the radio's receiver.

…

As the day pressed on, more and more Russian bases came under attack. By the end of the day, every single outpost on the map had been wiped off of it. Whatever the Rodans had planned for the Kamchatka Peninsula, they didn't want to share it with any human company. The surviving Russian military personnel began to evacuate the peninsula the next day. Marcus felt terrible, having done nothing to help them. It was possible his theory was incorrect. But if it was or wasn't, no matter what, it was almost a certainty that the Russians would have lost control of the territory anyway. However, if Marcus' theory was correct, many Russian soldiers might have been spared in the initial attacks if they had just been told to turn their radios off.

Recognizing Marcus' conflict about what happened, Admiral Nimitz came to him privately to inform him why they couldn't warn the Russians. The primary issue was that five days earlier, Joseph Stalin had ordered the Red Army to invade Finland over a territorial dispute. The invasion was a thinly veiled landgrab, and it was condemned by the majority of the international community. Many nations, including the United States, Great Britain, and France, were sending Finland aid in the form of weapons and other supplies. Given the political situation between the Western Powers and Russia, sending the Soviets a warning signal might be perceived as treason in some circles in Washington, even if it was the humane thing to do.

Though the war in Finland was young, it had already bogged down into a stalemate. The Fins were fighting like hell, despite being outnumbered ten to one by the invaders. Each day, more foreign volunteers were arriving from the neighboring Scandinavian countries. None of them wanted to share a boarder with the Soviets should Finland fall. Sweden, Denmark, and Norway were all strongly supporting Finland.

There were plenty of outside influences working against the Russians, but perhaps the thing that was slowing them down the most was coming from within Mother-Russia itself. Stalin's purges to the Red Army had a profound effect on their war machine's performance. As it turned out, killing the majority of an army's leadership causes problems to crop up. The disproportionately heavy casualties on the Russian side were just one sign of it.

The Fins possessed powerful natural defensive positions from the outset, and the whole area was experiencing heavy snowfalls. Both of those factors made Russian advances nearly impossible. However, even with their advantages, the Fins were still in a precarious position. The Russians had so many more resources they could afford to throw away. Admiral Nimitz explained how a threat on the opposite side of the Russian frontier might make Stalin scale back his invasion plans. It might even lead to a cessation of hostilities.

Marcus had a hard time arguing those points, but it didn't stop him from feeling guilty. The common Russian people had not chosen the war, and they did nothing to provoke the Rodans either, and yet, it was those people who would suffer on both accounts.

…

As the days passed, no ship or aircraft was safe anywhere from the Eastern edge of Russia to the Northern islands of Japan. The Rodans would destroy anything that even came close to their newly acquired territory.

The Russians had learned a little from the failed Japanese assault. Their fleet assets in the area were evacuated just as quickly as they could be made ready to sail. The Russian military did everything they could to avoid an open confrontation with the Rodans, but they still wanted their peninsula back. Instead of a fight, they instead focused on just trying to get the monsters to leave their territory by other means.

Having learned of the limited success the Germans achieved using gas on Varan in Essenheim, the Russians decided to employ a similar strategy, only on a larger scale, and with something more hazardous than tear gas. The Soviet commanders elected to use mustard gas that was left over from World War I. It would be a war-crime to use it in battle against other men, but there was no such rule for monsters, and the Russians had a huge stockpile of it. The Soviets moved hundreds of truckloads of the gas into the peninsula and began making preparations to utilize it.

Unfortunately for the Soviets, the Rodans attacked within hours of their force's arrival, possibly given away due to the use of radio equipment to coordinate their efforts. To their credit, the Russians were able to deploy large quantities of the gas rapidly. They even managed to launch it towards the Rodans before the monsters were able to inflict much damage to their army. But from that point onward, the plan went completely south. Before the mustard gas could even reach the Rodans, the monsters used their massive wings to cause hurricane-level winds, which blew the deadly gas back into Russian lines. The Soviets had actually anticipated that possibility, and even prepared for that eventuality. The soldiers were all wearing protective gear. However, the sheer strength of the winds the Rodans were producing was powerful enough to tear rubber suits as well as blow masks right off of men's faces, leaving them exposed and vulnerable.

And that wasn't the worst of it. Chemical trucks containing canisters were flipped over and clouds of mustard gas came billowing out of cracked cylinders. Nearly the entire Russian force was caught up in the deadly mist. Thousands of men died from the effects of the gas, and almost as many survivors lived, afflicted by the painful and blistery effects of the gas. Sensing the danger, the Rodans took to the skies and left the area to avoid the poisonous fumes themselves. With their departure, the few soldiers who were fortunate enough to have avoided gas exposure gathered up the many, many, others who were afflicted.

Hours later, those men who could still be saved were loaded up into trucks. At that point, what remained of the Eastern Russian Army retreated. By all accounts, the action was a horror show. Nearly all the survivors were severely blistered from exposure. The Russian's first attempt to retake their land failed miserably.

…

A day after the failed Russian attack, Marcus was summoned back to Admiral Nimitz's office.

"Marcus, I wanted to tell you that Washington has been in contact with the French Government." Admiral Nimitz began. "They have been quietly negotiating American access to the colossal egg they found. The War Department has asked me to put together a research team to send over. I would like you to come along."

Marcus felt unsure, and it showed.

"I won't order you to." Nimitz assured him. "Considering your recent experiences, I'd understand why you might not want to go. I know you've had... difficulties since our last trip out. Your role would officially just be as a member of my staff, but I've found your insights to these creatures to be invaluable so far. I feel you'd continue to be an asset to not only myself, but also our country."

Marcus continued to listen.

"We could learn a lot from studying that egg." The admiral went on. "The French are also concerned that the monster in Germany might hop over the boarder, if it were to reappear. At this point, the Germans can't seem to locate the darn thing. But I wanted you to know, we are supposed to be there strictly as observers. We'll be staying far away from any action. We will only be there to gather intelligence."

"Aren't we just as useful here?" Marcus asked.

"If you mean the Rodans, they are no longer our top priority." The admiral answered. "They are a Soviet problem now. Washington says, as long as the monsters are not threatening anything within our sphere of influence, we are to do nothing. Now, the Rodans may still present a problem for the Japanese on occasion, but honestly, we're more than happy to see them distracted as well. The Japs can keep their war machine focused on something that is not us or our allies."

"I will do my part sir." Marcus saluted dutifully.

"I can tell by looking at you that you are still afraid." Admiral Nimitz noted. "Don't be ashamed by that son, it's ok to be afraid. The trick is to contain your fear. Given some time, I see you doing great things in the Navy. I'll tell you something that has been useful to me: A good commander learns from his fear. It makes you more careful, less likely to waste lives needlessly. A man who can master his fear, is a man to be feared. Because after that, he can do almost anything."

"Yes sir." Marcus found some wisdom in the admiral's words. He still felt reluctant to go with him to France, but the mission seemed safe enough, and no man would be able to call him a coward.

…

In Germany, a week had passed since Varan's attack on Essenheim. Reinhart had fully recovered from his exposure to the tear gas, but he had not recovered from the loss of his brother and parents. They had been buried a couple of days ago, and Reinhart had been living in a world of fog ever since.

The search for their killer was ongoing. The fact that the monster was still out there and could strike again somewhere else at any time weighed heavily on Reinhart. He mostly just spent his time sitting in his family's house, watching the lake from where the creature had come. It was ironic, because Reinhart hated being there, but he had nowhere else to go.

German authorities had been searching the countryside for days with nothing to show for it. Finally, it occurred to them that the monster might have just retreated back into one of the various lakes of the region. The heavy rainfall over the last couple of days prevented them from being certain either way.

Overcast skies made it hard for search aircraft to adequately scout and made finding Varan's trail equally difficult for teams on the ground. Foot soldiers would find trees down here and there, but the rains that had come through were accompanied by very strong winds as well. Identifying what was potentially the monster's doing, versus what was just due to mother nature, was tricky business.

Fortunately for the search teams, the sun finally prevailed on the fourth day. Clear skies meant German planes could get out in force and cover a great deal of ground quickly. After spending two days patrolling the countryside, they had managed to methodically cover almost every corner of the Reich.

In the end, the aircraft came up empty too. Having found nothing, it led the men in charge to believe the creature had indeed retreated back into one of the lakes. The trouble was, they had a lot of places to search. Before completely disappearing, it was clear that the monster had been all over the area. The region in question contained twenty major lakes that were large enough for Varan to hide in. With all the rainfall, it was impossible to guess which one was more likely. Each of them had considerably higher water levels than normal. Since the rain had not been distributed evenly, saying that Varan was in one lake over another due to the water level being higher, wouldn't necessarily prove anything.

Such as it was, the Germans only recourse was to search each body of water individually. To help speed things up, special sonar equipment was brought in to search the lakes. It took a few extra days to gather the gear and fly it in, but it was definitely worth the effort. Otherwise, the Germans would only have divers to rely on, which despite their best efforts, could only do so much. Visibility in most of the lakes wasn't very good. Still, the divers were brave men. If only for their own sakes, they would be luckier if they didn't find anything though.

Searching each of the lakes was taking a considerable amount of time. When the divers finally came to search Lake Hessengart, Reinhart elected to join in their efforts. He was happy to have something to do. It gave Reinhart a welcome distraction from just sitting at home and stewing on his grief.

As it just so happened, one of Heinrich's good friends from the Wehrmacht's intelligence branch came to his funeral. Reinhart approached him and found out he was helping to coordinate the search for Varan. Reinhart asked the intelligence officer, who was named Fritz, and he agreed to give him special permission to assist. As Reinhart knew the area so well, he could act as a field guide for the troops if nothing else.

By this point, the operation had taken the Germans nearly two weeks, hopping from lake to lake and clearing them one by one. In the end, they found themselves back at Hessengart. Reinhart knew in his heart of hearts that the search would end where it all began. He spent all day helping soldiers move equipment and watching the water. He even let the officers use his family's house as a base of operations.

As day turned into night, Reinhart was shocked as the engineers announced that Hessengart had also come up clean. He thought it must have been some type of mistake. The creature couldn't have been anywhere else, they had already searched every other location thoroughly. To humor Reinhart, Fritz had the sonar sweeps performed twice, but there was just nothing to find.

Reinhart was not alone in his frustration. The Wehrmacht had spent two weeks searching, clearing lake after lake, and in the end, they hadn't located Varan. The authorities were puzzled to say the least. They had been banking on Hessengart being the most likely place they would find Varan, as it was his place of origin.

As the Wehrmacht had been searching, ruling out other places, they had been moving in tank divisions from the north. They were stationed nearby, just a mile away from Hessengart, in anticipation of the monster reappearing from there. Given that they had no idea where Varan was now, their plan was out the window.

…

Marcus boarded the flight with Admiral Nimitz that would take them the majority of the way to France. The Journey was long enough to where it actually had to be split between several flights, and then a short journey by sea for the final leg.

Marcus was still uncomfortable flying, but knowing what he was in store for, he had a much easier time with his third takeoff. During his first flight, Marcus avoided even looking out the window because it gave him such bad anxiety. On his second flight out of China, he was too out of it to be bothered by much of anything. This time though, Marcus was actually starting to enjoy himself a little.

Instead of being afraid of the takeoff, he got a little thrill out of it. The sudden acceleration reminded him of a carnival ride he had once been on. While in route to their first stop, Marcus even grew bold enough to look out the window with only minimal trepidation. It was so different to see the clouds from that vantage point, and not just looking up at them from the ground.

…

Back in Germany, Fritz and Reinhart were in his family's home looking over a map of the area. They were searching for an answer that was escaping them, reviewing the order in which the searches had taken place. One by one, the pair crossed out each lake as they went.

"I don't see any gaps in the search." Fritz noted frustrated. "I've checked, and double checked. We didn't miss anything."

"Is it possible that the creature could have jumped lakes?" Reinhart asked. "From one location you hadn't investigated, to one you already cleared during the search?"

"I suppose, but I don't see how." Fritz replied wearily, rubbing his eyes. "As a precaution, we left some troops stationed at every lake after we moved on to other locations. There have also been reconnaissance flights over the whole area the entire time. I don't see how something that big could have avoided detection from both."

"There must be something we're missing." Reinhart sighed. "Some detail that would explain the monster's disappearing act." He sat staring off into space, trying to think.

"Don't get too discouraged Reinhart." Fritz put his hand on his shoulder. "Your brother was good at his job because he never gave up once he set his mind on something. He told me you were smarter than he was. Prove him right."

Reinhart smiled, but he continued to stare off until his eyes came across his father's old bookcase. He saw a particular title wedged into the middle that caught his eye. It was titled: 'The Watershed'. Reinhart got up, pulled out the book, and then thumbed through it. He stopped on a page where something seized his attention and then read for a moment.

"Oh no..." Reinhart whispered to himself. "Oh no…" He repeated a little louder.

"What…?" Fritz took notice, seeing that Reinhart's demeanor had shifted.

"This book talks about the topographical features of the area." Reinhart began. "I just read a section that talks about the aquifer that runs throughout this entire area. In particular, there is a large underwater channel that runs directly from Lake Hessengart to Lake Muritz." Reinhart looked at Fritz knowingly.

"Is that true?" Fritz said, sounding a little alarmed.

"Look here, there's even a picture." Reinhart offered, putting the book down so that Fritz could see for himself. The picture in question was an artist's interpretation. It highlighted the various layers of soil, and showed how the flow of the underground channel connected the two bodies of water.

"I think we have a serious problem!" Fritz grabbed his bag and then ran outside to the troops who had a portable radio.

…

At the same time in a restaurant on the shores of Lake Muritz, a married couple was sitting down to a nice meal. They had just put their order in and were passing the time waiting for their food by talking and enjoying the pleasant view of the water outside the restaurant's large ornate windows. The glass arches jetted out towards a nice decorative patio area, which had large parasols shading the outdoor tables.

It was a perfect day. The couple had taken a leisurely stroll around the eastern bank of the lake. They were aware of the danger of the monster being in the area, but Lake Muritz had already been cleared several days ago, and the muted danger was exciting for them. It certainly hadn't stopped others from venturing out. It felt like a lot of people were there, hoping for a brief peek at the monster Varan.

The two love birds were staring into each other's eyes when a large wave crashed into the window from the lake. The patio furniture that had been outside was scattered all over the veranda, and the large window overlooking the lake resembled a waterfall from the receding stream streaking back down it. Amongst the cascade of water, a form started to take shape from the other side. As the windows cleared, the couple had a better look at what was lurking outside, and they realized too late that coming to the lake today was a very bad idea.