Chapter 8: The Mouse Trap

I woke up panicked and sprang up from the ground. The last thing I could remember was Baragon bearing down on Brock and me in the airport's terminal and then being buried alive. While I was out, I had a nightmare where Baragon was digging down through the rubble and he ended up biting me in half.

I looked around frantically. My heart was racing, and there was a cold sweat on my brow. I felt disoriented, and at first, I wasn't sure where I was. I was no longer in the terminal building. I felt dizzy and reached up, sensing there was something wrong. I could feel a bandage wrapped around my head and my fingers found a patch near my temple that felt wet and sticky. I brought my hand back down to examine it, and sure enough, there was blood. Little balls of light began to swim around in my vision.

"You should try to take it easy." Brock said, taking me unawares. He knelt down next to me. "You took a pretty bad knock to the head. I'm no doctor, but I fixed you up the best I could."

I took a few deep breaths, and my vision started to clear. I became aware that I was on a stretcher out in the open on the airfield. The terminal building was just behind us, or more specifically, the half of it that was still standing was behind us. The rest of the structure had been crushed in.

"What happened?" I asked Brock. "How did we survive?"

"Well, the Chinese tankers made a last-ditch effort to drive off Baragon." Brock began to explain. "They failed, but they did manage to distract him and draw him away from us. Once Baragon was done with them, he went back to the village. I think he spotted more villagers trying to make a break for it. I'm not certain though, I didn't leave our cover to go watch firsthand. I did not want to risk it coming back for us. Seemed like our best bet was to stay hidden."

I looked across the open field and saw the village off in the distance. It was in ruins. Almost every building had been smashed in. The burnt-out husks of Chinese tanks were scattered across the landscape. They appeared to have fought to the last man. Sadly, their bravery had not prevailed.

"Those poor people... to have survived the war, only to die like this." I lamented the dead Chinese civilians, thinking back particularly to the mother and child I witnessed die firsthand. It made me feel sick to my stomach.

"Not all of them died." Brock pointed out helpfully, finding the small silver-lining in the horrific situation. "Some of them were able to hide out long enough to survive. Luckily for us, the Chinese had radioed for air-support. By dawn, fighter planes arrived. The sound of their engines alone was enough to make the monster hightail it out of here. Or maybe he just didn't want to face the sunlight. Who knows? Either way, Baragon disappeared underground. He has been gone for hours. We should be safe now."

"That much is good, but what now?" I asked Brock. "We appear to be stranded here."

"Not so." Brock replied coolly. "I was able to get to the radio inside the terminal and let Command know that we were still alive. They are sending a transport plane back for us. I thought it would be best to get out of what remained of the terminal and wait for them out here instead. Though the walls of the terminal are mostly still standing, I wasn't going to bet our lives on its structural integrity. Better to wait it out at a safe distance. Who knows, with our recent luck, a windstorm probably would have blown in."

About fifty yards away, behind Brock, I could see the pilot Akira Saegusa with a few other Japanese men. It was good to see there were other survivors. Brock noticed I was staring at them and looked back too. A Japanese plane had already arrived to pick them up and they were in the process of preparing for takeoff.

"Yeah, you and I are the only Americans who are still alive, but some of the Japs made it too." Brock remarked. "The majority of them died when the building collapsed on us, but some got lucky. Once the monster was gone, those little bastards actually helped me get you out of that mess. There was a big support beam preventing me from getting to you, and they helped me lift it off. I guess I have to tip my hat to them in this case. They're pretty strong, despite how small they are." Brock almost spat the last part out. There was contempt in his voice.

I wasn't certain if Brock was angry about not being strong enough to move the beam by himself, or, if it was the fact that he had been forced to accept help from the Japanese, who he seemed to despise. Either way, I detected his pride was bruised by the ordeal.

The Japanese plane started its engines and the men standing around it began to board. Akira looked over to us while he was climbing inside the plane. I nodded to him in respect. It was the best thanks I could muster at that distance. He simply smiled back to me and then disappeared inside.

"Anyways, the higher-ups managed to get out on the planes, Admiral Nimitz included." Brock continued. "That was some smart thinking with the spotlight. It's a good thing you did that too, because it was the admiral who dispatched a bird to come back and pick us up. By the time I got the radio working and made contact, I found out that he had already radioed ahead to the base to send someone back for us. They should be arriving in a few hours."

"Well, that is certainly good to hear." I felt a little dizzy, so I lay back down. "Listen Brock, I just wanted to say thank you. If you weren't there looking out for me last night, I don't know what would have happened. Also, thanks for digging me out and patching me up. I'm grateful to you."

"It was my job." Brock replied evenly. "I wouldn't be much of a marine if I couldn't keep a rookie navy-boy's butt out of the fire." He noted, somewhat brushing off what I said. It seemed like Brock wanted to avoid getting into any type of emotional conversation. He grew noticeably uncomfortable at the notion. I just sat there watching him, surprised by the fact that my gratitude was the thing bothering him. I found myself wondering how he could be acting so casually and detached after all of that horror. He had seen the same things I had the night before, and yet, he didn't seem the slightest bit shaken by it. It was peculiar.

…

As Brock had promised, the transport plane soon arrived to collect us. The aircrew helped him load me up into the aircraft, and they informed us that they would be taking us back to the base in the Philippines as soon as they refueled. I was still very disoriented from the blow to my head, so they strapped me into the cot for the flight back. To my surprise, Brock sat next to me and talked the whole time. He told me all about himself. He was from a big catholic family from the Midwest, and he had played football at Notre-Dame. He must have had a lot of pride tied into it, because he went on at some length about it.

Between Brock's stories, and the hum of the engines, I fell fast asleep. I was out for the rest of the flight. Somehow, the balls of light from earlier managed to infiltrate my dreams. They were accompanied by horrible flashes of my experience from the night before. It started with Baragon attacking the village. Then there was the awful sounds of men being devoured. After that, Baragon's huge yellow eye searching for me as I hid in the terminal. Then the three marines being cut down by machine gun fire. Finally, the mother and child being eaten in front of me. That was the worst of it. Somehow, I kept coming back to that terrible image over and over again.

Twelve hours later, we arrived back at the base. The impact of the tires hitting the runway brought me back to reality. It was a welcome reprieve for my dreams. As soon as the plane stopped, they took me directly to the naval hospital for examination. The doctors could tell right away that I had a concussion, but they were also concerned that the trauma to my brain could be more extensive. They would not know for sure without more testing and time. The swelling would need to go down before they could say for sure.

I ended up spending the next two weeks in the naval hospital getting poked and prodded. It was a difficult time, but it was not all bad though. The Admiral ensured I shared a room with Joe, who was still nursing his broken arm. Surprisingly, Brock was also around a lot of the time too. I don't know if the Admiral had ordered him to, or if he had simply volunteered, but Brock was the posted guard on our wing. He was never more than a shout away.

Joe was excited to see me, and he wanted details about my experience. I wasn't ready to talk about it, however. I was still having nightmares regularly. The fact of the matter is I still sometimes have nightmares about it. Nothing was the same anymore. I felt like I had been emotionally damaged. I would wake up in the night thinking I was still on the battlefield and ready to run. One night, I was so haunted by my dreams, that I even fell out of bed. I bruised my knee but was otherwise okay.

After the first couple of days, the spots in my vision weren't as bad. I sat down to write a letter to Shauna. I had not written to her about anything since before I left for the conference. I was finally in my right mind again, and I recognized that if I didn't write to her soon, she would start to get worried. And indeed, the gap between letters had already been long enough that she realized something had happened to me.

Looking back, I realize just how traumatized I was by that experience. I could not even write to her about it, and Shauna was the one person I thought I could talk to about anything. But with what happened in Zao-Ming, I couldn't even begin to explain to her what I saw and what it did to me. I was alone, marooned on my own private island in my mind. I was feeling so defeated at the time, I thought about telling her I was going to be damaged for life, and that she might be better off finding a normal guy. It was the most isolated I ever felt.

I didn't want her to realize how messed up I was, so I tried to fill the letter with words I knew would reassure Shauna I was fine, even though I knew I wasn't. I told her about the conference itself and almost nothing about what followed. At least at the time, she would not know better than that. What had gone down at the conference was not public knowledge yet. I told her we were close to working out ways to defeat the monsters and that she shouldn't worry. I told her that my injuries were only slight, but just the same, I still wished she was the one nursing me back to health like before. I knew she'd like to hear that.

The next day, the doctors told me they expected I would make a full recovery, but I kept seeing my floating lights on and off again periodically. They assured me they would pass with more time. That night, while Joe was out watching a film in the common room, Brock came to speak with me. He'd been keeping a close eye on me the whole time I was in the hospital, and he could see that I was struggling. He kept his speech pretty short and sweet.

"You're not the only one, you know." Brock began. "It doesn't mean you're weak. Most soldiers who have seen real-action go through what you are going through. Once you've experienced something that intense, it stays with you forever. It's not going to go away, but it will get better. Take your time. It won't be easy to move on. Just try to get by day by day, and then build on that. It's important to find someone to talk about it when you are ready, because if you keep it inside, it will eat away at you little by little."

Once he had spoken his peace, Brock left it at that, leaving me to reflect on what he said. It made me feel better almost immediately. A weight I didn't even know was there lifted. I did better over the next few days. Perhaps sensing the change, Admiral Nimitz began to feed me information on what was going on. He passed on reports that Brock delivered. Having something to focus on, was going a long ways to getting me to feel normal again.

I found out that Baragon had moved south following the attack on the conference. In the meantime, the monster had hit three more Chinese villages. As agreed to at the conference, he was left to the American and Chinese forces to deal with. The plan to trap him was rapidly moving forward. The Japanese, meanwhile, were drawing up their own plans to take on Rodan. They began to construct radar stations across their home islands and had recalled their fleet in preparation for one massive strike. It was going to be awhile before they were ready, but at least they were on their way.

At about the week mark of my hospital stay, Admiral Nimitz came to visit me himself. He came bearing gifts. Brock accompanied him wearing the fruits of his labor. He had a brand-new Legion-of-Merit medal and a Silver-Star pinned to his uniform. The Admiral brought one of each for me as well. In addition, he brought a Purple-Heart. He wanted to present the metals to me personally for saving his life. To his delight, Joe also got a Legion-of-Merit and a Purple-Heart too.

"It is with great honor I present these medals to you, along with this." Admiral Nimitz handed me a sealed letter. I opened it, and the letter informed me that the naval office was promoting me two ranks. From Petty Officer 3rd class to Petty Officer 1st class. "Congratulations sailor!"

"Look, we got a matching set!" Joe held up his Purple-Heart next to mine, bringing a little levity to the room. Even the Admiral laughed at that. "Hey, no fair, you got extra." He frowned mockingly at me, then smirked. I looked down, studying the design etched into my Silver-Star.

"Yeah… well trust me, you're better off not having earned this one." I did my best to joke back at him.

Later, Joe and I were making our way to the mess hall. He insisted we wear our new metals so he could impress the nurses along the way. It backfired spectacularly for him though. Everyone asked me about my Silver-Star, and how I got it, while mostly ignoring Joe. After dodging several of those questions, I took the metal off and put it in my pocket to avoid further inquiries. We continued to hobble down the hallway, I in my wheelchair, and Joe in his sling.

"Ha, what a pair we make." Joe smiled over to me. "Look at us, we're falling apart Marcus."

"I think we might be in the wrong line of work Joe." I smiled back at him.

While I was on the mend in the hospital, and our forces on the mainland in Asia were preparing for the assault on the monsters, other events were beginning to unfold in Europe.

…

In Germany, nearby a small lake called Hessengart, a young soldier named Heinrich was returning to his home of Essenheim. His family had lived by the lake his whole life. Lake Hessengart was an offshoot of the much larger Lake Muritz. Heinrich was making his first visit back home in many months since joining the Wehrmacht.

Heinrich made his way down the last stretch of dirt road that led directly to his parents' front door. He knocked, but there was no answer. Heinrich knew that they always kept their door unlocked though. He entered his childhood home to find it strangely empty. Though his visit was meant as a surprise for them, he had hoped his parents would be there to welcome him.

Heinrich put all his baggage in his room and searched the rest of the house. He found no one. While looking around, he heard a noise coming from outside. Naturally, he exited out the back door to investigate. Heinrich did not find his parents, but he did discover his younger brother Reinhart on the dock. He was on his belly hanging over the edge, collecting a jar of water from the lake.

"You know, if you are that thirsty Reinhart, I could always take you down to the pub!" Heinrich called to his little brother. Reinhart was so startled by the sudden disruption of his concentration that he almost fell into the lake.

"Heinrich?!" Reinhart scowled, regaining his balance. "Damn it, don't sneak up on me like that! What are you doing here?"

"I took some leave so I could attend the town festival this year." Heinrich answered. "Where's the old man?"

"He's in town of course, getting things set up at the festival grounds." Reinhart answered, still irritated. "Someone has to get all that beer ready. What would the festival be without beer after all?"

"Boring…" Heinrich mused. "But seriously, what are you doing? It looks like you got more pond-scum than water in that jar."

"Well yes, that's right." Reinhart agreed. "And that's exactly the point of collecting it. I am working on an internship for the University. They have been trying to treat all the lakes in the area. There is a huge problem with algae this year. The counts are way up. It is due to runoff from the local fields getting into the water supply. The fertilizer is causing algae blooms to explode all over the area. They are making toxins in the water spike, and it's killing the fish and other wildlife. Professor Gobel has been trying to treat it for over two weeks now. The samples I'm collecting are to measure how effective the treatments have been. It is tricky work though, the first treatment he tried actually seemed to make the algae grow more. So now, he's trying a more aggressive regimen of chemicals to try to kill them off without effecting the wildlife."

"Oh, well that is all very interesting, but I guess if it's going to affect my fishing while I'm here, you'd better get right on it." Heinrich did his best to pretend he cared about the science behind fighting algae. "I thought you were more interested in mechanics. I have contacts in the armored corps now that could probably get you a close up look at the newer Panzer models."

"Yes, I am still aiming for a career in engineering, and it would be delightful to see the latest armor designs." Reinhart answered. "What I am doing here is for my biology class through the University. It's just going to get me extra credit, and it's fascinating to boot. You should take more of an interest in the world around you."

"Do you think you will be able to take the time away from studying your snot to attend the festival tonight?" Heinrich sneered. "I could use an accomplice to scope-out the Frauleins."

"I would think your uniform would be enough to draw their attention on its own." Reinhart replied disinterested. "The women here all seem to love it when a soldier comes through."

"I wasn't planning on wearing it." Heinrich answered. "We can talk more about that later."

"Not going to wear it?" Reinhart turned, looking surprised. "Lots of wasted potential there, dear brother." He shook his head. "You should still wear it, if only to honor our late-Fuhrer."

"I'm glad he's dead." Heinrich replied coldly. If Reinhart's jaw were physically able to hit the ground, it would have in that moment. He looked at his older brother like his skin was turning green.

"Christ Heinrich, what did you just say?" Reinhart exclaimed. "After everything the Fuhrer did for this country, you go and say something like that?" He couldn't hide his contempt. "This coming from a soldier of the Reich?"

"Reinhart, I know you are smart, but you have never been out of the village." Heinrich replied. "You haven't seen the things I've seen. The newspapers and radio stations are not reporting what has really been going on within the party. We should not have traded peace of mind and stability for our freedoms. Piece by piece, the party has been chipping away at them. What really worries me is that everyone has been going along with it blindly for so long, they have forgotten to think for themselves. I was just as guilty, caught up in the fervor of it myself, but I am starting to see the danger. A drowning man will take anyone's hand when they are desperate, but, if you are not careful, you might just be accepting help from the devil himself."

Heinrich could see that Reinhart didn't have any idea what he was talking about. His younger brother still looked very skeptical.

"I know, it sounds strange, right?" Heinrich went on. "But let me explain. I do not mind telling you now that I have been working for army intelligence for the last two years. Despite all the good things the Fuhrer did for our people, you have no idea just how close he came to leading us into war. And not just one war, but many."

"What do you mean?" Reinhart asked confused and suspicious. "What wars?"

"The Fuhrer is credited with reuniting the German-speaking peoples and restoring national honor to Germany." Heinrich began. "And that is true enough, but that was not enough for him. He wanted more. He had dreams of foreign conquests. I have seen many documents come across my desk which indicated an invasion of Poland was being planned. Invading another country is not the same as reclaiming what is rightfully ours. Do you know what would have happened if he had actually gone ahead with the invasion? Both France and England had vowed to defend Polish independence. If we had attacked Poland, it would have meant a war on two fronts against three major powers. Who knows what else it could have led to? You are too young to know Reinhart, war is an ugly, ugly, thing. It is not the romantic story they try to sell you in the propaganda films. It is the worst thing that can happen in this world, and too many of us have forgotten that. So, as treacherous as it sounds, with the Fuhrer and so many other high-ranking members of the party dead, we are safer that way. Things are starting to head into a saner direction."

"I'm not sure that I can agree." Reinhart replied. "Hasn't the death of the Fuhrer caused a lot of upheaval in Berlin? The newspapers have said so. Isn't there a power vacuum that every two-bit politician is trying to fill? The unrest is starting to feel like it did when we were kids, before Hitler stabilized things. The communists and other radicals are once again becoming emboldened enough to openly voice their dissent."

"I'm not sure it wouldn't be better if some other political voice took over." Heinrich replied. "The Nazi party helped us restore our national pride, but their tactics have become increasingly brutal. With every shard of power they have collected, they have grown bolder. They are preaching reckless hate towards other countries and our own citizens. It has slowed since the Fuhrers death, but it is still there. Several weeks ago, my friend Franz had his store shut down, and he was arrested on a trumped-up charge of treason. No one has seen or heard from him since his arrest. I looked into it. There were no witnesses, and not a shred of evidence against Franz. They just made the call and acted. There are no checks and balances in the system. If they can do that to him, what is stopping them from doing it to anyone else? And it has not just been him. Other people are, and have been, disappearing for a while now. People who disagreed with the government or people who were just different."

The two brothers sat there. Reinhart pondered on the possibilities.

"But now it's all starting to change." Heinrich went on, with hope in his voice. "The black cloud hanging over the Fatherland is lifting. The party is starting to fragment into factions as various groups vie for power. The party as a whole is much weaker than it was. Without Hitler and the other high-ranking members, they have faltered. The lack of unity within the remaining party members has weakened their overall position. I'm not sure of where the present upheaval will take us, but I am sure it will be better than where we were going."

…

Through Admiral Nimitz's reports, I learned that operation "Mouse Trap" had begun in China. Fortune had smiled on us. Baragon appeared within forty miles of one of the primary ambush sites that the Chinese had selected for the ambush, and the forecast for the day was cloudy. Given our past experience with Baragon's movements, the number's-boys calculated there would be ample time to get everything in place before the monster would arrive on site.

The Airforce got things rolling by rushing transport planes with stockpiled food stores to the area. The planes kept just ahead of Baragon's path to avoid alarming him with the sound of their engines. Once they were certain of the monster's course, they made the first airdrop to intersect with Baragon's projected pathway. It worked perfectly. The forward observers on the ground reported from the first site that Baragon initially appeared weary of the food left out in the open, but he quickly let his guard down. Baragon's hunger overrode his other instincts, and he took his first taste of what would become many baits. There was just enough food to whet his appetite, but not nearly enough to satisfy him. After finishing the first drop, Baragon followed his sense of smell to the second site, which was several miles away.

The pattern was repeated three times. Baragon seemed able to easily detect fresh meat up to ten miles away. Each time he came within that range of a lure, he made a B-line for the bait. The plan was moving forward like a well-oiled machine. The transport planes were able to continuously put down fresh meat in the direction they wanted to lure Baragon as he ate the previous drop. It was clear that the monster could be baited in whatever direction they wanted him to go.

After two more drops without interruptions of any kind, Baragon appeared less weary of a free meal. The beauty of having so many drop sites ahead of the actual trap, was it was conditioning Baragon into a false sense of security. It was also slowing him down long enough for the Chinese to rush in equipment that still wasn't in place yet. Everything was going well.

There was only one major hiccup in the entire operation. Once it had been established that Baragon would eat food that was airdropped in his path, one of the Chinese generals got the bright idea to poison one of the drops. He took it upon himself to lace the seventh drop with a monster-sized dose of cyanide. It did not work. The tainted pile was left untouched by Baragon, and he quickly moved on. Some of the local wildlife found it though. Suffice it to say, the prey animals in the area had a much smaller number of predators to worry about for a while.

In retrospect, the General's gambit was worth a try, but ultimately fruitless. Worse, the attempt had put the whole operation in jeopardy. No one knew if Baragon would avoid the next lure after that. Luckily, the creature just so happened to move in the direction they wanted him to by his own accord. The transport planes resumed the regular drops immediately after the botched poisoning attempt, and thankfully, Baragon continued to respond to them as he had done before. We had dodged a bullet.

Several hours and food drops later, Baragon was approaching the final destination of his journey. He seemed blissfully unaware of the rocky changes in his surroundings as he pressed forward towards his next free meal. A half-full belly was not enough to satisfy him. Baragon's avarice for meat was distracting him from the growing dangers around him as he pressed on further.

The sun was setting behind a wall of clouds as Baragon moved in close to the trap. The site had been well prepared for him by this time. The few soldiers on the ground were hidden away in their bunkers waiting for him. They watched the monster closely with their binoculars from their hiding places. Step by step, Baragon was getting closer to his final meal, as well as everything else that waited for him there.

In an effort to keep Baragon from becoming aware of the trap, ground forces had been kept to an absolute minimum. There were no tanks, trucks, or artillery. The entire attack would hinge on the Airforce being able to hit the monster hard and fast. To that end, over three hundred planes had been brought together for the assault. The nearby Chinese airfields were stretched to their max.

As Baragon neared the strike zone, dozens of bomber and fighter squadrons were already in the air, flying in a holding pattern twenty miles away. They were circling distantly enough to ensure Baragon would not hear the sound of their engines. Once Baragon had reached the point of no return, the signal would go out, and the aircraft could begin their approach. It did not take long. Baragon crossed the designated line on the map and the silent radio signal went out. The monster could not know that he had just gone from the hunter to the hunted. The warplanes stopped their circling and formed up into predesignated columns to begin their attack.

Baragon confidently marched forward, following his nose towards the bait. Finally, he spotted it, and his mouth began to water. The pile of meat was by far the largest offering that had been left for him, and Baragon eyed it greedily. Command wanted to ensure there was no chance the monster would be done eating before the Airforce arrived. They looked upon it as Baragon's last meal, so they felt it was only right to be generous to the condemned. The brass wanted Baragon in an exact predetermined location for the attack, as well as distracted, and that's just what they got. Baragon dug in ravenously, and hardly looked up.

When the warplanes came within range moments later, Baragon was so engrossed with his meal that he didn't even notice the sound of their engines. It wasn't until the aircraft had closed to within a mile, that he finally heard them. When Baragon did eventually pick up on their presence, he was quite slow to react. Perhaps he was tired from trying to digest so much meat, or perhaps he was just weighed down by the extra tonnage in general. Either way, he was noticeably more sluggish than he'd been in previous encounters.

As predicted, the first thing Baragon tried to do was retreat underground. He was able to dig up the surface soil easily enough, but very quickly, he hit solid rock and that was a different story. Baragon was not capable of expressing horror or surprise, but if he could, I think he would have at that moment. To his credit, Baragon's claws were strong enough to chip away at the rock, but not quickly enough to make a difference.

Seeming to grasp the wasted effort, Baragon moved over to a new spot a couple hundred yards away and began again. The second attempt yielded similar results though. Baragon recognized it was futile to dig anymore, and so he started to make a break for it. He backtracked the way he'd come from. Meanwhile, the planes drew in ever closer. Baragon's retreat had been anticipated and planned for. One of the air-groups had been routed to the battlefield from that very direction. Baragon's retreat was in fact bringing him even closer to them.

The air-assault was imminent, and it was at this point where the trap was truly sprung. Spotlights that had been carefully hidden all over the valley came to life, one by one. Each of them was aiming for Baragon's sensitive eyes. The monster came to a dead stop once the first powerful stream of light found its target. Baragon roared his rage to the world and spit out fire randomly into the path in front of him. It did him little good though, the spotlights were too far away from Baragon to be reached by his flames.

As the spotlights did their job, pinning Baragon down, the bombers closed to attack range. Not only did the lights disorient and blind Baragon, but they also pinpointed his position for the planes in the dark. Effective night bombing would have been impossible otherwise. High level bombing was fairly hit or miss, even during the day and under the best of conditions. And typically, their targets would have been stationary. The current mission was anything but typical, so the searchlights were essential for them to be successful.

The bombers came in much lower than usual to compensate for all their disadvantages. They were, however, careful to stay high enough to be out of range of Baragon's flame attacks. The first wave finally got into position above the monster and the attack began. Hundreds of bombs rained down all around Baragon, detonating on impact. At least two of the bombs hit Baragon directly, landing right in the middle of his back. While that particular spot was protected by his body armor, it was still clear that the force of the resulting explosions bothered him. An entire string of bombs was a near miss, hitting the ground close enough to Baragon's unprotected underbelly to do some indirect damage.

The first wave of bombers passed, and the second wave ended up having a similar level of success. Baragon was helpless to do much about the attacks. He couldn't run, he couldn't hide, and he couldn't fight his attackers. He was just a sitting duck. Fighter planes came down and strafed Baragon with their machine guns while the third wave of bombers lined up their attack.

It was at that point when Baragon decided to make a blind dash to try to escape, or at least to avoid the next wave of attacks. He managed to get a few hundred yards before tripping over a large outcropping of rocks. It would turn out to be a fateful move. The bomber pilots had to reroute their planes to redirect their attack on the fly, and this was difficult considering their tight formation. The cohesion of the attack was slightly disrupted.

Ultimately, the aircraft were still able to successfully drop their bombs on Baragon for a third time, but one of the resulting explosions also severed the main power line that was connecting the spotlights to the generator that powered them. The battlefield suddenly went pitch black, and there wasn't anything that could be done about it.

The fourth and fifth wave of bombers circled the battlefield aimlessly, not being able to find their target in the dark. Their escorting fighters made blind runs, trying to use their red-hot magnesium tracer rounds to locate Baragon in the void, but that was like trying to light up an entire football field with a single match. It proved to be an impossible task. Baragon could not be found, and the operation was effectively at an end.

By morning, Baragon had vanished. Strangely, there were no escape holes to be found within twenty miles of the ambush site. Near the end of the day, search teams did find a trail which led into a mountain range, but no further trace of Baragon was found after that. Though it was disappointing to have lost Baragon, we had managed to do some damage to him. The monster's blood was found all over the battlefield. It was not clear if the bombers had struck a mortal blow, but if nothing else, Baragon learned that humans too could be dangerous.

…

Back in Essenheim, it had been quite the night. Heinrich had surprised his parents at the festival, and together, they'd feasted on the best foods Germany had to offer. Heinrich had also drunk his fair share of beer. The night of revelry was quite memorable.

Fortunately, Heinrich had built up a good tolerance to alcohol over the years and was handling himself rather well. The festival was just the thing to make him feel at home. It had been months since he was able to feel so relaxed. The problems of his country sank to the bottom of his mind. Heinrich danced some dances and sang some traditional songs along with the crowd. Even without the advantage of his uniform, he had still caught the eye of several of the local girls. He could recall most of them from when he was in school, but there were also some new faces.

Heinrich talked with a few girls and danced with a few others. He was having a great time. He did not mind the attention he was getting one bit. After a few more dances, Heinrich spotted his brother Reinhart sitting by himself, looking disinterested in the party. Heinrich went over to talk with him.

"What's wrong little brother, are we feeling antisocial tonight?" Heinrich inquired.

"I feel antisocial every night." Reinhart replied dryly. "You know these kind of events aren't for me."

Heinrich felt bad. He had insisted that Reinhart join him for the festival, and he clearly was not having fun. Heinrich had hoped that Reinhart might've changed a little bit while he was away, but he hadn't. His little brother had never been the type of person who liked big crowds or noise. He didn't like beer, overeating, or loud music. Reinhart was a classic introvert. He generally preferred to stay home and quietly read a book or work on a project. Heinrich could almost feel Reinhart's urge to escape the party. He felt a little guilty because he knew Reinhart was only staying because he wanted to spend time with him there.

"I suppose we have been here long enough." Heinrich remarked. "What do you think, should we say goodbye to the folks and hit the road?"

"I thought you would never ask." Reinhart wasted no time rising from his chair, looking relieved. It was as if he had been unclasped from some unseen shackles.

The two brothers said their goodbyes and left the beer hall. Heinrich noticed a few disappointed looking frauleins on the way out. It made him want to stay, but there would be time enough for that later. He still had several days to venture back to town and get reacquainted with everyone. He wanted to make reconnecting with his brother a priority.

As they walked home, Heinrich and Reinhart reminisced about their past exploits together as kids. Lost adventures down by the creek looking for pirate treasure. Sneaking past their parent's room to raid the pantry for sweets at night. Camping out in their backyard, watching for shooting stars in the evening sky.

The two brothers were about halfway home when clouds rolled in from the southwest. It began to rain on them. The precipitation was only a slight sprinkle at first, but before long, it became an all-out downpour, and they were forced to run the rest of the way. Despite their best efforts, Heinrich and Reinhart were still soaked by the time they reached their doorstep.

"Yarg, I didn't know it was supposed to rain tonight!" Heinrich exclaimed as he used a towel to finish drying off his hair. He handed one to Reinhart, who began to dry himself off too. "I'd better get one more for the floor, or mother his going to have a fit when she gets back."

Heinrich got to work wiping the floor. Reinhart, meanwhile, made his way to the kitchen. When he returned, Heinrich had nearly managed to dry the whole floor off in the living room. Reinhart had a plate with a cloth covering its contents.

"Is that what I think it is?" Heinrich asked with a knowing smile.

"It is." Reinhart pulled the cloth off, revealing the special family pastries their mother was known for baking.

"How did you manage to keep these a secret for so long?" Heinrich asked suspiciously. "Ha, the rest of this can wait." He put aside the towel.

"Well, when you mentioned our old raids on the kitchen, it reminded me that mother had made a few of these for the festival. Clearly, she forgot to take them." Reinhart smiled sinisterly.

"Their loss, our gain." Heinrich grabbed one of the pastries and took a savory bite. The brothers both rested on the wooden floor enjoying their dessert. As they sat and munched, they could hear the rain outside falling more intensely than before. It pattered against the roof of their house.

"It's really coming down hard out there." Heinrich noted. "Father and Mother are going to get stuck down there at the festival until this storm passes."

"Ha, I think that would suit father just fine." Reinhart laughed. "He never wants to leave. Mother always has to drag him out of there." The wind kicked up and beat against the side of the house, taking the brothers a little off guard. It howled down the chimney, breaking the festive mood in the room. The rain grew even more intense outside. The wind started to blow the rain sideways, so it was beating against the windows.

Growing concerned about the weather, Heinrich stood up and went to the window to get a better look outside. The rain was beating down hard against the lake water. Tree branches were rocking back and forth regularly from the strong gusts of wind. Spots of lightening were starting to creep in from the distance. The rumbles of the resulting thunder reverberated through the house.

"I bet everyone out at the festival is running for the beer hall at this point." Reinhart remarked, coming back into the room after grabbing some candles. He was in the process of trying to light them. Meanwhile, the lightening was getting closer and reflected off of the water from the lake.

"I bet you're right." Heinrich agreed. He was starting to feel slightly nervous. He had a little knot in his belly. Heinrich had always played the part of the brave older brother when they were kids, but he had never, never, liked storms. Perhaps it was some primordial fear he retained from their ancestors. Whatever the reason, he tried to dismiss the discomfort he was feeling. He wasn't a child anymore, and rainstorms shouldn't bother a grown man.

Heinrich looked away from the window and went over to help Reinhart light the candles. He was still struggling to get them lit. As he walked over to his brother, Heinrich heard a rumble that was much louder and deeper than anything that had come before. The intensity of it shook the house, and it shook Heinrich to the core too.

"Geez, that was a big one, it must have been really close." Reinhart remarked casually, seemingly undisturbed by the sound and vibration. However, there was something deeply disturbing about it to Heinrich.

For a few seconds, Heinrich stood there frozen. Something wasn't right about the situation, and he knew exactly what it was. He had not seen any flash of lightening proceeding the most recent rumble of thunder. Heinrich wasn't sure what to do about his unspoken fear. He knew something was 'very' not right. He felt like he needed to turn around and look back out the window, but the other half of his instincts told him not to move. It wasn't clear which feeling he should act on. As he stood there like a statue, Reinhart looked up at him.

"Come on, don't tell me the weather is bothering you this much?" Reinhart smiled at Heinrich, not quite believing his tough older brother could be so easily humbled by the weather. The house shook with a second, notably stronger, rumble. Again, there was no lightening to be found to explain the noise. The slight smirk on Reinhart's face began to melt away, as he too, started to realize something strange was going on. "That's not the wind..." Reinhart noted as the color in his face faded. A moment later, the house was hit by a wall of water. The force of the impact broke out one of the back windows facing toward the lake. "What the hell is going on?!" Reinhart shrieked in shock. "What was that?!" The brothers both rushed to see what had shattered the window. What they found was strange. There was a fish flopping around on the floor which had come in through the broken window, along with a fair amount of water. "Did this come from the lake?" Reinhart asked, poking at the fish.

"I think so." Heinrich answered, picking at some green goop hanging off the broken window. It appeared to be the same algae they had collected from earlier. "How the hell did...?" Another rumble suddenly shook the house, causing Reinhart to lose his footing on the wet wood floor. Heinrich helped his brother get back on his feet, trying not to slip himself. As he did, he caught a glimpse of a dark figure rising from the lake in the corner of his eye.

The first thing Heinrich noticed was a row of long and sharp spikes piercing out of the water, they glistened in the lightening from the storm. Next, came a massive back and torso. Hunks of mud fell away from the gigantic body as rain continued to pour down on it. Heinrich knew then that there was some sort of monster rising out of the lake. As the mud was washed away, the creature's skin was revealed. Its back was bumpy and armored. The monster opened its mouth, revealing sharp teeth. It was at that moment that the creature turned in their direction.

The huge monster began to make its way out of the lake towards the beach. All the while, the house where Heinrich and Reinhart hid, was shaking with each of its steps. The brothers watched helplessly through the window as the creature smashed through the house directly next door to them. It continued past, leaving their house untouched. They felt relief for a few precious moments before realizing the monster was heading in the direction of town. For a few tense seconds, neither Heinrich nor Reinhart knew what to do, but finally, Heinrich grabbed a coat and the family gun off the mantle.

"What are you doing?!" Reinhart exclaimed. "You can't hope to stop that thing with just a rifle!"

"We have to do something!" Heinrich snapped back impatiently, loading the gun. "Nobody in Essenheim has any idea that thing is coming."

Moments later, the two brothers burst through their front door and ran down the road through the rain after the giant monster.