Chapter 12: Mothra's March.

Following the Wehrmacht's crushing defeat at the hands of Varan, the monster had slowed down. He began to travel westward through the green German countryside. Fritz and Reinhart were still tailing him, but they kept their distance. Without an army to back them up, they'd be easy pickings if Varan decided he was hungry enough to go after them.

Fortunately, the monster seemed to be recovering his strength following the battle. Shortly after destroying the dam, he entered a small lake to rest. The lake was shallow enough that Reinhart and Fritz were able to see Varan's back spines protruding out of the water. They watched and waited as evening pressed in. The monster remained asleep in the lake for forty-eight hours before becoming active again.

By that time, the Wehrmacht managed to scrape enough units together to begin shadowing Varan again, but they had no plans to reengage the monster unless he threatened a populated area. Instead, they focused their efforts on evacuating civilians out of his way. The units stayed far enough ahead or behind the monster to ensure he was never aware of their presence.

As the days passed, the strategy was proving to work well. Varan's pace was still slow enough that it wasn't difficult for the Wehrmacht to operate around him. With no military pressure on him, Varan seemed content to take his time. Reinhart, meanwhile, was grinding his teeth the whole time. He hated letting the monster have free rein to do as he liked, but he knew there was nothing for it. The majority of the German military was still heavily engaged in the disaster relief effort and would continue to be for some time.

Despite their best efforts, there was still deep-standing water all along the six-hundred-mile length of the Elbe River. The flow of the Elbe ran right through the middle of Germany, ensuring that the disaster was felt by nearly everyone in the country. Most citizens of the Reich were either affected by the flood directly or had friends or family who were. Homes were lost, people were displaced. Some lives were ruined, while others were simply ended. Much of the economic recovery the Germans had achieved following The Great Depression and The Great War had been undone in just one day. The German stock market dipped to the lowest it had been in ten years.

Only after three days, did the flood water begin to recede enough to allow the bodies of soldiers drowned on the battlefield near the demolished dam to be collected for proper burial. By that point, the flood had pushed corpses all over the countryside. Accounting for all the missing soldiers was going to take a long time. Only the tank crews, who had been trapped inside their machines, were easy to retrieve since the swell of water could only push the twenty-five ton fighting vehicles so far.

Remarkably, a few miraculous survivors were found here and there. Sadly, they accounted for only a handful of the thousands of men that had been lost. Casualties from the battle were still virtually one hundred percent. It was a black day for the German people when the official report of soldiers K.I.A. was made public. Reinhart knew what it would say, but he still read the after-action report with Fritz anyway.

"We threw everything we had at that thing, and it still wasn't enough." Reinhart lamented. "The most powerful weaponry at our nation's disposal, and it all amounted to nothing. That monster killed thousands of our countrymen in mere seconds."

Fritz had little to say in response. He was still drifting through the fog of shock with everything that had happened. Reinhart perhaps had an advantage over Fritz, in that he'd already gone through something extremely traumatic with Varan prior. He was climbing back up from rock bottom, while Fritz was still on his way down. Reinhart sat in the truck with Fritz, just stewing.

"This monster killed my parents and my brother because we didn't have the means to defend ourselves." Reinhart said bitterly. Fritz looked over to him curiously. "I'm going to change that. If it takes the rest of my life, I'm going to build a weapon that is strong enough to take that thing down." He promised with steel in his voice. Reinhart then exited the truck and began to walk away alone down the dirt road.

…

Meanwhile in France, Mothra was still on the move. She had not stopped once since hatching. The giant worm was like a machine, nonstop eating and moving without rest. This took the French by surprise. They were having a hard time keeping up with her. They had incorrectly assumed that she would most likely move at a similar pace as Varan. But in the time that it took Varan to cover thirty miles, Mothra had managed to travel over one hundred. Scientists theorized that perhaps it was due to the fact that Varan was cold-blooded, and Mothra wasn't. Whatever the case, Mothra was rapidly advancing Northeast. It was unclear what motivated her, but she was going somewhere at full speed. She only slowed down along the way to eat.

Dr. Jacquier insisted that Marcus and the rest of Admiral Nimitz's entourage continue to be part of the research team following Mothra. He noted that: The circumstances may have changed, but their mission had not. He was still keen to study the monster. The name Marcus had coined for Mothra had caught on, and it was now readily being used to refer to her. That remained the most significant contribution any of the Americans had made thus far.

The group was hard-pressed to keep up with Mothra. She was pretty much consistently on the move. Before the research team could even begin following Mothra, there was one thing that delayed them from leaving the field lab. And that was Dr. Jacquier himself. He insisted that all the left-over portions of Mothra's egg were collected prior to their departure. He saw the fragments as precious samples and wouldn't risk any of them falling into the wrong hands. He placed a few calls to key members of the French Parliament, and with that, help arrived within just a few hours in the form of a fleet of trucks and workmen.

Truckload after truckload was filled up with eggshell fragments. It ended up taking well-over fifty industrial trucks to carry away the precious cargo. The vehicles lined up the entire road to the facility, further than Marcus could see. One by one, they pulled away in a huge convoy, carrying away their prize to a secret location for further study.

When the cargo trucks were gone, Dr. Jacquier observed the investment in the egg had already been worthwhile. They had lost the Atrium facility, sure, but through Mothra's hatching, they had gained all the raw materials she left behind. The new mineral found within the eggshell could prove invaluable in the future. With their business at the facility done, the research group finally got on the road and began driving to catch up with the Larva.

…

It took three days before Dr. Jacquier and the rest of the team caught up with Mothra. She was devouring another field when they found her. While they had been lagging behind, the team had been keeping tabs on her through various reports. Through all of the material, Marcus teased out two important details from them:

First, it seemed as though Mothra was reluctant to engage French military forces that were sent out after her. Marcus took a map and drew in the larva's path since she had left the facility. It winded and weaved around. Mothra appeared to be actively avoiding French patrols. Whenever the military started to build up in strong numbers out ahead of her, she'd change course.

Second, while Mothra was doing extensive damage to the vineyards she came across, she had in-fact bypassed several large wheat fields and apple orchards. France was the sixth largest country in the world in terms of agricultural output, and it was thee largest one in Europe. Many countries depended on France's export goods to feed their people. If those crops were to disappear overnight, a great famine would occur. Marcus could not be certain, but it appeared to him that Mothra was limiting herself to only eating the non-essential cash crops and bypassing the rest. How she could tell the difference was a mystery to him. He couldn't rule out that she just preferred grapes when she was given a choice.

Even limiting herself, Mothra had already eaten up over a billion dollars' worth of grapes. It was going to be a very hard year for wine drinkers. On the other hand, it was going to be a great year for those merchants who already had a large supply of wine stored up. At the rate Mothra was going, she was going to wipe out well-over a quarter of the total crop before she was done. In the years to come, wine from 1940 was extremely rare, and horrifically expensive. Oddly enough, it was a good year for wine as far as taste. So, if you could get your hands on a bottle, it was expensive, but at least it wasn't disappointing.

The loss of crops was extensive, but not sacrificed in vain. Mothra had grown significantly since hatching. The larva was at least an additional third larger since the last time Marcus had seen her. If her goal was to get strong, the grapes seemed to be doing the trick for her. Not everyone was happy about that though. French General Charles De Gaulle was put in field command of the operation to counter Mothra, and he happened to be a lover of wine. Thus, he seemed to take the larva eating up the grape crop rather personally. Even so, he was cautious to engage her after the German army had been devastated fighting Varan. He was determined to be more careful.

De Gaulle's approach was patient, and he could afford to be. In addition to keeping her distance from the French military, Mothra was also avoiding populated areas. She was sticking to the wide-open rural countryside, either to stay close to the crops that could be found there, or perhaps other reasons. Either way, it kept the pressure off of General De Gaulle to act prematurely. He could afford to wait until he was ready.

The General carefully studied maps of the area and positioned his troops in ambush zones that were hidden along the way to several of the vineyards that were in Mothra's immediate path. With his forces in place, De Gaulle simply hunkered down and waited for the opportunity to pounce. To his surprise, Mothra changed her trajectory before even getting close to his traps. De Gaulle was shocked, it didn't seem possible.

Somehow Mothra knew the troops were there, but it wasn't clear how. The ambush zones were over twenty-five miles ahead of her, and thus, they were literally over the horizon. They were well out of visual range. The vehicles were all stationary, and their engines were off, so they could rule out that Mothra was feeling the vibrations of the tanks and trucks through the ground. It didn't seem likely that Mothra could hear or smell the men from that far away either, so the French were baffled as to what was happening.

General De Gaulle needed advice. As he was the closest thing they had to an expert on the creature, he asked Dr. Jacquier how Mothra could possibly know they were there. Marcus was listening in on the discussion, and had an idea about it, but kept quiet. He was not the person the general asked, and he wanted to see what the doctor had to say on the subject. Maybe his theory would line up with his own.

Marcus knew that Mothra was able to touch the minds of people around her within a certain proximity when she was in her egg. Now that Mothra had emerged, it seemed reasonable to assume that she was still capable of doing that. In fact, Marcus guessed the ability was probably even stronger now. He felt that Mothra was sensing other living creatures around her through similar means and using that skill to identify potential threats. If she was indeed able to do that, it was easy to see how she knew exactly where to go and how to avoid the French.

To Marcus' surprise, Dr. Jacquier made no such proposal and offered no theories whatsoever. Instead, he pleaded ignorance and asserted that he would need more time to study the monster before offering any meaningful answers. Under the circumstances, his response sounded reasonable. Dr. Jacquier had not disclosed anything he told Marcus to anyone else, and because of that, General De Gaulle had no reason to doubt him. He accepted the doctor's explanation without question.

Marcus knew better though. He just stared at Dr. Jacquier, wondering what his game was. Only the two of them knew anything about Mothra's apparent ability. Was the doctor still trying to protect the monster? And if he was, could he still be under her influence? This troubled Marcus. Since Mothra had hatched and traveled some distance away, he'd felt less impacted by her presence and more in control of himself. He figured that the doctor should be in the same boat. That suggested to him that the doctor was making his own decisions with a clear head. But if that was the case, why would he keep the information to himself? Marcus pondered on it for a moment and came up with two possible reasons:

First, it could have been that the doctor simply didn't want to propose such a radical theory to men who had not felt the same influence for themselves. Marcus thought back to the moment when he tried to discuss it with Sgt. Brock for the first time. Brock's response was skeptical, despite the fact that he himself had felt something strange while being at the facility too. Marcus knew the hypothesis would be a hard-sell to normal straight-laced military officers. He figured if he tried on his own, there was little chance they would hear him out. Even if he had Dr. Jacquier backing him up, there was no guarantee they wouldn't both be labeled as crazy.

Second, Dr. Jacquier just might have believed of his own accord that keeping the secret to himself was the right thing to do, even if he thought the others would believe him. Marcus mulled it over and wasn't sure what the right decision was. Mothra was not inflicting massive damage to France. She was just trying to eat and survive. It was hard to blame her for that. She was also actively avoiding trouble. If there was going to be a fight, it would be because they brought it to her.

However, if Marcus kept his mouth shut, Mothra might just be able to avoid the French military until she was able to get to wherever she was trying to go. In the long run, it might prove to be in France's best interest to let the larva do just that. Marcus got the feeling that Mothra would leave French soil of her own accord if she was just given enough time. A battle, on the other hand, could prove very costly.

None of them, not even Marcus, understood Mothra. They didn't know what she really was or what she wanted. The big bug seemed to have a purpose, but Marcus couldn't even begin to guess at what that could be. Still, he somehow knew she had a part to play in whatever was to come next. His gut feeling was that helping the French military attack her would be a mistake.

Marcus looked up from his inner thoughts to see that Dr. Jacquier was watching him. Perhaps the doctor was trying to ascertain if he was planning to say anything. When their eyes met, the doctor seemed satisfied with whatever he found there. Marcus turned and walked away from the main conference room. He had made his decision.

As Marcus exited, he found Lieutenant-Commander Williams pestering Sgt. Brock just outside. Williams appeared unusually unsettled by the recent turn of events.

"So why do you think the giant worm would bypass the wheat and go for the vineyards?" He heard Williams ask.

"Maybe the little spud just likes getting loaded." Brock answered annoyed. "Who knows."

"Do you think Varan knew what it was doing destroying the dam?" Williams rapidly changed the subject.

"I don't know, maybe the monster just likes its Krauts to be washed before he eats them." Brock answered impatiently. Williams looked a little disturbed, considering it. "Marcus said it's an amphibian, so it could be as simple as he likes his environment soggy. It's hard to guess at the motivations of a giant lizard."

"Amphibian." Williams corrected him.

"Yeah, that's what I said before." Brock replied irritated. "Same thing."

Marcus could tell Brock was not in an approachable mood, so he instead retired to a quiet corner and sat down with a pencil and paper. He began writing a letter to Shauna. He had not written to her since before coming to Europe, so it was long overdue. He expected he'd be getting a little grief about the time gap later.

Marcus set that concern aside, and instead, focused on recounting everything he hadn't gotten a chance to tell Shauna since his last letter. Primarily, he wrote about his experience at the facility with the egg. It was still pressing on his mind, and he had to get it out. He needed to explain his feelings to someone who wouldn't think he was crazy. Of course, he couldn't be certain what Shauna would think of any of it. From an outside perspective, Marcus was sure that it would definitely sound mad.

Marcus explained to Shauna just how bad of a place he had been emotionally just prior to coming to France, and how those feelings melted away after going to the facility and seeing Mothra's egg for the first time. Even though he felt less influenced by Mothra at that moment, Marcus still retained the calmness and serenity she had brought to him. He was grateful for that. Since then, he had made a dramatic turn for the better.

Marcus concluded the letter by telling Shauna that he was doing fine and was going to continue to help investigate Mothra for the time being. He also mentioned that he missed her, and that he would write again as soon as he could.

…

In Japan, Akira had been summoned into a private briefing. Following his recent success, his superiors had another assignment in mind for him. There was trouble brewing to the North. Through their network of spies in Russia, the Japanese Government had discovered that the Soviets were planning a massive assault on the Rodans by land and air.

The goal of the Russian attack was not to kill the Rodans, but to simply drive the monsters out of Soviet territory. Such an operation would likely result in immense casualties for the Russians. Not unlike what the Imperial Japanese Navy had sustained during their own assault. However, the Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin did not care about how many of his soldiers would have to be sacrificed so long as they accomplished his goal. He just wanted the monsters out of Eastern Russian territories so he could focus on the West.

In Western Russia, Stalin's efforts to invade Finland were floundering. Finish resistance had been far fiercer than he expected, and they were receiving more outside support than anticipated. The fact of the matter was, the Russians were being slaughtered on the battlefield. Assault after assault failed to yield the Soviets any significant gains and their casualties were quickly mounting. A victory in the East, even a costly one, would help bolster morale in the West.

The Japanese didn't particularly care about protecting Finland, or European politics in general. However, they were concerned that the Russians could drive the Rodans back into their own territory by launching a full-scale assault in the East, and that was unacceptable. Between that, and the many advantages of having the Russians fighting a prolonged war on their Western border, the Japanese felt compelled to act. Their plan was relatively simple. They would launch a covert operation to disrupt the Soviet's assault by sneaking a long-range radio device into the Russian camp and activating it. The signal would draw the Rodans down upon the Soviet's staging grounds before they were ready to launch their attack.

The device would be similar to the one used in the earlier luring test, only stronger. The Japanese spies indicated that the Russians were already beginning to get into position in the staging area. Unfortunately, the routine Soviet radio chatter had apparently not been enough to get the Rodan's attention on its own. This was likely because their signals were simply too weak to be detected at such a great distance. Thus, the Japanese would have to employ something stronger.

Akira understood that the Imperial Japanese Navy was still in shambles and not ready for another engagement with the Rodans. Thus, this operation's success would be vital for the future of his country. Because of that, he readily agreed to fly the mission.

…

In the Mediterranean, there was an unspoken strangeness in the aftermath of the earthquake. A subtle disquiet. Local fishermen living along the Libyan coast, where the earthquake had originated, felt it keenly. It was something they couldn't see but felt in their bones. The foreboding sensation gnawed at the corners of their consciousness. Somehow, they could feel the sea had grown more dangerous. Some of them stayed out of the water for a few days following the earthquake. However, none of them could afford to stay out indefinitely. They all had families to feed and livelihoods to make.

The fishermen ventured back out onto the open water and hoped for the best. Two days passed without incident, and the men had reasonably good catches during that time. On the third day, however, the seas seemed deserted. There were no fish to be found by the sailors' nets. At the end of the day, one of their boats failed to return home to port. The day after that, two more ships went missing. It was not unheard of for an occasional fisherman to be claimed by the sea, but for three to disappear in the space of two days, that was unusual. Following that, the remaining fishing boats remained in the safety of the harbor.

The fishermen called for a community meeting to discuss the missing men and ships. The villagers were scared and angry and were quick to find a scapegoat for their problem. Some of them suspected the local pirates of being involved. There were calls for an armed mob to gather and assault the pirate's lair to clean them out. Omar, the leader of the local fishermen, decided they needed a more moderate solution, as there was no proof the pirates had anything to do with the missing men. He announced that he would approach the local pirates, who were known as the Hayreddin Raiders, in order to ascertain whether or not they knew anything about the disappearances. It was a risky move on Omar's part. If the pirates were involved, he would almost certainly never return. But Omar was almost certain that they were not. The pirates had little interest in the small affairs of the fishermen. They weren't wealthy enough to steal from. In fact, the two groups co-existed rather well. They often bartered with one another.

The pirates were typically only interested in larger European supply ships that sailed by. Italian ones in particular. Omar knew the pirate's leader personally. The reason he formed the group to begin with, was to resist the Italian Government's occupation of their land. Fascist Italy had designs on much of Africa. They had been slowly spreading their influence to satisfy their Imperial aspirations. Libya had been seized by the Italians from the Ottoman Empire in 1911. It was redesignated as an Italian colony. Not all of the Libyans were happy with that arrangement. Many fought back in any way they could. Piracy was just one of the many ways for them to hit back.

Upon approaching the pirates and discussing the problem, Omar discovered that one of their ships had disappeared too. He started to realize, whatever was going on, it was bigger than either of their groups. The Hayreddin Raiders were always well-armed. They would not have succumbed meekly to whatever had taken them. Omar decided what they needed was a bonafide warship to investigate their troubles. There was a major issue though. The Libyans had no Navy of their own to speak of. As much as Omar hated to do it, he knew he would have to swallow his pride and turn to the Italian government and ask for their Navy to intervene.

…

Sixty nautical miles northeast of Libya, a large taskforce of Italian warships was performing training exercises. Specifically, the flotilla was out testing a new weapon system. Though the Regia Marina had taken no part in the international efforts to patrol for Anguirus in the Pacific, the story had been widely covered by Italian newspapers and their government were following the story very closely.

Anguirus had managed to elude the international fleet's combined efforts by retreating into waters deeper than they were able to pursue. While there were no signs of the monster since his defeat, it was still widely believed that he was alive and well, sitting just beyond the reach of the patrol craft above him.

Italy had the fourth largest navy in the world at the time and dominated the Central Mediterranean. With all of the advantages their powerful surface fleet brought them, the Italian Admiralty was concerned with running into a similar situation. The raw firepower of their Battleships wouldn't amount to much in the face of engaging a target that could remain submerged indefinitely.

They needed a way to respond if a Kaiju appeared in Mediterranean waters and retreated into the depths. As it happened, the Italians had already been working on a secret project for months that had been shelved. With monsters like Varan and Mothra suddenly appearing in Europe, the Admiralty put there R&D department into overdrive to get prototypes produced for testing. Varan's rampage through Germany wasn't very far away from Italy's northern border and that fanned the flames of fear. They wanted to get prepared as soon as possible.

The Admiralties' objective was simple. They wanted to be able to bombard an underwater target at extreme depths. Regular depth charges had their limits, and proved to be vastly inadequate where Anguirus was concerned, so they were trying to produce a new type of depth charge that could go far deeper with much greater firepower. If they couldn't kill their target, they hoped to at least be able to force it to the surface where their battleship's heavy guns could get some work done.

The Italian taskforce was carrying the fruits of the R&D department's labors, the first Neptune depth charge prototypes. The Neptunes had four times the explosive potential of the next best depth charge and could go more than three times as deep as well. The bigger and badder depth charges required special rigging to be put in place to cater to their increased size. Because of that, destroyers could not be used, and cruisers were selected to carry them instead.

The Italian sister cruisers Zara, Gorizia, and Fiume were carrying the experimental ordinance. They lined up in an orderly fashion, and one by one let their cargo slip over the side. The charges were set to detonate at a depth that would give the warships plenty of time to escape the explosions, but their captains weren't taking any chances and ordered the cruisers to flank speed once the barrels had made contact with the water.

Meanwhile, sonar operators were monitoring for sounds to measure the results of the test. Under normal circumstances, a depth charge would explode relatively soon after being dropped, as they were designed to attack submarines closer to the surface, but Neptune depth charges were a different breed. Success would instead be measured by how long they could go before detonating. Tense moments passed as the technicians waited for results.

Finally, the engineers heard the first rumbles, followed by gushes of water exploding up at the surface. One by one, the charges were all going off at their desired pre-set depths. There were cheers aboard the Littorio, the huge battleship that served as the flagship of the Regia Marina. The commanding admiral signaled for the cruisers to set off a second set of depth charges, just to be thorough.

The trio of cruisers responded to their orders and came about. They dropped another cluster of Neptune depth charges and the second set of tests produced similar results as the first. The only hitch was the sonar operator reported hearing an unexpected secondary explosion following the primary explosion of one of the depth charges. He wasn't sure why this was the case. It was possible that there was a minor mechanical problem, but if that was the case, it didn't stop the detonation.

The sonar officer theorized that there may have been a derelict submarine sitting on the bottom of the ocean floor. What they heard could have been the pop of its hull rupturing. There were no active sonar pings prior to the testing, and they had screened the area heavily ahead of time to be safe. They couldn't know for sure what happened, but it didn't overly concern them. Everything was quiet in the aftermath. The important thing was the depth charges had performed as designed. With that, the Italian warships sailed for home, the testing could be declared a success. They would be able to report back that mass production could begin.

…

Back in France, the situation had changed considerably. Mothra was no longer eating crops and she had begun heading due north. Her predictable pattern of behavior was broken. The French had set up an ambush just ahead of her at the next vineyard that was in her path. Mothra came close to the field, closer than she had gotten to military units prior, but she still completely ignored them and the crops. It could have been that she was simply avoiding the trap, but then again, something seemed different this time.

Indeed, after another two hours had gone by, Mothra bypassed another large field. Only this time, the crops were completely unguarded. Marcus and the rest of Dr. Jacquier's research team had to scramble to catch up with the larva. They had been anticipating Mothra slowing down slightly to eat the unguarded field, as she had done so many times in the past. With that phase seemingly being over, they had to pile into the bus and get on the road to keep pace.

At that point, General De Gaulle knew it was time to escalate his efforts. If they were going to force a confrontation with Mothra, now was the moment. He wasted no time getting his forces reorganized. His plan going forward would be more aggressive. The general placed tank platoons all over the map along the most likely routes Mothra would take. They were arrayed in a crescent formation with units forward on the wings and back in the center. If Mothra continued forward on her present course, she would quickly find herself surrounded on three sides by De Gaulle's forces.

From there, General De Gaulle's plan was relatively straightforward. He would use the tanks on the wings of his formation to funnel Mothra towards the center where he had concentrated his artillery. With so many forces fanning out on the flanks, avoiding them was virtually impossible.

Mothra pressed on, seemingly unconcerned with the French army closing in around her. General De Gaulle was a little surprised. Considering Mothra's past behavior, he'd expected her to at least try to maneuver away from his men. Instead, she stubbornly held course, heading due north and coming right at them.

From his command tent, General De Gaulle watched his subordinates move miniature tank pieces around on the battle map. As the recon reports continued to flow in, the tank platoon pieces closed in, inch by inch, on the miniature representing Mothra. The general wondered, what could be driving her? Every moment brought Mothra closer to a confrontation, and she suddenly didn't seem to care about that anymore. Though De Gaulle didn't understand it, that didn't change what he had to do. His only concern was to stop Mothra, then and there. He ordered his tanks on the flanks to press in and begin the attack.

…

Above the battlefield, a squadron of French Dewoitine D.520 fighter-planes loomed. They were loitering while waiting for orders. Their only assignment thus far was to keep tabs on Mothra's movements and to report back to HQ. As the larva had yet to change either her course or speed, it was a pretty pedestrian job.

One of the pilots was named Jean-Pierre. He was a young man from Orleans who recently graduated out of flight school. He was a little nervous, as this was his first real mission. 'Heck of a way to begin a flight career.' He thought. This wasn't what he imagined. He had always saw himself fighting against the German Luftwaffe when he signed up for the French Air-force. 'Life always finds a way to surprise you.'

With little else to do, Jean-Pierre just watched as events began to unfold below. He could see tank platoons closing in on the monster from both sides. Things were about to heat up. The tanks lined up in an orderly fashion and commenced firing. Jean-Pierre could see the shells popping against the side of the massive worm. If they bothered the monster, it didn't show. She just kept moving, ignoring them. The tanks continued to fire and there was a near constant barrage. However, it was obvious that Mothra's hide was too thick for the tanks to penetrate.

As the barrage continued, Jean-Pierre heard the crackling of his flight-leader's voice through the radio. Their squadron was to engage the monster. He tightened up and focused on the task at hand. The planes around him lined up neatly. One by one, the aircraft banked left and then glided downward towards their target.

As his plane descended with the group, Jean-Pierre lined up the monster in his sights, but he didn't quite feel right about it. That didn't stop him from performing his duty though. One by one, each fighter in the squadron let their cannons roar. Lines of tracer rounds dotted their way down towards the monster until they started to connect. When the pilot of the plane in front of Jean-Pierre opened up with their cannons, he followed suit. He hadn't even thought about it. He'd done it as if by reflex or instinct.

Jean-Pierre watched as the red-hot tracer rounds from his cannons struck the worm. They had no effect. In fact, he even spotted a few of them bouncing right off. He got a sinking feeling seeing that. The planes pulled up after several more seconds of continuous machine gun fire. The monstrous worm continued along unphased. The planes reported the results of their attack and went back to tracking the monster.

Shortly after, Mothra reached the artillery lines in the center of the French formation. The gunners kept their cool, quietly preparing to attack. The artillery was arranged on the hillsides, just lying in wait. Their orders were to wait until Mothra had closed to point blank range, to ensure maximum impact. She played right into their hands, choosing to pass right between both of the primary gun emplacements. The artillery was going to be able to bracket Mothra with shells from both sides.

The artillerymen waited until Mothra was almost directly in between them, when every one of their guns could be brought to bare. Only then did they begin to hammer away at her sides. The cannons flashed and thundered violently, their shots almost instantly hitting their target. Mothra was not able to shrug off the heavy artillery's firepower as easily as she had with the tanks. For the first time, she noticeably slowed and then stopped altogether.

Mothra's head began to turn toward the artillery on her right and she opened her mouth. From within, shot out a thin focused stream of highly pressurized silk. Mothra's cascade of silk raked its way down the whole line of artillery. The first man struck by it flew fifty yards like he had been hit by the stream of a powerful firehose. As the flow of it went down the line of artillery, soldiers became hopelessly stuck to their guns, equipment, and even the ground. They were no longer able to reload shells or do much of anything other than be fastened into whatever position they had been in when they got hit by the sticky secretion.

One very determined soldier was still able to move his arm enough to defiantly fire off his cannon one last time. Unfortunately, he failed to realize that the barrel had been blocked by Mothra's silk. When he tried to fire, the ordnance went off inside the artillery piece, blasting the gun, along with all the men around it, into tiny little chunks. Following the explosion, the right wing of French artillery fell silent. No one else even tried to fire another shot.

With that, Mothra turned her head and repeated the same process with the left-wing artillery group. She managed to achieve similar results. Mothra had quickly neutralized both positions in about the space of thirty seconds. The majority of the French soldiers were still alive, but utterly trapped in her webbing and unable to move. Because of that, they were effectively out of the fight. With the cannon's attack stifled, Mothra moved on.

By that point, more French tank reinforcements came up from the backline reserve unit to support the cannons. They suddenly appeared out in front of Mothra and began their own assault. The tank's opening salvos struck Mothra in the face. She responded in-kind, once again using her silk to immobilize them. One by one, the tanks were hit and essentially frozen in place.

The armored units could no longer maneuver and, for the most part, could not rotate their turrets either. The crews within the tanks were still free to reload and fire their weapons unabated, but without being able to readjust their aim, they simply wouldn't be able to hit Mothra once she moved out of their crosshairs. One unlucky tank crew learned the hard way the exact same lesson the artillerymen had just moments before. Some of Mothra's silk made its way far down into their gun barrel and jammed it up tightly. The tank exploded from the inside when a shell backfired on them. Choosing to continue the attack was risky business, and the remaining tank commanders chose to pass on it.

With the reinforcement tank column pacified, Mothra moved around the armored units to avoid crushing them. The French had not given up though. General De Gaulle called in the heavy bombers that he had waiting on standby. The aircraft arrived just a few minutes after the failed ground assault had grinded to a halt.

At that point, Mothra seemed to have run out of patience though. She did not allow the French bombers to get close enough to drop even a single bomb on her. She lifted her head towards the sky and shot web at them. Her silk hit the bomber's propellers and ceased up their engines instantly. With their propulsion disabled, the heavy bombers fell from the sky like bomb-filled rocks. Each of them hit the ground shortly after and exploded on impact.

Jean-Pierre watched in horror as his fellow airmen died. Dozens of aircraft were crashing all over the landscape. Pillars of black smoke dotted the floor of the green valley. Other French ground forces were closing in on Mothra, but Jean-Pierre could see that the battle was already over. He realized it had been lost before it even started. He could see that they never stood the slightest chance of stopping the monster to begin with.

Jean-Pierre's flight group drifted into the airspace above Mothra's right flank as they watched the last of the bombers get demolished. The squadron leader quickly realized that their unit was also well-within Mothra's ability to strike after seeing the bombers go down. Unfortunately, it was already too late. Mothra could hear the sound of the plane's engines and perceived them as another oncoming threat. She turned towards the fighters and let loose with another stream of silk.

Most of the pilots saw the attack coming and maneuvered to get out of the way, knowing only too well what would happen if the silk hit their engines. All but two of the fighters managed to evade the stream. Jean-Pierre, however, was one of the two unlucky pilots who were not so fortunate. His engine immediately stalled, and the nose of his plane dipped down toward the ground.

Recognizing that he was in serious trouble, Jean-Pierre panicked. He tried to remember his training. It became clear to him that he had no choice but to abandon his plane. He grabbed the handle to his right and turned it to open up the plane's canopy, preparing to bail out. Only it didn't budge. Jean-Pierre cursed and continued to struggle with it. He put as much of his weight on it as he could. His panic was growing more intense with every passing second. He knew he didn't have much more time.

"Damnit! Why won't it move?!" Jean-Pierre punched at the window in frustration, trying to break it. It was only at that point he noticed Mothra's silk had not only taken out his propeller, but also hit the side of his plane's fuselage. The edges of the silk had reached the outer frame of the canopy. Jean-Pierre realized that the silk was holding it shut and it wasn't going to open no matter what he did.

Jean-Pierre felt a sinking feeling that wasn't his aircraft plummeting from the sky. His fighter was going to crash, and he was trapped inside. Jean-Pierre knew he couldn't do anything to change either of those things. He was going to die. It was a cold and inescapable fact. He only had a few precious seconds to make peace with his fate. 'Heck of a way to end a flight career.' He mused to himself in one of his final thoughts. 'Life always finds a way to surprise you.' The fighter finally hit the ground and Jean-Pierre's suffering came to an end. A general withdraw order was issued only moments later. All French forces still engaged were ordered to retreat.

…

An hour later, the bus carrying the research team found its way onto the battlefield. Mothra had long since moved on, but in her absence, she left a pretty good impression of how the battle had gone. The bus had to drive around the wreckage of a fighter plane that had crashed directly onto the road it was traversing. Some fires were still burning from where bombers had smashed into the ground. Overall, there had been very few casualties, but anything hit by Mothra's silk was still right where she left it. Dozens of Tanks and artillery units were pinned firmly to the ground.

Other French troops had arrived just after the battle concluded, and they were still trying to get their comrades out of the webby mess. Some soldiers even managed to trap themselves in the process. First, the French had tried to pull their fellow countrymen out by hand, which was laughably ineffective. Next, they tried to cut them out with axes and saws, which only saw them lose their tools to the silk.

The bus itself actually drove over a random strand of Mothra's silk and lurched to a stop when one of the tires got caught in it. The strength of the hold was so great that both Marcus and Brock flew forward out of their seats and crashed into the back of the seats in front of them. Brock issued a string of curses as he got to his feet. Marcus, meanwhile, wondered what had happened and exited the bus to have a look. He'd expected to find a huge pothole, but instead, discovered the silk holding the tire in place. They were stuck there now.

After some time had passed, it was unclear how they were going to dislodge the bus or rescue the ensnared French soldiers. Most of the artillerymen were in no real danger, except for the few who were wounded by shrapnel from the exploding cannon and urgently needed medical attention. The rest of the men would be okay since other soldiers had direct access to them. The real concern was the tank crews. They were trapped inside their vehicles without food or water. If their rescuers couldn't devise a way to get to them quickly, they'd be in trouble after a few days.

On the bright side, French officers still had radio contact with the tank crews and advised them to remain calm. They were promised that their liberation was of the utmost priority. The wounded artillerymen were treated, and received the best care possible, considering they could not be physically removed from the battlefield. Dr. Jacquier seemed to have other priorities though. He was pissed off that they wouldn't be able to immediately follow Mothra.

By the next morning, little progress had been made in freeing the trapped men, and the pressure to do so was rising. The tank crews were getting claustrophobic and stir crazy after being stuck in their machines for over twenty-four hours. It was beginning to dawn on the men that they could die of thirst in just another forty-eight hours if the situation didn't improve. And there was no end to their confinement in sight. Mothra's silk was resisting every effort made to counteract it.

Marcus and Brock were sitting and watching the French efforts continue to fail. Marcus felt guilty, wondering to himself if things would have turned out any differently if he had said what was on his mind days ago when he had met General De Gaulle. There was no way of knowing for sure. He only wished he could do something to help. Brock was lighting up a cigarette and blowing out smoke with a scowl on his face. Almost absentmindedly, Marcus was watching him and trying to think. Then an idea suddenly hit him.

"Brock, can I borrow that?" Marcus pointed a finger to his lighter. Brock looked down and shrugged.

"Sure, but these things aren't good for you kid." Brock tossed Marcus the lighter and his pack of cigarettes. "You shouldn't get started with them."

"The lighter alone will do, thank you." Marcus tossed the cigarettes back to Brock and then ran to the nearest artillery piece. One of the trapped French soldiers jumped, surprised by Marcus' sudden appearance. The man said something to Marcus, but he couldn't speak a word of French. Marcus rather assumed it was something along the lines of: 'Hey, what are you doing?'.

Marcus opened the lighter, ignited the flint, and then put the open flame under a strand of silk attached to the man's leg. Upon contact, the fire burnt right through the silk. The French soldier seemed a little concerned that Marcus was going to light him on fire in the process, but fortunately, the webbing didn't actually catch on fire. Marcus got goosebumps with the thrill of success. He then got to work, slowly cutting the rest of the French soldier's limbs free. Brock came up behind Marcus while he was in the process. He was still puffing out smoke when he saw Marcus' discovery.

"Brock, go and spread the word to anyone in the camp with a lighter, we can burn through it!" Marcus exclaimed with enthusiasm.

"Can do." Brock replied coolly, flicking his cigarette to the ground.

Soldiers who smoked were worth their weight in gold for the next two hours. By the time they were done, they'd managed to free all the trapped artillerymen. The tankers were still imprisoned within their machines though. For them, something a little more heavy-duty was in order. French officers sent out soldiers to acquire blowtorches from a nearby town which happened to have a machine shop. It didn't take long after their return to burn open the hatches of the tanks. It would take quite a while longer to get the tanks back to operational conditions, but at least their men were free to enjoy the cool morning air of the French countryside. Once all the soldiers were safe, the bus was likewise freed, which pleased Dr. Jacquier beyond words.

…

Meanwhile in the Sea of Okhotsk, Akira had landed a large seaplane in the lagoon of the island outpost where he had previously tested the radio lure on Rodan. It was to be the final stop before the mission would begin in earnest. The plane just had to be refueled one last time before heading out. The island garrison was also loading the plane up with additional gas cans so they could refuel while in the air. It was going to be a long trip, and since they were heading into hostile territory, they wouldn't have a chance to refuel on the ground before getting back.

When the seaplane had taken on all the extra fuel canisters necessary to get to there destination and back, the crew made preparations for take off. The additional weight made getting out of the water a little more challenging for Akira, but he managed. The big advantage of taking off from the water was that there was plenty of extra runway for him to work with. They finally caught air and were on their way.

The crew for the trip was kept to a minimum to save on weight. Aside from Akira, there was a young co-pilot named Ken and two army soldiers. One of the soldiers was just a no-name grunt. He was only there to help carry the device and be another gun if they ran into trouble. The other man, however, was a hard-nosed Japanese Army officer who outranked Akira. His name was Major Saito.

Akira may have been piloting the mission, but Major Saito was the man calling the shots. He had the coordinates for the rendezvous point with their contact on the mainland, and he seemed to know them personally. Akira deduced that Major Saito was connected to the Japanese spy-network operating within Russia, perhaps as a handler, given his familiarity with their contact.

Perhaps it was just his nature, or maybe his many years in the spy game, but Major Saito acted quite coldly towards Akira. Despite Akira's many positive endeavors in the name of the Japanese Empire, the grizzled old man didn't seem to trust him. The Major only told Akira as much as was absolutely necessary for him to carry out his role in the mission. Saito seemed more concerned with Akira following his orders to-the-letter than anything else.

The mission's timetable was Major Saito's utmost concern. He wanted them to stick to it as closely as possible. Akira could understand why. The longer their contact sat waiting at the rendezvous point, the more likely they were to get noticed. They could face some difficult questions if they were found by the wrong people. On the other hand, if they arrived too early, the plane could be spotted, and that would be even worse.

The plan was to arrive in the dead of night to minimize their exposure. Then, get in and out of the Russian encampment unnoticed as quickly as possible after delivering the package. They would fly back out the following morning, and hopefully get word of the mission's success upon their return.

As the hours went by, Akira had little else to do but think. It occurred to him that if it came down to it, Major Saito was probably the type of man who would rather gun-down the whole team, rather than allow them to be taken captive by the Russians for interrogation. Akira could understand why. The secrecy of the mission was just as important as the mission itself. Probably even more so.

Failure of the operation might mean the Russians would be successful in their efforts to drive the Rodans out of their territory, but there was no guarantee that would happen. On the other hand, discovery of the clandestine plot, whether it was successful or not, could potentially lead to a second war with the Soviets. At the very least, it would sour their already bruised relations, and paint Japan in a very poor light within the international community. Given that the Japanese had just strengthened their ties with the United States and European powers through their mutual cooperation and operations against Anguirus, Baragon, and Rodan, discovering the act of sabotage would be very ill-timed.

…

Marcus and Brock had just piled back into the bus with the research team to continue their pursuit of Mothra. Following the battle, she had resumed her journey Northward, now unopposed. The French soldiers Marcus and Brock helped to free, wanted to take both of them out for drinks following their rescue, but there simply wasn't any time for that. Dr. Jacquier wouldn't allow it. He wanted to get moving again.

"So where is it going now?" Brock asked as the two of them sat down again.

"Paris." Marcus answered flatly. "My money says she'll end up in Paris."

"How do you know?" Brock asked, perplexed.

"I don't really." Marcus answered. "It's just a hunch."

"She's heading due-north right now. Paris is northwest of here. Less North and more West." Brock noted. "I'll bet you five dollars she doesn't go there." He challenged.

"So, to be clear, if she goes anywhere else in the world other than Paris, I lose?" Marcus asked.

"Yep." Brock replied. Marcus considered it.

"Okay, it's a bet." He smirked.

A few hours later, Mothra had entered an area of farmland that was full of hedgerows. Hedgerows were mounds of earth meant to keep livestock in, as well as to mark the boundaries between tracks of land for farmers. They were almost like a security fence made out of soil. They dated as far back as Roman times. The mounds were generally raised a few feet up from the ground and slanted at sharp angles. They had trees and shrubs growing directly out of them. They gave the landscape a more majestic look, but they were also making it very difficult for the French Army to keep up with Mothra.

For the pursuing tanks and trucks, the hedgerows were a tremendous obstacle to overcome. The tanks could power over them, but not without slowing down considerably and putting a strain on their engines. Going over them was not even an option for the rest of the pursuing vehicles. The troop trucks, along with the tow artillery and the research bus had no other alternative but to go around them.

Mothra on the other hand, had no problem with the hedgerows. She was simply able to bull right over them. With her incredible size, they were barely a bump in the road. The French tanks eventually elected to follow suit with the rest of the pursuing forces after figuring out just how many hedgerows they would have to cross over. Their machines would likely break down before they were through them all.

After crossing through the valley, Mothra changed course, moving directly due West. The tanks and trucks of the French Army were still caught up in the middle of the labyrinth of hedgerows behind her. It became apparent that she had only gone through there specifically to shake off her pursuers. It was starting to look like Paris was her goal after all. Mothra's new trajectory put her on a direct course for the city. Brock glowered at Marcus and then slapped five dollars into his hand.

The French Government immediately panicked. There weren't any significant ground forces between Mothra and Paris, and she was rapidly approaching the city. They began to evacuate Paris and threw together a last-ditch effort to prevent the monster from entering the city. In an odd turn of events, the French Air Force commandeered as much pesticide as they could, which turned out to be many barrels full. Once obtained, they loaded them into heavy bombers and took to the sky.

Simple as it was, Marcus was impressed with the ingenuity of the plan. The French must have supposed that Mothra, being insectoid in nature, might share some of the same features of actual insects. The mode of action of most insecticides was to attack an insect's spiracles. Spiracles were the small external openings commonly found on the abdomen of an insect's exoskeleton. They allowed air to enter their respiratory systems, and thus, the poison would suffocate its target.

The high-level bombers with the chemical barrels quickly found their target about forty miles away from Paris. They were careful to remain at a high enough altitude to avoid being hit by Mothra's silk. It would be hard for the bombers to pinpoint her from as high up as they were, but with the type of attack they had planned, accuracy was not going to be much of a factor anyway. They just had to get the barrels close enough.

The bombers dropped their payloads, and the vaporous chemicals spread all over the surrounding area as the barrels smashed all around Mothra. Her body was engulfed by the ensuing cloud of mist. She stopped and took notice of the mist for a second, but then continued on, unbothered by it. As it turned out, Mothra was not the same as other insects, or perhaps the scale of her organs made the chemical's mechanism of action useless against her. Whatever the reason, the attack failed and Mothra was now on the cusp of entering the French Capitol.

…

By the next morning, Mothra had entered the outskirts of the metropolis. Paris was a very old city, having been founded over two-thousand years ago in 250 BC by a tribe of Gauls known as the Parisii. In its long and storied history, the city had seen many foreign invaders, including the likes of Julius Cesar, but it had never seen anything like Mothra before.

Paris saw itself as the center of the world in terms of art and culture. The city was littered with monuments, landmarks, and other works that were irreplaceable. All of those things were at risk of being destroyed with a giant monster on the loose in the streets. The city held its breath as Mothra entered it.

Marcus and the research team had driven all night long and came into the city just a few minutes behind Mothra. The streets were empty, aside from the few odd people curious enough to see the monster for themselves, and the few French Army units that had manage to enter the city overnight.

The damage Mothra was doing to the city was fairly negligible. She had mostly just limited herself to one wide avenue and was doing her best to avoid buildings. On occasion, one structure or another was unavoidable and Mothra would topple it over with her mass by happenstance. Mothra seemed to have a goal in mind, and nothing else was distracting her from achieving whatever it was.

As Marcus sped down the street in the bus after Mothra, he couldn't help but feeling like he was on a tour. He was on a bus after all, and in the most visited city in the world. His team passed some of the most famous landmarks in Paris, like the Louvre Art Museum and the Notre-Dame Cathedral. Marcus felt a sense of awe seeing them for the first time. He had never been to Paris, and even under the turbulent circumstances, the city was a sight to behold.

As they continued down the street and caught up with Mothra, the monster's goal became clear. As it turned out, her objective was the Eiffel Tower. It was the thing that brought Mothra to the city. She was headed right for the three hundred and thirty meter wrought iron structure. The tower, the tallest structure in Paris, stood at eighty-one stories. It had been built for a World's Fair to celebrate the centennial of the French Revolution and had been a symbol of French freedom for over fifty years. Its long reign was now being threatened to be toppled over by a giant insect. The onlookers watched with bated breath to see what would happen.

Mothra came to a stop just short of the Eiffel tower's base and looked up as if to scrutinize it. She only paused for a moment. Whatever she had been trying to deduce, she seemed to be satisfied. The gigantic caterpillar crawled up until half of her body's length was up the tower, and then began to spray silk high above her head. The silk hit the top of the tower and the spray that had gone straight up started to rain back down. It landed on the connecting strands on the tower.

Meanwhile, the Eiffel tower was managing to hold up strong under Mothra's weight. The tough metal frame stood unyielding against the extra weight and pressure of her body. Gustave Eiffel, the tower's designer and engineer would have been proud if he had still been alive to see it.

The research team's bus came to a stop a few blocks away and Marcus, Brock, and the others all got out to watch Mothra as she worked. Slowly but surely, her silk strands became interwoven and began to take form. Marcus finally understood what the larva was doing as she disappeared behind her webbing.

Two hours later, the process was complete, and the larva had entirely encased herself inside a cocoon.