Project Nemesis (A Kaiju Thriller)
Read Project Nemesis (A Kaiju Thriller) Online
Authors: Jeremy Robinson
Copyright ©2012 by Jeremy Robinson
All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address Jeremy Robinson at:
Cover design copyright ©2012 by Jeremy Robinson
Printed in the United States of America
Visit Jeremy Robinson on the World Wide Web at:
For
WLVI
Channel 56, for airing Creature Double Feature every Saturday morning of my childhood.
Acknowledgments
Kaiju
.
It means “
strange
beast” in Japanese and describes a genre that includes Godzilla, King Kong,
Gamera
,
Mothra
and many more. I’ve been in love with the genre since I was a kid, and while my novels feature all manner of strange beasts, from aliens and stone golems to the mythological
Hyrdra
and half-human, half-demon
Nephilim
, I had never written a true homage to the genre that has fueled my imagination for the past thirty years. Well, now that I have, and it’s one of my most fun stories to date, there are a few people I must thank, who made this book better than I could have on my own.
Kane Gilmour, my sometimes co-author, editor and constant supporter, you not only edited
Project Nemesis
, you single-handedly convinced me to pursue this long-term dream. Thank you for that, but now you need to finish
your
Kaiju
novel!
Jason Brodeur also lent a hand in editing
Project Nemesis
and did a fantastic job polishing the book until it gleamed like King
Gidorah’s
golden scales.
The amazing Matt Frank,
Godzilla
artist extraordinaire, thank you so much for lending your formidable skills to
Project Nemesis
and designing a creature far cooler than what my imagination had conjured. I look forward to future collaborations!
No acknowledgements from this author can be complete without thanking the band of misfits who make writing about giant monsters so much more fun: Aquila, Solomon and Norah, my kids and fellow
Kaiju
fans, your imaginations inspire and intimidate me. And to my dear wife, you know what I’m going to say. I love you.
“
Ν
έ
μ
εσι
π
τερ
ό
εσσα
β
ί
ου
ρ
̔
ο
π
ά
,
κυανω
͂
π
ι
θε
ά
,
θ
ύ
γατερ
Δ
ί
κας
,
α
̔
̀
κου
͂
φα
φρυ
ά
γ
μ
ατα
θνατω
͂
ν
,
ε
̓
π
έ
χεις
α
̓
δ
ά
μ
αντι
χαλινω
͂
”
“Nemesis, winged tilter of scales and lives,
Justice-spawned Goddess with sinister eyes!
Thou
bridlest
evil men who roil in vain
Against Thy harsh adamantine rein.”
— Hymn to Nemesis,
Mesomedes
of Crete
PROLOGUE I
Five Years Ago
“Get down, stay quiet and don’t move a muscle or we’re stains,” Master Sergeant Lenny Wilson whispered as he lay down, pushing his body deeper into the three-foot deep snow.
His partner’s only reply was to shift his body farther out of sight. The white masks and full body
BDUs
they wore helped them to disappear, but the noon-day sun would reflect differently off their clothing. To the trained eye, they would stand out like a patch of matte finish on a glossy book cover.
And Wilson had no doubt the men searching for them would spot the aberration. There were fifty of them now, swarming through the mountainous pine forest.
Packs of hungry wolves.
The ten men approaching their position were armed with an array of deadly high-tech weapons, but the hunt would end as soon as Wilson or his partner was spotted. Not just because they were out-numbered or unarmed but because that’s the way the game was played.
They were being hunted.
Like animals.
Wilson pressed his face into the snow and remained still. He filled his mouth with snow and breathed around it, keeping his breath from condensing and giving away their position. He could only hope Endo was doing the same. Corporal
Katsu
Endo was on loan from the Japanese Self-Defense Force as part of a program that partnered seasoned American warriors with Japanese partners who’d never seen combat. The official spin on the program was that it built stronger ties between the two countries’ militaries, but that didn’t make much sense since the Japanese military had been limited to self-defense since the end of World War Two. It was bullshit, Wilson believed. The Japanese were being trained with the intention that they would one day see combat again, probably against the Chinese.
The Japanese Self-Defense Force was actually a vassal military for the U.S., should the need arise. That was Wilson’s opinion at least, and he didn’t disapprove. The Chinese would eventually be a problem. He felt sure of it. Still, he wasn’t keen on being partnered with Endo. The man had never been in a situation like this. He lacked survival instincts, like a penguin in the desert. And Wilson had a reputation to protect. If Endo screwed this up...well, the man would get his first real lesson in how shitty his self-defense tactics really were.
“See anything?” someone asked. The voice was deep and gruff.
The question got four replies, all negative.
Boots crunched through the snow, some so loud and close that Wilson was sure the mound of snow and low hanging pine branches concealing him wouldn’t be enough. But the men continued past and faded into the distance. When he could no longer hear them, Wilson counted to a minute, praying to God that Endo wouldn’t move.
Ten men had come. Only nine had left. Someone stayed behind.
Another minute passed.
C’mon, you
sonofabitch
.
Crunch.
The man shifted his weight, but the noise, in the silence of the woods, sounded like a rifle shot. Thirty seconds later, he gave up, double-timing his exit to catch up with the pack.
When the man’s footfalls reduced to nothing, Wilson counted to sixty again before slowly lifting his head. He scanned the area, holding his breath. They were gone. He swallowed the icy glob of snow in his mouth, feeling the cold slip down his throat and land in his belly.
He looked to Endo and found the man starting to raise his head.
“Not bad, Ketchup.”
Endo frowned beneath his mask.
“
Katsu
.”
“
Katsu
.
Catsup.
Ketchup.”
Wilson spoke the words with conviction, as though his logic stream was enough justification for the nickname.
“My name is
Katsu
,” Corporal Endo repeated, his barely detectable Japanese accent growing a little thicker.
Wilson shook his head. “Look. I’m a nice guy, so I’m going to give you a choice. You can be Ketchup or you can be Duck Sauce.”
“Duck sauce is for Chinese food,” Endo said.
Damnit
, Wilson thought. “What do you use in Japan? What’s the shit called?
Worcestershire?
No, that’s not it.
Soy sauce.
That’s the stuff. So what will it be?
Soy Sauce or Ketchup?”
“They’re coming back.”
Endo said it so plainly and without trepidation that Wilson nearly missed it. He peeked up over the snow covered rise and saw several distant figures moving toward them. “Shit. They’re not going to miss us on a second pass. We need to move.”
“They’ll see our tracks,” Endo pointed out.
“That’s why we’re going to run.”
“We’ll be faster downhill.”
“Uh-uh.” Wilson motioned back toward the mountain rising behind them. “We’ll head up.” He cut off Endo’s argument with a raised hand. “Listen, Ketchup, you’re here to learn from me. You do what I say, when I say it. We’re heading up because no one likes to.
There’s
all kinds of hell in the mountains and these assholes aren’t going to want to follow us.”
Endo gave a nod, conceding the point. Without a sound, the pair crawled up the hillside until they were deep in the tangle of pine branches. Concealed for the moment, Wilson took a deep breath and mumbled, “Smells like Christmas.” The scent conjured memories of his family. He tried to not think about his wife and two sons, but failed. He missed them terribly when he was deployed or training. He believed in the Marine Corps.
Dedicated his life to it.
But his family was his heart. Without them he wasn’t whole. Not that he’d ever admit such a thing.
A sharp hiss snapped Wilson from his reverie. Endo stood higher on the hill, pointing to his ear.
The men seeking them out had arrived early, moving faster than Wilson anticipated. Wilson gave a curt hand signal that looked a little like he was chopping wood with his hand. They continued their ascent, moving as quickly and as silently as they could.
It had been six very cold hours since the exercise began and they were one of two teams still in the game. They’d begun as twenty-five two-man teams. The drill was basically a glorified version of Hide and Seek, but the men took it seriously, and winning gave you gloating rights—something Wilson enjoyed. Every time a team was spotted and laser sighted they joined the hunt. Since the men below had already been caught, they had no good reason to endure the cold. They were more motivated than ever.
“Here!” someone shouted.
Wilson plowed up the hill, forgoing any attempt at stealth. They needed to find someplace the others wouldn’t want to follow and they needed it fast.
Shouting erupted below. The sound of pursuit followed.
Endo was a fast little shit; Wilson had to give him that. He ducked and weaved around and under branches that Wilson had to bulldoze his way through. Endo pulled ahead, disappearing into the dense foliage. A stab of fear coursed through Wilson. If he was the reason they were caught, he’d never live it down.
A shout of surprise rose up ahead of him. Had Endo injured himself? Maybe tripped or rolled his ankle? If so, they’d be done, but at least he could peg the loss on Ketchup and avoid some of the ridicule. Although they were one of the two final teams, he’d done enough trash talking to ensure anything other than first place would be humiliating.
Wilson pushed through a large tree branch and paused. Endo’s footprints disappeared. He glanced up into the trees.
“Ketchup!
Where are you?”
No reply.
He took a step forward and the snow didn’t give way. The snow here had melted and refrozen, forming a solid, inch-thick layer of lumpy ice. Knowing that Endo had most likely slid over the solid surface, Wilson lowered himself onto the ice and got down on his belly, dispersing his weight. He pushed himself forward, careful not to break or even scuff the surface.
But the voices of his pursuers grew louder, moving closer at a pace that far exceeded his flight. And they didn’t have to worry about concealing their tracks. His only remote hope was to reach the next tree, duck behind it and hope they moved in a different direction.
The hunters were just out of sight, maybe thirty feet back.
Wilson slid beneath a pine branch weighted down by needles and snow, and he found himself facing a stone wall.
Nowhere to go.
He pulled his feet up close, held his breath and waited.
If asked, Wilson would have said he was a brave man.
Perhaps one of the bravest.
He’d seen action in Afghanistan twice. He’d killed and nearly been killed. It took a lot to ruffle his scarred feathers, but when Endo emerged from the base of the rock wall like some kind of giant gopher, Wilson nearly pissed himself.
Endo grabbed hold of Wilson’s jacket and hauled him back. Despite being seventy-five pounds heavier than Endo, Wilson slipped up over the ice. Darkness enveloped him, and he felt a strange pressure that told him he was underground. Gravity helped him complete the second leg of his five second journey, dropping him onto a solid slab of stone. It took all he had for Wilson to not shout in surprise or cough in pain, but he completed his passage into the darkness without a peep.
Wilson listened to the men outside. They stopped at the frozen snow. Some punched their way through, some searched the trees and two were sent back to make sure it wasn’t a false trail.
Five minutes later, everything was quiet again.
Wilson knew he should thank Endo. Maybe even use his real name. He’d not only kept Wilson from being discovered, but also ensured they would win the hunt. Although they weren’t armed, they did carry food and water. Properly rationed, they could make it a week, though he doubted they’d even need to spend the night.
A sharp crack made Wilson jump. Then a bright red glow lit Endo’s face. The white mask made him look like ghost. A chill rose up Wilson’s back. He fought against it showing on his face, but Endo chuckled and shook his head.
Wilson was about to chew the man out—so what if Endo had saved them, no one mocked Lenny Wilson—but then Endo held the glow stick up, lighting the space around them, and this time, there was no stopping Wilson’s shout of horror.
Less than twenty-four hours after Wilson hauled himself out of the cave and lost the exercise, he stood outside the entrance once more with Endo by his side. They were joined by General Lance Gordon and no one else. The report of what they’d found had been fast-tracked up the chain of command until it landed on Gordon’s desk and stopped. He’d flown out of Washington D.C. within the hour and made his way to the frozen North.
“This is it?” Gordon asked with a huff that sent a cloud of steam from his mouth.
Gordon didn’t look like a general. He didn’t have the same rigid poise or clean cut look, especially for a man out of the Pentagon. What he did have was a commanding presence that said he’d lay into you like a Howitzer if you crossed him. Wilson answered quickly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who found it?” Gordon asked.
“Corporal Endo, sir,” Wilson replied.
The General turned his gaze to Endo, sizing him up. As men, they were opposites. The pale white Gordon stood at six-three, weighed two hundred fifty pounds, had rough skin on his face and was dressed in black thermal
BDUs
. Endo, dressed in his white
BDUs
from the previous day, was five-five, weighed one sixty-five and had a tan smooth-skinned face that Gordon doubted had ever felt a razor’s edge.
“Lead the way,” Gordon said to Endo, motioning to the sliver of black in the wall of stone.