A MUTO was on its way.
In the Tac-Ops trailer, the feeds from Alcatraz abruptly went to static.
“Boxcar, this is Guardian 3, over!” Martinez barked into her radio. “Boxcar, this is Guardian 3. Do you copy, over?”
Interference whined over every channel, frustrating her efforts. And that wasn’t all; every feed from San Francisco began to flicker alarmingly, reminding Serizawa of the electrical disturbances and blackouts that had preceded the male MUTO’s cataclysmic escape from the secret base in Japan. Analysts feverishly worked their keyboards and controls, trying to compensate for the interference, but with little success. Serizawa joined Admiral Stenz and Captain Hampton, who were intent on the wavering feeds from the F-35s zooming inland through the dense clouds between Alcatraz and the city. The scientist understood that the planes were trying to outrace the MUTO’s crippling electromagnetic emissions. Stenz muttered unhappily under his breath. The MUTO’s approach had forced the jets to abandon their assault on Godzilla. The defense effort was losing ground on every front.
“CAG, my nose is cold,” a Lightning pilot reported over the radio. “I just lost radar. Do you copy?”
On the flickering screens, a monstrous shadow darkened the murky sky above the planes. Just for a moment, the fierce male came winging down from the sky like the stealth aircraft it somewhat resembled. Serizawa and the others caught only a glimpse of the creature’s inhuman red eyes, snapping beak and outstretched claws before the video feeds distorted beyond clarity. The fighter pilot shouted through the static.
“Engage, eng—!”
A blinding electromagnetic pulse lit up the screens, before knocking them out completely.
The doomed pilots had lost their race for life.
The evacuation was still underway at the hospital. A cold rain sprinkled on Elle as she helped the orderlies load more patients into a waiting ambulance. With the children and most critical patients already shipped out, they were now concentrating on the remainder of the patients, the one with less dire injuries or conditions. Like the poor guy on the stretcher in front of her, who had chosen the worst possible time to have a routine knee operation. More ambulances waited in the open plaza outside the hospital. The ambulance’s engine idled, its driver impatient to get on his way, as Elle slammed shut the rear doors of the vehicle and signaled the driver that he could go. The ambulance started to pull away from the curb… and its engine died.
Are you kidding me? Elle thought. Of all times!
Then she noticed that the other ambulances had come to a stop, too, and the lights were going out in the buildings nearby. Even the traffic lights had gone dead. She and the other hospital workers looked at each other in confusion, trying to figure out what had caused the blackout. Elle knew in her heart that they had all just run out of time.
There was a whooshing sound overhead. Somebody screamed and pointed at the sky. Elle looked up in time to see an F-35 fighter plane spinning out of control and diving toward downtown. A second later, it crashed to earth only a block away from where Elle was standing with an explosive boom that caused her to stumble backwards. A billowing fireball rose up from the blazing wreckage. Elle felt the heat of the flames against her face. Her heart was pounding.
This is it, she realized. It’s begun.
The Yakima was in trouble. Every electrical system, from navigation to communications, had shorted out at the same time. Pierce and his crewmates scrambled about the deck, trying cope with the emergency and complete their mission, despite the blackout.
“We lost power!” Schultz shouted.
I can see that, Pierce thought impatiently. “Check the warhead!”
They raced toward the bomb. The re-entry vehicle’s nose cone had been screwed back on, but a latched transparent window allowed them to view the mechanical detonator attached to the payload, which was still ticking away, its lathe gears unaffected by the EMP that had taken out the ship’s electronics. Pierce wiped his brow in relief.
“Still running,” Shultz shouted to the others.
Maybe they could still carry out their mission, Pierce hoped, until he heard the Yakima’s four powerful turbine engines die. Suddenly, the ship was dead in the water, carried along only by momentum and the current. Pierce’s blood froze as he grasped the full horror of their situation.
We’re stuck here, he realized, with a ticking nuclear warhead.
He looked out across the bay at the skyline of San Francisco, which had gone completely dark. No city lights shone through the mist and rain. The entire area had obviously fallen within the MUTOs’ sphere of influence, which meant that one or more of the creatures had to be in vicinity. Creatures that fed on radioactive materials like that installed in the warhead, which had been intended to serve as a bait to lure them back out to sea, but now was not going anywhere.
Oh crap, he thought. This just keeps getting worse.
He glanced up at the clouds, half-expecting to see a pair of monstrous black wings, but instead he saw a disabled F-35 spiraling down toward the bay. The fighter slammed into the water and exploded into flame. Stunned, Pierce was still trying to catch his breath when another jet crashed into the bay.
And another… and another…
An entire squadron rained down from the skies.
“Take cover!” Pierce shouted as the missile techs scrambled for shelter. More planes slammed into the water, narrowly missing the stalled transport ship. One after another, they exploded on impact, filling the foggy air with smoke and flames. Multiple impacts stirred up the waves, causing the ship to pitch from side to side. Pierce was thrown against the side of the warhead. The smell of burning jet fuel invaded his nose and throat. He choked on the thick black fumes.
This is insane, he thought. This can’t be happening!
Miraculously, however, none of the falling F-35s struck the Yakima. The rain of fighter jets felt like it went on forever, but was actually over in a few minutes. All at once, the planes stopped falling and an eerie calm fell on the deck, broken only by the crackling flames upon the water. Pierce and the others cautiously emerged from hiding. Dazed, they stood upon the deck and watched the burning wreckage sink beneath the waves. The unlucky pilots joined the scores of soldiers who had been lost upon the bridge. The bay was claiming more than its share of dead today.
And that’s before the warhead goes off, Pierce thought. He peered up at the brooding gray clouds above them. Is that it? Is it over?
A menacing shadow fell over the deck of the transport ship as the male MUTO, his hooked jaws opened wide, dived from the clouds, surrounded by yet another deluge of crashing F-35s. Its dark wings spread out behind it, its six clawed limbs reaching out hungrily, the male attacked the Yakima, instantly plunging the entire ship underwater. Nearly fifty thousand tons of displaced seawater splashed into the air, dousing some of the burning aircraft sinking slowly nearby. The water sprayed like a geyser before crashing back down onto the churning foam.
There were no survivors.
The turbulent waters began to settle, just for a moment, before the male erupted from the waves and took to the sky once more. The ten-foot-long re-entry vehicle was clenched between its jaws as the creature soared high above the bay, then swooped down toward the city ahead.