Stenz addressed Quinn. “Captain, once you find the warhead, how long to defuse it?”
“Without having seen the analog mod, sir, I couldn’t say, but—”
“Sixty seconds,” Ford interrupted. “If I can access it.”
All eyes turned toward Ford. Captain Hampton nodded, acknowledging him. “Lieutenant Brody was the only EOD to survive the train attack.”
“I retrofitted that device myself,” Ford said.
Quinn deferred to Ford’s expertise. “Then we’ll say sixty seconds, sir, if he can access it. If for whatever reason we can’t defuse the device, we go to Plan B.” He indicated a pier on the map. “The waterfront should be no more than one click downhill. We get it to the pier, onto a boat, and as far away from the city as possible before it detonates.”
Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Ford thought.
“Lieutenant,” Hampton said to Ford. “To be clear, we have no extraction plan. If you don’t walk out, you don’t come back at all.”
Ford nodded, as did the other men around him.
“My wife is in the city, sir. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
That’s what Dad asked me to do, Ford recalled, with his dying breath. I’m not going to let him down… or the rest of my family.
Serizawa smiled in approval. Ford liked to think Joe Brody would have done the same.
Admiral Stenz watched the men file out, on their way to their mission. With any luck, they would defuse the warhead before it went off, or at least get it safely away from the city. But even if the bomb squad succeeded, that was hardly the end of their worries.
“So they take care of the bomb,” he murmured. “Who takes care of the monsters?”
He looked for Serizawa and found that the scientist had stepped outside the command center. Serizawa was gazing out across the water at the city with a pensive expression on his face. The admiral could guess who and what Serizawa was thinking about.
Godzilla.
In no time at all, Ford was getting suited up for the HALO jump. Along with a durable green jump suit and a packed parachute, he had also been supplied with a helmet, oxygen mask, gloves, new boots, a heavy-duty altimeter, and a bulging combat pack. As he and dozens of other soldiers prepared to board the C-17 that would drop them from a high altitude into the city, he watched a violent electrical storm brewing over San Francisco. Thunder and lightning added to the tumult battering the city and wasn’t going to make the coming jump any safer. Just bad timing, he wondered, or were the MUTOs peculiar auras stirring up the atmosphere somehow? He was no scientist, like those doctors on the Saratoga, but he suspected the latter.
“Lieutenant Brody!”
A voice from behind him shouted over the revving plane engines. He turned to see Dr. Serizawa hurrying across the tarmac toward him. Ford had noticed the Japanese scientist with Admiral Stenz earlier. Serizawa must have had spotted him among the troops listening to the admiral’s pep talk.
“I believe this belongs to you,” the scientist said.
He handed Ford a photo that must have been confiscated from Joe back in Japan. It was a family portrait of the Brody family in happier days. Joe, Sandra, and little Ford beamed at the camera. Ford couldn’t believe how young and happy they all looked.
Little did we know…
A bittersweet tide of emotion washed over Ford, who didn’t know what to say. He stared at the photo seeing not just the unsuspecting family from long ago, but also, superimposed over the portrait, he and Elle and Sam. A second generation of Brodys facing the same catastrophic forces.
“Time to load up!” an Air Force loadmaster shouted. “Move it out!”
Ford accepted the photo gratefully and tucked it into a Velcro pocket on his jump suit. He nodded at Serizawa, too choked up to speak, and turned toward the waiting aircraft. His fellow soldiers were already boarding the plane. They had to move quickly if they wanted to get to that warhead in time.
Assuming they could get past the monsters, that is.
“Lieutenant!” Serizawa called again. “He would be proud!”
I hope so, Ford thought. He glanced back at Serizawa. Ford hoped he could be half as determined as his father had been. Joe Brody had never given up trying to find the truth and warn the world. Ford wasn’t going to let his dad’s sacrifices be in vain.
He boarded the plane.
The sun was setting as the C-17 approached the city at an altitude of 35,000 feet, which was believed to be safely above the MUTOs’ sphere of influence. Seated in the cargo bay with the other troops, Ford assumed the brass had some evidence to support that assumption. Even so, he caught himself holding his breath as the plane came over the city. Crashing the Globemaster into the middle of downtown wasn’t going to do anyone any good.
The low bass hum of the plane’s engines continued uninterrupted, at least for the present. Ford chose to take that as a good sign as he peered out a window at their destination. Thick black smoke and heavy cloud cover largely hid the city below, but he could dimly make out immense shapes grappling in the haze. It appeared that the monsters were already locked in mortal combat. They charged at each other like divine beasts out of myth and legend.
Good, Ford thought. Maybe they’ll keep each other occupied while we deal with the warhead.
He removed the family portrait from his pocket and contemplated it one last time. The Brodys as they once were, as he and Elle and Sam could still be, if they survived the perilous hours ahead. It felt as though, one way or another, the unbearable trial that had tested his family for fifteen years was finally coming to a close. He hoped that, against all odds, they could still arrive at a happy ending somewhere down the line.
Glancing around, he saw that the other HALO jumpers were each preparing themselves in their own way. Photos of loved ones were cherished and heads were bowed in prayer or meditation. Everyone appeared deep in thought, searching for the courage and will to do what needed to be done, as well as remembering why exactly it mattered so very much. Across from Ford, a redheaded young soldier prayed softly to himself, reading aloud from a pocket Bible:
“… now as we leave one another, remember the comrades who are not with us today. ‘And He will send His angels with great trumpets.’”
The loadmaster’s booming voice roused everyone from their private thoughts.
“One minute, one more time!” he announced. “No comms at all down below. Use your flares to stay together!”
The rear bay doors opened and a ferocious rush of air drowned out any further discussion. Row by row, the HALO jumpers rose from their seats and headed briskly toward the ramp. The first in line ignited their flares and leapt out of the plane.
Here we go, Ford thought.
Ford returned the photo to his pocket and got his oxygen mask in place. HALO stood for High Altitude, Low Opening, which made the breathing apparatus a must. Joining the line, he made his way toward the ramp. Despite his resolve, he felt more than a flicker of trepidation. He was a Navy bomb disposal tech, not a Special Forces guy. He didn’t have a lot of experience with HALO jumps.
He didn’t hesitate when his turn came, however. Sucking down a deep breath of O2, he threw himself out of the plane… for Elle’s sake.
The roaring in his ears went away, and the world went strangely quiet. All that could be heard was the thin air whistling faintly above the clouds. He extended his arms and legs to slow his fall, as he’d been instructed, while accelerating toward terminal velocity. Dozens of paratroopers free-fell through the darkening sky. Blood-red smoke trailed from the blazing flares strapped to their ankles as they descended toward the embattled city like falling angels, minus the trumpets. Lightning flashed in the turbulent clouds and smoke below. Thunder rumbled, but Ford had no idea if it was coming from the storm or the clashing monsters or some dreadful combination thereof. His own flare ignited as he plunged into the clouds.