Godzilla: The Official Movie Novelization

TWENTY-FOUR

Chinatown was ground zero. Concentric circles spread out on the paper map from the current known location of the stolen ICBM. Stenz grimly contemplated the chart as his analysts pored over what data they could access with the power down. He listened as they formulated a desperate, last-ditch attempt to get troops in place to disarm the warhead before it took out the whole city.

“Thirty thousand feet should be right above the sphere of influence,” an analyst estimated.

A more skeptical analyst shook his head. “Even if they survive the jump, we’re talking a Hail Mary.”

Stenz understood the odds against them, but didn’t see any other choice. They could hardly stand by and watch the clock tick down to a thermonuclear explosion in the center of San Francisco. A hundred thousand lives were at risk. If there was even a chance of disarming the warhead, they had to take it, or there wouldn’t be a city left to defend.

Racing footsteps rushed past the trailer. Through the windows at the rear of the command center, Stenz saw dozens of soldiers reporting for duty. He took a deep breath and went out to address them. They needed to know what was at stake and how much was expected of them.

He didn’t envy them the daunting task ahead.

Captain Hampton presented the plan to Admiral Stenz and the troops inside the command center, which was now crammed with fresh volunteers like Ford. Video feeds from the city showed nothing but static. Computers tried and failed to reboot. Paper charts and satellite photos were mounted behind Hampton, while the admiral stood off to one side. Milling among the other soldiers, Ford spotted Doctors Serizawa and Graham with the brass. He listened attentively.

“The male delivered the warhead here, at the center of downtown,” Hampton said, pointing to a table map of the city. An “X” marked the last known location of the nuclear weapon. “Putting more than a hundred thousand citizens in the blast radius. We can’t stop it remotely.”

Low mutters and whispered remarks rippled among the gathered soldiers. Ford wondered how many of the troops had friends or family in San Francisco. Everyone seemed appropriately disturbed by the prospect of the warhead going off in the city, on top of the unprecedented threat posed by Godzilla and the MUTOs. On top of the nuclear blast, the city also faced the danger of lingering radiation as well. He was gratified that none of his comrades-in-arms even suggested sacrificing the city to get rid of the monsters.

An Army Captain, who identified himself as Quinn, took over the presentation.

“An analog initiator has been installed. And the MUTOs are frying electronics within a five-mile bubble. Approaching overhead is not an option.” He placed a transparent plastic dome over the “X” on the map to represent the MUTOs sphere of influence. “That’s why we’ll be conducting a HALO jump insertion. Jump altitude is thirty thousand feet. Skate just over the top and drop here and here.” He indicated two spots atop the plastic dome. “And if you don’t eat a skyscraper, we’ll rally here and find the bomb.”

A bomb technician raised his hand. “Doctor Serizawa, any guesses where to look?”

“Underground,” the scientist said. “If the MUTOs have spawned, they’ll be building a nest.”

“In which case,” Graham added, “the bomb going off would only be the beginning. Its fallout would catalyze their eggs. We’d have hundreds of them, annihilating everything.”

A hush fell over the command center as that nightmarish possibility sank in. Ford tried to imagine hundreds of creatures like the ones he’d encountered before. He couldn’t imagine how civilization — or even humanity — could even survive an onslaught of that magnitude. Sam’s future would be utterly wiped out, along with that of every other human being on the planet.

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.

Falling at nearly 125 miles per hour, he passed quickly through the clammy mist, somehow managing to avoid being electrocuted by a random bolt of lightning. The downtown area — or what was left of it — came into view. The devastation was staggering. Despite what he’d already witnessed overseas, Ford was shocked by what he saw.

A giant sinkhole, much like the one in Japan, had swallowed Chinatown. A wide path of destruction, like the one in Hawaii, had torn across The Embarcadero to Telegraph Hill, where Godzilla and the male MUTO could be glimpsed fighting amidst crumbling high-rises and residential buildings. Clouds of smoke and dust billowed up from the war zone. Fires blazed within the demolished buildings. As in Honolulu, Godzilla had the advantage of size over the other monster, but the male appeared in no hurry to retreat this time. The winged creature was standing its ground, with the surrounding neighborhoods paying the price. Angry snarls and screeches were punctuated by crashing buildings. Thunderclaps, reverberating overhead, provided a percussive soundtrack to the cataclysmic tussle, whose outcome seemed far from certain. It was survival of the fittest — on a grandiose scale.

Ford dropped between rows of buildings that blocked his view of the battling monsters. He tugged on his ripcord and was yanked upward as his main canopy deployed. A square, “ram-air” parafoil inflated above him and he used the steering toggles to come in for a landing on a rubble-strewn street somewhere in the ruins of the Financial District. He touched down with an awkward stutter-step onto the cracked and broken pavement, without actually falling or breaking anything, and stumbled to a halt.

Whew, he thought. Made it.

He was relieved to be back on solid ground again. Tugging off his oxygen mask, he took a deep breath of real air, which smelled of smoke and ash. He glanced around warily, but did not spy any monsters in his immediate vicinity. Smashed skyscrapers jutting up from the ravaged streets suggested that the monsters had already passed through this district, leaving little intact. Night had fallen so that only the glow from scattered fires illuminated the darkened city. From the sound of things, however, the beasts were still raging several blocks away. It dawned on him that he’d had yet to see the female MUTO, the one that had attacked the missile train. He had to assume that it was abroad as well.

Better keep my eyes out for that bitch, he thought.

Shedding his ‘chute, which was draped over the rubble, he hastily rescued a rifle and flashlight from his gear bag and fitted the light to the barrel of his gun. A gust of wind blew aside the voluminous nylon canopy, exposing charred human bodies lying amidst the debris, half-buried beneath fallen chunks of masonry. A blackened arm stretched lifelessly from beneath a mass of crumbling concrete and rebar.

More collateral damage, Ford realized, of the timeless feud between Godzilla and the MUTOs. He winced at the sight, wondering briefly whom the burned bodies had belonged to and what families would mourn them, but he also knew that the death rate would skyrocket unless he and his comrades completed their mission and disarmed the stolen warhead. He had to keep moving.

Anxious to reconnect with the others, Ford looked up and down the damaged and deserted streets. The unsettling darkness failed to mask the extreme damage done to his hometown. Once known as “The Wall Street of the West,” the Financial District now looked as though the Big One had finally hit. Gleaming towers of glass and steel, built to withstand all but the most powerful earthquakes, were now smoking husks. A toppled skyscraper leaned precarious against its neighbor. Broken glass, mangled steel beams, and crumbling blocks on concrete littered the streets and sidewalks. Elevated sky-bridges had crashed to earth. The Transamerica Pyramid, once the tallest structure in the city, was missing its tip and several of its upper stories. Abandoned cars, trucks, and buses had been crushed by falling debris.

Ford stared aghast at the devastation. The monsters had done all this — in less than an hour?

A titanic roar jolted him back to the crisis at hand. Ford spotted more soldiers running up a street one block over. He hustled after them, readying his gear on the run. A rifle hadn’t done him much good against the female up in the mountains, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to go up against the creatures unarmed. Better to go down fighting if he had to.

Panting, he caught up with several other soldiers. An EOD specialist named Bennett was busily assembling a device that resembled a Geiger counter, while the other soldiers conferred tersely, comparing notes on what they’d seen on the way down. Ford figured that some of them were still coming to grips with laying eyes on the monsters for the first time.

Bennett finished assembling the tracking device. It started clacking immediately, especially when he pointed it up toward Chinatown, where the warhead was reported to be.

“We’re moving up the hill,” their jumpmaster said gruffly. “Keep it spread out. Move out!”

The soldiers took only a moment to get their bearings before jogging up Grant Avenue. Within minutes, they passed through the ruins of the “Dragon Gate” at the southern entrance to Chinatown. Fallen ceramic tiles shattered beneath their boots, while the head of one of the gateway’s two guardian dragons stared up from the rubble. Advancing into the heart of Chinatown, they hurried past trampled shops, temples, banks, and restaurants. An upended cable car lay on its side, squashed bodies spilling out of it. A street lamp crafted to resemble a bright red pagoda leaned precariously over the obliterated avenue. Colorful flags and banners lay trampled on the ground. As they neared the crest of the hill, the infernal orange glow of an unseen fire could be seen through a dense wall of smoke. The veiled flames, and the clacking of the tracking device, drew the troops on.

Getting warmer, Ford thought. Let’s hope we don’t run into any company.

One by one, the soldiers warily entered the haze. Ford found his visibility cut almost to zero and relied on the flashlight mounted on his rifle to pierce the smoke. He aimed the beam at the ground before him to keep his footing, but then his flashlight dimmed. He smacked it with his palm, hoping to restore it, but the beam kept flickering. By now, Ford knew that meant.

A MUTO was near.

He wasn’t the only soldier experiencing technical difficulties or aware of their significance. He spied other flashlights sputtering in the smoke. Alert troops hefted their weapons and took cover behind wrecked and overturned cars. Ford darted behind a crushed SUV. The jump master, Quinn, whistled and put a finger to his lips, signaling quiet.

Damn right, Ford thought. The last thing they wanted to do was attract a monster’s attention.

But while the rest of them kept quiet, the tracking device was clacking louder than ever. Ford flinched at the racket as Bennett aimed the device straight ahead at the smoke and flames. He nodded at Quinn, who got the message.

The warhead was close.

The wall of smoke thinned out, revealing the female crouched above the giant sinkhole Ford had spotted from above. An involuntary shudder went through Ford; the last time he’d seen this creature, it had been tearing apart the bridge and locomotive in the mountains, sending Tre and Waltz and the others to their deaths. It hadn’t gotten any less terrifying in the interim. Its six lower limbs straddled the pit, while its smaller forearms were still large enough to qualify as enormous. Drool dripped from its beak. Its bony carapace caught the glare from the fires. Lightning flashed overhead; Ford wondered again if the MUTO was somehow causing it.

Hunkered down behind the available cover, the troops shared frustrated looks. The warhead was apparently down in the sinkhole somewhere, but how were they supposed to get past the female to reach it? Ford glanced at his ticking wristwatch. Time was running out.

Now what?

Ford was stumped, uncertain how to proceed, when booming footsteps shook the night. The thunderous tread triggered immediate flashbacks to Honolulu Airport — and his first sight of an even more colossal monster than the MUTO guarding the pit. The ground shook beneath Ford. Looking back, he already knew what he was going to see.

Godzilla lumbered toward them, cresting the hill behind them. His eyes narrowed as he spied the female. He dropped into a defensive crouch, like a fighter preparing for battle. He threw back his head and roared loud enough that Ford’s heavy-duty helmet provided no protection at all. There was no mistaking the primordial fury in that roar; Ford realized in horror that he and the other soldiers were stuck between the two monsters.

The female responded to the challenge with a defiant howl of its own. It sprang from the sinkhole and skittered across the ruins to face Godzilla. Endangered troopers dashed out of the way of her great, clawed limbs. Ford saw a hind leg crashing down toward him and dived for safety only seconds before it flattened the crumpled SUV he had been hiding behind. Rolling across the broken pavement, he saw the MUTO slam into Godzilla with extreme force. Grappling furiously, they tumbled down the hill, disappearing into the smoke and fog.

This is our chance, Ford realized.

The soldiers sprinted toward the unguarded sinkhole, peering down over its rim. The size and depth of the pit was even more impressive up close; it was possibly even bigger than the sinkhole that had swallowed the nuclear power plant in Japan. At least a block of homes and buildings appeared to have fallen into the pit. Ford did not relish climbing the crumbling, debris-strewn slope in search of the missing warhead. Fires burned down in the stygian depths of the abyss. Smoke rose from below.

Bennett employed his tracker. Rapid clacking pointed the troops toward an open fissure leading down into the side of the sinkhole. A hellish orange glow emanated from what looked like small cave opening. Ford felt the heat of burning wreckage as the soldiers cautiously ventured through the entrance and found themselves inside an uprooted Victorian row house, hanging upside-down from its foundations. An inverted staircase looked like something out of an M.C. Escher drawing. Tinny music issued from an antique music box lying sideways on the ceiling. Ford felt as though he’d stepped through the looking-glass into some sort of surreal fever-dream.

This just keeps getting weirder and weirder, he thought. I can barely remember what normal is anymore.

The troops hurried through the capsized house and out an open doorway. Leaving the bizarre setting behind, they found themselves faced with an infernal vista that could have easily passed for the lower pits of Hell. A huge cavernous burrow had been carved out beneath Chinatown, littered with debris from the ransacked city above. Bits and pieces of the city were strewn about randomly. An overturned gasoline tanker was partially buried in the rubble. A bronze dragon guarded heaps of broken refuse. A church steeple lay on its side.

They descended to the floor of the cavern. Thankfully, their flashlights were working better now that the female had charged off to fight Godzilla. Bright white beams soon located a huge organic shape hanging like a stalactite from the ceiling above them. It took Ford and the others a moment to realize that they had found what they were searching for: the nuclear warhead was encased inside layers of a hardened, translucent secretion. The outermost layers of the shell were still wet and viscous. They oozed slowly down the sides of the trapped weapon.

Ford gazed up at the suspended warhead. He could only assume that the male had brought his prize to the female, perhaps as some sort of courtship ritual. No doubt Serizawa and Graham would have a theory to explain how it all worked, but Ford didn’t care about that right now. All that mattered was disarming the bomb before the detonator went off.

At least we’ve found it, he thought hopefully. Perhaps we still have a chance.

A tremor shook the cavern, causing dust and gravel to rain down on them. It felt like an earthquake, but Ford knew better. The earth was shaking because of the titanic conflict being waged above. Godzilla had hunted the MUTOs halfway around the world, but now the chase was over and the final battle was underway.

With a nuclear warhead added to the mix.