Kaiju Agonistes

December, 1954

“When the hell are we finally going to do something about that thing swimming around in the Pacific?”

“Well, season’s greetings to you too, senator.” The National Security Advisor studies the ice cubes swimming in his bourbon, sighs, and expertly shakes a crumpled pack of Viceroys so that one cigarette pops out as a sacrifice.

“It’s embarrassing!” The senator sits and takes the cigarette in mid-harangue. He and the NSA have a lot of practice lighting up while yelling at one another. It’s a cornerstone of their semi-friendship. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things I hear in committee.”

“I would,” sighs the NSA. “I probably hear them before you do.”

“Safe and sound in your lovely executive rooms, you mean. You might be a cook, buddy, but I’m waiting the tables. I have to talk to the customers now and then.”

“In the broadest sense, you and I are manning the walls for God, mom, and apple pie together. In a more immediate sense, I only have one customer, and he and Mrs. Eisenhower are currently sound asleep. As you and I would be if we had anything noteworthy perched atop our spines.”

The senator squints at the NSA, decides it’s a when-in-Rome kind of night, and fetches a bottle and a lowball glass for himself. The two men are seated in a glorified closet in the basement of the Executive Office Building, a sort of official speakeasy, with a liquor cabinet and a door that locks from the inside.

“There are rumors about the Russians—”

“Oh, Christ.” The NSA drains his glass, pours a reinforcement. “You need a skepticism transplant. Look, wherever that thing came from, I guarantee you nobody ever taught it to sing ‘The Internationale.’”

“If there’s any possibility, any at all, then the need for us to take action is even more—”

“Give it a rest. You and I both know that if the Russians had uncorked a sea monster from some EC Comics laboratory it’d be floating belly-up in the Aral Sea like a pet goldfish waiting for the flush. They disavowed the fucking thing, and for once I believe ‘em.”

“Boy, I’d save myself a lot of time if I just skipped the questions and had you yell the answers at me in any order you preferred.”

“Why climb the mountain if you don’t want to hear the wise man?” The NSA grins. “Drink up.”

“General MacArthur certainly shot the works at you and your boss on the radio this morning.” The senator lets the NSA pour for him, first generously, then irresponsibly. The liquor lines his cracked lips with heat as he tosses it back. “He speaks for a lot of dissatisfied people.”

“You’d think he’d be shy about picking a new fight with a president, considering what the last one got him.” The NSA mimes an exaggerated yawn. “What a strategic view the general must possess from that penthouse at the Waldorf-Astoria. Of course he wants us to blast the damn thing, he wants open warfare against half the countries in Asia. The sea monster’s just the latest straw for him to grasp at.”

“If your boss wants a second term he might consider taking that straw away from MacArthur.”

“I’m gonna let you take a mulligan on that bullshit. If MacArthur were a credible candidate for president I’d still have most of my hair, because it would be 1946.”

“You scoff. But if you let Moby Public Relations Disaster swim around un-harpooned much longer, Ike might be surprised what rough beast slouches toward the ’56 primaries to be born.”

“Dick Nixon not rough enough for you? Anyway, how many more destroyers should we feed the thing, senator? We’ve lost seven. How many more planes and helicopters? How many sailors?”

“We should stop this goddamned piecemeal approach.” The senator hadn’t needed to drink so fast, but he did, and now his grievances are limber. “I’m talking about multiple carrier battle groups, the whole Pacific fleet with bells on. And there are proposals for a multi-national strike force. The French want in, the Canadians, the British—”

“Hey, that’s swell,” says the NSA. “I have a seven-year-old who’d love to go out there and have an adventure on a big ship. They could all play together.”

“I’m serious, dammit. That thing is tearing the Marshall Islands apart. We’re being upstaged by a sea monster. The UN General Assembly…oh, don’t give me that face, you look like you’re having a stroke. Who’s calling these shots, exactly?”

“The American people, buddy, in their usual fashion.”

“Does the president want hearings? Because this is how he gets both houses of Congress right up his ass. What the hell is really going on?”

“The trouble with this place is that it’s full of people meeting in smoky little rooms to get drunk and spill secrets after hours.” The NSA sighs and clinks his glass against the senator’s. “Look, you’ve done some favors for me and the boss, so now I’m gonna quid your pro quo. But if you ever try to tell anyone I spilled the beans, you’re gonna find that I was verifiably out of town tonight.”

“Okay. Get spilling.”

“What we’ve been doing for the last couple weeks is working hard to avoid the damn thing, not to challenge it. But we’ve saturated the area with high recon flights, plotting the thing’s movement. Now, we have no interest in the general fleet engagement you propose, senator, but we’re still plotting the thing’s movement. Very precisely. And gathering an unusual number of weather reports. Why do you think that is?”

“Atomic release?” says the senator. “Is that why you were a couple drinks ahead of me when I got here?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m bullish on atoms for peace, but even when you know it’s the right decision it does make the ol’ ballsack tighten up a bit.”

“Is it the right decision?”

“The president signed orders to that effect just before dinner, so it’s now the only decision.”

“How soon will we—”

“About ninety minutes ago. That sea monster is now somewhere between over medium and over hard.”

“Already done? Christ. The islanders and the Japanese are going to love this.”

“Senator, if God cared what the Japanese thought about the Pacific Ocean he wouldn’t have made us so good at building aircraft carriers.” The NSA drains his glass and belches through his cigarette. “Ninety minutes ago we had a sea monster problem. Now we’ve got an exciting news day and a bump in the polls. The president is dreaming untroubled dreams. Just as you and I should be.”