Briefing
“Good day pilots,” the commander said, stumping into the room.
“Good day, sir,” they all answered. It wasn’t. A miserable rain pattered against the windows.
“I have the next assignment for this flight wing.”
Nes looked around at her comrades. They were exhausted. Non-stop sorties did that to pilots. Worse was the lack of success. That would drive anyone mad. Her comrades were holding their heads up, but they were unsteady.
“As you know, we are having difficulty luring them our of their caves. The kaijus seem to know that we can do damage to them when they leave their homes, and so will not exit the water where we expect them.”
The pilots nodded glumly. They knew this. She was the only one to hit the damned things in three months, and that had been with a reckless dive. Stupid, but it had worked.
“What do the Kaiju feed on?”
Another easy piece of info. Civilization. The things seemed hell bent on pushing them back into prehistory, roaming plains in loose groups looking for food. Electricity was a favorite food item. Someone gave the right answer.
“Exactly. Each has their own appetite, and can sense out their favorite foods from miles around.” He clicked a little button and the image of a grotesque monster popped to life on the screen. It looked like a sickly crab.
“We are losing. We need something to turn the tides, and we are going to start with this fucker. He eats rare books.”
A murmur went through the crowd. That was odd.
The commander held up a large, old book. “This is the Book of Kells. I don’t know who made it or why. The fuckers took that from me. It is the only copy in the world. We are going to tie it to a lure plane that will dance across the water until the crab comes out. Then we kill him. Is that clear.”
Excitement ran through the pilots. It was crazy, but the whole war was crazy. Nes had a sinking feeling.
“Who will carry the book?” someone asked.
“Captain Nes. Our finest.”
Yeah, this was all sorts of screwy alright.
Michael Frutig 