Project Hyperion (A Kaiju Thriller) (Kaiju #4)

Project Hyperion (A Kaiju Thriller) (Kaiju #4)

Jeremy Robinson




PROLOGUE I



Five Years Ago



“Get down, stay quiet and don’t move a muscle or we’re stains,” Master Sergeant Lenny Wilson whispered as he lay down, pushing his body deeper into the three-foot deep snow.

His partner’s only reply was to shift his body farther out of sight. The white masks and full body BDUs they wore helped them to disappear, but the noon-day sun would reflect differently off their clothing. To the trained eye, they would stand out like a patch of matte finish on a glossy book cover.

And Wilson had no doubt the men searching for them would spot the aberration. There were fifty of them now, swarming through the mountainous pine forest. Packs of hungry wolves.

The ten men approaching their position were armed with an array of deadly high-tech weapons, but the hunt would end as soon as Wilson or his partner was spotted. Not just because they were out-numbered or unarmed but because that’s the way the game was played.

They were being hunted.

Like animals.

Wilson pressed his face into the snow and remained still. He filled his mouth with snow and breathed around it, keeping his breath from condensing and giving away their position. He could only hope Endo was doing the same. Corporal Katsu Endo was on loan from the Japanese Self-Defense Force as part of a program that partnered seasoned American warriors with Japanese partners who’d never seen combat. The official spin on the program was that it built stronger ties between the two countries’ militaries, but that didn’t make much sense since the Japanese military had been limited to self-defense since the end of World War Two. It was bullshit, Wilson believed. The Japanese were being trained with the intention that they would one day see combat again, probably against the Chinese.

The Japanese Self-Defense Force was actually a vassal military for the U.S., should the need arise. That was Wilson’s opinion at least, and he didn’t disapprove. The Chinese would eventually be a problem. He felt sure of it. Still, he wasn’t keen on being partnered with Endo. The man had never been in a situation like this. He lacked survival instincts, like a penguin in the desert. And Wilson had a reputation to protect. If Endo screwed this up...well, the man would get his first real lesson in how shitty his self-defense tactics really were.

“See anything?” someone asked. The voice was deep and gruff.

The question got four replies, all negative.

Boots crunched through the snow, some so loud and close that Wilson was sure the mound of snow and low hanging pine branches concealing him wouldn’t be enough. But the men continued past and faded into the distance. When he could no longer hear them, Wilson counted to a minute, praying to God that Endo wouldn’t move.

Ten men had come. Only nine had left. Someone stayed behind.

Another minute passed.

C’mon, you sonofabitch.

Crunch. The man shifted his weight, but the noise, in the silence of the woods, sounded like a rifle shot. Thirty seconds later, he gave up, double-timing his exit to catch up with the pack.

When the man’s footfalls reduced to nothing, Wilson counted to sixty again before slowly lifting his head. He scanned the area, holding his breath. They were gone. He swallowed the icy glob of snow in his mouth, feeling the cold slip down his throat and land in his belly.

He looked to Endo and found the man starting to raise his head. “Not bad, Ketchup.”

Endo frowned beneath his mask. “Katsu.”

“Katsu. Catsup. Ketchup.” Wilson spoke the words with conviction, as though his logic stream was enough justification for the nickname.

“My name is Katsu,” Corporal Endo repeated, his barely detectable Japanese accent growing a little thicker.

Wilson shook his head. “Look. I’m a nice guy, so I’m going to give you a choice. You can be Ketchup or you can be Duck Sauce.”

“Duck sauce is for Chinese food,” Endo said.

Damnit, Wilson thought. “What do you use in Japan? What’s the shit called? Worcestershire? No, that’s not it. Soy sauce. That’s the stuff. So what will it be? Soy Sauce or Ketchup?”

“They’re coming back.”

Endo said it so plainly and without trepidation that Wilson nearly missed it. He peeked up over the snow covered rise and saw several distant figures moving toward them. “Shit. They’re not going to miss us on a second pass. We need to move.”

“They’ll see our tracks,” Endo pointed out.

“That’s why we’re going to run.”

“We’ll be faster downhill.”