Jurassic War

Twenty-Two

Dawson followed the second fire team through the jungle. Firefights had broken out around the island. Shots echoed from every direction. He couldn’t imagine Raiders having encountered the enemy that many times. The creatures are restless, he thought.

The battles on the beachhead and the aerial attack had stirred them. He kept watch for the enemy and creatures alike.

Bishop plodded through the dense jungle, leading them on instinct down into lower terrain. They pushed through palm fronds and thick underbrush, forging their way inland. Dawson felt like they had been marching for hours. And now the command post seemed miles away. Soon, the ground became soggy, as they traversed along the edge of marshland.

A swamp lay in the center of the lowlands. Moonlight cast upon the water. Rain had let up. Still, the marines’ pace slowed from the wet soil. Many grumbled about the conditions, and a few worried that Bishop might lead them straight into the bog.

“Should have kept to the ridge,” said Staff Sergeant Wilson.

Bishop shook his head. “This was the way to go. We’ll hit that road soon enough.”

“How can Bishop be so sure?” Wilson mumbled to nobody in particular.

“Just is.” Mudhole piped in.

A deep groan caught their attention and silenced the marines. Dawson glanced around and didn’t see enemy troops or predators. This didn’t make him at ease. He looked again and understood why he’d missed it the first time. A massive creature stood in the water, docile, eating leaves from a tall tree. Its round back resembled a hillside. Dawson missed it at first because he thought that he’d glimpsed a slope.

The Apatosaurus measured seventy feet long and stood forty feet high. It seemed to eye them but didn’t take a break from munching leaves. “This one’s not a meat eater,” Dawson reassured the others. Some had already pointed their weapons at the dinosaur.

“You sure?” a private muttered.

“Save your ammo.”

“Just eating leaves,” Mudhole added.

“You fellas are going to announce to the Japanese army that we’re on our way.” Wilson griped and shook his head. “Let’s keep the chatter to a minimum.”

“I just didn’t want guys shooting at it needlessly.”

“Not you Dawson. I ain’t getting after you.”

Dawson took a deep breath and trekked onward, sloshing through the mucky lowlands. It reminded him of the long hikes Lieutenant Colonel Carson made them take during training. The time the colonel made them walk into a stream with their new combat boots also came to mind. Now, he was thankful that the training had prepared them for this mission.

Somehow, they skirted around the swamp and began an ascent. An open stretch lay before them, clear of trees. Bishop had found a shortcut to the road. Things were looking better, but they were not alone. A few dinosaurs lingered by the edge of the water.

A Stegosaurus casually drank from the edge of the marsh where water collected, and reeds protruded from the surface. The dinosaur stood twelve feet tall and measured about twenty-five feet long. Armored plates lined its back. The creature stretched its neck and pulled on vegetation near the shore. An herbivore; it didn’t pay them any mind, either.

Near the Stegosaurus, a couple of odd-looking creatures fed on grasses and moss. They were about twenty feet long, from the end of their snouts to the tips of their tails. Both dinosaurs stood only five feet tall, and they were less than five feet wide.

Ankylosaurus, Dawson thought. He noted the spiky backs and club tails.

Remembering his school days, he recalled the creatures being referred to as the Army tank of the dinosaur world. The creatures moved lazily along the edge of the marsh, picking at grasses and reeds. Another herbivorous dinosaur. Dawson figured the creatures wouldn’t pose a threat, unless cornered or attacked by humans.

As the Ankylosaurus closest to them ambled forward to sip water, it sunk both front legs into the bog and something came into view on the ground near its tail. A Raider lay in the dirt, injured or dead.

Dawson signaled to the others and broke towards the prostrate body.

Staff Sergeant Wilson tried to stop him, but Dawson threw caution to the wind and ran hunched over with his rifle at port arms. A sniper could have easily put him down.

Reaching the fallen marine, Dawson found the man’s gut ripped open. Entrails looped along the ground, bitten off at one end. A lower leg had been cleaved from the body. Dawson glanced at the man’s feet. Both were intact.

Another casualty had been mauled, chewed, mutilated, and dragged off. The ground was disturbed, as though creatures had fought for the prize. Why leave this one alone? Dawson looked at the remains of the marine left behind and considered the dilemma. Something was clutched in the marine’s hand. A scrap of paper.

Dawson uncurled the fist and looked it over. The surrender note that Lieutenant Colonel Carson had scribed for the enemy. It would never reach their adversaries.

Still, he couldn’t understand why the creatures would leave the corpse. A scuffle on the bank caught his attention. His unit had approached to investigate the situation. The club tail nearest to him let out a groan and stomped its right, front leg. A warning to keep away.

“What’s this?” said Mudhole, looking over Dawson’s shoulder.

“The surrender note we heard about.” Dawson handed it to Wilson.

He merely perused it and shoved it into his pocket.

“Do we have to take it on to the enemy?” Dawson considered whether the obligation now fell to them.

“Heck no.” Wilson shook his head.

“Are you sure?” This from Jenkins, who immediately drooped his head.

“Shut your mouth.” Wilson stood with a Colt .45 in one hand and the other was placed on his hip. He didn’t appear to be in the mood for answering to subordinates.

The young marines turned quiet, afraid to set him off further.

“Our mission is a seek and destroy. We are headed inland to blow those fuel dumps and demolish any infrastructure we come across.” Wilson paused to look them over. “The surrender directive was never tasked to us. Besides, I wasn’t in favor of it to begin with. I’d rather take my chances fighting whoever and whatever is lurking on this island than risk being captured by the Japanese. There’s already been rumors of torture and horrible conditions.”

“Understood, Staff Sergeant Wilson,” said Dawson.

Others nodded in agreement. Marines tightened the grips on their weapons, hands turning white in the dark night. They were ready to engage the enemy.

“We should get a move—” Wilson’s words were cut short.

A scout car and transport truck rumbled up the dirt road, with headlights cutting into the dense jungle. Soldiers were hunkered down on benches in the truck bed and others trailed behind it riding bicycles. And still others followed them on foot.

“Get down,” whispered Wilson.

The Raiders crouched behind palm fronds and waited for the truck to pass. With the mission being a seek and destroy, they did not have to meet the enemy unless necessary. They could head inland and target the fuel dumps. Dawson figured if the truck continued past them, the marines would encounter little resistance.

But a foot soldier stopped at the edge of the lane and called out to his comrades. He pointed at the marines and sounded the alarm. A few others came to his side.

Fortunately, the truck continued down the roadway unawares. Dawson and the other marines would only have to face a few infantrymen. Then the soldier who spotted them raised his rifle and fired at them. A bullet tore through the vegetation over their heads.

He lowered his barrel slightly, adjusting his aim.

The shot caused the transport to halt. Reinforcements would soon be upon them.

Bishop let loose with his Browning Automatic Rifle. The BAR ripped up the jungle and the enemy soldiers alike. Infantrymen flailed in a death dance, as Bishop’s rounds punched into them, blasting them in sundry directions. His bullets seemed to keep them on their feet longer than possible on their own.

As the soldiers teetered over, the truck backed down the road and the tailgate dropped open. Fresh troops alighted from the truck and took up positions along the side of the lane. They began to fire at the marines.

“Don’t just sit there,” Wilson commanded. “Move out.”

He broke towards the left and the Raiders followed him. They grouped downslope from the front of the truck, moving behind rocks, trees, and brush, trying to avoid direct enemy fire from a higher elevation.

Dawson grabbed Bishop’s shoulder. “Wait.”

“What do you mean?”

“You guys come with me,” Dawson said to Simmons’s fire team.

“What are you planning to do?” Bishop didn’t want to listen.

“Come on,” Dawson said, running to the right. “We’re going to outflank them.”

His troopers followed him. While breaking past the club tail dinosaurs, the one closest to them hissed and meandered up the hillside.

“Let’s go.” Dawson waved to the others and ran after the dinosaur.

Trailing behind the club tail reluctantly, the marines kept a safe distance from Dawson and the creature. He caught up to it and leaned a shoulder into its hulking side. The Ankylosaurus snorted and growled, but it kept trucking along.

“Get in behind me,” Dawson instructed them.

“Are you crazy?” This from Bishop. “I’m not going near that thing.”

“We’ll use it for cover like an armored tank.”

A few enemy soldiers had already picked up on their assault. Infantrymen had set a perimeter and the men on the left flank worked to assemble a Lewis-type machinegun. Within a moment, lead would be flying at them.

“Now!”

The fire team assembled behind Dawson just as the machinegun rattled away. Bullets dinged off the sides of helmets and bored into the creature’s hide. It grunted and picked up speed, trotting toward the menacing weapon. Angered. Dawson hustled to match pace with the beast. He ran, trying to keep his head down and wasn’t looking at the ground.

His right foot landed on uneven ground and he tumbled into a depression. The others cleared the edge of the small ditch. He scrambled to his feet and returned fire.

The Ankylosaurus’s tail whisked by him, swinging from side to side. Dawson bolted out of the hole to avoid being struck by the spiked appendage. As he ascended the depression, he realized the soil was crimped at the end of circular dimples; he’d fallen into an enormous footprint with claws.