Jurassic War

Thirty-Two

Dawson spied his opportunity. The battle scene had erupted into chaos, and nobody was paying attention to the rear flank. Japanese lines were overrun. Wading out of the water, he touched shore and the Compsognathus dinosaurs were upon him.

One latched onto his calf. Another jumped up his leg and bit into a thigh. Razor sharp teeth serrated his flesh. He wanted to scream.

He broke into a sprint, hauling scavenger dinosaurs with him.

Rushing up to a fuel storage tank, he slipped out of sight from the soldiers fighting in front of the next two tanks. Dawson unsheathed his stiletto fighting knife and thrust it into the Compy locked on his thigh. The thing bit his forearm, clamping on it with fierce determination, while others hopped around him, biting and clawing at his legs.

He stuck the blade deeper into its abdomen and pressed down on the hilt, cleaving the beast open. The Compsognathus flailed and dug its talons into his leg. Pain burned in his thigh. Innards bulged from the dinosaur’s open cavity.

Dawson reached for the creature’s guts and yanked them, uncoiling the viscera onto the soggy earth. The Compy dropped to the ground and wailed in agony.

He kicked it, sending the beast hurling to the water’s edge.

Other scroungers hopped on him. Dawson swiped at them with his knife, and he smacked them with a free hand. Knocking the dinosaurs away before they clasped onto him, they hit the ground and bounced to their feet, then pounced on him again.

A futile effort; he’d knock them off and they were right back. Pertinacity.

He counted five of them.

Kicking two of them away, he sent them hurtling towards the squealing Compy, bleeding on the shoreline. Hysteria drove it to snap at the new arrivals. They set upon it, biting and tearing voraciously at the displaced entrails. It yowled in pain.

Now, he faced off with two Compsognathus dinosaurs. Savage yellow eyes glared at him. Razor-sharp teeth chattered, while their tongues darted in and out, hissing. Dawson gulped. They were irate and meant business. He considered options. And the scavengers perceived his reluctance; they both pounced at the same time.

Sidestepping the one on the right, he dodged the creature and met headlong with the Compy on the left. Dawson sunk his knife into its gut as it lunged through the air. Finding purchase, his fist sunk deep into its innards.

The knife pierced the creature’s backside. A crimson blade split the hide.

Blood spurted from the wound, and the dinosaur yowled in pain. Shucking the Compsognathus aside, it landed with a thud and writhed on the ground.

The Compy he’d dodged had recovered. It set upon him.

Fortunately, the dinosaur sprung on his back and started chewing on the haversack. Wheeling around, he couldn’t get a bearing on the damn thing. Dawson unstrapped the pack. It dropped to the ground. The dinosaur went with it. Striking the earth, the creature kept gnawing on the backpack, tearing off scraps of canvas.

He swung his rifle from his shoulder, took aim, and fired. A bullet smacked into the Compsognathus’s head. It keeled over and thumped into the dirt, giving a single kick before dying. A glazed eye stared into the rain.

The shot attracted the other two scavengers. Scampering up the beach, they fixated on him. Fangs bared and saliva dripping from a whetted appetite, the creatures closed the distance fast. Dawson only had a second to respond. Another shot might draw attention from Imperial forces, so he had to quickly set the explosives and run.

He took aim and dropped the dinosaur in the lead. Before he could turn to the other, it was already upon him.

The frenzied creature hopped in the air and scrambled up his utilities.

Dawson dropped the rifle and reached for his fighting knife. At the same time, he grabbed for the dinosaur and latched onto a rear leg.

It perched on his chest and snapped at his neck.

He yanked the leg with all his might. Teeth scraped his flesh, inflicting a superficial wound; it strained for another attack.

Roundhouse thrusting with his knife, he plunged the blade into the creature’s side. It yelped, then struck for his neck again. Dawson turned the knife, pressed hard into the beast, then used the weapon to push the Compsognathus away from him.

Its head and torso reared back, but the hind claws seized his utilities, clutching him with a death grip. Talons serrated his abdomen. And the creature assailed him again. Lunging forward, the beast nipped at his neck, rending off pieces of flesh. Blood leaked from the wounds, but the Compy failed to strike a major artery.

The assault sunk the knife deeper into the creature. Still, it continued striking at his neck, disregarding the mortal wound being inflicted upon it.

It meant to kill him, and it was more than willing to die trying.

Reaching with his free hand, Dawson grabbed the Compy’s neck and squeezed its throat. He kept pressing the knife into the creature’s side, wriggling the blade, seeking to disrupt an organ, artery, or nerve.

The Compsognathus hissed, then it coughed. Gasping for air, the dinosaur flogged in a crazed frenzy. Breathing was interrupted.

Dawson pushed the knife upward, aiming for a lung.

The claws released; strength left the beast.

It croaked a muffled whoop. The dinosaur coughed and wheezed, grappling for breath. Excitement from the attack and injury to its lung, winded the creature to the point it couldn’t fight anymore.

He flung the scrounger to the ground, then peered around the fuel tank. Beyond the scout car, a battle enraged. A T-Rex stomped and roared at the Japanese line, while infantrymen shot at the massive creature. Extending its neck, the carnivore plucked a soldier from behind the sandbags and chewed him up, gobbling down the fare.

All the while, marines from across the field riddled the Imperial troops with lead. Nobody seemed to have noticed his shots behind enemy lines.

Dawson snatched the haversack off the ground and broke for the nearest fuel tank. Crouching near the base of the huge drum, he dug at the earth with both hands. He created a depression to direct the blast inward, then grabbed the TNT from his bag.

He positioned the dynamite and attached the fuse.

The line was twelve feet long. It provided enough time to safely clear the area, but he had a concern the enemy might happen upon it and defuse the explosives. Dawson cut it in half.

Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out a chrome lighter with the Marine Corps logo on the front. He lit the fuse. It sparkled and rapidly burned, moving towards the explosives like a serpent.

He grabbed his rifle and broke toward the water. Glancing back, the fuse had burned through most of the line. The enemy in the distance wouldn’t know what hit them.

Dawson headed for a piling to protect himself from the blast, hoping to make it in time.