Jurassic War

Thirty-Six

The heavy rain obscured Peterson’s view of the way forward. He could hardly see the leafy jungle beyond the column of marines.

Explosions and machinegun fire echoed in the distance. Intermittent cracks of rifles resounded the weapons of enemy soldiers and his comrades. Tremors approaching from the north had reversed direction. A full-scale battle was enraging at the infrastructure targets, drawing the predator away from Peterson’s unit.

His squad moved swiftly through the brush, trying to join the fray.

An unsettled feeling crept over Peterson. Something didn’t seem right. Enemy soldiers would surely fall back to defend the key military base installation structures. Nobody would be lying in wait along a makeshift trail in the middle of the island. Yet he couldn’t let go of his concerns.

“Tomko, slow it down.”

“Our boys need reinforcements.”

“We might just walk into—”

A bullet dinged off a marine’s helmet.

Everyone in the squad hit the deck. Tomko unloaded with his submachine gun.

Marines laid down heavy fire. They wriggled into formation on the ground, and fanned the area ahead of them, shooting up the jungle.

Another round dug into the soil near Peterson. Dirt kicked up, revealing the shot had come from the left. Ambushed.

Peterson tapped Chandler on the helmet and pointed to the left flank.

Chandler pivoted and opened fire. The Browning he’d acquired from a fallen marine tore up the overgrowth, snapping limbs and drilling holes in the palm fronds.

With that countermeasure, demonstrating the marines ascertained an enemy position, rifles erupted from both flanks and their rear. Kaboom! Kaboom!

Lieutenant Peterson fired back with his pistol. Davidson rattled off at them.

Raiders in front continued to fire into the bush ahead of them. They can’t hear the rifles from the flanks, Peterson concluded. A fiendish bushwhack.

Davidson providing cover gave Peterson an opportunity to squirm ahead.

He grabbed Elliot’s trousers just above the combat boot and yanked hard. The kid looked back in awe, ready to turn his weapon on the assailant. A calm shown on his face when he registered the lieutenant.

Peterson pointed to the right. A muzzle blast lit up in the jungle.

Elliot spun into position and fired. Bullets homed on the enemy position, tearing the jungle apart and everything with it. Nothing could survive the assault.

Yet a moment later, the muzzle flashed again. Someone hollered in pain. A hit.

“They’re dug in like ticks!” Peterson cringed in frustration.

“Sure, as I’m getting drenched.” This from Chandler down the line.

A round struck Peterson in the left shoulder. He winced from the burning sensation. The shot had come from behind them.

“Chandler turn around and defend the rear!” Peterson ordered.

“Aye, sir,” Chandler replied, scooting around in the muck.

A moment later and the Browning was lighting up from the rearward position.

Peterson couldn’t believe the tactical elements at play. An enemy soldier had plotted the ambush well. More surprisingly, it had been devised with little advance notice and without concrete reconnaissance. They couldn’t have known for certain his unit would head through the area. He wondered how they even knew about the squad, then realized the firefights with dinosaurs had given them away.

The squad attacking the Raiders had been dispatched to intercept them. And the Japanese soldier in command was formidable and ambitious.

Cut off the head of a snake and the body will die, Peterson contemplated.

He figured the leader was firing at them from the rear. But then he remembered where the first shot had come from. A leader like this would not leave the timing for the onset of an attack to a subordinate.

Peterson spun around and called to the marine lying near Chandler. “Davidson! Get into the brush with your rifle and take out the shooter to our left.”

A moment of silence, then came the response. “Yes, sir!”

The young rifleman wormed his way toward the jungle, while Chandler laid down heavy fire to distract the solider attacking them from behind. Raiders engaged in combat strewn in the pathway concealed Davidson from the shooter on their right.

He only needed to clear the trigger-happy commander of the Japanese unit.

Davidson made it halfway to the dense underbrush when a round dug into the soil close to his helmet. Reacting on instinct, he expected a moment of clear advance while the enemy soldier chambered another round with the Model 38, Arisaka bolt-action rifle.

He rose to his hands and knees and swiftly crawled ahead.

“No!!” Peterson tried to issue a warning, but it came too late.

Another muzzle flash from the jungle and a loud crack as the commander’s semi-automatic pistol fired a round into Davidson’s side. It wasn’t a bolt-action rifle, Peterson realized.

He dropped into the dirt and writhed in agony. The bullet had struck a vital organ.

Waiting a moment for psychological effect, the soldier allowed the Americans to feel for their comrade, then he fired another shot at the wounded marine. The bullet found purchase in the man’s thigh. Still, he fired again, and this time hit the knee.

Davidson screamed bloody murder at the last gunshot. A crack accompanied the hit, signaling a broken patella. The kneecap had shattered.

A moment later and the Nambu pistol fired again. This time it hit the neck.

Blood gushed from the wound, spraying over the leafy ground. Raising a frantic hand, Davidson clamped it over the bullet hole.

“Corpsman!” A marine yelled on instinct.

“We don’t have one.” Peterson shook his head.

He wanted to wriggle over the earth and help the man.

Davidson met his eyes, hopeless.

“I’ll come over,” Peterson said. “Cover me!”

“No.” Davidson shook his head.

“We have to try.”

Elliot and Chandler trained on the left flank, put down heavy fire with their Browning machineguns. Tearing the jungle to shreds, the shooter would be forced to duck for cover. Peterson made his move and wormed across the ground to Davidson.

He slid a hand under the injured marine’s armpit and dragged him into the bush.

The rest of the squad engaged the enemy on all three fronts. Machineguns blasted at the Japanese troops. Yet rifles and pistols kept returning fire.

Even the commander on the left continued shooting.

Must have dug under some thick fallen trees, Peterson thought.

He looked at Davidson’s neck. Blood pumped from the entry hole, and he couldn’t find an exit wound. Lying on the ground, the bullet had likely hit the neck from the front and bore into the flesh, halting at a bone in the shoulders.

A serious wound, he didn’t think a major artery had been hit. “We need to tie that off and get you some help.”

“No way I’m going to make it.” Davidson frowned.

“I’m not so sure about that. The bullet didn’t hit an artery.”

“What about the others?”

“You won’t die immediately from any of those.”

Davidson nodded, encouraged.

Reaching into a cargo pocket, Peterson grabbed a first-aid kit. He cleaned the neck wound and wrapped gauze around the hole. It stopped the bleeding.

He next worked on the upper body wound, then patched up the knee and thigh.

“I won’t be able to walk out of here.”

“We’ll figure something out.”

“You gonna have to leave me behind?”

Peterson hesitated before giving a response. They could set him in a secure location and give him a canteen, then sweep back through the area when the mission was complete. But he thought about all the creatures on the island and decided against it.

“No,” Peterson said. “We’re taking you with us.”

Then a bullet dinged off the lieutenant’s helmet. He flatted on the ground and checked for the source. Another bullet pinged on his steel pot.

Neither shot was a direct hit and didn’t penetrate the steel.

Elliot was reloading. The shot had come from the enemy soldier on the right. Peterson aimed at the man with his Colt .45, M1911 pistol.

The gun cracked and the kick knocked his hand up.

And the next shot hit the back of his hand, causing him to drop the weapon.

Peterson scrambled back for deeper cover and fished around for bandages to treat the wound. The bullet had smacked the back of his hand and traveled through the flesh, exiting from his palm. It then struck the Colt’s pistol grip, and it ricocheted into the dirt.

A straight through-and-through, he’d definitely survive, but wouldn’t be much use.

With the enemy hunkered down behind protective cover, and the Raiders keeping low, the skirmish unfolded into a standoff. The combatants exchanged gunfire without exacting any further casualties.

Eventually, the battle fell quiet as the marines reloaded and the Japanese soldiers ceased firing. Peterson lifted his head and scanned the area. Sure enough, the enemy was making a move. A palm frond whapped back and forth, signaling encroachment from the shooter on their right flank. He was closing in to finish them off, but the marines were ready for an advance.

Tomko unleashed a fury of machinegun fire into the bush.

Wavering palm fronds were riddled with holes. A cry resounded from the jungle, then a thud reverberated off the ground. Someone had taken a hit.

Elliot and Chandler shifted into a stepped-echelon position, and they used the opportunity to direct the firepower at the rear. The remaining marines shot at the Imperial commander’s position. But he didn’t shoot back.

They continued to receive fire from the back door.

Peterson didn’t like the stillness from the left, an enemy position, which now lay not far away from him. The enemy commander was devious and on the move.

The enemy soldier from the rear was the only one returning fire. And his shooting became erratic, having been overwhelmed by the 7.62 caliber Browning automatic rifles. Elliot and Chandler rose into crouched positions to further thwart the soldier.

A crack sounded from beside Peterson’s head. His right ear rang, and his hearing became muffled. The bullet punched into Elliot’s back and he keeled over. Another shot struck Chandler’s shoulder. He spun to return fire.

But he couldn’t shoot.

The enemy soldier used Peterson for cover.

A moment’s hesitation was too much.

The Browning that offered so much firepower couldn’t be used to sharp shoot in a delicate situation. Chandler frowned at the disadvantage.

Crack!

And a bullet struck Chandler’s chest.

He collapsed, possibly dead.

Peterson used the opportunity to spring to his feet. His legs were fine, and he’d regained his wind while resting under cover.

The movement caught the enemy non-commissioned officer by surprise.

Unable to get a shot off, the soldier holstered the pistol and contemplated his options.

Peterson was upon him, both hands finding purchase on the corporal’s throat. The soldier gasped for breath, and the two men wrestled with vigor.

The lieutenant’s right hand throbbed in pain, but he managed to press his thumb into the soldier’s windpipe. Peterson used his left hand to squeeze the man’s throat.

A thickly muscled individual, the choking didn’t have the desired effect.

The corporal struggled with Peterson, grabbing both forearms, trying to break loose of the death knell. He seemed surprised at the lanky officer’s grip.

He coughed and gasped for air.

Strength began to slacken, and his legs wobbled.

The corporal couldn’t breathe.

Peterson continued to strangle the man, who writhed in panic, unable to break the hold on his neck. And then, a calm registered in the corporal’s eyes, and he completely let go of Peterson’s arms, as though accepting that he’d succumb to death.

This didn’t cause Peterson to let up. He continued to choke the man.

Serenity registered in the corporal, like he was honoring his ancestors, welcoming a death that his nation would respect, a true warrior. But that wasn’t the case.

The realization of his mistake came with movement down the corporal’s right side.

He was reaching for his pistol.

Peterson gasped and the corporal flashed a sardonic grin.

A moment was all it took, and the gunmetal reflected in the dim light. Rain danced over the barrel, as the weapon moved upward.

The lieutenant let go of the man’s neck.

He took a moment to inhale.

The corporal grimaced from the pain in his throat, but he kept raising the gun.

Peterson dove to the right as the pistol reached firing position.

A crack resonated from the weapon, and a bullet whizzed by his cheek, like a bug flying through the air at breakneck speed.

He hit the deck and rolled, keeping an eye on the shooter.

The enemy commander trained the gun on him, as he rolled on the ground in futility. Another crack and a bullet struck Peterson’s rib cage. He winced in pain, but he didn’t lose his breath. The round hadn’t punctured a lung or hit a vital organ.

Despite some burning pain, he didn’t suffer much; it wasn’t a mortal wound.

The next shot would finish him off.

Peterson lay with his back on the deck, facing the corporal, who had his weapon aimed directly at the lieutenant’s heart. “Help!”

A cacophony of gunfire erupted from behind him.

Peterson expected the commander to take a hit, but he stood in place and stared in amazement, focused on the source of the commotion.

Japanese reinforcements, Peterson concluded.

The lieutenant turned his head and found a melee unfolding, but it wasn’t Imperial troops that had barged onto the scene. He registered the stench of rotten meat about the same time he spotted Tomko wrestling with a dinosaur.

A Velociraptor had the stout marine pinned to the ground, while he held up the Thompson for protection, gripping the barrel and the stock with each hand. The Raptor bit into the machinegun repeatedly, then snorted in frustration. It bared its fangs, demonstrating a fierce intent to kill. Saliva dripped onto the marine’s face and chest.

Confusion prevented the beast from ripping Tomko’s guts open with its sickle-shaped rear claw. Both hind feet were rooted to the ground, while the dinosaur straddled the marine, snapping and biting repeatedly at a metal weapon. Tomko wouldn’t be able to fend the creature off for much longer. He’d grow tired and the thing would tear into his neck.

Peterson felt helpless. He didn’t have a weapon.

More chaos broke out alongside the struggle between man and beast. Elliot rose and trained his Browning towards the tree line not far from where Tomko vied for his life.

Something moved through the brush with agility.

Another Raptor meant to prey upon them. But the one attacking Tomko was the immediate threat. “Shoot at the other one!” Peterson commanded.

Elliot didn’t respond. He couldn’t hear the lieutenant over the commotion.

The private continued shooting into the jungle, lighting it up with heavy automatic machinegun fire. Everything was blasted to shreds, with bullets riddling holes in the leafy overgrowth and snapping branches, which dangled or broke loose from trees.

Finally, he came around enough to pick up the fracas between marine and beast. Elliot let off the trigger and took a step towards the Raptor. Steam rose from the barrel of the big weapon and rain danced over his helmet. He released a magazine. It dropped to the ground and he reloaded with a new one. A pause was all he took, drinking in the moment, allowing his muscles to invigorate.

The clash remained in a stalemate, with Tomko finding the tenacity to keep shielding himself from the beast. He wasn’t in immediate peril.

Elliot took a deep breath, then he fired at the Velociraptor.

A fusillade of bullets dug into the creature’s hide.

The Raptor let go of Tomko’s weapon and reared its head back. It grunted and hissed, perturbed. Swinging around to face its attacker, the carnivore bared its fangs. Yellow eyes blinked a predatory intelligence.

It suddenly made its move.

The creature raced toward Elliot.

Closed the distance fast.

Elliot laid down heavy fire. He directed his shots to the creature’s pale underbelly. Rounds found purchase in the dinosaur’s vulnerable stomach.

Holes appeared with crimson streaks, yet the Raptor kept coming at him like a locomotive. The fifteen-foot distance between them was cut in half, then cut in half again. Within a couple of seconds, the predator was less than four feet away.

The marine frantically squeezed the trigger, filling the beast with lead, until the machinegun resonated empty. Elliot stood there, defenseless.

A silence fell over the battle scene. Nothing but the pitter-patter of rain and the sound of the Raptor’s footfalls could be heard. Almost a serene tableau before the horror. Spent gunpowder wafted through the air.

A scream broke the silence. The Raptor lunged into the air and pounced on the young marine. He fell to the deck. And the beast ripped his guts out, viciously churning both claws into his abdomen. It cleaved the man’s viscera open, spilling intestines and organs onto the soggy ground.

Steam rose from the innards, like it had from the rifle barrel.

The Raptor gobbled up the stomach and liver ravenously.

It tore off hunks of flesh, then lifted its head, savoring the meat, while a light rain drizzled over the creature’s munching snout.

Tomko rose from the ground with his Thompson and circled around to get a clear shot. He emptied his .45 caliber rounds into the dinosaur’s underbelly. James trained his machinegun on the Raptor and opened fire. The creature yowled, then snatched the loops of intestines from the ground and broke for the jungle.

Another break in the clamor fell over the battle scene.

Peterson glanced around, surprised to find Private James kneeling on the ground with a hole in his arm. An enemy marksman had targeted the marine while everyone had watched the skirmish with the dinosaur.

Behind him, the Japanese solider had advanced during the turmoil and disarmed Chandler, ensuring he couldn’t rise and defend against the Imperial soldier. Peterson was unarmed and Tomko had run out of ammunition. Davidson lay on the ground, wailing from his injuries. The corporal approached from the brush wielding his Nambu pistol. He pointed it at James’s head. The Thompson dropped to the ground. A moment later, the remaining Japanese infantrymen stepped from cover.

Surrounded and outgunned, Tomko tossed his empty machinegun in the dirt.

The Imperial soldiers rounded up the survivors. Marching towards the garrison, Peterson glanced back upon the mortally wounded. Before they cleared the area, a pack of Velociraptors rushed on the scene and fed upon the carcasses.

One of them wasn’t dead yet. Davidson screamed bloody murder as a Raptor disemboweled him alive.