Jurassic War

Forty-Four

The initial small arms fire had set the Gocho into action. He’d heard major fighting and was eager to join the fray. But he had valuable currency in the prisoners they had captured, including an officer.

When the flames wafted above the jungle canopy from the fuel storage tanks, he’d known the Imperial soldiers were getting the worse end of the battle.

“We need to join the fight!” He yelled and stomped his foot.

“Our orders were to intercept this unit and take prisoners,” said Superior Private Sato.

Gocho glared at him. “We’re not going to stand by and do nothing while the Americans take out valuable resources.”

“What should we do?” Sato muttered sheepishly.

“We’re not going to do anything.” Gocho shook his head. “Round these men by a tree and tie them up with vines.”

“Vines, sir?”

“Yes,” Gocho said. “The vines won’t hold them, alone. But they’ll impede the prisoners from getting the drop on the two of you.”

“The two of us, sir?”

“You and Ito will remain here and stand guard.”

“And you, Gocho?”

“I will go ahead and confront the Americans.”

They circled the prisoners around the largest tree in the area, then bound them with strips of vine. Both privates worked at tying up hands and legs, and then they tied the captives to the tree, wrapping thick vines around their chests. Left alone, the makeshift restraints would not hold the prisoners, but they would serve as a hinderance to any attempted escape.

Running through the jungle, the Gocho felt winded and his muscles were tired from fighting enemy combatants and the dinosaurs. Explosions in the distance made his heart pound and pulse race. He feared being disgraced with the first major loss of the war.

The angst of being defeated in battle spurred him on. Approaching the battlefield, a calamity fell into view. Flames hurled skyward from the fuel tanks, and the garrison had been reduced to a smoldering pile of debris. Rain could not extinguish the flames and they rose from the collapsed building like a harbinger of failure.

A Tyrannosaurus Rex stood near the detritus, with its hide charred, bloody and burned. It picked at a vanquished beast. The fallen dinosaur was much larger than the creature feeding upon it. Gocho imagined a fierce battle had been undertaken on the soil where he’d casually reprimanded soldiers for uniform violations. Scattered about the battle zone, he witnessed bloodied combatants, strewn on the wet ground, wailing in pain as scavengers nibbled at the dead and suffering. A few fought back aimlessly, while others groaned in agony.

Gocho ran to an Imperial position that encroached what remained of the American line. He found Tanaka and a younger private hunkered down. Tanaka had his rifle trained on an American, but he didn’t pull the trigger.

The American was looking at a wounded marine.

“Fire!” Gocho commanded.

Tanaka shook his head. “It’s too late. All is lost.”

“You fire,” Gocho said to the other private.

A couple shots whizzed past the American, but neither resulted in a hit. Gocho shook his head, dismayed at the poor marksmanship.

The American seemed mesmerized, taking in the grim scene.

Gocho grabbed the private’s rifle. He kneeled.

And he took a steady aim.

Squeezing the trigger, the American’s meek eyes met his, just as the Gocho fired the rifle. A bullet sailed through the air and struck the American’s upper left chest.

The shot pitched the marine backward.

His knees buckled, then he dropped onto his left side in the mire.

Smoke and drizzling rain obscured the target from view. Soot wafted through the air and burned Gocho’s eyes. He blinked and checked to see if the American was moving. Nothing. The marine appeared dead, but the Gocho couldn’t be sure.

Gocho pulled back the bolt and chambered another round. He readied to fire another shot to ensure the kill. The American did not move.

“He’s dead,” Tanaka said. “You’ve killed a worthy adversary.”

“Let’s make sure.” Gocho aimed for the man’s chest.

Something dark eclipsed the target from the Gocho’s view. He lifted his head from the weapon and blinked, trying to focus his eyes. The smoke from the burning infrastructure was bothering him, obscuring his vision.

The dark blotch suddenly pounced at him. Gocho’s senses cleared as he discerned the danger. Sharp fangs and menacing claws shimmered in the pale dawn light.

He registered the sheer power of the creature, muscles rippling and a steady gait as it marked him as its prey. The Raptor closed the distance fast. Its eyes revealed madness. A one-track mind, it meant to devour him. Gocho had never known such fear.

Standing frozen in place, he couldn’t even summon the thought to shoot at it.

Gocho heard a loud thunk. Then, someone yanked his arm, knocking him into the dirt, while screaming, “Get down!”

A whoosh shot from the underbrush and something impacted the creature’s chest.

The stout round exploded, blowing the dinosaur to bits.

Wet goo splattered over the Gocho’s face, slathering him with the Raptor’s innards. Everything went black for a moment, then the Gocho wiped his face and checked on his attacker. Nothing remained of the beast, except a trace of body parts, spread outward from the point of explosion. The mortar round had blown the thing literally to pieces.

Tanaka lay beside him and the private was hunched behind the mortar that had taken out the aggressive dinosaur. Gocho took a moment to catch his breath. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to dying. And at the clutches of a vile beast.

Scanning the area for the American, the Gocho found him on the ground, motionless, lying in the same place he’d fallen after being shot. “Got him,” he said.

He stepped from the scrub brush intent on fighting the Americans.

A round whizzed by his head, then another sliced along his left shoulder. Merely a flesh wound, it tore his uniform and burned, but the bullet continued into the jungle. Gocho immediately homed in on the enemy shooter.

The marine had taken a position behind a fallen log and was sharpshooting at Japanese soldiers. A fresh unit of Americans had arrived at the scene, ready to decimate the remaining Imperial troops.

“Fall back!” Gocho yelled.

“Yes, sir,” Tanaka and the mortarman said in unison.

Other soldiers nodded and began a retreat.

“Grab the wounded as you go.” The Gocho pointed at the men on the battlefield.

Japanese soldiers scooped up the dead and wounded and trundled from the combat zone. Everyone headed towards the easterly side of the combat zone, where the Gocho stood and waved them on. Americans let off their attack, content to let the Imperial soldiers collect their wounded and dead. They would soon take the field and declare the battle a victory.

The infrastructure blazed all around and the Gocho was enraged by the defeat. He stepped onto the soggy and bloodied ground and pulled his Nambu pistol from its holster. Eyeing the fresh reinforcements, he fired at the Americans until the little magazine was empty.

A few bullets zipped past his head, and one ripped through the other shoulder of his tunic, cutting into the flesh before tearing into the jungle.

He grinned at the superficial wound, then he turned and followed his men. The Imperial forces would regroup and live to fight another day.

Tanaka stood on the edge of the jungle, leaning against a tree, and provided cover for the Gocho and retreating Imperial soldiers. He fired at the American reinforcements.

When the battle reached its climax, and then, shifted to the Japanese falling back, Tanaka did not flee into the brush. He stayed and fought. The role he filled was one of the warrior taking up arms against intruders. Other soldiers had garnered the wounded and the dead; they needed someone to fend the enemy off, while they cleared the battlefield.

The Americans scaled down their offensive as soon as the Japanese soldiers absconded from the scene. None of them shot at soldiers assisting the wounded and clearing the deceased from the field. They honored the dead.

Only rifle shots were being fired by the Americans now. Controlled marksmanship at combatants who continued to fight. These adversaries had principles.

A bullet dug into the tree next to Tanaka. He slung his rifle over a shoulder and waited for the Gocho to egress the battle zone. Last to leave the field, the Gocho trotted casually into the brush. His wild eyes did not reveal fear of being shot.

The Gocho must have realized the Americans would not shoot a soldier in the back while fleeing the field. But there was something more to the crazed look in his eyes. A madness.

He grunted at Tanaka as he ran past, staring at him disapprovingly.

Gocho must have discerned that the Jun-i had fallen. And he likely blamed Tanaka for the defeat. As the senior man on the battlefield, Tanaka would be responsible for the loss.

A sinking feeling churned in the pit of his stomach as he ran through the jungle.