A minute later, another tremor vibrated across the ground. And then another.
Snapping of trees echoed from the easterly side of the island. The quaking ground seemed to emanate from that direction as well.
“I don’t think it’s the same one as before,” said Peterson.
“What makes you so sure?” James didn’t want to believe there were more.
“Just a hunch.” Peterson shrugged. “But I think this one is bigger.”
“Bigger?”
“Sure, the one that had plowed a pathway through the jungle was large, but the gait seemed different. This one is heavier.” Another tremor shook the ground violently. The T-Rex roared, and more trees cracked. “Must be thick bush through there.”
“How far away?” James stepped towards the noise.
“About half a click.”
“What now?”
“We move ahead and collect them on the way back to the boats.” Peterson pointed to the fallen marines. “We’ll all end up dead if we try to tote them with that thing on our ass.”
Everyone moved into a column with Tomoko in the lead again. They headed down the makeshift trail, stretching out the pace. A beast had stomped through the jungle ahead of them. Another made its way through dense overgrowth on their right flank, and the island seemed to be covered in smaller creatures that were just as deadly. Surrounded by vicious beasts, and they hadn’t even happened upon the enemy yet.
This is about the most damned place on Earth, Peterson muttered half aloud.
Making progress towards the garrison, the next crashing tree resonated from a similar distance of a half mile. They were keeping pace with the carnivore and maintaining a buffer. But the dinosaur wouldn’t tolerate an escape. Sensing their movement through the jungle, it let out a ferocious roar, resounding frustration.
The bellowing from the right was met by a predatory growl from ahead; another apex killer meant to fend for its territory. And the marines were in the middle of them.
The Gocho awoke to the sound of heavy gunfire and rain pelting his face. Sitting up on his elbows, the ghastly scene brought his memory back. A vicious dinosaur lay dead by his side. His unit was whittled down to three men.
Sounds of the distant firefight revealed a large opposing force, approximately three times the size of his unit. He needed to think tactically. Victory would not rest on his prowess alone.
Rising to gather his weapons, he considered the situation. The Gocho reloaded his pistol and sheathed the fighting sword. All shooting had ceased, followed by a period of calm. He placed the battle midpoint between the southeastern cove and the garrison. His unit stood between the invaders and valuable infrastructure.
His unit assembled, then he led them towards the skirmish. A vehement focus, he meant to win at all costs. Death in halting the intruders was honorable.
After traveling a short distance, the tranquility abated by snapping tree trunks and the roars of fierce predators. The Americans had disturbed a balance with nature, which might lead to dire consequences. Now, he would contend with multiple foes.
The Gocho crouched near the base of a palm tree. Fetching a stick from the jungle floor, he called the troopers over and sketched the situation in the muck.
“We’re here,” he said, drawing an X on the ground.
Superior Private Sato nodded, understanding. Private Ito listened with razor-sharp focus.
“The garrison is here. And the enemy is over this way.”
“How do we know where they are for certain?” Sato leaned closer.
“You can trust my sense of distance from the gunfire.” He grinned proudly. “We likely have a large dinosaur tracking them from the east, and another headed from a northerly direction not far from us.”
“We’ll get caught in the middle of them,” Sato responded.
The Gocho smiled. “That’s precisely my plan.”
With both soldiers aghast, he took the time to explain the strategy. They appeared relieved afterward; but he knew it would be difficult to pull off without a hitch.
Thirty
Dawson broke through dense brush and stepped onto the muddy roadway. The rain let up to a drizzle. He glanced to the right down a desolate road. Turning left, silhouettes of infantrymen came into view. Moving at a swift pace, he recognized Staff Sergeant Wilson’s contingency.
“Looks like our trek into the jungle beat them to the point.” He smiled at Bishop.
“Just goes to show that we could have taken the easy way.” Bishop grimaced. “Could’ve used the road. Look at them. Not a mark on the whole bunch.”
“We need to get a move on. No time for pleasantries with them.”
A rumbling sound emanated from the right, then a small vehicle shot out of the vegetation and zipped across the lane. Windshield wipers swished the rain off the glass. The Imperial scout car had dents and scrapes all over the rear. Exhaust fumes and smoke from under the hood choked Dawson’s men standing nearest to the scout car as it raced by them.
Barreling down a utility pathway, it disappeared from sight. Rattles echoed from the bumpy trail. The billowing smoke dissipated.
“Double time it,” said Dawson, bolting across the lane.
Footsteps pattered after him, smacking the mud.
“This is one gunky island,” Bishop griped, slipping on the roadway. “Can’t wait until we’re done here.”
“Won’t be much longer. Just blow this dump and head back to the boats.”
Just as they reached the end of the lane, a firefight sounded from the northeast. Staff Sergeant Wilson’s unit had already engaged the enemy at the garrison before Dawson even reached the fuel dumps. The targets were closer together than he’d imagined.
A clearing spread in front of them, leading to three massive fuel storage tanks, and a wharf extended into the ocean beyond them. The scout car was parked between two steel tanks.
Soldiers hustled around in front of the fuel tanks, setting up a perimeter. The man Dawson had shot in the shoulder barked orders. Lewis guns were set on tripods. A few of them had small shovels and dug into the earth. Heavy machine guns, entrenched soldiers, and the clearing would give the enemy a huge advantage.
Dawson turned to his fire team and hunkered down in the reeds. “The situation doesn’t look good.”
“You can say that again.” Bishop shook his head.
“What are we going to do?” This from Private First Class Simmons.
“Our mission is to blow those fuel dumps. We’re not here to take down the enemy.”
“How do you suppose we’re gonna’ do one without the other?” Bishop carped.
Peering over the brush, Dawson surveyed the situation. The enemy was digging in, planning for the fight to come to them from the front. And the marines had approached them as expected. He considered alternate means to reach the objective.
“Meserve, get over here,” Dawson finally said.
“Sure.” The private crawled through the grassy terrain using his elbows.
“Give it to me.” Dawson pointed to the pack on Meserve’s back.
The marine wriggled out of the haversack. “Here you go,” Meserve said, handing it over to Dawson.
“Thanks.” Dawson took the pack and slid it on.
“So, what are we going to do?” Simmons needed to know.
“We have five marines.” Dawson looked them over. “Let’s set up a perimeter with Fuller and Bishop located at two flanks, angling heavy fire with their Brownings. Simmons will hunker in the center laying down rapid fire with his Thompson. And we’ll put Meserve out past the end of the right flank. He’ll take a position beyond Fuller and sharpshoot the enemy with his M1.”