“What about you?” Bishop seemed confused.
“My plan is to slip far around your flank, crawl towards the water.” Dawson caught their enthusiasm and grinned. “I’m going to sneak up behind them. Then, I’ll place the majority of explosives on the tank closest to the pier.”
“Let her blow and the other tanks will catch on fire.” Bishop smirked. “Brilliant.”
Dawson tapped him on the shoulder, then peered over to watch the enemy’s progress. They scurried around, fortifying their positions. Standing upright, they weren’t ready for a conflict. A sniper could whittle them down.
“Move into your assigned positions.” Dawson looked them over. “And when Meserve gets set up, he should take the first shot. Make it count.”
He stretched onto his belly and slid the end of his rifle sling, near the muzzle, around his thumb. Then he began crawling along a line parallel to the enemy forces. Moving away from the scene, Bishop trailed behind him, shaking branches and getting his rifle caught up in the undergrowth. Dawson worried the brash marine would grow agitated and stand up, blasting away at the enemy before reaching his assigned flank, and possibly giving away his position.
Checking the enemy, the Imperial troops were settling down. They would certainly detect movement in the underbrush. He paused and signaled Bishop to halt.
Dawson planned to slow their progress and allow Meserve to get the drop on the enemy soldiers. Attracted to an offensive, the Japanese would focus on their left flank and allow him to slip ahead on the right. Hopefully, Private Fuller would have the sense to immediately follow up Meserve’s sharpshooting with heavy fire from the Browning.
A moment later, a crack resounded from the far end of the perimeter. The shot struck an assistant gunner crouched beside a Lewis gun. He keeled over, then the machinegun opened up on Meserve. Flames erupted from the end of the barrel and bullets riddled the brush.
Fuller lit up with his Browning machinegun. Rounds dug into sandbags and dinged off the fuel storage tanks. A volley of gunfire ensued, directed at the two marines.
They did it, Dawson told himself.
He glanced back at Bishop. “Don’t fire until you’re in position, and I’m halfway to the shoreline.”
“They need help for Pete’s sake.” Bishop lay in the bush, shaking his head.
“Simmons will join the fray when needed. Do as you’re told, so the mission succeeds.”
“Got it.” Bishop didn’t sound convinced, but he seemed placated.
Dawson crawled at a swifter pace. He paused to check on the Japanese infantrymen. They remained preoccupied with the two marines.
Meserve appeared to be set up behind a log, but he was taking heavy fire and could only return so many shots. The enemy seemed content to remain dug into their positions. Fending off an attack and protecting the fuel dumps would be an accomplishment for them.
The superior private in charge of the defense scanned the entire area composing the American perimeter. He searched for other marines. Apparently, he wasn’t convinced the attack would only come from the right. He was smart enough to consider a multipronged offensive. Still, the Imperial troops continued to lay down fire at the marines on the right, blasting away at the underbrush and giving the Raiders little chance of returning fire.
Dawson froze, hoping the enemy wouldn’t spot him. He checked on Bishop, who thankfully remained still. Another effort needed to distract them.
Simmons opened up with his Thompson, riddling the enemy with .45 caliber rounds. Bullets strafed the loose dirt and blasted into a couple of soldiers. A wounded infantryman spun in a death dance, squeezing the trigger of his Sanpachi rifle. The wild shot hit his comrade, who screamed in agony.
Enemy guns swung toward the center position and lit up the night.
Fuller and Meserve began firing on the Imperial soldiers. Now, the Japanese infantrymen were caught in a semi-crossfire. Some returned fire at Fuller and his 7.62-millimeter machinegun, set up on a bipod. He presented the biggest threat to them. Rounds from the Browning penetrated the fuel tanks, spilling diesel and gas on the ground.
Perfect, Dawson thought, crawling swiftly. Light rain sprinkled on his neck.
He prayed Bishop would hold off until he was part-way to the water’s edge. A hasty move might draw attention to Dawson and foil the plan.
Volleys of gunfire exchanged between the adversaries. Muzzle flashes revealed the positions of the marines engaged with the Japanese. Dawson wondered if they could hold out long enough for him to get across the plain. Only crabgrass standing a couple feet high concealed his position. He paused to avoid detection.
The superior private surveyed the edge of the jungle. He pointed at Bishop.
Another automatic rifle entered the fray, as Bishop tore into them with his Browning. Muzzle blasts flared in the night battle. The relentless fusillade of rounds barraged the enemy position, causing soldiers to duck for cover.
Bishop kept at them, as steam rose from his barrel and the gun vibrated incessantly.
Rounds plinked into the vast storage drums looming over the enemy position. Any flames wafting in that direction would engulf the fuel dumps into a conflagration that could be seen from the submarines in the ocean. The allied forces needed a victory in the Pacific campaign, and Dawson figured they were a few hours away from a triumph.
The salvo from the left flank suddenly halted; Bishop ran out of ammunition.
While he exchanged magazines, the other three Raiders renewed the fight. The enemy took the bait and swung back to the center and right. Dawson squirmed ahead.
He moved faster than before. Dawson reached a thicket stretching to the water. Adjusting into a crouched position, he dashed through the brush, while keeping an eye on the Imperial troops. They were preoccupied with Fuller and Simmons laying down heavy fire. Even the superior private concerned himself with the attack at hand, never wavering his attention from the known American positions.
Bishop rejoined the fracas, and Dawson moved into an all out run for the shoreline.
Still keeping a lookout on the Japanese troops, confirming that he hadn’t been detected, he failed to watch every step.
Dawson tripped and fell, landing face down in the wet moss.
Pain spiked into his ribcage. A fallen tree with a broken branch poked into his side. Rolling onto his stomach, he pushed up with his arms. The twinge exasperated; a fractured rib.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted a row of yellow orbs glaring at him.
“Damnit!” He cursed, rising to his feet.
Then, glancing back to the enemy fortification, he ensured that the fall hadn’t brought any attention. Gunfire continued to rage a cacophony of blasts. Spent powder and drizzle obscured the battle scene.
He stood almost out of the enemy’s line of vision. Fuel tanks now blocked the view to the extent he couldn’t even see Meserve.
Starting for the beach, a small dinosaur hopped on his leg. It bit into his thigh. Pain stabbed into his flesh, as the creature cut through his pantleg, and its razorlike teeth cleaved into the meat. Dawson refrained from bellowing in agony. Reaching for his stiletto fighting knife, he grabbed the handle. With the blade projecting from his clenched hand, he thrust it under the Procompsognathus’s chin.
The knife found purchase. Dawson grabbed its neck with his free hand and drove the steel deeper into the creature’s throat. It yelped.
Squealing, the dinosaur dropped to the ground, writhing in misery.
All the commotion sent the line of dinosaurs into a frenzy. Dawson broke for the water and a pack of Procompsognathus dinosaurs ran after him. The rest charged over the plain. Some headed for Bishop, while others ran towards the open clearing.