He hit the choppy surf and plunged forward, almost stumbling face first into the ocean. Regaining his footing, he steadied himself, then waded out until he stood in water over his waist. Splashing waves bobbed against the haversack. He worried the explosives might get wet. They had wrapped TNT sticks in plastic to avoid getting them saturated during the landing in small boats. Such a method was also used in anticipation of fighting in the rain. But with all the tumultuous activity, he feared the plastic might have been disrupted.
Plodding through the rippling current wasn’t the best option. Yet, he came to think of it as their only alternative. They couldn’t expect to advance upon the fortified position and complete the mission successfully. Raiders were meant to improvise, adapt, and overcome. The training put them on equal footing with British commandos and Chinese guerrillas. Such an unconventional approach by stealth from behind the enemy lines was just the sort of tactic the Marine Corps hoped would result from the training back at Jacques Farm.
The gaggle of dinosaurs that chased him into the water stood at the edge. Yapping and cawing at him in frustration, they didn’t enter the surf. A few followed him, moving along the shoreline as he waded towards the pier.
Dawson had planned to approach by shore. Now, he made an impromptu passage through the murky waters of the bay. Waves broke fifty yards offshore at a coral reef. Pounding breakers and the constant eruption of gunfire bolstered his confidence of an unfettered approach to the fuel dumps. He waded over to a piling under the wharf and peered around it.
A few dinosaurs had tracked his route. They yammered on shore, cawing and squawking in his direction. Occasional nipping at each other served as the only reprieve in their antics.
Waiting for the opportunity to approach the fuel dumps gave him a break from the conflict. He thought about the training leading up to this mission. Dawson wondered how he’d gotten selected for the Raider battalions when so many topnotch candidates joined the Marine Corps. He chastised himself for even thinking about the term ‘join’. Nobody joins the U.S. Marines. Given the unique mission, the Marine Corps is strictly a volunteer force. No draftees. A candidate for the marines is a recruit until earning the title of a U.S. Marine at graduation. The title is hard to obtain, with almost half the recruits washing out. Only a few make it.
Many higher-ranking officers felt the Raider battalions were misplaced. Any able-bodied marine could fill the role, many generals had sneered. Dawson tended to agree. So, he wondered how the brass came to choose Raider candidates. And how he got selected over so many able marines. Now, he was leading a unit of Raiders and wondered how it all had come about.
Perseverance, he concluded. His senior drill instructor had singled him out in boot camp as defining the trait. An ability to endure discomfort and his drive to succeed were his greatest attributes. Success in the field centered on his country upbringing. Accustomed to hunting, camping, and spending time in the woods, he’d learned tactical means to flush out quail and track game. Those skills were coming into play as much as his military training.
More squabbling from shore. He feared the scavengers would give him away. Even if the clamor from battle and crashing waves masked the commotion of the dinosaurs, the hooting and scampering movements might garner attention. The time to move was upon him.
Dawson reasoned that any attempt to fend off the scrounging pests could potentially reveal his position. He’d have to carry out the mission with them clamping on his limbs. Taking a moment to gather his wits, he felt a tremor reverberate the sand under his feet. The water rippled away from shore.
An earthquake, he postulated. But the sensation repeated itself too soon for a seismic event. And then, he felt another vibration, and another.
Something extremely large was headed their way. A deadly beast more ferocious than anything they had encountered on the island thus far. The approaching creature posed a lethal threat to his comrades, but it could also provide a diversion for his operation.
Thirty-One
Tanaka directed a Lewis gun at the Americans situated to his left and the other one at the heavy fire coming from the madman on the right. He didn’t have a counter for the sporadic firing coming down the middle. Scooting behind the makeshift bunker, he assembled two riflemen and ordered them to focus all their attention on the submachine gun in the center.
A moment later, he scanned the enemy lines and was not comforted by the standoff. They are not trying to advance, he thought.
Bullets dinged into the fuel tanks and scout car behind him. Tanaka wondered if they meant to hit them, leak fuel, and then, somehow, ignite the storage containers from a distance. Then he wondered if the entire assault were merely some ploy.
Scanning the field in front of him, Tanaka perused the opposition for a ruse. He looked for enemy troops maneuvering in the distance. He saw a tree snap about the same time the ground trembled. Something massive plodded their way. This battle would prove to be against the invaders and the local beasts.
He checked the ammunition on the Lewis guns. Plenty of rounds, but he wanted to preserve them. “Cease fire!” He tapped the closest gunner on the helmet.
The machinegun let up. “What?” His gunner looked up, amazed.
“We have a bigger problem,” said Tanaka.
A vibration shook the ground beneath them.
“We have company,” the gunner said.
“Why are we stopping?” a rifleman questioned.
Others broke off the assault and listened intently; the Americans did the same.
Everyone waited, fixed in position. It was as though a pause in the firefight might somehow redirect the predator’s attention elsewhere. They waited expectantly. More lumbering steps shook the ground.
Silence and tension hung over the battlefield, like a knife about to cut into the jugular vein. Trepidation percolated through the drizzle.
More vibrations sent a chill down Tanaka’s spine. His mouth went dry.
A tree snapped, then the mammoth creature lingered above them. Tanaka gulped for breath. Standing just beyond the American perimeter, the gigantic Tyrannosaurus sniffed the air, as though picking up the scent of human flesh.
Gunfire rang from the garrison in the distance.
The T-Rex canted its head toward the commotion. Its lips split, revealing huge, sharp teeth. An explosion resounded from the other battle at the garrison; a grenade.
More automatic weapons fired in the distance with rifles cracking return volleys.
Stepping away from the nearby invaders on the ground, the Tyrannosaurus began to slouch towards the upheaval. It’s moving away, Tanaka thought hopefully.
And then, an American screamed from the right perimeter, and a machinegun lit up the night, blasting away at the nearby wood line. Tanaka expected to see Japanese reinforcements, but instead a small wave of scavenger dinosaurs broke towards the enemy line.
The marine swung the butt of his weapon at a menacing Procompsognathus. Smacking the dinosaur in the head, the creature reeled backward and fell, writhing on the ground.
A few more rushed the marine and he shot at them. Bullets riddled the small creatures.
Flailing in agony, the wounded Procompsognathus dinosaurs staggered and snapped at the air, biting in futility, as life drained from them. Blood oozed from the bullet holes. They began dropping like flies.