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.