The clash remained in a stalemate, with Tomko finding the tenacity to keep shielding himself from the beast. He wasn’t in immediate peril.
Elliot took a deep breath, then he fired at the Velociraptor.
A fusillade of bullets dug into the creature’s hide.
The Raptor let go of Tomko’s weapon and reared its head back. It grunted and hissed, perturbed. Swinging around to face its attacker, the carnivore bared its fangs. Yellow eyes blinked a predatory intelligence.
It suddenly made its move.
The creature raced toward Elliot.
Closed the distance fast.
Elliot laid down heavy fire. He directed his shots to the creature’s pale underbelly. Rounds found purchase in the dinosaur’s vulnerable stomach.
Holes appeared with crimson streaks, yet the Raptor kept coming at him like a locomotive. The fifteen-foot distance between them was cut in half, then cut in half again. Within a couple of seconds, the predator was less than four feet away.
The marine frantically squeezed the trigger, filling the beast with lead, until the machinegun resonated empty. Elliot stood there, defenseless.
A silence fell over the battle scene. Nothing but the pitter-patter of rain and the sound of the Raptor’s footfalls could be heard. Almost a serene tableau before the horror. Spent gunpowder wafted through the air.
A scream broke the silence. The Raptor lunged into the air and pounced on the young marine. He fell to the deck. And the beast ripped his guts out, viciously churning both claws into his abdomen. It cleaved the man’s viscera open, spilling intestines and organs onto the soggy ground.
Steam rose from the innards, like it had from the rifle barrel.
The Raptor gobbled up the stomach and liver ravenously.
It tore off hunks of flesh, then lifted its head, savoring the meat, while a light rain drizzled over the creature’s munching snout.
Tomko rose from the ground with his Thompson and circled around to get a clear shot. He emptied his .45 caliber rounds into the dinosaur’s underbelly. James trained his machinegun on the Raptor and opened fire. The creature yowled, then snatched the loops of intestines from the ground and broke for the jungle.
Another break in the clamor fell over the battle scene.
Peterson glanced around, surprised to find Private James kneeling on the ground with a hole in his arm. An enemy marksman had targeted the marine while everyone had watched the skirmish with the dinosaur.
Behind him, the Japanese solider had advanced during the turmoil and disarmed Chandler, ensuring he couldn’t rise and defend against the Imperial soldier. Peterson was unarmed and Tomko had run out of ammunition. Davidson lay on the ground, wailing from his injuries. The corporal approached from the brush wielding his Nambu pistol. He pointed it at James’s head. The Thompson dropped to the ground. A moment later, the remaining Japanese infantrymen stepped from cover.
Surrounded and outgunned, Tomko tossed his empty machinegun in the dirt.
The Imperial soldiers rounded up the survivors. Marching towards the garrison, Peterson glanced back upon the mortally wounded. Before they cleared the area, a pack of Velociraptors rushed on the scene and fed upon the carcasses.
One of them wasn’t dead yet. Davidson screamed bloody murder as a Raptor disemboweled him alive.
Thirty-Seven
Dawson awoke to his body jouncing about. He found himself slung over someone’s back in a fireman’s carry. A scent of cigarette smoke wafted in his direction. Bishop had managed to haul him off the battlefield.
The sound of waves lapping across the sandy beach made him realize they were approaching from the rear of the garrison. Someone had thought to put the Imperial troops in a crossfire. He figured Bishop had come up with the strategy, taking a page out of Dawson’s playbook. An old hunting ploy, he hadn’t even learned to do it as a lowly rifleman in the Marine Corps.
He loved the Marines for this very reason. The improvise, adapt, and overcome creed was fully embraced by enlisted jarheads. Coming from all walks of life, everyone had something to add to the mix, a contribution, and they often encountered unanticipated situations. Such a small branch of the military, without the resources for an expansive officer corps, enlisted Marines often found themselves in the field without the brass instructing them what to do. They simply had to improvise to get a mission accomplished, whether in combat or completing routine training and maintenance tasks stateside.
Waves gently slapping the beach and combat boots trudging through the sand were serene compared to the explosions and shooting they’d left behind. Muffled gunshots resounded through the bush, a harbinger of what lay ahead.
Dawson spied the gas flames rising from the fuel tanks, soaring above the treetops. The sight reminded him of the bout with death he’d had with the dinosaur. It had trampled into the jungle ablaze. A multitude of scavengers and carnivores had chased after the Japanese troops. Many of them had run down a path stretching parallel to the beach.
He gulped. Where are the creatures now?
Glancing around, he considered if any of them might be lying in wait. But he didn’t see the yellow orbs, and nothing lunged at them from the brush.
Bishop’s footsteps were heavy from the weight of his load.
Dawson’s leg throbbed; the pain was unbearable.
“Maybe we should take a break,” he said after a moment.
“Look who’s with us again.” Bishop chuckled.
“Finally came around,” Simmons added.
Then, Bishop halted. He crouched, allowing Dawson to scoot to the ground, while Simmons stood by, anxious. A fierce battle enraged in the distance.
Settling on the beach, Dawson inspected his leg for the first time. A rough impalement had torn his utilities open and cleaved back the flesh. Loose scraps of muscle were shredded along with his ripped trousers. The meat oozed with fresh blood, but nothing gushed forth.
A web-belt was cinched around his thigh above the wound, serving as a tourniquet to cut off blood flow. He loosened the buckle.
“What are you doing?” Bishop said, alarmed.
“Just checking to see how bad it is.”
“That’s a good way to end up dead.”
Dawson shook his head. “We need to know if the femoral artery is damaged.”
“What for?” Bishop sounded peeved.
Ignoring the jarhead, Dawson glanced at the wound and was relieved to find that blood wasn’t flowing out. “We’re in business,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“The claw ripped my leg to shreds, but it didn’t cut through a major artery. I’ll be able to give you a hand when we reach the garrison.”
Bishop frowned in the pale moonlight. “Not a chance. You’ve done enough for this mission. I plan to get you home to your girl.”
“But I can help.”
“We are going to set you down somewhere safe.”
Dawson shook his head, disagreeing.
“Put you somewhere safe, then come back to collect you.”
“I’m better off joining the fight. What if something happens to you?”
Bishop thought about the comment. “Good point. But Captain Roosevelt is supposed to sweep the area with his unit, taking a second pass to collect the casualties.”
“We’ll settle this later. Give me your canteen.”
“The matter’s settled,” Bishop said, handing over the canteen.