One soldier noticed Tanaka and looked at him confused.
“Follow me!” Tanaka yelled over the din, waving to the young private.
The soldier reluctantly left his post at the window.
Running through the barracks, Tanaka moved in haste because time was essential, but he also feared getting shot by a stray bullet. The private kept pace. His uniform was clean. He was fresh and hadn’t been battling the Americans much that night, not like the soldiers who’d accompanied Tanaka to the fuel dumps.
They made their way past the lavatory and entered a closet space in the rear of the building. Boxes of munitions and weapons were stacked on the floor. Covered in dust with rusted hinges, the cache hadn’t been used in combat or even for training. The Imperial soldiers had spent most of their time on the island maintaining the infrastructure and standing post, watching for ships and complacently never expecting an invasion.
Brushing off the tops of a few boxes and crates, Tanaka found what he was looking for in the jumble of weapons. He’d located two boxes of mortar tubes and a crate of shells.
“We need another man to carry this out,” Tanaka said.
The private nodded and ran out of the storage closet. A moment later he returned with another soldier carrying his rifle at port arms. He was older than the young private and had pock marks on his round cheeks.
“Sling that over your shoulder.” Tanaka pointed to the rifle.
“Yes, sir.” And he did so.
“Grab the other ends of these two boxes,” Tanaka said, bending over and latching on to the rope handles protruding from the mortar tube crates.
The new arrival did the same at the other end, then they stood and lifted the boxes from the floor. Although the cargo wasn’t too heavy, it proved to be awkward. Tanaka was forced to walk backward as he eased from the storage room.
“You take the crate of mortar shells,” he said, nodding to the box on the floor.
The young private hiked the box off the floor and trailed after them.
A firefight erupted in front of the building; Tanaka decided to head out the back and circle around to the left side of the building. He led them over to a back exit.
Outside, he found the noise behind the building less intense. Tanaka lowered the boxes and the soldier at the other end did the same. Then he motioned for the other private to put his box down. Shaking out his hands, Tanaka briefed them on his plans.
“We’re going to pick these up, run around the left side of the building and set up a mortar line at the corner of the building.” He paused to see if they were following his explanation. “Each mortar tube has to be set for the shortest distance possible.”
“Shouldn’t we estimate the distance first?” the older soldier enquired.
“Not enough time.” Tanaka shook his head. “You set it up close, and if the shells fall short, they explode and disrupt their vision. Then you make adjustments, moving the range out slightly, until you are dropping the rounds on their heads.”
Both soldiers nodded, understanding.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Tanaka reached for the crates and heaved them off the ground, then he quickly backpedaled. His counterpart followed suit. The other trotted to keep up.
Rounding the back corner of the building, they traversed the side of the building and found themselves at their destination. Tanaka dropped the boxes and crouched to retrieve a mortar tube. He set the baseplate and extended the bipod legs of the Type 90, 81-millimeter mortar. Then, he snapped on the barrel, serving as the firing tube.
The elevation tube was already in the lowest position. Checking the target, he made a slight change and felt the initial salvo might be accurate. He grabbed another mortar and repeated the actions. Then, he held out his hand, seeking a third mortar. It didn’t come.
Waving his hand, he expected the mortar to be handed off instinctively. Still, it didn’t happen.
Tanaka looked back. Both soldiers knelt by the mortar boxes, but they were motionless, as though paralyzed with fear. They stared at the tree line.
Glancing at what caught their attention, Tanaka spied yellow orbs, lined along the underbrush. Rows of dinosaurs had come to feast and stood on the edge of the jungle ready to wade into battle. They appeared like medieval warriors before a clash on an open battlefield.
Dread choked the breath out of him. Then, he felt an all too familiar tremor, resonating slightly in the distance. Another mild vibration marked a path toward the garrison.
Thirty-Nine
Dawson couldn’t believe the sight before him. More alarming than the military factions, confronting each other in a major face-to-face conflict at fairly close range, was the sight of an impending assault from the tree line near Dawson on the right side of the garrison.
A chill ran down his spine at the sight of the looming battle: marines verse soldiers and humans against beasts.
Yellow orbs glowed in the underbrush. An entire wave of scavenger dinosaurs waited for the right moment to pounce. The ranks ran three deep and spread from the edge of the Japanese line to beyond the American positions. Everyone on the battlefield was so focused on their targets, they clearly didn’t see the imminent doom from the creatures on their flank.
Dawson wanted to fire a warning shot and alert the marines to the danger. But he also didn’t want to give away his team’s position. He wondered if a similar situation was developing on the left side of the building, out of his view.
Glancing around in an attempt to assess the conditions and formulate a plan, he realized the situation was more dire than he’d understood. Worse than the scavengers lined up in the brush, a pack of carnivores, standing taller than a man, moved about behind the line of smaller dinosaurs. The bigger dinosaurs pranced about in a frenzy, anxious to attack their prey.
They’re not used to waiting this long, Dawson thought. He got the feeling that they would normally stalk their quarry and pounce at the right opportunity.
Something held them back. The Compsognathus and Procompsognathus dinosaurs might have been waiting for the combatants to kill each other, so they could move in and feed upon the soils. Scavengers accustomed to waiting through the battles between larger dinosaurs, they had reason to lurk in the shadows. But the man-sized dinosaurs had quickly acclimated to the threat of human weapons, which meant they possessed a higher level of intelligence than he first imagined.
Thoughts of such vicious creatures, having the cognitive ability to restrain their ingrained predatory instincts, based upon a few chance encounters with machineguns, frightened Dawson to no end. Some of the dinosaurs lingering in the underbrush weren’t present during the skirmish at the fuel storage tanks. They were now more plentiful. He’d only seen a handful of them before.
Somehow, the dinosaurs were able to pass the knowledge of danger onto each other, communicating like a pack of wolves. Occasional chirps and growls emanated from down the line. A leader was instructing the others, holding them back.
Dawson gulped. His pulse quickened.
A tenacious dread wrapped around him, stifling his breathing.
He inhaled, trying to get air.
A massacre loomed over the battlefield, like a portent of death. He finally decided to fire a warning shot and shouldered his rifle. It was time to join the fray. He aimed at a soldier near the corner of the garrison.
The rifle cracked and a shot whizzed past the target and dinged into the scout car. Checking the advancing Raiders for a sign they’d caught the warning signal, he didn’t sense the marines had registered the effort. Dawson’s shot had gone off unnoticed as the battle enraged and both sides put down heavy fire.