Wails of pain and fright echoed over the rumbling truck engine. The driver braked hard and swerved to the left in an attempt to avoid the creature. Tanaka braced for an impact, placing his hands on the dashboard.
The dinosaur spurred into a frenzy. It chomped at the exposed flesh on the soldier’s neck, tearing meat and feasting upon the raw corpse.
Wheeling to the side, the right front of the truck collided with the beast, and a large tire crushed the fallen soldier’s chest. The truck lurched to a stop, thrusting the occupants forward and back. Tanaka flew into the windshield, cracking the glass into a spiderweb, then he jostled back into the seat, landing askew with his rifle dropping to the floorboards.
Shaking off the impact, he reached for the Sanpachi 38, and opened the door.
The meat-eating bull rose from the ground and staggered, then regained its balance and turned towards the truck. Rain pelted off its green scales. Tanaka jumped down from the cab and landed in mud. He raised his Arisaka rifle, firing at the dinosaur’s massive hide. A bullet dug into its scales and caused the beast to pause, like reacting to a bee sting and nothing more.
Firing off another round, the bullet’s impact had a similar effect. A futile effort.
Impervious, the dinosaur charged like a stampeding bull. Rage fueled its pursuit. The creature’s heavy feet pounded into the muddy lane.
Left with few options, Tanaka dropped to the ground and rolled under the truck. Wet muck saturated his uniform. The Carnotaurus plowed into the passenger side door. A massive ding resounded down the lane, and the truck rocked up on two wheels, then dropped back into place, as the dinosaur bounced off the truck, stumbling backward from the blow.
Soldiers in the rear of the transport hollered in confusion. The dinosaur shook its head and let out a massive sneeze. It stepped back, as though contemplating the situation. Then, it sniffed the air and lowered its head, spying Tanaka under the truck.
Rolling further away, Tanaka sought to put some distance between himself and the creature. His pulse raced with dread.
A moment later, it sniffed the air again, as a cacophony emanated from the covered transport. Soldiers grumbled in confusion. Then, the distinct sound of an infantryman working the latch to the truck bed was followed by the clang of the gate dropping open. Boots slapped the muddy roadway as infantrymen alighted from the truck, ready to fight the enemy.
Tanaka rolled out from under the transport. “Get back in the truck!”
A volley of rifle fire erupted from Osamu and the other soldiers. The dinosaur winced, then stepped toward them. Tanaka ordered the infantrymen back into the transport. Rifle fire muffled his commands. It was already too late for the superior private closest to the creature.
The meat-eating bull pounced on him, tearing his guts loose; innards dropped to the ground like sausage links cast onto a butcher’s block table. Blood doused his khaki trousers and splattered on his boots.
The dinosaur feeding greedily was the only thing keeping the private standing.
Everyone froze in terror and confusion.
Tanaka ran toward the infantrymen, waving. “Back in the truck!”
A moment later, they piled into the transport and the truck rolled away from the scene. Tanaka ran along the driver’s side and hopped onto a running board. He looked back and saw the soldier lying prostrate while the Carnotaurus devoured him.
Tanaka scanned the roadside for more predators, as the truck rumbled closer toward the invaders along the coastline. He wondered what other monsters lurked in the jungle.
After the transport arrived at its destination near the lagoon, Tanaka ordered his troops to disembark from the truck. He trudged through the bush and spotted the Americans’ fortifying positions on the beachhead. Snipers quietly scaled the palm trees ready to fire upon the intruders. Then, he radioed the Gocho, and reported the situation.
Kneeling beside a machinegun set on a tripod, he helped the gunner by feeding an ammunition belt into the weapon. Two makeshift machinegun nests were situated along the tree line, where they could riddle the Americans with 7.7 mm rounds, fired from copies of the infamous Lewis machinegun used by the allies. Superior Private Sato oversaw a machinegun nest, and Superior Private Hirano commanded another.
The conflict was about to erupt. And Tanaka braced himself for the engagement with the American invaders.
Nine
Dawson had just hunkered down with his squad when rifle fire erupted from the interior, a half mile away. He wondered if a unit of Raiders had penetrated the jungle and encountered the enemy. It wouldn’t be surprising to learn that a few assault boats didn’t get the change of plans. But the gunfire wasn’t accompanied by heavy automatic weapons.
Unsure of the situation, he expected a conflict to break out on the beach long before they entered the jungle. He watched Able Company entrench their fighting holes closest to the tree line. They were billeted to enter the interior and seek out the enemy first.
A light rain continued to fall, and the island remained cast in a blanket of darkness. With most of the landing party digging into the beachhead, the likelihood of Raiders chancing upon Japanese infantry inland appeared slim. The fight would come to them.
Dawson couldn’t explain the gunfire he’d heard, though.
“What’s got you on edge?” Collins said.
“Nothing in particular. Just need to be ready in case the Japanese arrive.”
“You’d expect them to run into Able Company before even reaching us.” Bishop shook his head and shoved a cigarette in his mouth.
“Hey, you can’t smoke out here,” Dawson said. “You’ll give our position away.”
“Not planning to light it until after the shit hits the fan.”
“Even then, it will make you a target. They’ll—”
A bullet dinged off the side of Bishop’s helmet, and everyone hit the deck. Another shot plinked off an ammo can and ricocheted into a marine. The injured man squealed in pain.
Dawson spotted the second muzzle blast. A sniper had climbed up a coconut tree and zeroed in on them. The Raiders burrowed into their fighting holes in the sand, but the fortifications were only designed to fend off a frontal attack.
Another shot rang out, echoing across the beach and nearby lagoon.
Someone else cried out in pain. Dawson moved into a seated position and slung his rifle around one arm, then tucked the butt tightly into his shoulder. He sighted his weapon. Then he squeezed off a round and the sniper dropped from the tree with a resounding thud.
Then, a shot resonated from another tree, and then another. Snipers had approached quietly and ascended the coconut trees. Dawson figured they’d trekked in by foot or bicycle. A truck grumbled in the distance. Headlights hadn’t shown through the dense foliage, so the driver must have cut the lights, but the sound of troops unloading from a transport carried across the beachhead. Minutes later a wave of machinegun fire erupted from the tree line, riddling the Raider’s positions.
And then, the marines returned fire with BARs and Thompson machineguns lighting up the beach. Immediately, snipers shot at the muzzle blasts and the Raiders took casualties.
Riflemen homed in on the snipers and managed to drop a few more from the trees. Their battalion was the only Marine Corps outfit that had been issued the new M1 Garand rifles. All the other marine units were still using the old M1903 Springfield bolt-action rifles. Lieutenant Colonel Carson had recruited President Roosevelt’s son and it had resulted in some favorable treatment in selection and acquisition of weapons and equipment.
A pause in the fighting allowed the Raiders time to reload, let their weapons cool, and to entrench further into the sand and dirt. Dawson peered over the berm of his fighting hole and waited for more machinegun fire.