He followed them. And the rest of the unit piled down after him.
A slight ridge surrounded them, circular. Peterson didn’t like the situation and felt vulnerable, so he called out: “Let’s pick up the pace.”
“Seems like an old bomb crater,” said Private Davidson.
“Yeah, but I don’t think anyone has attacked this island.” Peterson shook his head.
“Could have been a practice run,” Private Baker called out from the rear.
“Maybe.”
Peterson’s comment put an end to the discussion. He glanced at the fine earth beneath his feet and an unsettling feeling crept over him. The ground had a similar aspect to the nests that sunfish make in the bottom of a freshwater lake.
Those things could be nesting here, he thought. But it seemed too large.
Ascending the incline, they left the crater and headed back down into dense jungle. Tomko headed along the pathway, where trees were snapped, and ferns trampled. Something big had treaded through the foliage, tearing it up like a cyclone.
“What tore through here?” Davidson was still full of questions.
“Quiet,” Peterson snapped under his breath.
“Geez—”
Davidson’s comment cut off suddenly. The unmistakable sound of boots smacking the ground, coming to an abrupt halt, caught Peterson’s attention. Checking over his shoulder, he spotted Private Hall, standing at the end of the column with his jaw dropped open, staring wide-eyed into the jungle on the right. “Move it, Hall.”
But the marine remained frozen.
Peterson followed his gaze. Up high. Treetops.
Yellow eyes blinked. Large spheres.
The orbs peered through the leafy top of a coconut tree, about twenty feet above them. And the eyes were set about a foot and a half apart.
Maybe something had climbed the tree, he hoped. But the thought dissipated in a moment. Peterson noted the distance between the eyes, and he’d gaged the size of them. He traced the outline of the creature’s back, from the tree top all the way to the jungle floor. He registered the extent of the threat. The yellow eyes blinked.
A Tyrannosaurus Rex lurked in the shadows.
“Run!”
Tomko broke into the jungle and Chandler followed him. Peterson led the next fire team through a maze of trees, ducking under thick limbs, and trying to put obstacles in the path of the mighty beast. Another fire team broke, fanning the rifle squad in various directions.
A tremor resounded over the ground, shaking the earth beneath them.
Peterson glanced back as the dinosaur stepped from its protective covering. Its lips pulled back, revealing massive, sharp teeth. The creature let out a roar, then stalked towards its prey.
The ground shook and thundered with each colossal step. It began to run.
Fifteen
The decision was made for the marines. A squadron of enemy fighters dipped from the dark sky and zoomed toward their location. Dawson spotted a seaplane transport, trailing the zeros. Reinforcements would pile onto the island in support of the enemy soldiers.
Machinegun fire erupted from the decks of the allied submarines.
“Grab the equipment and head for the jungle!” Lieutenant Colonel Carson stood on the beach, motioning for the marines to head inland, and take shelter from the attack planes.
“Move out!” All the unit leaders called in unison.
Dawson slung his rifle over a shoulder and grabbed a Boys anti-tank rifle in one hand and an ammo can in the other. He dashed across the beachhead towards the jungle as fighters swooped in and let loose with aerial machineguns. Rounds strafed the beach and dug into the sand and riddled marines running for protective cover.
Raiders dropped as the 7.7 mm machinegun bullets tore into them. Blood spurted from each hit, like water balloons exploding on concrete.
The planes shot upward and circled for another pass. Deadly machines.
Finally reaching the interior, Dawson dropped the equipment and his rifle and ran back to the beach. He spotted a marine sprawled on the ground with a bullet hole in his thigh. Striding across the beach, marines groaned from their wounds.
He knelt and tore the young marine’s utilities open. A 7.7-millimeter round had cleaved the flesh open. Blood pumped from the entry hole, spurting onto the beach. The bullet had struck an artery.
Dawson removed the marine’s web-belt and wrapped it around the injured leg, fastening it above the wound. He cinched it tight. The leg would come off, but the man would live.
Then he grabbed the marine under the shoulders and dragged him from the beach. Several marines had set up a makeshift triage post along a pathway, approximately twenty feet into the jungle. Navy Corpsmen treated the casualties. Dawson left the fallen marine with them and returned to the beachhead.
Multitudes of Raiders worked in tandem, dragging wounded marines to the safety of the interior. Occasionally, a sole marine carried a comrade over his shoulders. Dawson spotted a marine squirming in the sand.
He ran to the injured man. Through the moonlight, he spied the marine grasping at his throat with both hands. Crouching by his side, Dawson reached for the marine’s hand, trying to pull it away and get a better look at the injury.
The marine shook his head frantically. A dire gleam shone from his eyes.
“I need to get a look at the wound, so we can treat it.”
“No.” A garbled reply.
Blood dribbled from the fallen Raider’s mouth, and crimson rivulets leaked through the man’s fingers, like cupping a hand around the nozzle of a bubbling hose. Dawson shook his head. This kid would never get back home. “Let me get you to the corpsmen.”
The marine shook his head. Understanding of the grim situation registered on his face.
“What do you want me to do?” Dawson pled.
The young Raider motioned with his chin towards his breast pocket.
“You’ve got a letter prepared for your girl?”
He nodded. A tear ran from the corner of his eye.
Retrieving the letter from the fallen marine’s pocket, Dawson then unbuttoned his breast pocket and slid the letter inside next to the tin that held his own. He patted the kid’s hand.
The marine watched the letter transferred from pocket to pocket. He smiled.
“What’s your name?”
“Frank.”
“Let me get you off the beach, Frank. Back with the others.”
The kid shook his head. Then he let go of his neck.
“No!” Dawson lunged toward him as blood gushed from the wound.
He wrapped his hands around Frank’s throat but couldn’t quite get a grip on the pressure point. A gurgling belch emitted from the wound. Blood cascaded through Dawson’s fingers and dowsed his hands. The marine smiled at him kindly. And then, life slipped away from him, and his eyes glazed over with the endless stare of death.
Dawson shoved his hands under the dead marine’s armpits, then dragged him from the landing zone, backpedaling through the sand. He dropped the marine with Navy corpsmen. Glancing at the casualties, men moaning in misery, he shook his head, and then ran back onto the beachhead in search of more injured marines.
Raiders scrambled all around, pulling and carrying the wounded toward the tree line.
A large seaplane touched down on the far side of the atoll, near the calmer waters that Dawson’s unit had traversed when avoiding the major breakers. Rotors spun and jockeyed the aircraft toward the lagoon.