The bull glanced up. Its crimson maw chomped a section of intestine. Feasting upon the king of the jungle, the spoils were more than it could ingest. An overindulgence, the Carnotaurus didn’t show any signs of letting up, and it did not mean to share.
When it ducked into the hide again, Dawson checked on his team. Meserve was on his feet but Bishop hadn’t recovered from the blow.
Dawson marked the tree and jogged over to the clump of palm fronds.
Spotting the marine lying face down, he crouched beside him and looked for any signs of a puncture wound. The jungle was full of broken branches. Dawson feared the Raider had suffered a mortal injury from being flounced about.
Bishop’s helmet lay on the deck. Checking him over, the forehead was unhurt, so Dawson felt the scalp. Nothing. He rolled the marine onto his side and pressed on his chest. A cough, then Bishop opened his eyes. “What the hell are you doing to me?”
“Trying to see what’s wrong with you.”
“Just got the wind knocked out of me. No need for all of that caressing.”
“You good to go?” Dawson stood up.
Bishop moved into a seated position and reached for his canteen.
“We’ve got to move out of here, now.”
Shaking off the blow, Bishop took a long drink and looked over at the bull. Its head was completely submerged in the open cavity. Moist chomping and slurpy munches at organs emanated from the remains. “That thing ain’t chasing after us anytime soon.”
“Can’t take the chance.”
“Well it hasn’t gotten to the good meat on the drumstick yet.” Bishop shook his head. “And it’s too bloated with stuffing itself to run.”
“Get to your feet.” Dawson held out a hand and pulled him up.
Bishop cracked his neck, then he took another drink before returning the canteen to his belt. “What’s the rush? They’ll be dug in by now.”
Taking a peek at the Carnotaurus, Dawson shook his head. “I’d like to face the enemy and get off this damn island as quickly as possible.”
“Roger that.” And Bishop fell in pace behind Simmons’s team.
Making the comment brought his dread of the creatures to the surface. Dawson wondered about their chances for survival. He patted the tin in his breast pocket holding the last letter to his fiancée. And then, he tightened his grip on the rifle and moved ahead with resolve.
He wanted to get home. Planned to see her again.
Twenty-Seven
A gap in time passed between their letters. Dawson finished training on Parris Island and Mary attended graduation along with his family. He accompanied her and his family home on leave before going to his next duty station.
Randell and Mary got engaged with a simple proposal by a stream that ran near his back yard. The ring was modest, and he got down on one knee. She turned red and smiled widely, even though she’d expected it. Mary immediately accepted.
They spent the time on leave together almost every day. Visiting old haunts and checking out a few new places, they went out to eat, saw a couple of movies, and had a picnic near a stream, where Randell tried to teach her how to cast with a fly rod. They didn’t do anything exciting, but they were carefree in spending time on recreational activities. Randell had received a few months of pay, all saved up because training in boot camp was seven days a week without release for leave or liberty.
After taking two weeks off, he headed to infantry training in North Carolina, then shipped out west to a small Marine Raider training ground near Camp Pendleton in California.
Jacques Farm was acquired by the U.S. Marines and put to use for training a battalion of commandos. Another similar training location was set up on the east coast at New River, North Carolina, near Camp Lejeune. The east coast Raider battalion was commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Everson, who took a more conventional approach to preparing his marines for special operations in the Pacific theater. Everson issued the bolt action Springfield rifles provided to regular infantry. And he retained the four-man fire teams. Dawson’s letters from Jacques Farm reflected that Lieutenant Colonel Carson took commando training in a much less conventional direction.
Letters Dawson sent from Jacques Farm were postmarked from San Diego, California and were sent out weekly at most.
Mary,
I am sorry that I cannot write to you more often. Things here are even more taxing than boot camp or the school of infantry. We rise early and go to bed late, and unlike boot camp, we do not get personal time every day. Lieutenant Colonel Carson says that we have to make the most of our time here, because once we get into the action, there won’t be much time for training. Still, the thoughts of failure and mental challenges are diminished here. It’s as though the training on Parris Island is a mental battle and completing it makes you more confident. This here is more of a physical challenge and I feel up to the task.
Lt. Col. Carson has a lot of ideas to prepare us for unconventional warfare. He spent time with the Chinese guerrillas and studied the tactics of British commandos. We eat in one mess hall, with enlisted and officers sharing the same tables. And he uses a committee leadership style, where any Raider can provide input to the planning process. There’s still a chain of command, but he understands that we come from all walks of life and might have some valuable input. He began his career as an enlisted man. The days are long, and training can be brutal.
We learn hand-to-hand combat, knife fighting. And every Raider gets a commando rope, which is a length of rope with a toggle on one end, and a loop at the other. They can be fastened together to make a long rope for a squad to climb down a steep rockface. Lt. Col. Carson likes to condition us with forced marches, hikes through the hilly terrain around the base, often 10-12 miles and sometimes as much as 24 miles. His goal is to condition us for combat, so we do not grow weary during battle. I think it is working. Even though I was in great physical shape after boot camp, the training there was dogged and unbearable at times. Now, I feel that I can march all day and not get tired. This is important because Raiders aren’t going to be supported by tanks and trucks. Our missions will be amphibious landings in rubber boats, and then head inland on foot.
Sorry that I have not had time to write. It was great to see you while on leave. And I am as excited as ever to be getting married. I hope you were happy that we made it official while I was home, with a ring and all. Don’t worry. This war will eventually end, and we’ll have a life together. When I get a better understanding of our rotation, I’ll know when I will get back to the states. Then we can set a date for our wedding.
The letter came at a time when Mary wasn’t sure why she hadn’t heard from him. She’d wondered if he’d been injured while training, but she figured the Marine Corps would have called his parents. They hadn’t gotten news of an injury, and his parents hadn’t gotten a letter. Mary was delighted to finally hear from him. Her response was sent out the very next day, postmarked from Portsmouth, New Hampshire.
Randell,
I was very pleased to get your letter. We had been worried that maybe you’d gotten hurt in training. It’s great to hear that you are doing well. Everyone has heard about the new Raider battalions. The newspaper and the radio have reported about them a few times. You’re supposed to be elite forces that will strike back at the Japanese for attacking us at Pearl Harbor.
This makes me both very proud and extremely worried about you. It seems like a much more dangerous role than an artillery position. My only hopes are that we win this war and you come back alive. I’m sure you will do your best.