Jurassic War

Forty-Five

Dawson awoke to a Navy corpsman kneeling by his side. The young man grinned and shook his head with an amazed look on his face. “You sure got lucky,” the corpsman said.

“What?” Dawson felt addled from the ordeal.

The corpsman raised a hand. “This saved your life.”

Glancing at the tin box that housed his letter to Mary, Dawson understood his meaning, but the corpsman felt like explaining it anyway.

“See, the bullet hit this metal box here, ricocheted into your shoulder.” He smiled again.

Dawson looked at his bandaged shoulder. “Why the hell did I blackout?”

“Well, you flew backwards, and your head smacked that rock.” He pointed.

Dawson glanced at the rock, then felt for his head. His hand slapped the steel pot the Marine Corps issued to all recruits. “I don’t understand.”

“Man, you must’ve hit that rock with some force. Your head pounded around inside that helmet like the clapper gonging around inside a church bell.”

The corpsman looked so cheerful; Dawson couldn’t understand how a man getting shot and his head wrung could make someone happy. We won the battle, he finally realized. He sat up and glanced around.

“Easy there,” the corpsman said.

Dawson didn’t listen. He looked upon the scene in awe.

“Quite a mess,” the corpsman said.

The comment was an understatement. All around him, bodies were strewn on the soggy ground, picked apart, with bone, gristle, and scraps of meat protruding through shredded uniforms. The cleaved flesh glistened in the pale light of dawn.

Death didn’t discriminate; the battlefield was covered with casualties from both sides.

It had stopped raining. But droplets of blood fell into puddles around the battlefield, sounding like a leaky kitchen facet. Somehow, the grisly scene brought with it a calmness, and relief.

Danger dissipated along with the downpours. The Japanese had left the battlefield, along with the Raptors and most of the scavengers. Several fallen dinosaurs lay among the dead and wounded combatants. A few Compys remained, trying to feed upon the fallen, while marines from Bravo Company kicked them away.

The Tyrannosaurus Rex had left the battle zone, but its vanquished foe lay near the razed garrison. A heap of mutilated flesh, the carcass was torn open. Massive hunks of meat had been cleaved from its midsection, leaving exposed ribs and a visceral cavity that could house a Volkswagen. Scavenger dinosaurs fed ravenously upon the entrails that spilled from the beast’s open gut. Flies buzzed around the hide as other scroungers fed on the remains.

Early morning sun had already begun to spoil the remaining meat. A putrid stench wafted across the battlefield and nauseated Dawson. He wanted to vomit.

Reaching back, Dawson attempted to sit upright. The corpsman placed a hand on Dawson’s chest, and eased him back to the ground.

“We’ve got a stretcher coming for you.” The corpsman smiled kindly.

“Use it for the others. I’m bandaged and can walk on my own.”

The corpsman shook his head. “Afraid not.”

“Why?” Dawson grimaced. “You’ve got Marines worse off than me.”

“You’re lucky to be alive. But that doesn’t mean you’re set to walk out of here.” The corpsman admonished him. “You’ve likely suffered a concussion from hitting your noggin on that rock. And your shoulder is pretty messed up.”

“Seem fine.” Dawson felt embarrassed.

Two marines dropped a stretcher by his side. Slipping their hands under his shoulders and around his calves, they carefully hoisted him over. A pang shot through his shoulder.

“See, I told you that shoulder took a hit.”

Dawson frowned. “I’ll be all right walking.”

“Look, your injury is worse than you think.” The corpsman shook his head, then pointed at his own shoulder, demonstrating. “The bullet bounced off your chest and struck you here. It hit a bone, then turned south and exited at the top of your bicep.”

“So?” The response made Dawson more compelled to get off the litter.

“We think the bullet clipped your brachial artery. There was major blood loss.”

“But it’s okay now, right?” Dawson felt his stomach turn.

“Sure, we clamped it off. But you start moving around and it’s likely to open.” The corpsman exhaled. “I hate to be the one telling you this, but that wound could affect your arm. You’ll be heading back to the states. And there’s no telling whether you’ll ever get back into this war. Sorry my friend.”

Those last words hung in the air like a church bell tolling for him.

“Don’t worry,” the corpsman said, patting Dawson’s leg. “Folks around here are saying that you were the main person that caused this operation to be a success.”

Dawson didn’t agree. “Takes a unit.”

“Well, they’re likely to pin a few metals on you.” He handed over the tin. “Go back home and take care of that gal. My guess is that she’s something special.”

The corpsman winked, then nodded to the stretcher bearers. As thy lifted Dawson from the ground, the sailor ran to the next fallen man.

“We’ll get you aboard the submarine soon.” The private grasping the stretcher near Dawson’s head grinned. He marched along without expressing any signs of carrying the burden of an extra hundred pounds on his end.

A caravan of marines departed from the battlefield and headed down the muddy lane towards the big lagoon, where the rubber boats awaited them on the sandy shore.

Dawson joined with a throng of marines toting wounded Raiders on litters. Most of the casualties moaned from the jostling that aggravated their injuries. A few glanced from the canvass gurneys with distant eyes. Their pale skin caused Dawson to wonder whether they’d make it. He took a deep breath and looked away.

Scanning the dense jungle, Dawson hoped they would get to the lagoon without being ambushed by Japanese soldiers. He also worried about another dinosaur attack.

“Hope the Japs don’t bushwhack us,” the marine said, looking down at Dawson.

Frowning at the lack of respect for worthy adversaries, Dawson ignored the derogatory term and replied to the statement. “I was just thinking that the Imperial troops might decide to regroup and come at us.”

“Saw you looking at the roadside. Figured you were thinking something along those lines.”

“Yeah, well I was also considering that we’re not out of the woods yet.”

The marine shifted his grip on the stretcher poles. “Meaning…”

Dawson looked up and the young man’s eyes were bugged out. “I mean those creatures are all over this island. And the fighting stirred them up.”

The marine gulped. “Hope we get off this damn place soon.”

Won’t be soon enough, Dawson thought.

A moment later, something broke from the jungle and raced towards the column. Dawson sat up on the cot. Everyone gawked. The clamor of weapons being readied echoed down the line. The Carnotaurus pounded across the muddy road and homed in on a solitary marine.

Plucking the marine from the ground, the dinosaur continued through the column, knocking over Raiders. The marine screamed in fear. But the assault happened too fast for anyone to get off a shot. And then, the beast protected itself by darting among the marines.

It barreled through them; the beast pounced into the boscage on the opposite side of the roadway.

One rifle shot sent a crack reverberating across the island. A moment later, the dinosaur and its prey were gone. Silence fell over the reserve company, until a staff sergeant told them all to get a move on.

“That dinosaur was fleeing from something,” Dawson said.

“How could you be sure?” The marine sounded doubtful.

“Guess I’ve been around them now. Seems like a lifetime of fending them off, but it’s only been a matter of one day.”

“Just won’t relax until we’re aboard the boat, right?”

“Yup.” He grinned. “I’m Dawson.”

“Just call me Chuck.”

A number of small dinosaurs raced across the road, coming from the same direction as the Carnotaurus. They ran between the marines and bolted into the jungle, following the same route as the aggressive meat eater.

Then, the ground trembled, signaling that something massive was coming their way.

“See?” Dawson muttered the point.

Palm trees snapped and large shrubs were crushed to bits, as the Tyrannosaurus stepped from the brush into the roadway. It moved sluggishly.

Dawson figured that it had overfed on its last kill. “Tell them all to freeze.”

“Raiders!” Chuck cupped both hands around his mouth. “Listen up. Dawson says to freeze. Don’t move. And don’t go for your weapon.”

Dawson grinned. “Nice work.”

Everyone stood fast, waiting to see who’d become the next victim. The T-Rex stalked down the lane, sniffing the marines. It lurched along the roadway but didn’t seize anyone.

The Tyrannosaurus eventually made it to Dawson. It leaned over and sniffed him from combat boots to helmet, then it reared its head back. Staring at the body on the stretcher, the carnivore appeared excited by the scent of blood.

Dawson braced himself for a death knell. He expected the dinosaur to roar, then lash forward and rip him off the litter. Instead, the T-Rex canted its head, as if confused, then it stalked away. The Tyrannosaur headed down the lane a piece, then stepped into the brush and disappeared into the verdure.

Chuck looked down at Dawson. “How did you know that would work?”

“Didn’t,” he said. “But I figured a predator like that would prefer to chase its prey. At least, that’s how it played out when it first stepped into the battle zone.”

“What it if didn’t work?”

“Nothing would have stopped it from grabbing someone.”

“We could have shot at it.”

“More marines would have died fighting it. Besides, the creature was already full and looked sluggish. Wild animals only kill when they need to eat.”

Chuck smiled and shook his head. “Sure glad I haven’t gotten close enough to these creatures to actually start to understand them.”

Dawson grinned. “I’ll be glad to put them behind me.”

“What makes you so sure there aren’t any more on other atolls?”

The comment made Dawson gulp. He didn’t have a response and the thought of fighting more battles like this daunted him. “Let’s hope not,” he finally said.

Later, the sound of crashing surf stirred him from a slumber. Dawson looked up and exhaled a sigh of relief. The placid beachhead calmed his nerves. Sun broke through the clouds and cast rays over the shimmering water and sandy beach.

“We’re here,” Chuck announced.

Dawson grinned. “Looks like we made it.”

“We’re just going to load you on the stretcher right into a boat.”

“Maybe I should sit up,” Dawson offered. “Give the critically wounded the room.”

“Nah, we’ll be making plenty of trips back and forth.”

When they reached a boat, the marines lowered Dawson into the bottom. His stretcher was sandwiched between the side of the raft and another wounded marine.

The litter bearers who’d carried Dawson to the beachhead began pushing the rubber boat towards the water. Dawson felt the bumpy sand, then the pebbled shore. And then, the craft eased over the water. He experienced a buoyed sensation, with the boat jostling in the current.

Both marines straddled the tubular sides of the boat, then they began paddling out to sea.

“Don’t worry,” Chuck said to Dawson. “The breakers are unusually calm this morning. We’ll get right out there with just the two of us going at it.”

“You’re headed over towards the lagoon, then out straight to avoid the breakers.”

“Yeah. How did you know, lying down there?”

Dawson shrugged. “That’s how we came in. Landed in one piece.”

“The rest of us went straight through the breakers and capsized.” The marine chuckled and dug his paddle deeper into the water.

Dawson felt the rubber boat undulating over the waves. They rose up and down quickly, then the troughs were spaced further apart as the boat grew more distant from shore. Eventually, the craft rippled across minor swells.

A fetid stench encompassed the bottom compartment of the rubber boat. The hot sun scorched Dawson’s face and made the fetor worse. He glanced at the next man and met eyes glazed over in death. The marine’s face was gaunt and pale from blood loss. Looking him over, Dawson noticed a crimson-soaked bandage wrapped tightly around the man’s midsection. The bandage held the marine’s guts in.

“Some weren’t as lucky as you,” Chuck said, paddling hard against the current.

“I was just thinking the same thing.” Dawson shook his head. “Wish this operation turned out better.”

“You blew up their entire infrastructure. The island is worthless to them now.”

“They can rebuild.” Dawson felt it was a minor win, but something to get into the press. A victory in the Pacific theater. “Maybe lost some lives for nothing.”

“Don’t say that. These men are heroes. And the fuel station is gone for the rest of the war.” The marine grinned. “They’ll be talking about your unit all over the nation. You’ll probably be highly decorated for your contribution. Heck, this is one great day for Marine Raiders. I’m proud to serve with you.”

Dawson considered the man’s words. “You really think so… I mean about success for the Raiders?”

He grinned. “Damn straight. First use of U.S. special operations in history. Some doubted the Raider battalions. Your unit just proved them all wrong.”

With that comment, Dawson let the discussion fall into silence. He hoped the man was right. His shoulder ached, but his leg throbbed. Dawson wondered which injury was worse.

Stench emanated from the dead marine’s viscera. The flesh had already begun to rot in the sunlight. And Dawson figured the man had defecated in his trousers before passing away. Dawson shifted on his elbows to stick his head above the edge of the craft.

He breathed in the salty air and saw the Nautilus in the distance. She sat in the water, appearing solid and imposing, as choppy waves splashed against the hull.

“Almost there,” Chuck announced.

Dawson exhaled. “Sure is a beautiful sight.”

“Bet you didn’t think that when you first climbed on board.”

“No, sir.” Dawson laughed. “I did not.”

The rubber boat jounced against the port side of the boat. Sailors stood on deck, ready to help load the casualties on board. They threw down ropes, and the marines stowed the paddles in the craft, then began the arduous process of transferring the precious cargo from raft to submarine.

Marines in the rubber boat wrapped a rope around Dawson’s chest, then the sailors on deck hoisted him up the side of the Nautilus. His back smacked the hull of the vessel and the sun hurt his eyes.

A flotilla of wounded Raiders headed towards the submarines. Beyond the breakers lay the sandy beach, followed by the canopy of flush palm trees.

The atoll appeared still, with no sign of life.

Only the glowing flames of the gasoline fires raging from the fuel storage tanks revealed any sign of human existence on the island. Black smoke billowed in the air and wafted northward, away from them.

The sight filled him with sorrow and joy. Many marines had fought bravely, and the mission was a success. But some were seriously injured, and several were dead.

Sailors heaved Dawson onto the deck and the scene fell out of view.

They lowered Dawson through the hatch into the hold and everything became pitch-black until his eyes adjusted. A couple of sailors carried him on the stretcher down the same narrow passageway he’d waited in prior to the battle. Lined with pipes and cables, the bulkhead resembled a high school mechanical room.

Eventually, they reached the enlisted quarters and transferred him into a rack. The shifting caused him to wince from pain.

“A corpsman will be along to check on you in a bit.” The sailor smiled kindly.

“Thanks.” Dawson shrugged. “But I’d expect them to treat the marines with serious injuries first. Get to me later.”

“They’ll tend to the critically wounded. Then someone will check you out.”

Dawson got the feeling he was a priority. “Why me?”

“Aren’t you Dawson?” The sailor kept grinning.

“Sure.”

“Well, there you have it.” The man beamed, like he’d explained it all.

“Sorry, but I don’t understand. Maybe it’s all the explosions that rocked my head.”

“Man, you’re the hero of this operation.” The sailor put his hands on his hips. “Everyone’s talking about the young marine who took out the transport plane and used a dinosaur as a tank. Led a unit to blow the fuel dumps, then participated in the demolition of the garrison.”

Dawson rolled his eyes. “This was a unit operation.”

“And that’s probably the reason someone will stop by shortly.”

“Why?”

“You’re humble.” The sailor was a few years older, likely enlisted in his early to mid-twenties. He seemed mature and understood how things played out at home. Dawson pictured him hunkered over in the galley reading a newspaper.

Dawson nodded. “Humble heroes help sell war bonds?”

“You’ve got it. You’re the All-American boy.”

The sailor beamed and laughed gently. “You take care.” He turned and left, hustling down the passageway to continue with his duties.

Dawson lay on the top bunk and stared at the flaky grey paint. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the tin and flipped through the letters housed inside. They wouldn’t have to send his on to Mary, but the others would be met with crushing sadness.

A feeling of relief and guilt washed over him, like the waves that had pummeled marines landing on the beachhead.