John Dennehy - Jurassic War

The enemy launched a banzai attack. Lines of infantrymen charged across the open beach, firing rifles with fixed bayonets, and prepared to fight to the death.

Raiders returned fire, spraying lead from Thompson submachineguns at the swiftly encroaching infantrymen. Brass casings spit from the ejection ports, clinking spent rounds in the air, and muffling as they lobbed into the sand. Other marines blasted at the enemy machinegun stations with their Browning automatic rifles. The heavy rounds tore the enemy to shreds. And the riflemen carefully aimed their M1 Garands and took down charging soldiers one at a time. Spent gunpowder wafted in the drizzling early morning air.

Several marines tossed hand grenades at the approaching enemy troops. Explosions flared, and shrapnel tore Japanese soldiers to pieces. Shrieks of anguish flitted across the battlefield along with smoke and dust. Advancing infantrymen broke through the dissipating smoke unfazed and resounded their battle cry. “Banzai!”

Dawson squeezed off a few rounds, striking soldiers at center mass, hitting them in the chest with powerful bullets that stopped the charging infantrymen in their tracks. A shot impacted a soldier in the shoulder, spinning him around, and causing him to stumble.

Another soldier appeared from behind him, rushing madly at Dawson’s position, with bayonet fixed and shouting: “Banzai.”

Dawson aimed his rifle.

Pulled the trigger.

Click .

The magazine was empty, and the soldier was upon him, thrusting the bayonet towards Dawson’s chest. Dawson rolled to the left as the infantryman plowed into the fighting hole and speared the sand with the sharp blade.

Dawson reached for his stiletto fighting knife and grabbed the handle with the bottom of his fist against the hilt. He swung, outstretching his arm, and buried the blade deep into the soldier’s neck.

A slight moan was followed by a gurgling sound as the soldier keeled over. Removing the knife, blood spurted from the wound, pumping, until the moans and gushing streams ebbed, and finally abated altogether.

Reaching under the fallen soldier’s arms, Dawson heaved him out of the fighting hole and tossed him onto the sand, using the body for protection. He scanned for more hostiles, then ejected the clip and replaced it with a loaded magazine. Dawson raised the rifle and sighted in on an enemy soldier charging at marines positioned to his immediate right.

The shot struck the infantryman in the upper chest and hurled him backward, dropping him in the blood-soaked sand. Dawson spotted another soldier and shot him in the arm. Another round whistled from the left and slammed into the wounded man’s cheek.

A trembling hand reached for the wound as the soldier dropped to his knees. Then, a Raider with a Thompson machinegun riddled his chest, popping the soldier into a rhythmic death dance, until the man finally collapsed face first into the sand.

When the machinegun fire ceased, a lull fell over the battlefield; smoke dissipated, revealing the banzai charge as a failure. Dead enemy infantrymen were strewn everywhere in the sand. Raiders hooted and hollered all around Dawson’s position. He figured they hadn’t taken many serious casualties while putting down the attack. A feeling of encouragement slipped over him as confidence in the operation built with the successful stance.

Machinegun fire from the jungle ceased altogether. Foot soldiers retreated into the interior, and the marines occupied the beach alone.

A few minutes later, the tree line illuminated with penlights, beaming yellow orbs. Dawson gulped in anticipation of another wave of enemy attack. And then, a chill ran up his spine and dread constricted his lungs. Unable to breathe, he realized the enemy soldiers were gone.

Something else lingered on the edge of the jungle.

Tanaka had directed two waves of banzai charges at enemy positions. Both attacks ended horribly. Now, he questioned his superiors for insisting on such a futile tactic. Imperial foot soldiers had taken a lot of casualties without reinforcements arriving from the garrison. Their position along the tree line was not heavily fortified, and the Americans were dug in like ticks.

He’d decided to regroup at the garrison. They could establish a line of defense further inland, where his comrades would cut down advancing Americans under cover from the concealed canopy of the jungle.

“Let’s move out!” Tanaka had called to men on the left and the right.

“We should stay and fight.” A voice had responded from the end of the line.

“Now is the time to regroup. We are not retreating.”

Then, muffled voices sounded along the line, as troopers acquiesced and packed up their equipment. Soldiers slipped quietly away from the forward area. Moving swiftly down the pathways leading into the jungle, the Japanese infantrymen kept watch for an ambush from enemy scouts that may have pressed into the interior.

Tanaka slowed his pace to scan the dark jungle, worried about a covert attack. He didn’t see any sign of movement, though. And then, he stopped altogether and listened for the sound of advancing troops from the beach. Nothing.

All remained quiet except for the gentle pattering of drizzle falling on wet leaves.

Turning to continue down the path, he found the procession of soldiers had already moved ahead of him. He remained on the muddy trail alone. Something gave him the feeling of being watched, so he shouldered his rifle, and clicked off the safety.

Fear shuddered through his entire body. His pulse quickened.

He stood on the path staring into a set of vapid, yellow eyes. Heart racing at the dread of an unknown adversary, he sighted his weapon. Grasping his Arisaka rifle tightly, he stood ready to fire at the beast. Tanaka tried to find center mass, but he couldn’t discern the outline of the creature in the shadows.

And then, the transport backed around on the distant lane and rumbled away. He felt desperately alone. Footsteps plodded up the trail behind him, and caused the creature to move its head, peering over his shoulder.

Shots rang out from the beachhead. A straggling Imperial foot solider ran past him, then came to a halt in front of the creature. Rifle slung over his shoulder for a swift retreat, the infantryman registered the danger immediately and reached for his weapon. But his proximity to the beast made the movement futile, and the dinosaur leapt from the ground with a calculated effort. The rifle dropped into the mud with a thump.

Snarling teeth reflected in the moonlight as the dinosaur snapped wildly.

The soldier backpedaled, but the creature landed on the man’s chest, claws digging into the fabric and belts. It was about three feet long, stemming from snout to tail.

Moving closer to the fracas, Tanaka couldn’t get a clear shot.

The soldier wailed in pain and terror, as the dinosaur’s claws cleaved through his uniform and serrated flesh. Creeping upward, the dinosaur closed on the soldier’s throat. But the young Hetai stood frozen in trepidation, arms by his side, with his face locked in anguish.

Tanaka fired just as the beast clamped onto the man’s neck.

A bullet dug into the creature’s forehead, and the dinosaur reared its head, but didn’t let go of its victim. The shot merely startled the creature.

It lunged forward seeking another bite, with razor-sharp teeth cutting into the soldier’s throat. Blood spurted through gaps in the dinosaur’s jagged teeth. Its feeding jaws chomped and tore madly. The soldier spun around, and the dinosaur came into full view.

Both hind legs were planted in the soldier’s abdomen, tearing mercilessly at him. Lacerations split his midsection, and loops of intestines leaked from the opening, like links of sausage piled on the ground. Blood cascaded onto the jungle floor and mixed with rivulets of groundwater meandering along the path from the storm.