History had been one of Erik’s favorite subjects in school. Things he knew of the world today didn’t match with some of the historical accounts he had read. His teachers, his father, everyone harbored their own biases. Erik had a mind of his own, and he wanted to formulate his own opinions; set his own path in life.
Things his father wanted for him in life weren’t bad. They might have been fine for his father and others, but not him. He hated that he couldn’t be the ideal child who was the pride of his father. But being true to himself, even if it destroyed him, was more important to him than anything.
Erik had departed his father’s side when he finished eating to find Blondi, Viktor’s German Shepherd, and give her the portion of meat and biscuits he had left over.
He arrived through the darkness near the cave housing the patients. Blondi wasn’t far from the opening but out of sight, lying on her stomach with her head resting on her front legs. She stood with slight difficulty, favoring her hips, and sat.
“Hey, Blondi,” he whispered and patted her head. He didn’t know if Viktor would have a problem with him feeding her and certainly had no intention of asking permission.
The dog responded by licking his wrist.
Scooping some meat on a biscuit piece, he fed it to her.
She happily downed it and anticipated more.
The other members of the SS were in the cave with Viktor, who was speaking to them. Erik’s skin crawled on the back of his neck as he heard the man’s voice. Viktor’s voice was stronger now and resonated with a cadence all too familiar.
He continued to feed Blondi, stepped a little closer to the cave’s opening, and listened.
“—unacceptable. We were to be in Brazil in two days,” Viktor said.
“I assure you the commander is managing the situation as well as possible,” Dr. Mengele said.
“We are truly in a compromising position,” Stangl said. “The U-boat is beached. The radio is not working. We are in a place not even on the map.”
“Franz, you are not making the situation more palatable with your whining,” Eichmann said.
“We will learn more by noon tomorrow. Two parties were deployed to search the area. Perhaps they will find a means for us to escape,” Barbie said.
“I need to be in Brazil in two days!” Viktor demanded. It had sounded like the man pounded the ground with his hand while he spoke.
“Two days, two weeks, the only thing that matters is you arrive safely,” Mengele said.
“No!” Viktor said with disgust. “I want to be there when it happens….”
A few seconds of silence passed.
Barbie asked, “What are you anticipating?”
“Revenge,” Viktor coldly said.
Silence parted discourse once again.
“Revenge? How?” Barbie asked.
Viktor evilly chucked. “The war is not over. Germany is not defeated, despite the Allies’ advance. Germany’s day is yet to come.”
“Perhaps you are tired,” Eichmann said. “Dr. Mengele, can you give him something to help him sleep?”
“I will sleep when I am dead. And I am far from being dead,” Viktor said. “Listen, listen all of you. The Third Reich has maintained secrets within secrets, within secrets. In a few days, two US merchant vessels will arrive off the US east coast. The John Carver is destined for New York City, and the Black Point will travel the Potomac River and reach Washington, DC. Each carries an atomic bomb capable of mass destruction. The United States will collapse after the attack—thrown into total chaos. But revenge doesn’t stop there,” Viktor said, growing excitement in his tone. “U-234 is on a course for Japan. Aboard is a complete atomic bomb and enough uranium oxide and heavy water to build three additional bombs. I have provided them with the plans necessary to construct more. Japan will cripple the rest of the world and bring it to its knees. The emperor has agreed to share in the spoils of war. Germany will rule Europe and the Soviet Union, they will take the East and the Americas.”
“I…I had no idea we were that far along in our nuclear program,” Barbie said.
“I was so looking forward to supervising gauchos on a beef ranch,” Stangl said. “I guess I will have to be content slaughtering animals of the two-legged variety.”
“Stangl, I find your prater disrespectful,” Viktor said.
“I’m sorry, Mein Führer, no disrespect was meant,” Stangl said.
Chapter 13
Hampton Wallace and Joey Gridley held perimeter watch of the camp some fifty yards away from Rodrigue’s and Underwood’s position.
The first rifle shot cracked the air like thunder, sending electricity up Wallace’s spine. He jutted his gaze over to Gridley, whose eyes grew wide.
They lowered their centers of gravity and held their rifles at the ready. A quick scan found no danger.
The second shot had them both running toward the sound. Rodrigue and Underwood were under attack.
Wallace held his rifle to the side as he dug his boots into the ground and dodged plants. Running toward an emergency was totally opposite of human nature. Part of his training included firefighting; engaging, rather than fleeing, a fire on a boat. It was one of the hardest things he had to overcome.
Heading toward a fight, rather it be warships on the ocean or submarines beneath the sea, was really no different. In those cases, though, if you didn’t win, you were more likely to die than not. After all he had been through today, Wallace knew he wasn’t ready to die.
Six more shots led him to his crewmates’ location. Wallace arrived first and put on the brakes as he came upon a body lying on the ground being torn to shreds by three troodons. The remaining scalp covered with sandy blond hair identified the sailor as Underwood.
Gridley almost crashed into Wallace as he stumbled to a stop. The young man gasped when he saw the gruesome sight, and then sounded like he fought to keep the contents of his stomach down.
One troodon raised its head curiously over at the two humans. Its face was smeared with blood and chunks of raw flesh wedged between its teeth.
Another troodon chewed greedily on an intestine, which hung from the side of its mouth.
The third hissed out a warning, and then turned away from the kill to ward off any potential thieves.
The threat snapped Wallace to attention. He lifted his rifle and shot the troodon twice in the chest, and it lunged for him.
The other troodons left the feast and charged toward Gridley, who, by that time, made a feeble attempt to bring his rifle up.
Wallace hit his back on the ground as the weight of the troodon overcame him. He yelled, fearing the teeth and jaws of the dinosaur that rested on his chest, inches away from his face.
Gridley fired hastily, both shots missing their target. The two troodons pulled him to the ground. One chomped down on his throat, stifling a scream into a raspy fight for air.
The troodon on Wallace’s chest was limp. The bullets had done their job. With some effort, he pushed it off his body. Rolling to the side, he carefully aimed and shot the dinosaur clenching Gridley’s neck, just a few feet away, in the eye.
The troodon’s head jutted to the side, letting go of its stronghold, and then it collapsed.
Wallace rolled to his knees and fired three bullets into the troodon contemplating to attack. Again, another kill.
With heart pounding and chest heaving, Wallace’s eyes immediately told him his was too late to help his crewmate. Poor, Joey. He didn’t deserve this, he thought.
Shots erupted, coming from the campsite. Wallace looked around for any signs of Rodrigue but saw none. A dead troodon a few yards away could have pointed in the direction that Rodrigue might have run.
Gridley was dead. Underwood was dead. Wallace could only hope Rodrigue had somehow escaped and was circling back to camp.
For now, there was a war going. He again found himself running toward a challenge where the consequence of losing was certain death.
*
Sail
ors busily about camp froze in place at the sound of the first rifle shot.
Brazo and Slick had joined in on erecting the latest teepee, laying supporting tree limbs used for sides to center point.
Jim Stone walked the perimeter after the supports were in place, wrapping the rope below the crown. The structure was surprisingly simple but strong.
Brazo had turned and scanned into the direction of fire when the second shot followed. “Trouble,” he said to no one. “Men, get your guns!” he ordered.
The M1s had been laid across stripped tree branches to keep them off the ground near the middle of camp. Crewmen dropped hatchets and whatever else they were carrying to arm themselves.
“Let’s go, men. Let’s go,” Slick said. “Get your rifles and some spare clips.”
The first few did as they were told, and then turned to face Slick.
More shots fired in the distance, coming from the north.
“Okay, once you have your weapon, I want everyone to form a line crossways. Keep three feet between you. We’re going to fan out and march toward the shots,” Slick said. “Come on, move it! Our guys need us.”
Brazo had heard an M1 discharge enough times to know that it was one of his crewmen’s weapons and nothing of German origin. There was little comfort in that thought, as he’d much rather face the enemy he knew over anything resembling the beasts in the ocean.
He waited for the last of the men to pick up their weapons before getting his. There were still a few grenades left, so he grabbed one and clipped it to his belt.
His men had dutifully formed a line, though Slick had reassigned some to step a few paces to the rear. The XO realized a line of over forty men would spread them too thin.
“Okay, men. Keep an even pace,” Slick said. “Stone, lead us forward.”
“Yes, sir,” Jim Stone said. The man was near the center of the line. “Let’s go.”
The men stepped at a quick pace heading toward the battle.
Brazo considered taking the lead but was unsure how the men would hold together. They weren’t used to land maneuvers, and he wanted to keep them in line, watching them from behind.
Foliage wasn’t too thick, but there were enough obstacles between plants and trees to separate the men more than he would have liked
“Douglas! Go the other way. Stay with the group,” Brazo yelled at a crewman to the left. “I don’t want—”
A scream from the far right had everyone stop. Men in line on that side scattered.
Brazo saw the disruption but couldn’t see what had caused it.
“Look ahead! They’re coming!” Stone yelled.
From the distance, Brazo saw a pack of two-legged dinosaurs in a loose group charging their way. These creatures were about half as tall as a man, but their long tails and necks made them appear larger, more of a threat.
Stone let one rip from his M1, leading a cacophony of firing rifles.
Brazo hurried to the line only to crash into a crewman who was back-peddling. Both hit the ground and scrambled to their feet.
The first troodon led two others past one side of Stone, breaking the line. Stone managed to drop one of them, but the others kept running.
Brazo dove to the side as a crewman spun around and fired, narrowly missing being shot.
The crewman froze for a moment when he realized how close he came to shooting the captain, but then fired again.
Men screamed, guns fired, dinosaurs screeched. The wall of crewmen collapsed in chunks as a horde of troodons blanketed the area.
One sailor had lost his gun but managed to get the inside of an elbow around a troodon’s throat in a firm choke hold. For the moment, he was able to keep away from the sharp teeth. To his fortune, Slick arrived with a drawn .45 and put four shots into its chest.
At least bullets were deadly enough to kill. Brazo fired three rounds at a dinosaur that snapped at a crewman whose M1 had ejected its clip after missing his last shot. The captain made his first kill.
Two troodons had knocked a sailor down and commenced ripping him to shreds with the claws on their feet. The beasts didn’t have the mercy to end the man’s life before eating him.
Attacking head-on, a troodon bit a crewman on the throat, and when the unfortunate soul pulled away in retreat, his larynx remained in the creature’s teeth. Blood poured down his chest like a crimson waterfall.
It was difficult to know how many creatures were on the attack. Brazo estimated over fifteen. From his vantage point, he saw four creatures dead, as well as eight of his crewmen. This was brutal, savage war. This deadly land offered no quarter.
Brazo continued to target and fire as troodons presented themselves. It was tricky business, as the beasts were on the constant move, and he was in fear of hitting his shipmates.
A troodon charged from one side. Brazo fired and missed, and the ammo clip sprung into the air. He had no time to reload and fled in retreat.
The troodon hiss-cried in pursuit.
With the dinosaur on his heels, Brazo dropped to the ground and picked up a hatchet one of his men had discarded. Blindly, he swung his arm around and narrowly missed the troodon’s head as it lurched for an attack. The near-hit spooked it enough to momentarily retreat. Brazo hopped up and slashed the air between them back and forth, hoping for an opportunity for the blade to meet skull.
Weaving its head like a boxer in a fight, the troodon, too, waited for a chance to connect.
Unexpectedly, the troodon switched from snapping at his head, and instead bit the back of the hatchet as it swished by. The hatchet ripped from Brazo’s hand.
The captain stood empty-handed, feeling like a naked child in front of a starving lion.
Before the events of his life could flash through his mind as he anticipated death, two shots rang out from behind.
The troodon toppled to the ground.
“You okay, sir?” Hampton Wallace asked.
“Yes, son,” Brazo said as he turned and saw his savior. “Fine shooting. There’s more!”
Wallace lowered his head, and with defiance in his eyes, sped toward the fray.
Brazo retrieved his rifle and fed the clip.
The crewmen had gravitated into bunches of a few men each. This gave them extra firepower and didn’t present as many friendly targets getting in the way of the enemy.
It immediately became clear to Brazo that his men had endured the storm. Only a random shot went out here and there, from areas he couldn’t see.
XO Slick saw him and hurried in his direction. “You okay, Captain?”
“By some miracle, yes,” Brazo said, surprise in his voice.
“This was bad. Really bad,” Slick said.
He had counted eight men dead earlier. What was the total number now?
Men that had been run off from the group’s center started arriving, many with dead bodies in tow. This had been a deadly fight, but his heart already knew that.
What disturbed Brazo the most was the horrific damage done to his crewmen. Most of their wounds were life-threatening. One bite from the sharp teeth could cut deep enough to sever arteries. The claws on their feet could eviscerate a man in one swipe. These weren’t the largest of creatures, probably weighing not much over a hundred pounds. But, pound for pound, he didn’t think anything from 1945 could match their deadliness.
Those who had guarded the camp’s perimeter had left their posts to join in on the fight. Now, all the men gathered around their fallen brothers.
“Is this everyone?” Brazo asked.
“Yes, sir,” Slick said.
“No, there’re two more,” Wallace said. He lowered his head, and said, “Gridley…Joey and I heard the first shots and ran to help. We found Underwood. They got him before we got there. Those things attacked and killed Joey before I could stop them.” Wallace raised his gaze and sighed. “Rodrigue wasn’t there—he was teamed up with Underwood. There were two dead dinosaurs there. One by Underwood, the other a few yards away. Rodrigue may have had
to make a run for it.”
Brazo nodded. He hoped Rodrigue was alive and they would somehow find him. There was no way, with all the losses today, he was going to risk any more of his men to leave and search for the missing man. He counted the bodies, and two crewmen checked for vitals, which by the looks of things to be a total waste of time. Thirty-three. Thirty-three more men dead under his command, all in the same day.
“Listen up, men,” Brazo said. “We have met the enemy, and we have won. Victory was at the greatest of cost, but we did what we were trained to do. Our training kept us alive, and it will keep us alive.” Brazo made every effort to maintain a steady tone, without callousness, and with concern. Men with zombie-like stares looked in his direction. He didn’t know if they had the capacity at this point to even hear him. “I have decided that staying here for the night puts us at more of a risk than I’m willing to accept. We’ll give our men a shallow burial and move out before dark. I want to be far enough away from the carrion eaters, who are sure to come, so we won’t have to deal with them. We’ll take our chances for the night. Again, I’m in command, but I can make no promises. When we wake in the morning, we’re heading north to a high point. Hopefully, we’ll get a better lay of the land and find a way out of this accursed place.” Brazo gazed over to Slick and nodded.
“Okay, men, let’s grab the shovels and get to work,” Slick said.
“Uhh, Greene’s not dead,” one of the crewmen examining the bodies said.
Brazo and Slick walked over to the fallen sailor. The man’s torso had been ripped open, and half of his organs had been eaten away. His chest barely rose and fell.
“I don’t know how he’s alive,” Slick said. “Captain, there’s no saving him.”
Brazo rubbed his eyes, leaned back his head, and said, “The XO is going to lead all of you back to the supplies. I want you to get a drink of water and the shovels. Am I clear?”
Perplexed expressions looking back at least told him they understood his order.
“Executive Officer, Slick. Lead them away,” Brazo said.
Prehistoric WWII Page 10