Leseur returned bright-eyed once again. First light came shortly after 0500, and Max waited impatiently for Flint to confirm he’d finished and was on his way.
“Hear that, Ahlgren?” Swift asked a few minutes later.
Max listened, heard nothing—no insects, frogs, or birds. “I don’t hear a damn thing.” He grabbed his rifle, nudged Otto awake with his foot.
“Exactly,” Swift said. “Jungle’s a riot at sunrise.” The big man rose, put on his pack, and readied his M60.
The others likewise donned packs in a hurry and gathered up their gear. Max was shrugging into his pack when he heard a great snapping of branches and crushing of vegetation coming from the direction in which they’d crawled.
“What the fuck is this?” Otto stared incredulously at the thorny scrub.
Max wondered roughly the same thing. No man could possibly charge right into such a thicket. The answer escaped him as he stood ready along with the rest of the team. Three rifles and one machinegun were shouldered, locked and loaded to meet whatever was coming for them.
The crashing grew louder. Thorn bushes shook and suddenly things—not men—broke through the scrub and into the clearing all around them. Max caught glimpses of scaly gray-green skin, golden eyes, snapping jaws in lizard heads atop spindly necks as they darted toward them. Strange cries emanated from deep in the beasts’ throats as they burst on the scene—a whimpering inhale followed by a honking cry of exhaled breath.
“What the fuck?” Swift brought his M60 up.
The team opened fire on them. One came straight for Max, who fired a burst but missed when the creature deftly darted aside to run over Leseur who faced the wrong direction, knocking him flat into the mud. A pair of snapping jaws nearly found Otto’s face; fortunately he ducked away at the last second. Swift’s M60 chattered in short, controlled typewriter bursts throughout the chaos. The team’s weapon fire filled the morning air.
The beasts did indeed resemble mini T-rexes, as Swift had called them earlier, each standing about five feet high at the shoulder. They hopped and ran about on their rear legs with such tremendous speed and agility that Max couldn’t figure out how many they were fighting. But they were not impossible to hit. Max blasted a thin forearm off of one, sending the creature bounding back the way it had come, shrieking in agony. Swift blew a few meaty chunks off another, which likewise retreated, followed by a third which hopped around the clearing in a full circle before taking off, receiving a couple of bullets during its round trip.
Max felt a gust of air from his rear and dove to the side just before the last beast would have run him over. The lizard bounded past him, landed in the scrub, and then made another incredible leap of over twenty feet, repeating the process as it fled at top speed, followed by what appeared to be all the remaining creatures.
“Cease fire!” Max roared, regaining his feet. He took quick stock of the situation: Swift loading a fresh belt into his M60; Otto helping a dazed Leseur back to his feet. The lizards, their thick hides impervious to thorns, had smashed a path right through the thicket. “Injuries?” He watched the last of the dinosaurs hop between two thick tree trunks, back into the high jungle.
“Got tail whipped, but he hit me in the armor,” Otto said.
“I’m all right,” Leseur responded frantically, his eyes wild with fear. He sweated profusely as Max looked him over. Only a thin circle of luminescent green was visible in his eyes, the rest all bloodshot whites and dilated pupils.
“All right, I’m a believer,” Swift said in a ho-hum, big-fucking-deal voice.
“Not such a hideaway now,” Otto said as he gazed through the lizards’ path.
Max agreed. “Yeah, we need to—” Small arms fire erupted in the trees, the muzzle flashes visible. “Contact! Take cover!” He dropped and crawled to the edge of the clearing. On his knees he peeked through the scrub at the tree line. More bursts of automatic fire heralded the lizards leaping once again from the jungle into the scrub.
Then a man in black appeared at the edge of the forest, joined quickly by another. They fired submachine guns over the heads of the running, terrified dinosaurs. Fuck, they’re herding them back here!
Max launched a grenade that detonated some thirty feet from the closest lizard, which shied fearfully to the side before resuming course at the behest of the firing men.
He turned, pointed to the other side of the clearing. “Swift, blast us outta here!”
“On it!” He opened up with the M60, spraying the foliage and cutting a ragged path through the thorns. He’d blown his silencer by the time he finished the belt, but they had a way out—about eighty feet of blasted scrub separated them from the jungle on the other side.
“Otto, Leseur, go!”
Max remained behind to cover Swift as he reloaded. Rounds snapped over his head. He tried to hit the elusive lizards as they approached yet found it impossible at long range. And his silenced rifle couldn’t scare them back toward the enemy, of which Max still counted two. He expended a magazine and reloaded.
“Let’s go!” Swift fired a short burst with the 60 and started backing toward the exit.
Max tossed a smoke grenade into the clearing, then jumped into the opening and began running awkwardly down the path of mowed-down scrub. Vines conspired to trip him with every step. Thorns tore at his gear and clothes and opened up jagged cuts on his arms and legs. Swift came last and covered their escape. Max remembered what Leseur had said about gunfire scaring off the creatures. Hopefully, caught in the middle of a firefight, they might decide to bug out and head in another direction. Fuck, they have six to choose from!
Otto and Leseur waited for them at the edge of the jungle, both men bleeding from cuts sustained on the path. Swift fired one more burst, turned, and shuffled the rest of the way to the jungle.
“Think we scared ’em off. The dinosaurs anyway,” Swift announced. Smoke curled from the blown silencer on the 60; the barrel glowed a dull red.
“Think again.” Otto pointed over Max’s shoulder to a beast that had just jumped into the clearing, barely visible in the dissipating cloud of smoke.
Max heard shouts in French and more crashing in the distance. Leseur’s radio crackled with activity. So much for 0600.
“We’ll have to run and gun till we find a defensible position. Try to conserve ammo if possible,” Max said. “Move out.” He sprinted into the trees, Leseur hot on his heels. At the rate we’re wasting ammo, we’ll be fighting with sticks and stones pretty soon. Busy running for his life, he failed to appreciate the irony.
13
Max ran headlong through the jungle, crashing through undergrowth and vaulting over rocks and roots as he searched frantically for someplace to make a stand. This wouldn’t have presented a problem had they been fighting men; the jungle offered no lack of cover. But the dinosaurs thrived in this habitat. Can’t hide—they’ll sniff us right out. And unlike men, they nimbly navigated the jungle tangle with ridiculous ease. During their training, all fighting men had it hammered into them to avoid battling in the open at all costs. But this time Max had no choice but to find open ground. We’ll never touch them in these woods.
Several times Max reined in Leseur to keep the guide from outpacing the rest of the team. Swift fought gallantly and efficiently, staying a couple hundred yards behind and firing occasional short bursts to keep the dinosaurs at bay. At some point he’d wisely switched from his 60 to one of the Uzis, after he’d removed the silencer. A necessary waste of ammo, better to use the Uzi as a noise maker than the M60. They would need the machinegun’s firepower when the time came, and Swift could always liberate more 9mm ammo from the enemy.
We’ll have to kill a few of them first.
The spaces between the trees ahead began to lighten. A few seconds later Max and Leseur burst from the jungle into an area of foot-high grass extending about thirty feet to a fence running perpe
ndicular to their course. Max realized with a sinking feeling that his theory had been correct. To the left, the fence ran downhill for less than a mile to the ocean. It continued on to the right uphill, but less than one hundred feet away it intersected with the fence they’d been running parallel to.
Leseur stated the obvious: “We are cornered.”
Max ignored him and stopped running about fifteen feet from the electrified fence. “Prone positions. We finish this here.” He dropped into the grass, slammed a fresh magazine into his rifle, and put a grenade into his M203, setting an extra 40mm HE grenade beside him. Open with that, hopefully take one out first thing.
Swift emerged from the jungle and joined them, moving quite well despite his size and overample gear. He flopped down to Otto’s right, put one of his Uzis in the grass, and reloaded his 60.
“How long until they get here?” Max asked.
“Fuck, I don’t know... A minute? Goddamn things move through the trees like ballet dancers.”
“Hit any?” Otto asked.
“Once or twice with the pop gun. Didn’t do shit. There are only two of them now; the rest bugged out.”
“Get a grenade ready,” Max ordered. “Our best chance is when—”
A man dressed in black walked out of the jungle off to their left, near the intersection of fences. The troops herding the lizards were dressed and equipped for combat, but this man looked late for a date at the parade ground. Silver buttons, shoulder boards, and collar tabs trimmed his fitted black dress-uniform, which featured a double-breasted tunic and a pair of baggy jodhpurs tucked into knee-high jackboots. His lone weapon, a pistol, remained holstered in his Sam Browne shoulder-strap belt rig. A folding black cap trimmed with silver piping, known in Marine Corps parlance as a piss cutter, sat atop his head.
“The SS has arrived,” Swift growled.
The man in black pointed a finger at them and shouted, “Interlopers! How dare you attempt to infiltrate our sanctum!”
Max put a single shot into the man’s gut and, with great satisfaction, watched him topple into the grass.
“Heh heh, interloper level achieved,” Swift said.
Small arms fire emanated from the trees. Max could hear the dinosaurs’ terrified bleats and wails as they ran before the gunfire. Seconds now.
“Blasphemy!” Leseur shouted, pointing toward the downed man, who had just regained his feet as if nothing had happened.
“Who the fuck are these guys?” Max said.
Otto stared wide-eyed straight ahead. “We got another problem.”
A sizeable problem at that—a monstrous lizard, over ten feet at the shoulder, emerged from the jungle. Long and powerful arms with razor sharp claws hung from its shoulders. It now stood behind the man in black. The sun had yet to breach the horizon, but the beast’s dark-green scales shimmered as they caught and reflected all available light. The thick metallic device nestled on the back of its head reminded Max of a diadem.
The thing merely stood there as if awaiting instructions. Not good.
Leseur began gibbering in French, eyes pointed skyward in supplication. Max didn’t need to understand him to recognize a prayer when he heard one.
Through the jungle tree trunks, Max caught his first glimpse of the smaller lizards bouncing and sprinting toward them.
“I’ll not have our guests bothered by meddling intruders,” said the man, who now held a device that looked like a smartphone. “Eviscerate them!”
When the man tapped the device, the gargantuan beast leapt over him in a single bound and headed for the team, its muscular hind legs propelling it at racehorse speed. Two smaller dinosaurs, sporting wounds from the previous battle, ran from the forest an instant later.
“Fire goddammit!” Max roared, hoping to still Leseur’s prayers and Otto’s panicked curses at the sight of the full-blown aberration.
As planned, the team opened with grenades. Max aimed for the large lizard’s head, only to overshoot and detonate on the electric fence, where it opened a small, jagged hole. Leseur’s grenade landed near the big one’s feet and exploded in a shower of earth. A few fragments of shrapnel must have hit the thing, for it roared and increased its speed. Two more grenade blasts rang out from Otto and Swift, but Max did not witness their effect, as he chambered another grenade.
The creature closed the gap too quickly for that. Max opened up on the big one with his rifle just as it leapt toward him. Forced to move, most of his shots went wide. He rolled—he had no choice—and found himself on top of Leseur as the beast landed next to them, roaring in bloodthirsty rapture. The carrion stench of its breath sickened Max, who pointed his rifle toward its bellowing maw.
The beast knocked the rifle from his hands with one swipe of its arm. Teeth descended as Leseur screamed beneath Max. He backpedaled and prepared to gouge its eyes, all he could think to do in the final moments of his life.
The beast suddenly jumped backward and away with a keening shriek as gouts of blood shot from its flank. Its whipping tail just missed Max as he rolled off Leseur.
Puffs of dirt and grass exploded around him as the two enemy troops opened fire with their submachine guns. A single, booming shot rang out, followed by another a couple of seconds later. Each shot dropped a man in black, putting an end to the gunfire.
Before Max could locate his rifle or draw his pistol, he found himself on the ground once more, knocked flat by one of the smaller dinosaurs, which dipped its head to bite off his face. He shot out his hands and seized its neck, squeezing with every ounce of his remaining strength. Reptilian saliva showered his face when its jaws snapped shut just short of their mark. The thing clawed at his plate carrier in frustration, ripping a couple of grenades from his vest. He pulled one of the remaining grenades and prepared to shove it into the creature’s mouth.
If he had to die, then his killer would damn sure meet the same fate.
Another high-caliber shot rattled Max’s eardrums. In the same instant, Swift appeared and slammed his shoulder into the dinosaur atop Max, sending it reeling away. A ripping sound accompanied by reptilian shrieks followed, the sudden stink of ozone and charred flesh indicating the lizard had met its fate on the electric fence.
With a moment to finally survey the situation, Max saw the other small dinosaur lying dead near Otto, who writhed on the ground holding his bleeding side, his face a mask of the purest agony.
Two beasts down, no men to be seen, but the big prize remained. Alive if not necessarily well, the dinosaur remained on the scene to take care of business despite bleeding from a dozen bullet holes. It ran toward Leseur, jaws agape and roaring.
Max drew his pistol and shot it in the neck, enough of a distraction to turn the creature’s head. It bowled over Leseur, headed straight for the electric fence, but turned at the last second. Circling around, it gained speed for another charge.
Max and his two functioning team members unleashed a firestorm of lead into the creature, pocking its scaly body with bloody holes. Yet it kept coming, the nine tons of muscle and teeth slightly slowed but largely unfazed. No one had time to reload their grenade launcher, the one weapon perhaps capable of dropping the thing.
It turned for them, came directly at Swift, whose M60 fired three times before expending the belt. Max likewise emptied his magazine. All to no avail. Swift stood his ground; he threw down his MG and drew his .45. By him, Leseur fumbled for a fresh magazine.
The situation unfolded before Max’s eyes: two long strides taken by the giant lizard, the brawny muscles in its back legs tensing as it prepared to leap on Swift.
Boooom!
The lone shot echoed in Max’s brain. The dinosaur’s head jerked to one side as a geyser of blood shot from just beneath its eye. Its body followed its head, and it shook the earth when it collapsed into the grass. Though it thrashed weakly on its side, it still appeared capable of standing again.
Great and not-so-great minds thought alike—Max and Swift pulled grenades from their vests and tossed them at the broken creature. Swift’s hit the grass and rolled on, becoming wedged between the thing’s belly and the earth, while Max’s bounced to a stop about a foot from its head. The team dropped face down for cover just before the blasts rocked the earth.
Dirt, rocks, and chunks of dinosaur rained down upon them for a couple of seconds.
Shower nearly complete, Max looked up and surveyed the damage—a mighty beast with its guts blown to smithereens, its lower jaw partially separated from its head. Incredibly, the thing still breathed, blood leaking from its nostrils and gullet as it suffered through its death throes. Plainly in shock, Leseur gawked at the creature and panted as if he’d just run a marathon. Even Max, who had battled his share of unbelievable enemies, stood in awe of its size and power.
A fucking real-life dinosaur.
Max spun to assess the remaining threat from the far tree line. He didn’t see any signs of the remaining security troops. They had either been dispatched or pulled back, likely waiting on reinforcements.
“Are we done yet?” asked a familiar voice in Max’s earpiece. He looked beyond the fence into the area known as the board, where Flint waved at him from high in a tree.
“Nice shootin’, Flint,” Max responded, post-battle fatigue setting in on him already. He shook it off as best he could, then joined Swift and Leseur as they gathered around Otto.
Swift gazed intently at the gash in Otto’s side. “Looks ugly. Fucker opened you up like a can of beans.” He took off his pack and rummaged for his med kit.
“It could be a lot worse,” Max said. “Hang in, Otto. Swift’s no corpsman, but he’ll do in a pinch.”
“I can move,” Otto grunted.
Irritated by his attempt to prove that fact, Swift mumbled, “Just let me work my magic first.”
Doesn’t look like any vitals were hit. But he knew Otto would need more thorough medical attention before he would again be useful in a fight. Fuck, we’re back to hiding again. “Get him patched quick; we need to get out of here fast.”
Apex Page 15
