Prehistoric WWII

by Dane Hatchell

  Gunfire rattled in greater numbers on the other side of the camp. Apparently, these accursed monsters hunted in packs.

  Bach’s bullets had either missed the deinonychus or it was so mad at losing the kill that it didn’t matter if it had been hit. The dinosaur hissed and charged toward the two officers.

  Their combined firepower inflicted enough pain for it to hesitate to a stop. A split-second later, it turned and ran for the cover of the jungle.

  “Erik,” Christoph said as his eyes gazed above the tree line.

  “We’ll find him, sir.” Bach patted the commander’s left shoulder.

  The battle had ended on this side of the camp. The two officers of U-616 sped toward the remaining threats.

  *

  Artur Phelps’ boots pounded the jungle floor as he led his recon team back to basecamp. They had awoken with the dawn in hopes of arriving in time for a hot meal for lunch. Making camp before noon was a certainty now, as they were nearing the camp’s eastern perimeter. Phelps was eager to deliver his report to the commander of the giant dinosaurs they had seen. He relished the opportunity to give a blow-by-blow detailed account of how they had witnessed the bloody battle between the triceratops and the T. rex.

  Nearby gunfire from the camp told him that his crewmates more than likely had a story of dinosaurs to tell of their own. His main fear now was that there wouldn’t be many left to tell it.

  His mind raced with a T. rex terrorizing the camp. The huge beast stomping its way through, crushing men underfoot, and making snacks of puny humans. Would bullets be enough to stop it, he wondered. He wished for something the size of U-616’s deck gun and firing 8.8cm shells into the chest of the massive beast. At least he knew the men at the camp had a good stock of grenades.

  Phelps was first to come upon a deinonychus feeding on a fallen crewman. The dinosaur was no larger than a man, but he instinctually knew it had more power than he and his four men combined. Thank goodness combat wouldn’t be hand-to-hand. He lifted his Sturmgewehr and peppered the beast’s right side.

  The theropod sprang back, a piece of liver hanging from the side of its mouth.

  As each sailor arrived by Phelps’ side, they joined in on the shooting spree.

  The deinonychus, under the onslaught of lead, turned to flee, but only managed to stumble a few feet to the ground.

  This gave Phelps some confidence that modern firepower would give them a chance of survival in this strange land, and the realization they needed to get out of there before their ammunition ran out!

  “What is that thing?” Ernst Ziegler asked.

  “Maybe the smaller ones we see grow up to be this size,” Wilhelm Lange said.

  Roland Gwerder had rushed to the dead sailor’s side. He ran his fingers along the victim’s neck, and then examined the eyes. “He is dead.”

  “The hole in the chest told us that,” Fritz Witt said. “We are wasting time. They need us at camp.” Without waiting, Witt took off toward the nearby caves.

  Phelps followed close on Witt’s heels, the other three in tow. Dead sailors and dead bird-like dinosaurs along the way told the story that there was more than one type of enemy in this war. The small dinosaurs didn’t look nearly as threatening as the larger one they had just disposed of, though he did notice the talons on their claws and feet. The amount of human carnage among dead, feathered carcasses indicated how lethal they were.

  A human yelp from behind pulled Phelps’ head around. A deinonychus’ sneak attack picked off Ernst, who was the last in line. Before Phelps could react, Witt fired his rifle. Turning to see, a deinonychus stood in their path and headed their way.

  By this time, Lange and Gwerder had opened fire on the dinosaur who had knocked Ernst to the ground. Phelps joined Witt in shooting at the frontal attack.

  Bullets did nothing to deter the nasty beast. Their combined aim must have been off. Witt’s Sturmgewehr steadily spit lead up to the point the deinonychus stuck out its neck and bit down on the stock, taking the sailor’s left hand with it. Witt screamed and now stood between the dinosaur and Phelps, who was forced to hold his fire.

  The deinonychus wrestled Witt to the ground, and with its backward-curved teeth, went for his throat.

  Phelps heard Gwerder scream over the gunfire behind him. He didn’t have time to look to see who was winning the war, but it sounded like the odds were against his team.

  With the deinonychus’ head within reach, Phelps lowered the rifle barrel directly against the creature’s skull. He unloaded the six remaining bullets at point-blank range.

  The dinosaur protested not. Its body went limp, and its head listed to the side. Bloody teeth stained with parts of Witt’s throat wickedly smiled toward the sky.

  Phelps looked down at the gaping hole and Witt’s glassy eyes gazing into infinity.

  Artur Phelps hadn’t noticed the gunfire behind him had stopped until Lange put a hand on his shoulder. The leader jumped and went to bring his rifle up.

  “It’s me. Calm yourself,” Lange said.

  Phelps looked over at the two sailors and the dinosaur lying still on the ground. “They are dead?”

  “Yes, unfortunately. From what I can tell, Ernst’s neck was broken when the dinosaur knocked him to the ground. Ernst was always a fragile man. That is why I made him my friend, so I could care for him.” Lange wiped a tear that trickled down his face, smearing dirt across his cheek. “Gwerder’s gun jammed, and he attacked the dinosaur with the butt of his rifle. It was a foolish thing to do…I know he was only thinking of saving Ernst.”

  “They were good men. All, good men,” Phelps said.

  “The best,” Lange’s words faded. He then lifted his head after taking a deep breath. “We head to camp.”

  “We will come back and bury them,” Phelps said.

  “Yes, we will. And we will eat the flesh and drink the blood of the devils who had dared to attack us.”

  *

  Christoph and Bach arrived at the side of Stangl and Eichmann in under a minute. By this time, gunfire had all but ceased. Of the crewmen forming a loose circle of defense, Christoph counted eight. Eight! This was impossible. Others had to be alive. Somewhere, hiding in the jungle waiting for the battle to end. Perhaps they ran out of ammo. He felt the need to call out for everyone to come back to camp.

  Then urgency in Christoph’s mind relaxed and allowed his eyes to drink in the carnage strewn across the jungle floor. Dead carcasses of the bird-like dinosaurs littered the area, mixed with tens of bodies of his own crewmen. Of the larger theropods, like he and Bach had engaged, he counted four dead. From the looks of things, those dinosaurs had killed as many men as the dozens of smaller ones had.

  “Commander!”

  Christoph looked over and saw two crewmen approach. Hopefully, there would be more.

  Phelps waved his hand in the air as he trotted forward.

  Instantly, Christoph recognized Artur Phelps, the leader of one of the reconnaissance teams. With only one man with him, he assumed danger infested this whole accursed land.

  The two men’s faces showed disbelief as they scanned the campsite.

  The commander walked over to greet them. “The others?”

  “Commander, we were just outside of camp when we heard the gunfire. The group was whole, then. As we got closer, we saw we were late arriving to the battle. These…these two-legged dinosaurs, as big as men, attacked us. We killed two of them, but not before…not before they took three of us.”

  “I am sorry,” Christoph said, seeing the weight of the men’s fate on Phelps’ sagging shoulders. “We have lost many men today.”

  “The other team…Norz, Dorr, Damzog, Marcks, and Burhdorf. Have any of them made it back?” Lange asked.

  “No, not yet,” Christoph said.

  “What have you to report?” Eichmann said. He and Stangl had eased their way over next to the commander. “Did you find the Americans? How many are in their party?”

  Phelps turned his gaze an
d held it there a second at where the T. rex-looking dinosaur lay dead. He then said to Eichmann, “We did not go very far to the south. Nowhere near the beach. We turned around just before dark to leave an area where a T. rex killed a triceratops. I thought it was too dangerous to risk the men with animals that large and us only having rifles to fight with.”

  “Are you sure it was a T. rex? Did it look like that one over there?” Christoph asked as he pointed at the dead creature.

  “I only know a few dinosaurs by name. From what I can tell, the animal we saw was bigger than the one dead. Its head looked different, too. I would think the two are different species, but what do I know? I am just a bosun in the Kriegsmarine.”

  SKEER-AK! a giant pterosaur screeched from above.

  Christoph stomped a couple of meters over, raised his rifle into the air, and fired until it clicked empty. He didn’t know if he had hit the flying reptile or not, but at least he had scared it away from camp.

  “Really, Commander, was that necessary? The ringing in my ears from the earlier incessant gunfire had all but gone,” Stangl said.

  “During the battle, a pterodactyl as big as that one picked up his son, Erik, and flew away,” Bach said.

  Christoph remained alone, staring at the sky, his rifle pointing to the ground.

  “Such a tragedy. Perhaps Captain Christoph is no longer of sound mind to command?” Eichmann said.

  “No one is taking my command from me,” Christoph said, not bothering to address Eichmann face-to-face. Right now, any attempt to relieve him of duty would be met with a bullet meant to kill.

  “Very well, Commander, what is the plan?” Eichmann asked, his question sounding of a veiled dare.

  Raising the rifle across his chest, he turned and walked back to the others. “We go north. We need to get to a high point and get the best vantage of our surroundings.”

  “But what about Erik? Should we not go and look for him?” Bach asked.

  Christoph dropped his head, and said, “I would say yes if I had a clue where he might have been taken. My heart tells me he is still alive, but my head says there is no way he has survived this long. A hungry, wild animal wastes no time…” he shut his eyes and swallowed dryly, “eating its kill.”

  Bach rested a hand on his commander’s shoulders.

  “I have a duty to the living,” Christoph said, looking over at the ten crewmen who hung on his every word. “We need to leave this area now. We do not have time to bury our dead. The pterosaurs are already feeding, and other scavengers are sure to come. Everyone, gather all the essentials you can carry. I want to be on our way before a half hour ends.”

  Turning back to Eichmann and Stangl, Christoph said, “I take it Barbie, the doctor, and the Viktors did not survive the battle.”

  “No, the cave had all the décor of a slaughterhouse,” Stangl said.

  Christoph went to turn but hesitated. “Tell me, either of you. Who were this Frank Viktor and his wife?”

  The two stared back like poker players making bets while holding winning hands.

  Stangl finally said, “He was a simple man whose heart knew no boundary for the love of his country. He was a student of the fine arts, with opera and painting catching his fancy. Such a good soul was he that he refused sustenance from the flesh of animals, and at times gave graphic accounts of their butchery in an effort to make his dinner guests shun meat. He was a dreamer and believed that God in the heavens loved the Aryan race above all others. He was the lion and the wolf. But roses are planted where thorns grow. And as he cleansed his garden from the deadly barbs, the neighbors allowed the thorns to grow out of control, overwhelming everything in life he had worked so hard for.” He stopped for a moment and gazed around his audience. “He was you, and he was me. We were the empire.” Again he paused, and then said, “The empire is no more, and now the lion and wolf are deceased.”

  After a moment, Christoph said, “Good. Then our future is left up to us what to make of it.” He turned to his crewmen. “Let’s gather supplies and head out.”

  The men turned, including Eichmann and Stangl, and did as ordered. Bach remained by his side.

  “If the SS officers did present a threat, I think with Viktor gone that is no longer the case,” Bach said in a low voice.

  “I agree,” Christoph said. “I believe we will find Eichmann and Stangl more cooperative.”

  “Sir, please, let me go and search for Erik. You lead the men to the high point. I know chances for him are slim, but I can at least…at least bring you back some closure.”

  Christoph’s lips curled into a sad smile. “I know you speak from your heart. But I need you now more than ever by my side. Come, Lieutenant, we must prepare for the journey, too.”

  He lowered his head and started for the supply area, his mind drifting back to the day Gerda brought home an infant set of lederhosen for Erik. The boy looked precious beyond words. And now, now he was gone.

  Christoph swallowed back the bittersweet memories and wondered how long he could keep up the charade of leadership before falling to pieces.

  Chapter 16

  Erik, knees locked as he watched a crewman getting torn apart by two deadly dinosaurs of a type they had not seen before, sprinted for safety as one bolted from its victim and bowled past his father and Lt. Bach. The instant he took off running, he knew this would be a race impossible for him to win.

  The theropod grunted at each step, and now, Erik practically felt the hot breath of the animal on his neck.

  Something hit him dead-center in his back. He keeled forward, but instead of falling flat on his face, his shoulders jerked upward with such force that his feet quickly left the ground.

  At first, he had wondered if he had died and if his soul was leaving Earth, soaring toward Heaven. Or perhaps an angel had come from above to fly him safely away. When the bat-like wings flapped to the side, gaining altitude, he realized his savior looked like something more from Hell than Heaven.

  A giant pterodactyl, its wings over ten meters wide, had him by his backpack, and now carried him over the treetops. The camp was no longer in sight. There was jungle as far as the eye could see. No cities, no towns, nothing but pristine land untouched by the manipulating hand of man.

  Erik was helpless in a situation that had no good ending. He could wiggle his arms enough to slip out of the backpack, but the fall was sure to kill him. If he waited until the flying reptile landed, he would be faced with nothing to defend himself with other than the 120mm blade of his Hitler Youth knife.

  SKEER-AK!

  The cry of another pterodactyl came from behind. Now there were two of these creatures he would have to deal with. Erik did not think the situation could get any worse, but it had.

  Something crashed into the pterodactyl who had him in its grasp, and the world spun sideways as his captor rolled with the blow. The other pterodactyl had attacked, willing to battle for the prize.

  Erik gagged from the turbulent motion. The reptilian funk wafting from the creature’s body compounded the situation.

  His captor didn’t give up, speeding away over towering treetops, and heading toward a mountainous rock with a single strange looking tree growing out a distance from its base. It didn’t take long for Erik to realize his final destination. The tree had a large nest near the top. In the nest two pterodactyl youths waited with eyes closed and hungry mouths open, anticipating their mother to bring them their next meal.

  The other pterodactyl dove by without making contact this time. Erik’s captor shrieked out a warning. There would be a fight for whose children would dine on the soft flesh of the human.

  Erik pulled the knife from the sheet metal scabbard, its grip slightly worn from use at camp. One of his favorite games to play involved throwing the knife underhanded and embedding the blade in a tree. He had developed his skill enough that, from a certain distance, he almost always made a successful throw. There would be no tossing of the knife in this fight, and he had little confidence
in his hand-to-hand battle skills.

  The pterodactyl swooped down toward the nest and pulled up as it neared, flapping its wings as it momentarily hovered.

  SKEER-AK! the challenger cried from above.

  Erik felt the talons loosen from his backpack, and he fell two meters to the bottom of the nest.

  The two hatchlings, anticipating their mother to feed them regurgitated bits of meat, would have to wait for her return. Their eyes had yet to open, but the two were nearly as big as Erik, and their long beaks with serrated teeth looked sharp.

  The nest, at least, softened Erik’s landing. His feet hit first, but then he fell forward to his knees. He maintained his grip on the knife and quickly sprang to his feet with his weapon poised to defend.

  The pterodactyls were less than a meter away and sensed that something was in the nest with them.

  One closed its mouth and leaned its head toward Erik, perhaps to locate food by smell.

  Erik struck its beak with the flat side of his blade, hoping to discourage its curiosity. He saw a path of escape down the tree and onto the rock mountain, but his footing would have to be sure as the nest hung precariously from the mountain’s side a good twenty meters in the air.

  The battle between the mother pterodactyls blasted from overhead. If he didn’t get out of this situation in a hurry, he would face a beast much worse than those that threatened him now.

  The hatchling’s head recoiled from the blow, but instead of giving up, it came in for an attack. It reached out its head and clamped down on Erik’s left forearm.

  Pain jolted through his body. Instinctually, he lashed out with the knife and stabbed the hatchling in the neck.

  It squawked in high-pitched intensity. Surely, this cry would alert the mother that her precious children were in danger.

  The hatchling’s beak remained clamped around Erik’s arm. He repeatedly pulled the bloody blade from the winged reptile’s neck and stabbed in abandon.