At the Midway (32 page)

Hugging it close, he led his men to within a few yards of the tail.  He realized suddenly that it was only short relative to the rest of the body.  One swipe from it could practically destroy his command.  The safest course would be to fan his men as he'd originally intended, but he now wanted a concentrated burst, if possible against the head.

Abruptly, the beast's massive rear flippers dug into the ground, flinging up a quarter ton wall of sand that fell over the marines.

Blinded, choking, they clawed their way back to their feet--and promptly fell again when the earth shook like a beaten pillow.  Lieber lost his rifle in the new mound.  He spent several desperate moments trying to dig it out, then gave up and fled.

He was not the only one running.  Up to that instant, they had been mercilessly prodded by Ziolkowski.  But now the sergeant was speechless, preoccupied with spitting what seemed to him like the better part of a dune out of his mouth.  With his stern voice temporarily silenced, the insanity of what they were trying to do struck them.  It was crazy, marching right up to the beast like this.  The only sane response was to race away.

But... where was the monster?

They stopped.  The fire in the generator shed had spread to the station.  Plenty of light to see by now.  But no monster in sight.

They could hear it, though.  It had moved beyond the station.  It sounded as if it was moving past the company compound.

2134 Hours

The Japanese prudently decided to land at Picket Point, almost half a mile beyond the station.  But as they neared Sand Island, they noted dozens of terrified donkeys clustered at the water's edge.  Racing up close behind were two of the monsters.  They tore through the frightened animals, crushing many of them, slashing at others with their long teeth.  The third beast, impossibly larger, lumbered up and joined in the slaughter.  The maimed donkeys sounded like women screaming.

The fishermen changed course.

Landing below the relay station, they encountered Ziolkowski's routed men.  The marines' eyes were wide with incredulity and terror.  They seemed ready to shove the Japanese out of the way and commandeer their boat.  They hesitated when they realized the beast was not chasing them.

This gave Ziolkowski time enough to catch up.  The fringe of hair orbiting his bald pate stuck out at right angles.  He looked every inch a devil.

"Well, boys, that was a helluva stand you made.  It'll rank right up there with the Alamo and San Juan Hill, won't it now?"

Eleven pairs of eyes stared blankly at the sergeant.

"Top Cut, did you have your eyes open?"

"Easy, snapper.  Any of you manage to keep hold of your rifle?  A fine bunch.  Your grandfathers must've fought the British at Washington.  Think you can go back and get them?"

"What?"

"You know, the little sticks that go 'boom-boom'?  You've got time.  On the double!  Enderfall!  Get your ass over here!  Where the hell are my ammo clips?"

The Japanese shook their heads.  It seemed inconceivable that the stalwart Leathernecks had panicked, leaving their weapons behind.  Ace experienced a keen sense of shame for Lieber; he'd run like a coward, just like the rest of them.

2148 Hours

Privates Depoy and Hoffman, along with the rest of the marines who'd been lounging near the station earlier that evening, crept towards the compound in search of Lieutenant Anthony.  They could just make out the monsters at Picket Point as they feasted on warm donkey meat.  It was a feeding frenzy.  Hideous, unnatural sounds rolled across the dunes.

Anthony had last been seen entering the company house.  Slowly, the marines neared the quad.  Without realizing it, they employed an Indian-fighter approach--half crawling, jumping behind tiny hillocks, instinctively dodging snipers where none existed.

The compound was a shambles.  The frames of the three small houses and the barracks shone like bare whale bones in the moonlight.  Guards were posted at the far end of the quad while Depoy and the others sifted through the ruins.  Every so often the fire at the station flared enough to light up their surroundings.  The ground had been packed down like a playing field--oil barrels, fences, bushes were flattened--and unexplained shadows shifted eerily across the sand.

There was a moan.

"Over there...."

Depoy peered at a dark mass near the armory.  They took a few tentative steps.  The gory mess before them was not something they cared to see close up, but when the moan was repeated, they rushed ahead.

They had been looking at the crushed head of a donkey.  In the semi-darkness it was nearly indistinguishable from how they imagined a badly mangled man would look.  Beyond the head lay Lieutenant Anthony.  Less than a foot away the ground was deeply indented.

"Jesus,
teniente
... can you stand?"

"
Teniente
?" Anthony said with wan disapproval.

Though he was drenched with blood, they soon discovered his only wound was a nasty gash on the side of his head.

"What happened?"

"We got bashed, Lieutenant.  We got bashed bad."

Another group of men appeared.  Deciding that Anthony had recovered sufficiently to know what was going on, Ace announced:

"We want the Lee rifles."

2158 Hours

Ziolkowski and his men soon joined them in the quad.  After consulting with the lieutenant, a defensive perimeter was established around the relay station.  They searched for survivors in the wreckage.

None were found.

0610 Hours

The longest night of their lives ended when the pink bolster of sunrise unrolled over the island.  Lieutenant Anthony ordered Ziolkowski to send a man a few hundred yards towards the northern end of the island.  His curiosity getting the better of him, the sergeant went himself.

"Enderfall!  Get your ass over here!  Fill a satchel with clips.  You're coming with me."

After creeping across the dunes, the two men lay down and parted a thin veil of marram grass to study the lone monster on the bloody beach.

It seemed as if a quarter of the island's donkeys had been killed and most of those had been eaten.  The sergeant's impression was that the beast was feeling stuffed.  Lolling on the beach, it raised one front flipper, then the other one, as though waving at the sun.

"Helluva fiz," he commented.  "Look at those green stripes.  I wonder if it--Enderfall!  Get your ass back here!  You fucking deviant, I've got my eye on you.  I heard about you in Manila.  Get ready with those clips.  We're going to have some bastard steaks for breakfast."

The sergeant drew up the Rexer.  From a distance it looked like a large rifle, but up close one noted the distinctive perforations in its barrel.  Depoy had told him they'd fired over two dozen shots at the monster that had destroyed the relay station without slowing it a whit.  More firepower was called for and the Rexer had it.  A five-second burst could empty a clip, each of which held twenty-five cartridges.  With a pile of clips at his side, he could easily fire three hundred rounds per minute.  After fitting one of the long, curved magazines into the top of the breech, he opened the two narrow supports at the front of the barrel, lay on his stomach, and took aim.

Out of habit he braced the gun against his shoulder.  But the recoil was minimal.  The Rexer had, in effect, two barrels, inner and outer.  When Ziolkowski pressed the trigger the recoil drove the inner barrel, the breech, and other moving parts two inches back into a powerful spring built into the stock.

A line of bullets raced up the sand, then began stitching the beast itself.  Ziolkowski had chosen the easiest target first, hitting the enormous flank.  The creature whipped its sinuous neck back and forth, more perplexed than hurt.

"So you think that tickles, you son of a bitch?"  He took another magazine from Enderfall and reloaded.  "Let's see what you think of this."

Shooting at the base of its neck, he tried to work a path of lead to its head and eyes.  But the creature threw its neck back and forth so quickly that Ziolkowski was unable to blind it.  The sergeant fetched up a moment, startled, when the creature let out a sound.

"Tooo... nel...."

Pushing itself off the beach, it splashed through the lagoon to the edge of the shelf.  The very fact that it was moving away convinced Ziolkowski his gunfire was at least annoying the beast, so he began firing another clip.  The few bullets that missed kicked up water in tall, narrow geysers.  The creature snapped at them like a dog biting a stream of water from a hose.  Spent cartridges clicked like small change in the sand.

"Tooo... nel...."

Suddenly, the lagoon exploded.  A tower of seawater transformed itself into a monster more than twice the size of the one he'd been shooting at.  It was moving fast....

Inland.

Briefly, Ziolkowski switched his fire to the mammoth.  It hit the beach and kept coming.

"Enderfall!"

But the private had bolted.  Ziolkowski was also convinced.  He jumped and ran.

He swerved.  If the creature chased him instead of Enderfall, he wanted to lead it away from the relay station.  There would be no way they could defend themselves.  Not with mere Springfields.

The ground shook so hard his teeth rammed together.  He could not bring himself to glance back.

He soon ran out of land.  Facing the ocean, he shouted, "No!"  He might be a marine, but he would die on land.  Bad enough getting eaten by a big fish without the little ones getting a nibble, too.  The idea didn't make much sense... but that was how he felt.  Bracing himself, he turned.

The monster was gone.

So was his Rexer.

It took him nearly a minute to conclude he might still outlive the morning.  He was shaking violently, trying to bring himself under control with an objective glance at his fear.  The last time he'd reacted this way was during a fight with the Cacos in the jungle near Ouanaminthe. He bore a long scar across his abdomen from that encounter.

He was still shaking. 
My gun
.

"Goddamn it!" he swore, biting his mouth.  Maybe... if he moved....

He retraced his steps, praying the whole time no one could see him.  He found the Rexer halfway up the nearest dune.  Still shaking, he picked up the gun and turned.  He marched stiffly past the compound, cursing all the way back to the relay station.  The men at the perimeter gaped at him.  Enderfall had told them he'd been killed.  Well, count on the Top Cutter.  If anyone could return from the dead, he'd be the one.

"Goddamn it!"  He stomped through a group of men without looking at them.  "Goddamn it!"

"Sergeant..." Anthony said in a low voice as he approached.  "Are you all right?  We could only see the brute's head.  It looked as if--"

"Goddamn it!"  Ziolkowski raised his Rexer.  "I kept my gun!"

Impressed, the other marines nodded understandingly.

Men were sent out to search for those missing and not accounted for.  A handful were found scattered in sandy niches, some jabbering like idiots.  It took some time to bring them round, but there was one who could not be brought to his senses.

When they found Hamilton Hart, he was balled up in the sand.  Over and over he babbled:

"Not again!  Please God, not again!"

There were several Chinese stranded on Eastern Island.  Watching the giant sea creatures sculling across the lagoon, Lieutenant Anthony postponed any attempt to retrieve them.

May, 1908

37°49'N, 122°28'W

From a marine's diary:

Passed in review before California Governor Gillette; 5,000 of us, bluejackets, marines, all ranks; just like in San Diego, I was in the fifth set of fours; all this marching--I've earned my land legs! Supposed to march again in Oakland in a few days; went on a search detail with some SF policemen to find body of Sgt. Briscoe, who jumped overboard as we entered the harbor; we didn't find him, but I saw much interesting shore life; the sergeant has been declared a deserter, but the money says he drowned; his clothes have been sold;  we wonder why he jumped; a whole slew of marines beached for bad conduct; I must say we don't make a very good impression on the locals; spent my last liberty in Vallejo and saw several ranches, which made me think of home; was introduced to Miss Linda Grace; she is very beautiful and also very nice; last night I dreamt about Mother standing on the front porch and waving.

Three hundred yards west of the Commercial Pacific Cable Company office the telegraph cable slipped into the ocean and began its twenty-four hundred mile journey to Hawaii.  As he stared out the office window, Captain Oates pondered that distance, as well as the thousand-plus miles beyond it that led to Midway.  It would have been madness to send him on to Honolulu with so little preparation.  Rear Admirals Thomas and Sperry were ordering the
Florida
to bypass Hawaii altogether, making a beeline to the atoll.