Hunter Sniper

CHAPTER TWENTY

Once the excitement of the attack by the Japanese Zeros had died down, the men prepared to move out.

“That was just two lousy Japanese,” Honcho pointed out. “There’s a lot more where those came from, and we’re gonna go find them.”

“I think they already found us,” Philly pointed out.

Whether or not the lieutenant heard, he chose to ignore Philly. “Patrol Easy, you’re on point. I want my snipers out front. Keep an eye out for the Japanese. I’m sure they have more than a few surprises waiting for us up ahead.”

Leaving Camp Downes behind, they moved out through the ruins of the Japanese defenses that they had cleared out during the previous day’s fight. The bunkers still smoldered, stinking of burned gasoline from the flamethrowers. There were other smells, too, and not even the most desperate souvenir hunters wanted to find out what was in those bunkers.

No soldiers were left to hold Camp Downes — the hard-fought position was simply abandoned as the troops rolled on. While it might have been better to hold the ground, there simply weren’t enough troops. The invasion force was spread that thin.

The division commander, General Bruce, had made it clear that he “wanted to pull our tail in behind us.” In other words, his strategy was to keep his men moving forward and not concern himself with holding the territory that they moved through. The exception was the beachhead itself, where a rear-echelon support area included mechanics, clerks, supply staff, and even cooks to feed them all. Although essential in their own way, these men were not considered frontline combat troops.

The overall strategy meant that between the beachhead and the units converging on Ormoc, there were only splintered trees, empty foxholes, and enemy corpses.

The advance was far from easy. Snipers hid in spider holes, harassing the soldiers, then disappearing from view before popping up again once the infantry had passed to shoot them in the back.

One effective method to deal with the spider holes was to run a tank ahead of the advancing infantry, with a few soldiers clinging to the exterior of the tank. Although the attack by the Zeros had wiped out one of the Sherman tanks, leaving it a burning hulk on the perimeter of Camp Downes, two more of the so-called Satan tanks had been brought up from the beachhead.

Their flamethrowers were not much use against the Japanese hiding in the spider holes, many of which had makeshift covers made of woven mats covered with earth or moss. The covers not only disguised the hiding places, but were rather effective at blocking the flames.

What proved more effective was having a tank run right over any spider holes they spotted, forcing the enemy soldiers within to duck down. At the back end of the tank, soldiers fired down into the spider holes as soon as the tank cleared them. At that moment the Japanese often threw back the covers over their holes, ready to hurl hand grenades at the tank.

The soldiers had to be quick, firing at the first opportunity. Submachine guns proved especially useful. A Japanese soldier with a bolt-action Arisaka rifle was no match for an M3 “grease gun” spitting .45 slugs literally into his face.

It was gruesome work at such close range, when you were just a few feet away from the man you were shooting and could clearly see his face. But without it being done, the Japanese would pop up again to shoot the advancing soldiers in the back.

“I don’t like this, not one bit,” one soldier said.

The soldier beside him slapped home another thirty-round magazine into his M3. “Aw, quit your griping,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s just another day at the office.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Hey, it’s them or us, buddy. Them or us. Don’t you go forgetting that.”

The tank rolled on, and the soldiers opened fire in its wake.

In addition to the network of cleverly hidden spider holes, individual units of Japanese troops had dug defensive positions into the forest and fields, waiting to throw themselves at the first American troops that appeared. These units varied in size from a handful of men who had survived the previous day’s onslaught and chosen to make their last stand, to entire companies.

There wasn’t really any strategic objective here other than to delay the American advance. None of the Japanese planned to survive, and they would take as many American soldiers with them as possible.

Deke and the others led the rest of Captain Merrick’s men forward, wary of walking into one of these ambush attacks.

“We ought to get Egan’s dog up here,” Philly said quietly as he pressed forward with Deke and Danilo. “That mutt can sniff out the Japanese for us.”

“Hush now,” Deke muttered, aggravated by Philly’s voice in his ear. His full concentration was on the landscape ahead.

Danilo moved forward a dozen feet to Deke’s right, just as tense and wary. They could hear the whir and grind of the tanks, along with the occasional rattle of gunfire as the spider holes were cleared out — it was the sound of annihilation.

But the ground was climbing quickly, rougher and rocky, so that the tanks were becoming less effective. Rocky outcroppings and large trees halted their forward motion. The tanks moved to the flanks, where the ground was flatter, searching for a way around the ridge ahead. Deke and Danilo would have to be the unit’s ears and eyes now.

Deke didn’t mind. He was feeling much better today after the bout with fever had left him weakened. I’m almost feeling like my old self, he thought. In the distance, a Japanese sniper rifle cracked. Yessiree, feeling better just in time to get myself killed.

Despite the fact that a rough, unpaved road ascended the slope, the ridge ahead posed a serious obstacle. Adding to the difficulty was the fact that the ridge was almost without trees toward the peak as it emerged from the forest, like a full head of hair with a bald spot on top. Shouldn’t they follow the lead of the tanks and go around it? After a brief confab of the officers and scouts, Captain Merrick made it clear that he wanted to climb the ridge.

“If anyone is going to take the high ground around here, it’s going to be us, not the Japanese,” he said. He turned to Lieutenant Steele. “I know I can count on you and your snipers to make that happen.”

“Will do,” Honcho said.

Deke was studying the ridge. “We best go ahead and take a look-see before everybody else,” he said. “Ain’t no telling what’s on the other side.”

“All right,” Steele agreed. “Take Philly and Danilo with you.”

“You got it, Honcho,” Deke said.

Together, the three scouts scrambled up the steep slope, trying to be quiet and feeling exposed as the trees fell away into an open landscape of brush, shrubs, boulders, and clumps of kunai grass that offered perfect concealment for any enemy sniper. The road that they had been following seemed to run out of energy and ended at a terraced field that some farmer had carved out of the slope, whatever crop had grown there long since given over to weeds.

They bushwhacked their way forward. The ridgeline itself had been hit by naval artillery shells, leaving it looking like a badly plowed field. At the same time, all those shell holes created perfect defensive positions.

“I tell you what, I sure hope that the Japanese didn’t get up here ahead of us,” Deke whispered. “If they did, they can just throw rocks down on us.”

Danilo grunted as if he understood and agreed, although Deke still hadn’t puzzled out just how much English the Filipino understood. The Filipino guide’s eyes never wavered from the landscape ahead, where any number of enemy troops might be hiding.

The navy had done a spectacular job of lobbing shells ahead of the Ormoc landing. As usual, it had been quite a show, but it didn’t appear that the naval bombardment had done much more than blow hell out of this hilltop and surrounding patches of jungle. It would have been nice to have the support of those big guns now, but the fleet had pulled back out of sight of land for fear of Japanese planes and ships. The fleet didn’t want to be penned in by the confines of the bay, where its ships couldn’t maneuver effectively if they came under attack.

“What do you think, Deke?” Philly asked quietly as they made their way up the slope, ever so cautiously. Slowing their progress was the fact that all three of them were trying to keep their rifles at the ready, but they kept having to sling their weapons in order to scramble across the larger spills of boulders or up and down shell holes.

“I don’t like it,” Deke replied. “Something doesn’t feel right, like I can almost feel a Japanese soldier holding his breath up ahead. But come on, we’ve got to check it out.”

Their pace slowing, all three of them were breathing heavily by the time they reached the top of the ridge. It was almost knifelike up there, no more than just a few feet wide. The company would have to scramble across that ridge before coming down the slope on the opposite side, which by all appearances was equally as steep.

Considering that their orders were to keep moving rather than hold any ground, Deke wondered at the wisdom of crossing the ridge at all, other than the obvious necessity of making sure that there weren’t any Japanese troops up there. So far they hadn’t seen signs of any.

All three men lay on their bellies and edged forward. Philly seemed content to let Danilo take the lead, but Deke slithered faster until he came even with the Filipino.

The two of them peered down the opposite slope, and what they saw made them both freeze.

Philly was slightly behind Deke, who held up a hand, indicating for him to stop. Philly started to ask a question, but Deke signaled for him to be quiet.

Deke said a silent prayer that for once Philly would be able to keep his mouth shut. If he so much as asked anything in his usual loudmouth voice, which was better suited to hailing a taxi than to scouting within a stone’s throw of the enemy, then all three of them were as good as dead.

Blinking through the sweat in his eyes, trying to ignore the hammering of his heart, Deke looked down at a trench dug into the slope a few feet beyond the ridgeline. He could see the helmets of what appeared to be an entire Japanese company dug into the slope. The soldiers all had fixed bayonets and looked ready to use them.

Deke held his breath. The soldiers were so close that Deke could almost have reached down and tapped the nearest soldier on the head.

They were so close that he could smell them, that slightly fishy, oily scent that seemed to hang around the Japanese. He knew from his boyhood spent hunting in the mountains that all game animals had a smell that clung to their lairs and bedding places — the muskiness of a fox den was different from the pungent smell where deer in rut bedded down, for example.

He wrinkled his nose, hoping the Japanese couldn’t smell him. Whatever an American smelled like, he was sure it was oozing out of his sweaty pores.

It was only by some miracle that he and Danilo hadn’t been spotted.

Deke and Danilo eased back from the ridgeline, still crawling on their bellies. Both men could move with the silence of a caterpillar, or maybe a snake in the grass, as they reverse-wriggled away from the Japanese. Finally they settled in beside Philly.

“What?” Philly had the good sense to whisper the question. “From the look on your face, it can’t be good.”

“Japs,” said Deke. “Lots of Japs. There must be an entire company dug in just on the other side of that ridge, waiting for us, well, waiting for somebody to show themselves.”

“I’ll be damned,” Philly said. “It’s a good thing we took a look-see first.”

“Yeah,” Deke agreed. “The Japanese won’t be happy that we’ve gone and spoiled all their fun. We’d better scoot back down this hill and warn the others. Whatever the hell you do, don’t make any noise, or we’ll have the whole damn bunch down on our heads.”

“You got it,” Philly said. “You know me. I’m quiet as a Caddy rolling on new tires.”

They started to move down the slope toward the rest of the company waiting at the base. Philly hadn’t gotten more than ten feet when his foot kicked a loose rock that tumbled down the slope. Ordinarily it would not have been very loud, but in the tense silence, the rolling stone sounded like thunder itself.

“Dammit!” From the look on his face, it was clear that Philly realized what he had done.

The Japanese would have their own scouts, and they’d be listening for just such telltale sounds. He and Danilo had managed to climb up and back without making any noise, but Philly had just blown it.

Deke knew what was coming and got his rifle ready. Sure enough, seconds later, a Japanese head popped above the ridge. The soldier spotted them, pointed, and started to shout something.

Deke got off a quick shot and worked the bolt, then sprang to his feet. The time had passed for stealth. Now it was all about speed.

“Let’s get the hell outa here!”

Philly didn’t need to be told twice. He started running down the slope, Deke racing after him. Danilo took the slope in a series of running leaps, agile as an old billy goat.

The steep slope made running downhill difficult, so the men were half falling as they made their way back toward the company. Philly was shouting and waving a warning as they ran, getting the attention of the others below.

Deke paused long enough to spin and fire again, just as several Japanese soldiers appeared over the ridge, coming after them. The Japanese could run only so fast, but their bullets could move a whole lot faster. Fortunately for the three American scouts, shooting downhill and hitting anything was notoriously difficult, as the Japanese soldiers were discovering.

Still, dust and dirt exploded all around them as bullets struck at their feet, ricocheting off rocks and careening through the stands of kunai grass. The wave of Japanese soldiers had launched themselves over the ridge and were sweeping down toward the American line, which had spread out to meet them.

The US troops were firing at will. Bullets filled the air along with the crackle of rifle fire. Very few men went down on either side for the simple reason that the GIs and the Japanese were in motion, trying to get into position, and the fire was not very accurate as a result. It was a firefight on the fly.

Deke reached the American lines and threw himself down, breathing hard. He brought his rifle to his shoulder but found it hard to keep it steady. The Japanese were spread out on the slope and made difficult targets. He could have fired, but he hated to waste ammunition, even if it was courtesy of the US government. Meanwhile, it was hard not to feel as if the whole damn Japanese company was headed down the slope right at him.

Private Frazier stepped up beside Deke and unleashed the full fury of his BAR at the oncoming Japanese. Several toppled, their bodies sliding down the slope out of sheer inertia.

With the company forming a defensive line at the base of the hill, the Japanese attack soon lost momentum. However, Deke’s fears came true about the terrain being ideal for defense. Enemy soldiers used the shell holes, boulders, and even clumps of grass as cover; plus they had the advantage of occupying the hill. As if the situation wasn’t bad enough, more Japanese came pouring over the ridge to add their numbers to the attack. Captain Merrick’s company was already spread thin. There was real danger that they would be forced back toward Camp Downes, maybe even all the way to the beach.

“Dammit, what we need are reinforcements,” Honcho observed.

But as far as they knew, there weren’t any to be had.

Deke had finally caught his breath, so he lined up his sights on an enemy soldier, squeezed the trigger, watched the man go down through the scope, and then worked the bolt.

At the rate things were going, he was going to run out of ammo before he ran out of targets.

As soon as he’d seen what they were up against, Captain Merrick had been on the radio, requesting support before his company was overrun. He knew what the answer would be — that there wasn’t anyone to send. But he had to try. It was a shame that the navy boys and their big guns weren’t available — they would have made mincemeat out of the Japanese on the slope.

Much to Merrick’s surprise, division headquarters informed him that reinforcements were being sent.

He got off the radio, feeling a little incredulous. The question was, What reinforcements could headquarters possibly be sending?

They would find out soon enough. Until then they had to stand firm against the Japanese. He’d be damned if his company would give up an inch of ground.

For a change, the Japanese were not launching any pointless banzai attacks. Instead, they were steadily advancing down the slope, using the natural cover to fire from. The Japanese had sometimes gotten the reputation of being like bowling pins for being easy to mow down. This was not the case today. Whoever the commander was, he knew his business. Merrick had his hands full.

His own men were not dug in and thus were more exposed. They kept up a steady fire, but the situation was getting desperate.

Doc Harmon had moved out with the company that morning, leaving the wounded with his assistants. The surgeon had wanted to be available to help the wounded at the upcoming fight for Ormoc. Merrick was glad to have him come along, considering that they were short on medics and medical supplies. The situation was so desperate that Doc Harmon had put his medical equipment aside and picked up a rifle, which he was firing steadily at the Japanese.

They would hold on as long as they could. They had to.

In the distance, he heard the rumble of trucks coming in a hurry up the jungle road. He looked behind him, and his heart sank. There were trucks coming up the road, all right, but the trucks were clearly Japanese — not the familiar Studebakers.

The radioman had seen them too. “Sir?” he said, a nervous catch in his voice.

But then Merrick caught sight of the stars that had been hastily painted on the vehicles and realized that these must be more of the Japanese trucks that had been captured already in the push toward Ormoc.

“Those belong to us, son,” the captain told the radioman. “If those really are reinforcements, Christmas just came early.”