Hunter Sniper

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Above Ormoc, massive clouds of foul black smoke billowed into the Pacific sky. The retreating Japanese had set their gasoline supplies on fire rather than have it fall into American hands.

“Dammit, we could have used that gas,” remarked a driver who had volunteered to take the wheel of a captured Japanese truck that was now doing double duty, hauling supplies from the beach and serving as an ambulance on the trip back. One arm, and the leg on the opposite side of his body, were heavily bandaged.

Disappointment over the loss of the gasoline was a sentiment shared by many, considering that each drop of fuel had to be laboriously brought ashore. If there was any consolation, it was that the Japanese had no hope of replacing any of the destroyed fuel.

All around Ormoc could be heard the popping sound of exploding ammunition — some of the booms were quite large. In addition to their fuel, the Japanese had also set their ammunition and other supplies ablaze. Their goal was to leave nothing behind that the Americans might be able to use, now that the Japanese had gotten out of Dodge.

The roiling smoke from the burning Japanese stockpiles was proof that the town and nearby airfield were now in American hands, at long last. There remained the threat of Japanese planes pestering the fleet in Leyte Gulf or strafing the GIs on shore, but the threat was much diminished by the capture of the airfield. Of course, there were still many much smaller airfields dotting the Leyte jungle. Light and agile, a Japanese Zero did not require much of a runway to take off and land. One by one, these small air bases would need to be rooted out.

In addition to the wreckage, the toll in human life had been high. Scores of Japanese were now dead. US losses had been surprisingly light — on paper at least. The official number of combat deaths in the fight for Ormoc was listed at thirteen. However, the small number belied the fact that each combat death had been felt severely by his fellow soldiers. There had been a much larger number of wounded, Patrol Easy’s own Alphabet among them. Conditions were not ideal for treating the wounded, but the medical personnel were doing the best they could.

At the edge of town closest to the beachhead, Doc Harmon had set up a rudimentary field hospital — nothing more than a makeshift operating table, some piles of supplies, and tarps set up to keep the sun and weather off the wounded.

As for the tropical flies that settled everywhere, not much could be done about that. Worst among them were the biting flies, a shiny blue-green variety that packed a nasty wallop and raised red welts on unprotected faces, arms, and necks.

Taking a lesson from the night of attacks that the aid station had endured at Camp Downes, several of the walking wounded had been posted as guards. Able-bodied men could not be spared because they were needed for the mopping-up operation. Other troops had been sent — finally — to guard the areas around Ipil and Camp Downes, protecting the US rear as well as the supply road from the beach.

That road would soon be busy carrying supplies to Ormoc. The town would quickly be transformed into the jumping-off point for expeditions deeper into the interior of Leyte, where the remaining Japanese forces would be making their last stand.

It was typical of army operations that once an area was secure, the emphasis shifted to logistics. Bullets might win the battle, but an efficient supply chain was going to win the war.

The supply road was not long in terms of miles, but it was vulnerable to attack. The small bands of Japanese that had evaded capture soon targeted the road, ambushing trucks and even troops moving toward Ormoc. The supply road was now the soft underbelly of the US advance.

Mother Nature also weighed in. A brief but heavy tropical downpour during the night had turned it into a quagmire. Or, as some soldiers liked to say, “King Mud” had arrived. Even the toughest truck driver had to bow down before him.

More than a few of the Japanese trucks were soon stuck up to their axles, so that it took a considerable effort and a steady stream of cursing to get them moving again. Even a tank coming from the beach got so bogged down that it had to be abandoned — at least until the road dried out. So far it was the only tank that had been lost in the fight for Ormoc.

Under these conditions, it would take the better part of two days to carry the wounded to the beach, and another two days for the trucks to return with supplies. The enemy’s destruction of the gasoline stockpiles was felt even more keenly.

Trucks were ready and waiting to take the wounded to the beach. As with the guards, many of the drivers were lightly wounded but had nonetheless volunteered to drive the trucks. Some of them managed to work the clutch using a foot swathed in bandages or steer a bucking bronco of a truck with bandaged hands.

Once they got the wounded to the beach, they would be ferried from there to the superior medical facilities provided by the US Navy. With Ormoc and its airfield knocked out, word had come that the navy would be sending transports once more to carry the wounded off the beach. There were still Japanese planes to worry about, but they were willing to take that chance.

There was enough of a respite from the fighting that Deke was able to walk back to the field hospital to check on Alphabet. Doc Harmon caught sight of Deke passing by and paused in his work long enough to shout, “You look like hell, soldier!”

“You ought to see the other guy, Doc. He doesn’t look like hell. He is in hell.” Moving closer, Deke asked, “How’s my buddy Alphabet doing?”

“He’s already been trucked back to the beach. With any luck, he’ll make it.” Doc Harmon looked Deke up and down with an appraising eye. “What about you? How’s that fever?”

“I’m feeling pretty good. Say, what was in those pills you sent me, Doc?”

“You don’t want to know. Let’s just say you’ll be feeling good for a while. Hell, a horse would be feeling good for a while.”

“You got any more where those came from?”

“Son, if I gave you any more, it’d probably kill you.”

“All right, then. I’ll just stick with that nasty tea our Filipino guide brewed up for me.”

The doc’s eyes widened in mock alarm. “I’ve heard about some of the local folk remedies. Sounds like that might kill you too.”

“I’ll take my chances. You take care, Doc.”

“You too, Deadeye.”

The battle might be over, but there was precious little in the way of peace and quiet in Ormoc. Much of the town of Ormoc lay in a smoking ruin. The townspeople who crept back in would find a terrible shambles, but at long last the occupying Japanese had been cut out like the infection from a festering wound.

The Japanese had not been completely defeated on Leyte. They had simply retreated into the hills and jungle to make their last stand. Knowing the Japanese, they would fight until the last man. The soldiers could expect a bitter conclusion.

All around the Pacific, the noose was tightening around the Japanese. But they only fought harder, churning through a seemingly endless supply of soldiers and planes and ships. Fewer each month, perhaps, but still a threat.

There remained the rest of the Philippines to conquer. The nation comprised a series of islands that would have to be removed from Japanese control, one by one. Leyte was just the first. The biggest prize, the pearl itself, was the city of Manila, located on the island of Luzon. There the Japanese had vowed to fight to the last man and had already vowed that there would be no surrender.

Rumors were already trickling in about terrible atrocities that the Japanese were committing in that city, now that they knew the end was near. It seemed that across the Philippines, the enemy occupiers were taking out their anger on the local population for being disloyal and ungrateful.

This was a far cry from what had happened on Guadalcanal and Saipan, where the population had been brainwashed into thinking that the Americans were intent on rape, murder, and torture. There were even mass suicides in those places. In the Philippines, US flags that had been hidden away on pain of death if they were found now flew from many houses and businesses.

The brutal actions being taken by the Japanese surpassed any sort of military strategic need. Instead, all across the Philippines, as defeat became an increasingly foregone conclusion, they seemed intent on leaving nothing but destruction and punishment in their wake.

Despite the fact that Ormoc was now firmly in US hands, the Japanese weren’t quite ready to wave the white flag of surrender. From time to time, there was the crack of a rifle as a hidden Japanese soldier opened fire. It was hard to say whether the lone soldier had managed to remain hidden as US troops swept the city, or if he had slunk back in as an infiltrator. The sniper attacks were more of a thorn in the side of US troops than a serious threat, but they also took a psychological toll. Having survived the battle, the last thing a soldier wanted to do was fall victim to a sniper.

Just past noon on the day after General Bruce had sent his message announcing the capture of Ormoc, a Japanese sniper had gone to work near the harbor. Every few minutes he fired from the upper floors of a ruined building. Several soldiers had been hit.

The scout-snipers of Patrol Easy — and Deke in particular — had been called into action. It was what they did best, and as far as Deke was concerned, it beat the hell out of having to unload supplies.

“Deke, go get that son of a bitch,” Honcho ordered. “Philly, see if you can help him.”

“No rest for the weary,” Philly complained, picking up his rifle with all the enthusiasm of a man reaching for a shovel, and following Deke.

“Quit your griping,” Honcho said. “Keep it up and you’ll find yourself driving a truck instead.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once they were out of earshot of the lieutenant, however, Philly did continue to gripe. “I’ve got to say, Honcho has been in an ugly mood since we landed on the beach. He’s never in what you might describe as a good mood, but this really takes the cake.”

“I reckon he’s got a lot on his mind,” Deke said. “Being an officer ain’t no picnic.”

“He was an officer before we got to Ormoc. He sure as hell didn’t act this way back on Guam.”

“Yeah, but back then he only had your sorry ass to boss around. Now he’s got a lot more men to worry about. He’s second in command of the company.”

“What’s left of it, anyway,” Philly said. “We really got chewed up and spit out capturing this place.”

Another shot rang out, causing a truck to veer sharply, a bullet hole leaving a spiderweb pattern of cracks on the windshield. Given the scarcity of trucks, they could scarcely afford to lose any.

“Come on,” Deke said. “The war will be over by the time you get a move on.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Deke felt good — better than he had in days, at any rate. He’d had another dose of Danilo’s tea that morning. He was sure that the stuff could take the rust off nails and maybe even remove paint, but it seemed to keep the fever at bay. It reminded him of some of the folk remedies back home, like sumac tea to cure fever.

There were some who rolled their eyes at folksy medicine, but Deke had seen it work wonders. It sure seemed to be working for him better than any pills that modern medicine provided.

“How are you feeling, anyhow?” Philly asked. “You look all right.”

“I’ve been worse,” Deke said.

Philly nodded. “Nobody out here feels like a million bucks, that’s for damn sure.”

They set out toward the piles of rubble that lined the road on the waterside. Bricks, rubble, and concrete blocks were rowed up as if they had been put there by a giant plow. Boards poked out of the piles. They approached from the shaded side to remain out of the sniper’s line of sight.

To Deke’s mind, the rubble created a perfect sniper’s nest, giving him a full view up and down the street. He crawled down into a hole and tugged a rusty section of corrugated tin over them. They had started out in the shade, but the shade did not last for long. They were now in the full sun, which beat down on the tin, heating it up like a stove lid.

Though they were sheltered from the direct sun, they started to sweat profusely in the tropical heat and humidity. What little sea breeze there was off the gulf didn’t reach down between the piles of rubble.

Deke had no need of his hat because they were covered by the sheet of corrugated metal, so he took the hat off and tied a strip of cloth across his forehead to keep the sweat out of his eyes.

“You look like an Indian with that headband,” Philly said.

“Well, I reckon I’m part Cherokee somewhere back down the line, so there’s that.”

Philly took off his own helmet, mopped his head with a rag, and put the helmet back on. “Couldn’t we have picked a cooler spot? It’s like an oven in here.”

“Sure, and we should have brought some ice cream too. Hush now and pay attention.”

“All right, don’t get your shorts in a twist.”

“The main thing is that he can’t see us, but we have a good view of where he’s hiding.”

Philly glassed the buildings opposite them with the binoculars. Deke considered Philly to be a better-than-average shot, at best, maybe a distant third to Alphabet — now out of commission. However, Philly was a damn fine spotter. They made a good team.

Being a good shot wasn’t everything. You also had to be sly and stealthy, a natural-born hunter. Danilo came to mind in that regard. Deke sure as hell wouldn’t want to go up against him out in the jungle.

Hidden somewhere in the ruined buildings across the street, the sniper proved to be a slippery character. He would take just one shot, then move to a different location.

Deke found it disconcerting that this was the exact technique for sniper warfare that Honcho had recommended. The longer that you stayed in one place, the better your chances were of being detected. It was as if the Japanese sniper had been listening in. Usually they stayed put until someone rang their bell for good. Maybe the enemy’s tactics were evolving.

Lying there waiting, Deke thought about the other snipers he had fought. Most recently there had been the nameless enemies in Ormoc who had given him so much trouble. During his feverish state, they’d almost had him licked.

There had been Ikeda, a very tough nut to crack, whom he had finally defeated with a clever ruse during a nighttime fight on a jungle trail.

The sniper that had eluded him was the one that he thought of as the Samurai Sniper, whom he had faced on Guam. That sniper had been more than Deke’s match, but he felt that he had grown more skilled since then. If they ever met again, the outcome might be different.

Anyhow, that marksman had made it onto one of the few boats evacuating Japanese troops as US forces closed in. With any luck, the boat had been sunk by a passing American plane. It was easy for snipers to get caught up in their own private game, one man against another, but even the most skilled sniper wasn’t immune from the whims of the tremendous war going on around him.

Deke’s thoughts were interrupted by the high-pitched crack of an Arisaka rifle.

Feeling pestered and angry, the GIs trying to unload supplies around Ormoc harbor immediately peppered the buildings across the street with a fusillade of angry shots. Their bullets hammered chunks of stone from the walls, kicking up spurts of dust, but it was doubtful that they’d gotten the sniper.

“Now that right there is a waste of government property,” Deke remarked. “It doesn’t take more than one bullet.”

“Sure, if you know what you’re shooting at — and if you can hit it.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Deke said.

The firing died away and they waited.

A lone shot from the ruins verified that the volley had completely missed the enemy sniper.

It seemed impossible, but it slowly got hotter. Sweat accumulated in Deke’s headband. In the heat and quiet, it would have been easy to fall asleep. But there was no chance of that. Never taking his eye from the scope, he slowly swept the muzzle up one side of the street and down the other, then back again, like a restless shark.

“Hey, I see the son of a bitch,” Philly whispered. “See that building that’s kind of pinkish? He’s on the second floor, third window from the left.”

“Yep,” Deke said.

He settled the crosshairs on the window Philly had indicated. Through the telescopic sight, he could just see a shadow, set back from the window itself. No wonder the boys on the ground hadn’t been able to get at him. Wisely, the enemy sniper was firing from deep within the shadows of the room.

Deke felt reassured that the enemy sniper hadn’t spotted him, hiding under the sheet of rusty tin. The wait in the heat had been worth it.

One shot would be all he got before giving away his position.

Could he do it?

Easy now, easy. His finger took up tension on the trigger.

He prayed that the shadow wouldn’t move. So far he still had the enemy sniper in his sights.

He held his breath. The crosshairs never wavered. The rifle fired, the concussion deafening in the cramped hole under the sheet of tin.

He worked the bolt, the still-smoking brass casing spinning away, and immediately resettled the sights on the window. The shadow that had been his target was gone. He had no doubts that he’d taken out the enemy sniper. It was hard to explain, but he had felt the bullet hit.

“That’s that,” he said.

“About time you nailed that son of a bitch,” Philly replied. “Let’s get the hell out of here before my brain melts.”

They found the rest of Patrol Easy gathered nearby, diminished by one from the loss of Alphabet. They had also lost one of the patrol members back on Guam, but that felt like years ago, before the bonds had really grown between them all. It was not to diminish the man’s death but to be honest about the fact that they hadn’t had the time to get to know him all that well. Maybe that had been for the best.

Egan was there, too, with his war dog, Thor. He was a beautiful German shepherd mix, mostly a golden tan, with just enough black markings on his coat to give him some natural camouflage. As the breeze ruffled his fur, the dog almost seemed to smile with enjoyment, pink tongue lolling between strong white teeth.

Deke had grown up with dogs on the farm and always had a soft spot for them. The way that Deke figured it, you could trust a good dog more than you could trust a human.

“He’s the smartest dog I’ve ever known,” Egan was fond of saying. “Sure, he’s a mutt, not a purebred, but I like to say he’s part German shepherd and part Albert Einstein.”

He’d lost his first dog, Whoa Nelly, during the fighting on Guam, and had taken it as hard as if he’d lost a human buddy.

In Ormoc, Thor had been busy sniffing out any Japanese who had been hiding in the city’s ruins. For the dog, it had all been a game, but one with a deadly outcome for the enemy troops who were discovered. The Japanese had come to despise the war dogs. Given the choice between shooting an American officer or one of the hated war dogs, they would target the dog every time.

The dogs were certainly useful, but more than that, they were also a psychological weapon. The message seemed to be that the Americans planned on using dogs to hunt the Japanese like beasts. Sure, Thor was friendly toward the GIs, but one look at those teeth and you could understand why the Japanese might both detest and fear the war dogs.

Glancing at the dog stretched out at Egan’s feet, sound asleep, Deke felt a pang of envy. Talk about a dog’s life. Given half a chance, he would have liked to do exactly the same thing and snatch a few minutes of sleep, but that was not to be.

Deke felt his spirits lift at the sight of Lieutenant Steele approaching, carrying his trusty combat shotgun, ugly and brutal as a stump. It appeared that Honcho had escaped his duties as an officer, at least for a short while. His familiar grin had even returned.

Among the GIs laboring at the docks, word had gotten around that one of their own marksmen was taking care of the Japanese sniper. They had heard the crack of a rifle on their side of the street, and the Japanese sniper had troubled them no more.

Some of them spotted Deke and Philly returning, Deke conspicuous with his Springfield rifle and its telescopic sight. They had cheered and whooped.

“Nice shooting!”

“You got him, Deke!”

Deke felt a sense of surprise that some of the soldiers knew him by name.

“You’re getting famous,” Honcho said, grinning.

“Watch out or the Japanese will put a price on your head,” Philly said. “Hell, I might shoot you myself if the money is right.”

“Yeah, I’d shoot Deke for a hundred bucks,” Rodeo agreed.

“I was thinking that I’d do it for twenty,” Philly said. “Hell, there are times I’d do it for free.”

Deke snorted. “Keep it up and you won’t be around to collect the reward.”

“Listen up, you degenerates,” Honcho said. “We’ve been summoned to HQ. Word is that General Bruce has another mission for us.”

“Uh-oh, I don’t like the sound of that,” Philly said. “Last time we got sent on a mission, taking out that big gun on Hill 522, we almost got killed.”

“How is that different from any other day?” the lieutenant asked.

“Good point, Honcho,” Philly said. “I can see why somebody put you in charge. What is it, do you think? Are there more snipers they want us to deal with?”

“There’s always going to be more snipers, Philly. The Japanese are good at it, and that’s not going to change. No, this is something different, but I’m as much in the dark as you guys. I guess we’ll find out.”

Deke nodded. Whatever it was, he and his rifle would be ready.