Jungle Sniper

CHAPTER SEVEN

Finally, the waiting game was over with the approach of A-Day on October 20, 1944. Along with thousands of other troops, the men of Patrol Easy would be going ashore to wrest Leyte from the Japanese.

Nobody knew yet how hard that job was going to be, but recent experience everywhere from Guadalcanal to Guam indicated that it would be no small task.

Everywhere aboard USS Elmore, preparations were being made. Deke had long since honed his bowie knife to a razor-sharp edge, cleaned his rifle, and prepared his gear. Philly still had his gear strewn across his bunk.

“Don’t tell me you’re already set to go,” he grumped, when he saw Deke’s neatly packed haversack.

“I was born ready.”

“You know what? I believe you were.”

The other members of the patrol were also still packing, but they seemed to have everything under control. They knew the drill. They had been through this before.

Rodeo was going to carry a walkie-talkie this time instead of a radio. Disastrously, he had dropped his radio into the sea during the first few minutes of their initial arrival on Leyte, during the raid. He still felt bad about it. He was carefully wrapping the walkie-talkie in layers of plastic.

Alphabet was giving his sniper rifle one last coat of gun oil. For the men, the smell of gun oil was like a tonic.

Yoshio had been ready since yesterday. He lay on his bunk, reading yet another Western novel. He was clearly so engaged in the pages that it was hard not to be a little envious of the fact that he had managed to escape the worry and fear of what was to come.

Like Yoshio, Deke’s pack and rifle were long since ready. What’s done is done, he thought. He wasn’t going to fuss over his gear again and again like some old lady. He went around to see what he could do to help the others get ready.

The soldiers’ packs comprised several parts. At the core was the canvas haversack, the actual pack itself that the soldiers carried. Canvas webbing formed the carrying straps. A pouch on top held the mess kit, which consisted of a two-piece frying pan and plate that locked together for carrying.

Anything that might rattle in any way was tied down with string or strips of cloth. They all knew that in the jungle, the slightest noise might give them away. The Japanese excelled at stealth, and the American GIs had learned the hard way that it paid to be silent. In more ways than one, how a man packed his gear could make the difference between life and death for himself and his buddies.

If anything was going to rattle and give them away to enemy troops, it was the mess kit. Soldiers had learned to silence it by putting rags between the pieces. Deke’s solution was to throw them away and rely on a single spoon and his knife. Cold rations were just fine by him.

The bottom of the haversack was connected to the ammunition belt. Everyone was being given several stripper clips of rifle ammunition and even loose cartridges. Some of the combat veterans took what they were given and then some, knowing that the worst thing that could happen to you in the field was to run out of ammunition when you needed it most. They didn’t feel comfortable heading into the field with anything less than a hundred rounds of rifle ammo, even if it meant lugging along a lot of extra weight.

Their entrenching tools ran down the outside center of the haversack. The tool was a small shovel with a short handle that ended with a T grip. In a pinch, the shovel made a good close-quarters combat weapon.

A bayonet was attached to the left side of the haversack — Deke had ditched his standard-issue bayonet in favor of the custom-made bowie knife. The snipers weren’t going to attach bayonets to rifles with telescopic sights, anyhow.

He had to wear a helmet to avoid catching hell, but as soon as he could, he’d ditch that, too, in favor of the Australian bush hat that had been given to him by a grateful soldier on Guam. It was now strapped to the back of his haversack, ready to go.

Finally, the first-aid kit and all-important canteen hung from the ammunition belt. The canteen included a sort of cup that fit over its base, perfect for brewing coffee.

Deke watched Philly fretting over his pack and shook his head. Philly had a thing for gear — if he’d gotten something for free, he felt like he ought to keep it, even if he knew better by now.

“You ought to just leave the rest of that junk,” Deke said. “All you need is your rifle, a canteen, and a knife.”

“Spare socks won’t hurt.”

“All right, then. Spare socks.”

“And maybe this flashlight. Might come in handy.”

Deke shook his head. “What, so you can read your Bible at night? The only light you need at night is a muzzle flash.”

Feeling antsy, Deke left Philly muttering to himself and went to prowl the corridors of the ship. Everywhere he looked, similar preparations were being made. In a way, packing gear was a good approach to taking your mind off what was to come in the morning, when they would be landing on a beach that the Japs very likely didn’t want to give up. The preparations were a distraction. Sergeants moved among the men, making sure that everything was shipshape.

Harsh words caught Deke’s attention as he passed a bunk room: “You stupid green bean! Didn’t you learn anything in basic? For Chrissake!”

Curious, he paused long enough in the door to catch a glimpse of a young recruit with a chubby face. The man was wearing glasses and seemed to be surrounded by hard-bitten veterans. Most veterans didn’t have any patience with the new men who had been bunked with them. Besides, every time they looked at them, they felt a pang for the fact that the new men were there to replace buddies who hadn’t made it off Guam.

The other GIs looked on in disgust as the soldier tried in haphazard fashion to organize his gear. If Philly had fretted and fussed, this soldier looked helpless in comparison.

It didn’t help that nothing about the young soldier inspired confidence in him winning any Medals of Honor against the forces of Imperial Japan. But the kid didn’t have any choice in the matter. Ready or not, he’d be hitting the beach with everyone else in the morning.

Deke started to walk on but for some reason found himself turning back. He realized that he never did like to see anyone picked on. The new soldier had a job to do as much as any of them.

When he returned, he discovered that the other soldiers were in the middle of a fresh round of verbalizing disdain for the chubby GI.

“Who the hell let you into the army, anyhow? Your mama should have done us all a favor and—”

The soldiers fell silent when Deke entered, but not for long. “Are you lost, soldier? What the hell do you want?”

The soldier might have said more, but he shut up when Deke gave him a look. Maybe it was the scars, but something about Deke’s presence could change the mood in a room. Just from the way that he carried himself, it was clear that he was a veteran.

“I reckoned that I’d help this fella sort out his gear, since you all don’t seem to know your ass from a hole in the ground.”

One of the veterans stepped forward. “That’s big talk from a—”

Deke set his back foot and made a fist, figuring one good punch in the throat would take care of business — he never had been one to fight fair. But it didn’t come to that. Before the other soldier got any closer, one of his buddies reached out to stop him.

“Hey, I recognize you,” the soldier said to Deke. He didn’t add that it was hard not to recognize Deke, what with his scars. “You’re that sniper. I heard about what you did. Weren’t you one of the guys who got sent in ahead? No offense, buddy.”

Deke dropped his fist.

“You’ve already been there? What’s it like?”

“’Bout the same as everywhere else. Hot, jungle thick as hair on a dog, and full of Japs.”

The soldiers didn’t look happy to hear it, but Deke wasn’t going to sugarcoat it. “Doesn’t sound good,” agreed the soldier who had stopped the fight before it could happen.

“What do you think are his chances?” Deke jerked a chin at the chubby young recruit, talking about him like he was a steer up for auction.

“Flip a coin.”

“Sounds about right.” Deke reached for the kid’s mess kit and tossed it aside. Thirty seconds later, he had cut the soldier’s gear by half. Deftly, he assembled the remaining gear into a solid haversack that wouldn’t rattle. He picked it up and shoved it into the other man’s chest. “Here you go. At least now your pack won’t get you killed.”

“Thanks,” the green bean managed to stammer.

Deke looked around at the other soldiers, who appeared sheepish, realizing that Deke had just done what they should have done themselves. “We’re all here to fight the Japs,” he said. “Just keep that in mind. Five minutes after hitting the beach, if he ain’t dead, this kid is gonna be as much of a veteran as any of us.”

At that, Deke turned and left. He didn’t feel any better. The anxiety hadn’t left him. He realized that the only cure for that would be when his boots hit the sandy beach and he was back in action.

Similar scenes were playing out across the ship. Some wrote last-minute letters home, letters that might arrive weeks after they were dead and buried in the foreign sands.

Men were lined up to spend a few minutes with the chaplains, to get their souls right with the Lord and say a few prayers that might comfort them. It didn’t matter if the men were Protestant and the chaplain was a Catholic priest, or vice versa. Prayer was prayer, and God was God. As the old saying went, there was no such thing as an atheist in a foxhole.

The only lines that were bigger were at the heads. Every man was trying to empty his bowels before he had to do it on the beach with hot metal flying at him. The toilets were all in a row, no privacy of any kind, but the GIs were long past caring about that. They had lost their privacy the day that they enlisted.

A few of the more punctilious men were lathered up, standing at the sinks and shaving as they would before a big date. They knew that it might be their last chance at hot water and a razor for a long time.

Starting at three o’clock in the morning, the men had been roused for what was termed as the “Dead Man’s Breakfast.” The navy cooks had outdone themselves by serving up huge amounts of steak and eggs, fried potatoes, toast and bacon, canned juice, and coffee. The early-morning feast was intended to last the soldiers through the day. After that, they would have to rely on their rations, which was hardly an appetizing thought. The C rations had been designed with sustenance in mind, but not flavor.

The men ate in shifts at long tables, or standing up, in the strange twilight of the red lamps used to light the mess deck. The red light was designed not to interfere with their night vision, while the dimness was meant to hide them from any prowling Japanese in the air or on the water. Unfortunately, the Japanese Air Force was far from completely wrecked, and there were still threats of Betty bombers, or worse yet, new waves of kamikaze attacks that were so hard to defend against.

It was hard to say whether the lighting helped or hurt the appearance of the food. The smell of hot grease, frying potatoes, salt, and coffee was delicious enough, but not entirely welcome in the middle of the night. Some men were too queasy to have much of an appetite.

“What is this?” Rodeo griped, glaring reproachfully at the heap of scrambled eggs that had been reconstituted from powder. They had a slightly greenish cast in the dim lighting. “We don’t even get fresh eggs?”

“Where would we get fresh eggs?” Alphabet pointed out. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re on a ship in the middle of the ocean. Do you see many chickens around here?”

“Aw, quick your bellyaching, you two, and eat up,” Philly said to the rest of Patrol Easy, which had found a space at one of the long tables. His philosophy on taking advantage of anything free that the military offered extended to the food. “There’s no telling how long this chow will have to last us.”

“Dead Man’s Breakfast,” Rodeo said.

“Don’t say that. It’s bad luck.”

“What would make it into good luck?” Rodeo grumped. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

“How about you just shut up and eat your eggs? And give me that bacon if you don’t want it.”

Officers walked around the room, hurrying the men along to make space for more hungry soldiers.

Finally, one of the officers stood on a bench to speak. He wore combat gear just like the men, so it was clear that he would also be making the landing this morning. Sergeants barked for attention. Once the mess had quieted to a dull buzz, the officer stated: “Listen up, men. You eat while I talk.”

Nobody argued with that. The men turned back to making short work of their plates while the officer spoke.

“I’m not going to lie. The Japs are ready for us. This won’t be easy. But you’ve trained for this. A bunch of you have already taught the Japs an important lesson on Guam and maybe some other places. That lesson is that we win and they lose, no matter what.”

If it hadn’t now been a quarter to four in the morning, the officer might have gotten a cheer out of that one. This morning, all that he got were a few grunts of acknowledgment.

“The Filipino people have been awaiting this day for three long years. A bunch of them are US citizens, same as you. We’re not going to disappoint them, are we?”

“No, sir!” a sergeant shouted into the silence. Nobody else joined in.

The officer went on, unfazed. He was a veteran of a few fights himself, and he knew that the men were listening, that they expected this pep talk. But hot coffee and bacon took precedent this morning. He was aware that, deep down, every man already knew what he was expressing, down to his core, but somebody had to say it out loud.

“But you’re not just fighting for the Filipinos. You are fighting for the United States. You are fighting for the man on your left, the man on your right. That’s all I’ve got to say. Godspeed and good luck.” He paused. “Oh, and one more thing, boys. Kill some Japs!”

At that, a cheer finally rang out. The sound escaped the ship and carried across the water, security protocols be damned. In a short time, the ships were going to make a whole lot of noise anyhow.

America was going ashore.

The men finished up and filed out of the mess. Some made a final dash for the head. Others did yet another last-minute check of their gear, making sure rifle muzzles were plugged against the salt water and sand. A BAR gunner went by, his weapon completely wrapped in plastic.

Lieutenant Steele appeared and gathered the patrol, which was attached to a company for the landing this morning.

“Good morning, boys. Everybody get enough to eat?”

“Sure did, Honcho,” Philly replied. It was what they called the lieutenant instead of “sir,” which would have made him a target for Japanese snipers.

“Good. Now listen up. Stick together. We’re with C Company this morning. Our job is to take out any Japanese snipers in front of us or behind us. Leave the big stuff to them.”

Deke gave the lieutenant a single curt nod. He knew what to do. They all did.

“Here we go.”

They went down the cargo nets into the boats. Patrol Easy made it down just fine — or as well as could be expected when dangling from the side of a ship while laden with fifty pounds of gear. The ship swung gently back and forth in the ocean swell. The one who had the hardest time was Egan, and that was only because of the need to get his war dog into the boat. With the help of a sling and a couple of sturdy sailors above, Thor was lowered into the landing craft. Freed from the sling, the dog shook himself and barked a couple of times, as if to chase off the indignity of the process.

Despite the pep talk, despite all the training, some men had more trouble. They knew what was waiting for them on that beach. Once they were over the side, they couldn’t seem to let go of the top of the cargo net and climb down to the boats. Nobody would have called them cowards — they knew they had to climb down, but their muscles weren’t cooperating.

Sailors had been assigned to step on the soldiers’ hands to force them to let go. It wasn’t a job that any of them liked. More than once, they had to look down into the fearful, pleading face of a young soldier who was stuck fast to the top of the net. A soldier who might, or might not, live to see the sun come up. But they had their orders. The warrant officers were shouting at them to do their jobs.

The foot came down, making the young soldier let go.

Once full, the landing craft did not go racing toward the shore. Not yet. Instead, the landing craft drifted around the ship, like ducklings around a mother duck. Thankfully it was calm enough that only a few men managed to get seasick.

“What’s the holdup?” Philly demanded.

“You know how it goes,” Steele replied. “Hurry up and wait. Save your griping for the Japs.”

Although it was warm and humid, there was a slight salt breeze that cooled everyone in the boats. Later in the day, the rising sun would make the heat nearly unbearable, but for now it was quite pleasant. Boat motors muttered all around them in the darkness, mingling exhaust fumes with the salty air. Every now and then the breeze brought clean air filtered by a thousand miles of ocean, and Deke inhaled deeply, almost understanding how some men loved the sea in the way that he loved the mountains. Give me the land any day.

The surface of the sea was soon crisscrossed by the wakes of the landing craft as they circled the mother ships. This was no pleasure cruise for the thousands of troops in the smaller boats. The navy had simply been waiting for the landing craft to be loaded before clearing the decks for action.

On ships all across the invasion fleet, the big guns opened up. Long trails of flame cut across the predawn sky, the flashes reflected on the calm early-morning waters of the sea. They could see the shock waves roil the surface. Men on the boats shielded their ears from the deafening noise, but the sound carried deep into their bones.

From the boats, they could just see the dark, brooding lump of land, a darker smudge on the horizon. Soon they had no trouble seeing it because the incoming shells rained down and exploded. Glowing mushrooms of flame sprouted all along the shore.

The naval barrage was an awesome sight, and any man who witnessed it would never forget that morning until the end of his days. The display of firepower was intended to wipe out any Japanese shore defenses. All that destruction was reassuring, and the men in the boats suddenly felt better.

“Good morning, Hirohito!” Philly shouted. “Bow to that, you son of a bitch!”

The boats turned and slowly picked up speed as they nosed into the waves, heading for the fire-laced shoreline.

The invasion of Leyte had begun.