Pacific Sniper

Chapter Fourteen

With the failure of both waves of the Japanese counterattack, the path forward to the capture of the Orote airfield was now open. The Imperial Japanese Army had done its best to push the Americans back into the sea. They had come within a bayonet’s edge of success, and the banzai attack by the tanks had almost won the day. But now the Americans had gained their objective, and the battered Japanese stragglers had no choice but to retreat to the deep, mountainous jungle of the island interior. The Americans had wrested a hold on the beachhead and won the airfield, but the Japanese still held the bulk of Guam.

However, not all the Japanese had retreated. Before the arrival of American forces, the Japanese had weeks to prepare defenses. They had built tunnels, trenches, hidden dugouts, and even concrete pillboxes. These defenses were scattered throughout the peninsula through which the American troops now moved. Trench by trench, pillbox by pillbox, it was their job to clean out these Japanese defenses — a brutal and bloody task. As for the Japanese who had been left behind when the bulk of their forces retreated into the ancient volcanic mountains, they saw it as a last stand. For them, surrender was not an option.

“What’s with these Japs?” Philly wanted to know. “They don’t ever give up. It’s not natural.”

“I got to say that I’m a little worried about how eager you are to give up,” Deke said. “If the tables were turned, would you put your hands in the air? Something tells me that the Japs ain’t all that hospitable to prisoners.”

“The Japanese equate surrender with dishonor,” said Yoshio, who was walking with them as they made their way through the war-torn landscape. “Surrender would bring dishonor not just to the individual but also to their families.”

“I’m no expert, but it seems to me there ain’t gonna be much chance for you to question prisoners at this rate.”

“Not all of the Japanese are so dedicated. There will always be some Japanese who surrender.”

“It’s real interesting how you talk about the Japanese,” Philly said, “considering that you are one of them.”

“I am not Japanese,” Yoshio pointed out. “I am American. Just like you.”

Philly snorted. “If you say so.”

“When did your family come to the United States?”

Philly thought about it. “My grandparents came here from Germany. Well, on one side. The other side came from Ireland.”

“My grandparents came here from Japan,” Yoshio said. “I suppose that makes us even.”

“It’s not the same,” Philly said. He looked at Deke. “What about your family, Deke? You know, your kin, or whatever you hillbillies call them.”

“You mean my people?” Deke asked. “Kin is more like distant cousins that live on the other side of the mountain.”

“Thanks for clearing that up,” Philly said.

Deke ignored him. “Anyhow, I got you both beat.”

“How’s that?” Philly asked.

“My people fought the British,” Deke said. “That’s a fact. Some even fought against the French.”

“When did we ever fight the French?”

“It was called the French and Indian War,” Yoshio explained. “Before the Revolutionary War.”

“There you go,” Deke said. “So, a long time ago.”

Philly snorted. “Next thing you know, Deke here will be telling us that his people came over on the Mayflower.”

Lieutenant Steele interrupted any further discussion of genealogy. He was walking a few paces away, the ugly twelve-gauge balanced over one shoulder. “Knock it off and pay attention,” he said. “Yoshio is right about the Japs. They aren’t eager to surrender, and this island is still crawling with them.”

They didn’t have to go far before Steele was able to make his point. They were moving in tandem with a larger squad, advancing through an area pockmarked by shell holes.

It was slow going between the broken ground and the need for caution. Moving with them was also a tank. Clanking and loud, the presence of the Sherman felt reassuring. The tank hatch was open, and the tank commander had his head out, trying to navigate around the worst of the obstacles.

Shattered trees littered the ground. The thick, sharp-edged grass that grew across most of the open places on the island obscured many of the surprises that awaited them, from pillboxes to snakes — the shelling and disturbed ground seemed to have brought them out in force. Deke did his best to ignore them. Anyhow, the snakes were basically harmless in comparison to the hidden Japanese troops.

Deke kept his eyes constantly roving over the landscape, looking for any telltale flicker of movement ahead that would indicate that the Japanese had a surprise for them.

But not all the dangers lay ahead. They had just started across an open stretch when shots rang out from behind them. One of the soldiers in the nearby squad went down, shot dead.

“Sniper!” somebody yelled.

Deke spun around, rifle raised, looking for a target. Those shots were close, practically right on top of them. He was scanning the broken remains of the treetops, expecting to spot the sniper overhead, but to no avail. He heard more shots. Another soldier went down.

Philly had gone to one knee, waving his rifle in all directions. “Where the hell is he?”

Then Deke spotted the sniper’s nest. A Jap had crawled into a hole and waited for the squad to go by before opening fire. They were so close that he could readily see the head and shoulders of the sniper, half out of the hole, blazing away at them with his deadly Arisaka rifle.

He didn’t even bother to use the scope, but just pointed the Springfield and pulled the trigger. The sniper fell back. Deke worked the bolt and fired again, taking his time and aiming carefully at the sniper’s head. He fired and the sniper didn’t move again.

“Dammit, I hate these sneaky bastards,” Lieutenant Steele said. The sniper had killed two GIs and wounded a third, whom the medic was now working over. It didn’t look promising. “Son of a bitch. That’s three of our guys. Still, that was good shooting, Deke.”

“You got it, Honcho. I just wish I’d gotten him before he’d gotten us.”

“Then you’d better grow some eyes in the back of your head.” He looked around at the squad. “Maybe we’d all better do that.”

“Don’t you mean eye, Honcho?” Philly asked.

“Keep it up, Philly. I’m sure they could use some help stacking boxes on the beach.”

“Right now, that sounds pretty good.”

“What’s that?”

“Uh, nothing—” Philly managed to stop just short of adding sir, which would have been a death warrant if there were any Japanese within listening range. Given the terrain, that was entirely possible.

They had eliminated the Japanese sniper, but the Japanese weren’t done.

Up ahead, they heard a burst of fire from a concrete pillbox. But this was no solitary sniper with a rifle. This was definitely a machine-gun emplacement. The Japanese Nambu machine guns always had the telltale sound of a woodpecker, albeit a deadly one.

“Everybody down!” Lieutenant Steele shouted.

Bullets tore up the ground all around them. Yoshio seemed frozen in place, not sure what he should do. Deke grabbed Yoshio by the shoulder and dragged the interpreter down beside him.

It was soon clear what Yoshio’s fate would have been. Caught in the open, one soldier was unfortunate enough to take a round through the head and died instantly.

“Anybody see him?” Philly asked. “Hey, Yoshio. Why don’t you go on up there and ask him to surrender?”

“Is he serious?” Yoshio started to push himself up from the ground.

“Stay put,” Deke growled.

A fresh burst of fire snapped overhead, proving what a bad idea it would be to approach the pillbox.

Deke squinted at the structure. All that he could see was a narrow, dark slit into the interior of the pillbox. But the view wasn’t clear. Broken trees and brush obscured much of the pillbox. He put his rifle on the slit, hoping that a muzzle flash might give him a target. Meanwhile, the Nambu kept hammering away, chewing them to pieces. The entire squad was pinned down until this pillbox could be eliminated. Deke wasn’t looking forward to the task.

But this time, it was going to be somebody else’s job. As the soldiers scattered ahead of it, the tank came rolling forward. Deke had almost forgotten all about it.

Bullets ricocheted off the tank, raising sparks. The tank commander swore and dropped down inside the hatch. The tank rolled to a stop, brought its big gun to bear, and fired an earsplitting round directly at the pillbox.

Smoke and dust roiled across the ground and chunks of concrete rained down. It was hard to say whether or not the tank round had hit the slit in the pillbox directly, but it had been close enough. The concrete face of the pillbox looked charred and blackened. The Nambu had fallen silent.

“Show’s over!” a sergeant shouted. “Let’s move out!”

“I don’t know about you guys, but I sure do like having a tank around,” Philly said.