Pacific Sniper

Chapter Seventeen

By the next morning, the sun had returned. Not a cloud marred the sky, and the endless blue bowl of the earth’s atmosphere flowed seamlessly into the azure of the ocean horizon. If it hadn’t been for the dirty water filling their foxholes, it would have been hard to believe that the deluge had ever happened.

Nonetheless, discounting the lush greenery and blue skies, nobody was about to confuse Guam with a tropical paradise this morning.

The men crawled out of their wet holes, and their damp uniforms began to steam as the sun beat down. Insects swarmed relentlessly. Clouds of flies and armies of ants descended on the mass of dead enemy bodies. As the heat grew, the smell made some men puke.

One silver lining was that the night had passed uneventfully after the storm had blown through, even if nobody had gotten any decent sleep in the wet holes. The Japanese must have pulled back deep into the jungle.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Lieutenant Steele warned them as they choked down their breakfast rations. “We’re being sent ahead to track down the Japs and figure out where they’re hiding.”

Philly groaned. “You mean the war’s not over yet? We kicked their asses yesterday.”

“I hate to tell you this, but there are several thousand Japanese still on this island. Before we showed up, they built fallback positions in the jungle. Those Nips are dug in deep.”

“What are we supposed to do about it, Honcho? We’re only a handful of guys.”

“Our job is to gather any intelligence we can. Where are the Japs hiding? What do their defenses look like? Where do they have their ammunition and supplies?”

“But we’re snipers.”

“We’re stealthy,” Steele said. “Or at least we’re supposed to be stealthy. That makes us perfect for the job. So quit your whining and get ready to move out. Pack light. Except for ammo. Bring plenty of that.”

Philly wasn’t ready to give up.

“Can’t the navy boys just steam around the island and bomb it to hell, and the Japs with it? Why do they need to send us?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s not just Japs on the island. There is also a significant population of Chamorro natives. Women and children. A lot of them were held in labor camps. You want to drop bombs on their heads?”

“I guess not.”

“Didn’t think so. And the jungle cover is too heavy for the flyboys to see much from the air. Once we give them some targets, it’ll be a different story.”

They soon learned that the squad wouldn’t be going alone. In addition to Deke and the other snipers, they would be accompanied by Yoshio, in hopes that they might be able to capture and interrogate any Japanese prisoners.

“Good luck with that,” Philly muttered.

Also, Egan and Whoa Nelly would be going with them — the idea being that the dog could sniff out any Japs hiding in the mountains. They would also have a guide, a local Chamorro with the improbable name of Tony Cruz. Like most Chamorros, he preferred using both his first name and last name together.

Though shorter than the Americans, he was a solid, stern-looking man, wearing civilian clothes that included trousers hacked off at calf length, and rope-soled sandals rather than boots. He carried a rifle liberated from a dead Jap, but what was most noticeable was the huge machete that swung at his side. His main language seemed to be Chamorro, which sounded something like Spanish that had been left in the tropical sun too long, but he soon showed that he knew enough English to get by.

“Japs die,” he announced, grinning for the first time and revealing brilliant white teeth unstained by coffee or tobacco.

“I like this guy already,” Philly said. “Good to meet you, Tony Cruz.”

Their eight-man patrol wasn’t the only one headed into the jungle that morning. Four other patrols were also fanning out in other directions, with the goal of probing as much of the jungle as possible. They would be the eyes and ears for the entire division.

The patrols were something of a calculated risk — the lives of maybe forty men against the lives of hundreds. Any intelligence that they gathered could be vital. General Bruce wasn’t about to send his division blindly into the jungle-covered hills and mountains. The Japanese would have welcomed that strategy. Of course, the harsh terrain would have finished off whatever troops didn’t fall victim to the Japanese.

Each squad was equipped with a radio — Lieutenant Steele assigned Alphabet to carry it. Each of the squads also received a code name. Steele’s squad was dubbed “Patrol Easy.”

“Sounds about right,” Philly said.

Deke reminded himself that the entire island was only about the size of his own Hancock County back home. That didn’t sound big until you thought about how long it would take to walk all that way, up and down mountains, through thick jungle. A plane could pass over the island in minutes, but not a man on foot. The jungle terrain made the size of the island exponentially larger.

Moving out, first they had to cross through the fringes of the jungle that had been smashed by the naval bombardment. Mixed among the shattered trees and shredded greenery, plus churned soil, were the bodies of the Japanese who had been caught there while retreating from the attack. Deke put his boot down in something soft and pale — and thought that he’d stepped on a mushroom or fungus of some sort. Looking closer, he realized that it was a man’s entrails. His only thought was, Glad they ain’t mine.

Out in the open, souvenir hunters had picked the dead Japanese clean, but they hadn’t made it into the shattered jungle, which had been off-limits. Everyone was too worried that there might still be living Japs around.

“Hey, will you look at that!” Philly exclaimed. He reached down to pull both a sword and a pistol from the body of a dead Japanese officer. Unlike many of the bodies, there didn’t appear to be a scratch on him — he might have been sleeping. Philly held his treasures up for the others to admire. “Jackpot, baby!”

“Philly, we’re just getting started,” Steele pointed out. “Are you seriously going to haul that junk around with you?”

“This is the good stuff, Honcho.”

“If you say so. I’m not going to order you to ditch it, but you know what to do with that stuff when it gets too heavy. Until then, maybe you can use that sword to hack through the jungle up ahead.”

Most of the GIs in the Seventy-Seventh had been issued machetes, but Patrol Easy had opted to leave them behind in the interest of traveling light. If there were any trails to carve, they would leave that up to their Chamorro guide. He looked more than capable with that machete.

Philly stuck the pistol in his belt and slid the sword through a strap in his pack. When Steele had moved off, Deke said quietly to Philly, “If some Jap sniper sees you carrying his dead pal’s gear as a souvenir, you do know that he’s gonna take his time killing you, don’t you?”

Philly just snorted. “I’d like to see him try.”

They reached the banks of a body of water without too much trouble. Lieutenant Steele told them it was a reservoir that once served the US Marines stationed on the island before the Japanese incursion. Here as elsewhere, the trees looked badly shattered by the naval bombardment.

Tony Cruz led the way. Soon, the land rose and they entered a rough, hilly area overgrown by the sharp-edge kunai grass. It grew in clumps that were shoulder high, and with its razor-sharp edges it left painful cuts on any exposed skin. Small rivulets of blood soon crisscrossed their hands and necks where they’d had to force their way through the grass.

It was also snake country. He caught glimpses of snakes slithering away between the clumps of grass, some light brown, some multicolored like the king snakes back home in the mountains.

Snakes had never much bothered Deke, and even in all his treks through the mountains he had only rarely seen a copperhead or rattler, but right now he was still glad of the gaiters protecting his ankles and calves. The wraps were aggravating to put on and take off, but the effort now seemed worth it. Philly seemed especially worried about the snakes, keeping his eyes on the ground. However, Deke kept his eyes on the grassy hillocks ahead. He was far more worried about Japs who might be waiting to ambush them.

He detected movement ahead. A handful of helmets bobbed above the waving tips of the kunai grass.

“Tony Cruz,” he whispered.

The Chamorro nodded. He had seen them too. He stopped, bringing the squad to a halt.

“What is it?” Lieutenant Steele asked.

“Japs.”

“Ambush?”

Deke shook his head. The last glimpse he’d had of the Japs was of them moving away from the squad, as if avoiding the Americans. “No, Honcho. I reckon they’re trying to get away from us.”

“All right, everybody hold your fire. We’re supposed to be scouting, not fighting. Let’s give them a wide berth.”

At the head of the column, Tony Cruz nodded and moved to the right, away from the last place where they had seen the enemy soldiers. Nonetheless, everybody kept their fingers on their triggers. Egan gripped Whoa Nelly’s leash as she sniffed the air. There was no telling if more Japs might be hidden in the tall grass.

Deke wondered about the Japs they had seen. Maybe they’d had enough of fighting and were avoiding the GIs. It was also possible that the small Jap squad was doing the same thing as Patrol Easy — scouting out the enemy. Deke kept his eyes roving across the tall grass that waved and flowed all around them in the island breeze. He didn’t see any sign of the Japs.

It was with a certain sense of relief that they left the grassy plain near the reservoir behind and entered the jungle.

The demeanor of their Chamorro guide quickly changed. Tony Cruz grew even more silent and alert, moving cautiously. He seemed to crouch, giving his already stocky body the appearance of a coiled spring.

He was following a path, his feet making no sound on the soft island soil.

Deke moved right behind him, equally as quiet.

The guide paused and looked back, seemingly surprised to find Deke just a few feet away. He’d been that quiet.

The Chamorro looked Deke up and down. “You hunter?” he asked.

Deke nodded, and the Chamorro nodded back in approval before continuing on his way.

If the field of kunai grass had been a likely place for an ambush, the jungle was even more threatening. Deke decided that an entire squad of Japs could be hiding right off the trail, close enough to reach out and touch, and he would never see them. He just prayed that the Chamorro had some kind of sixth sense for detecting Japs.

The grassy field had been open and breezy, the sunshine dazzling. The jungle felt like the complete opposite. The thick canopy cut off most of the sunlight. They moved through a sun-dappled dusk. Down among the tree trunks, the air felt still and ominous. Swarms of mosquitoes and other nasty biting insects descended upon them in the stillness.

Behind him, he heard the dog whine.

“Easy, girl,” Egan whispered, as if fearful of breaking the silence.

Deke loved the woods back home and had spent all the time there that he could when he wasn’t working on the farm, but this was so different from the deciduous forests that he had known. Was he even on the same planet? he wondered. Smooth trunks reached far above, thick vines hung down, and all manner of vegetation pressed in around them. The odor of decaying plant material filled the air.

At first, the jungle had seemed so quiet. It was the same situation back home. When you first entered the woods, the critters there fell silent. After a time, they got used to you and went back to chattering. But now he began to hear the cries of tropical birds and animals squealing. He passed what he thought was a vine wrapped around a tree trunk not more than a foot from his face — and on second glance realized it was a gigantic snake.

He grinned. The jungle might take some getting used to, but something about it appealed to his solitary nature. If he spent enough time in these shadowy cathedrals, he might even come to like the jungle. He could already sense that Tony Cruz was a disciple of the jungle, well aware of its dangers. The cautious way that he moved was likely prompted by the dual threat of Jap soldiers alongside the hazards held by these twilit surroundings.

They kept going, with the sturdy Chamorro leading the way, his rope-soled sandals silent, rifle at the ready. The trail faded out, and Tony, unperturbed, took out his machete and chopped a path for them through a dense wall of underbrush until they came to another path. How he had known it was there was anybody’s guess. It was hard to say if the paths had been created by animals or humans, or a combination of both.

Around noontime by Deke’s Timex, Lieutenant Steele called a halt. They stopped and gratefully gulped from their canteens, then ate a few rations. Their guide produced what looked like an apple and carved slices with a primitive, bone-handled knife before popping them into his mouth, chewing slowly and methodically.

Having grown up hungry, Deke recognized that as the way you ate to stretch out your food and fool your belly into thinking it was full. He approached Tony Cruz and offered him some of his rations. He accepted with a nod but no other sign of emotion. Deke also knew from experience that when you were really hungry, you sometimes had to swallow your pride along with whatever handouts you could get.

In any case, he was glad that the Chamorro was on their side. Not that there was a single Chamorro who had allied himself with the Imperial Japanese Army — at least not by choice. It was no secret that the Japanese had treated the natives cruelly and were universally disliked. The Spanish and then the Americans had also ruled this island, but the Chamorros had adopted aspects of both cultures. They hated the Japanese.

More than once, Tony Cruz had given Yoshio the Chamorro version of the stink eye, clearly not ready to trust anyone who looked Japanese — even if Yoshio wore an American uniform.

Nobody spoke much during their break, except to bitch about the clouds of insects.

Curious, Deke pointed at the necklace the Chamorro guide wore. It appeared to be made from the claws of a large animal, strung on a leather thong and interspersed with polished shells. In fact, Deke reckoned it wasn’t all that different from an old Cherokee necklace that he had seen back home.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“Espíritus malignos. Evil spirits.”

Deke touched one of the claws.

“What kind of critter is that?” He wasn’t sure about the limits of the guide’s English, so Deke raised his fingers to resemble claws.

“Jaguar.”

“Gonna have to get me one of those necklaces.”

To his surprise, the Chamorro reached out and touched one of the deep scars running down Deke’s face. The guide’s rough finger traced the path of the furrow. Then he flexed his fingers like Deke had and said, “Claws.”

Deke nodded. To his relief, that was all the explanation that the Chamorro seemed to need. Tony Cruz turned his attention back to the jungle.

Nearby, Lieutenant Steele put the cap on his canteen and shook it with a woeful look. “We’ll have to find some water soon.” It was ironic that while the air was fairly dripping with humidity and they were all soaked through with sweat, they had yet to pass any creeks or streams to refill their canteens. Steele was right — if they didn’t find water soon, it was going to be a problem. “Let’s get a move on.”

Normally, the GIs were glad of any break, but they seemed to welcome the chance to get moving again. The path climbed and their progress was more strenuous, but somehow they managed to move faster.

Nobody was eager to linger in the jungle. Night would arrive before long, and nobody liked the idea of trying to make camp for the night on the path. They wouldn’t have much choice — movement at night through the jungle would be impossible. It would be too easy to take one wrong step off the path, never to be seen again.

Once more, the path faded and disappeared. They found themselves facing a green wall of impenetrable vegetation, wondering what to do next and feeling utterly lost.