Pacific Sniper

Chapter Twenty-Four

Between shifts of sentry duty, the men were left with time on their hands. That evening, before the jungle darkness descended like a curtain, Deke found himself sitting beside Yoshio, who was in a talkative mood.

“You’re so quiet all the time, except when you talk about fighting,” Yoshio said. “You’re always watching things. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think that you liked it here.”

“You know what my pa used to say about keeping quiet? Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and to remove all doubt.”

Yoshio just shook his head. “I guess that’s one reason to be a man of few words.”

Maybe it was odd, but Deke never minded being alone. Growing up on the farm, he’d never really had friends or much company, other than his sister, Sadie. It was also a fact that his scars made him feel self-conscious and shy around other people.

For companionship, he had the woods and the farm fields, the mountains with all their lofty peaks and hidden valleys. As a boy, he had learned to keep himself company. With his father’s death and the loss of the farm, then the awful stint in the sawmill, he had withdrawn even deeper into himself. As a soldier in the United States Army, he continued to guard himself, because that was the lesson that life had taught him. You were better off keeping to yourself and not depending on anyone else.

That was one of the reasons that his friendship with Ben Hemphill, starting in boot camp, had surprised him. Like Deke, Ben had been quiet. Unlike Deke, he’d had a need for companionship. Once he felt comfortable, he’d talk at you all day and even share a joke or two — even if they weren’t very good ones.

“Hey, Deke, what do you call a blind German? A not-see. Get it?”

It was a corny joke, but it had made Deke grin all the same.

That had been Ben for you. He hadn’t been cut out to be a soldier — not combat infantry, anyway. He’d been too gentle. He would have been better off typing up reports as a clerk somewhere, but like a lot of young men from the mountains, Ben had lacked any education. As it turned out, he’d made good cannon fodder, and that was about it.

I’ll make them pay for what they done to Ben, Deke swore silently. I’ll kill every last Jap on this island if I have to.

Yoshio interrupted Deke’s reverie. “Kimura was telling me about that Samurai Sniper,” Yoshio said.

“Who in the hell is Kimura?”

“Nozaki Kimura. The prisoner.”

“So he’s got a name now, does he?”

“The way he tells it, he didn’t have much choice about becoming a soldier.”

“Maybe not, but that sure didn’t stop him from shooting at us.”

At Steele’s order, they were keeping the Japanese soldier’s hands tied. That was uncomfortable, and the rough bindings digging into his wrists cut off circulation, so Yoshio loosened them from time to time, although he kept a close eye on the prisoner when he did so.

It would have been a good time for him to try to make a run for it. The patrol members would be reluctant to shoot him because that would give their presence away to the enemy, but the prisoner seemed to sense that he wouldn’t get far before Philly stuck a bayonet in him. The Chamorro also watched the prisoner warily, one hand never straying far from that savage machete he carried. He kept close to Yoshio, not so different from the way that Whoa Nelly hung around Egan.

But even Deke had to admit that the prisoner — Kimura, he reminded himself — didn’t look all that threatening. He’d been banged up and bandaged more than a few times. He was only a couple of inches over five feet tall, and he was too skinny, as though he hadn’t been getting enough to eat. It was also clear that he wasn’t much more than a teenager.

“Yoshio, ask your buddy here how old he is.”

When Kimura answered, Yoshio replied, “He’s nineteen.”

Deke shook his head. Not much younger than he was, but Deke sometimes felt as if he’d been born old. “Next thing you know, the Japs will be sending children and little girls to fight us.”

Deke had picked up the kindness with which Yoshio treated the prisoner. Deke no longer had any doubts about Yoshio’s loyalty — he was American through and through, as far as Deke was concerned. Yoshio’s treatment of the prisoner had less to do with them sharing Japanese heritage and far more to do with common decency — a commodity currently in scarce supply.

He thought about his own vow earlier to kill as many Japs as possible to take revenge for what they had done to Ben. Had he been too hasty in wanting an eye-for-an-eye satisfaction against each and every Japanese soldier? Maybe he had painted all Japanese with brushstrokes that were too broad.

From the point of view of the average US soldier, it didn’t help that they had seen so much of the ugly side of the Japanese that it was hard to see them as human. Yoshio appeared to be an exception.

“Yoshio, you’ve got a good heart,” Deke said. “Just don’t let that get you killed. Now tell me about this Jap sniper.”

“The Samurai Sniper.”

“That’s the one.”

“Kimura says this sniper is an officer and that he comes from an old Japanese samurai family.”

Deke was taken aback. “You mean he really is a samurai?”

“Well, the Japanese don’t actually have samurai anymore,” Yoshio explained. “But they definitely have an upper class. I’d guess you would call them aristocrats. This Okubo is one of them.”

“Okubo?”

“That’s his name. The samurai. Okubo. Our prisoner here was his gofer. His kosho. He’s a little bitter because he sees now that Okubo was basically willing to use him as a decoy to get at you.”

“Get at me?”

“Yes. According to our prisoner, Okubo recognized you from earlier, back at the tank battle. It’s that hat you’re wearing, I suppose.”

“Good hat,” Deke said. “Keeps the sun and the rain off.”

“It also makes you stand out when everyone else is wearing a helmet. This Okubo noticed you.”

“I doubt that we’ll cross paths again.”

“Don’t be so sure. Okubo got away. It’s not a very big island, and after talking with Kimura, I do know one thing for certain.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Yoshio shook his head. “This fight won’t be over until the very last enemy soldier is dead. That includes this Okubo. But if there’s anyone who can get him, it’s you.”

Deke shook his head. “Sure don’t seem that way to me. That son of a bitch got away from me twice. I let him kill Ingram, and he would have killed Lieutenant Steele if Honcho hadn’t gotten lucky.”

“Hey, this Okubo is supposed to be one of the best marksmen that the enemy has. He’s a samurai! He was also on Guadalcanal, Kimura says, so he shot an awful lot of our guys before he got out in the evacuation. But if anyone can bring him down, it’s you. You’re probably the best shot on this island.” Yoshio paused, hesitated. “It’s not just that, Deke. You’re not like the rest of us. Deep down, I think you kind of enjoy this.”

“Enjoy getting shot at? That’s crazy talk.”

“Nobody likes getting shot at. But you do like shooting back. Fighting. I can tell. Anyhow, watch out for Okubo, and if you do see him again, make sure you’re the one who shoots first — and don’t miss. From what Kimura says, you might not get a second chance.”

Yoshio moved away to tighten the prisoner’s bindings again, leaving Deke to think over what Yoshio had said earlier. He wasn’t sure that he agreed that he liked fighting. Well, maybe a little, he admitted. It sure as hell beat working in the sawmill.

The account of the Samurai Sniper that Yoshio had relayed from the prisoner made him angry. Who the hell did this Okubo think he was, anyway?

Deke turned his attention to his rifle. He cleaned his Springfield daily, no matter how tired. Neglected weapons quickly rusted in the tropical climate.

There wasn’t much light left, but Deke didn’t need to see his rifle to clean it. He was more than familiar with every part of it simply by touch. He dismantled the rifle and spread the parts on his blanket, then cleaned and oiled them carefully.

The clean smell of the gun oil dispelled the unpleasant odors of vegetative rot and dampness. Gun oil was the best smell in the world. Besides, if Deke didn’t know better, he would have sworn that it kept the mosquitoes away.

His conversation with Yoshio had left him feeling angry about the Japanese sniper. Cleaning and reassembling the rifle made him feel calm.

He slid the bolt back into place, enjoying the satisfying sound that it made. Clunk. Snick.

There in the jungle dark, Deke nodded to himself, deciding that he was ready for whatever came next.

They waited three days for the division to arrive. The soldiers emerged from their trek through the jungle looking exhausted, and with good reason. Whole platoons had gotten lost for days at a time. Malaria had already set in, thanks to the ubiquitous mosquitoes. Some soldiers shook so uncontrollably that they couldn’t sleep. Every last soldier was wet, muddy, covered with insect bites, and excoriated by the sharp-edged kunai grass.

“Some cavalry,” Philly grumped. “They look more like some half-dead mules that the cavalry rode in on.”

Deke looked at him sideways. “What do you know about mules? Do they have a lot of mules in Philadelphia?”

“It’s a figure of speech,” Philly said, looking Deke up and down. “Let’s just say I know a jackass when I see one.”

“Keep it up.”

“I’m glad it’s not my job to tell them that now they’ve got to fight the Japanese, who’ve been resting up this whole time, eating hot meals and drinking sake, while they’ve been crawling through the jungle.”

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” Deke agreed.

The division’s arrival meant that Lieutenant Steele could finally get some measure of medical care. He was in no shape to continue the fight.

“I feel like somebody is beating on my head with a hammer,” he said. He moved slowly, as if each step pained him. “It’s like I’ve got the world’s worst hangover, without any of the fun.”

Soon enough, Lieutenant Steele was on a vehicle carrying him back to the beachhead, where he would be evacuated to a hospital ship. It all happened before Deke or anyone else in Patrol Easy could give him a proper goodbye. Once again, Deke felt as if he had let the lieutenant down.

Another officer arrived to take command of the patrol. The man looked muddy, but Deke recognized him easily enough. He felt his heart sink.

“The party is over for you boys,” said Lieutenant Thibault. He was trailed by Sergeant Hawley. “It’s about time you got off your asses and killed some Japs.”

“Hey, will you look at that, Lieutenant. It’s our old friend Cole. I’d recognize his ugly face anywhere.”

Deke stiffened but didn’t say anything.

“I’ll be damned, it is him,” the lieutenant said. “I wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but you look even sorrier than you used to. Lucky for you I showed up.”

“If you say so.”

Thibault frowned. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Hey, Cole, the lieutenant is talking to you,” Hawley snapped. “Show some respect.”

Deke knew what the lieutenant was getting at. “The lieutenant didn’t want us to call him sir. He said it would bring down the Jap snipers sure as ants on honey.”

The lieutenant looked at the sergeant. “Sergeant, do you see any enemy soldiers around?”

“Just the one, and I’m about to take care of that.”

“Right, I don’t see any Japanese either.” He glared at Deke expectantly.

Deke nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s more like it.”

The sergeant walked over and took the Japanese prisoner roughly by the elbow. He held a carbine in his other hand. “Come with me.”

The young Japanese looked at them with frightened eyes. It was clear enough what the sergeant was planning as he pushed the prisoner in the direction of a copse of coconut palms.

“Sir, the prisoner was quite helpful,” Yoshio stammered. “He showed us where the rest of the Japs were hidden.”

“Good. I’m glad that he proved useful. But we can’t spare anyone to guard him, and we sure as hell can’t send him all the way back to the beachhead.”

Yoshio opened his mouth to protest further, but Deke shot him a look. He knew that the translator wouldn’t get anywhere with the likes of the lieutenant or the sergeant. Hell, they might even decide to drag him off next.

Deke felt like he had to try something.

“Sarge, I can get rid of the prisoner for you. In fact, it would be my pleasure. That Jap has been nothing but a pain in the ass.”

“All right, fine by me.” Hawley shoved the prisoner in Deke’s direction. “I’ve got better things to do. Take that interpreter with you. It would be good for him to see what happens when you get too attached to prisoners.”

“You got it, Sarge.”

The three of them moved into the jungle, out of sight of the others. When they reached a clearing under the coconut trees, Deke gave the prisoner a shove and raised his rifle.

“Are you going to shoot him?” Yoshio asked.

“That’s what Lieutenant Thibault and Sergeant Hawley wanted, ain’t it? But no, I ain’t gonna shoot him. Tell him to run.”

“Run where?”

“Explain to him that his best bet is to head for the beach. There’s a chance that he might be able to catch a boat off this island. If the Japs have any boats, they’ll be on that beach.”

Yoshio babbled something to the prisoner in Japanese. The prisoner stared at Deke in disbelief. Maybe he thought Deke still planned to shoot him, considering that he still held a rifle. The prisoner remained rooted to the spot.

“Yoshio, what’s the Japanese word for run?”

“Hashire!”

Deke gave the prisoner a poke with the muzzle. “Go on now. Hashire!”

Finally, the young prisoner turned and ran, disappearing into the jungle.

Deke fired a single shot into the air.

“Why didn’t you shoot him?” Yoshio wondered. “I thought you hated Japs.”

“We killed plenty of Japs already. I figure there’s no harm in letting that one get away.”

Nearby, the men of Patrol Easy waited tensely, not wanting to look at one another. None of them loved the Japanese, but it was clear that the young prisoner had been harmless enough. Shooting a prisoner seemed to cross the line into murder. The seconds stretched out. Finally, they heard a single shot from the copse where the sergeant had led the prisoner.

Deke and Yoshio walked back out alone.

“The prisoner tried to escape, sir,” Deke said.

“You did what you had to do,” Thibault replied. “From here on out, we are not taking any more prisoners.”