Pacific Sniper

Chapter Seven

As night came on, the area immediately to their front fell into an uneasy quiet. But not for long. Despite the distant gunfire, the jungle began waking up for the night. They heard a concert of strange, whining insects, shrieking night birds, and even a few inhuman cries that reminded Deke of wild bobcats that he had heard in the hills back home. Even without the threat of the Japanese, the jungle was alien and terrifying.

Beside him, Philly the city boy looked unsettled, pointing his rifle in one direction and then another.

Something screeched long and loud.

“What the hell was that?” he asked.

“A tiger, maybe,” Deke said, pulling his leg.

“A tiger? You think so? What the hell is this place?”

One of the men in a nearby foxhole set Philly straight. “It’s monkeys, you idiot. The jungle is full of them.”

Philly snorted. “Monkeys, huh? I knew that. That freakin’ Deacon was yanking my chain. Anyhow, just so long as it’s not Japs.”

“You won’t hear the Japs,” Deke said. “Not until the last minute, anyhow.”

They settled down to wait. They were supposed to be an anti-sniper patrol. But at the moment there didn’t seem to be any enemy snipers to worry about. It didn’t make the sounds from the jungle any less unsettling.

Instead, they focused on the growing blackness around them, staring into the jungle and wondering what might be next. They could still hear plenty of shooting to their right and left. Unless those troops were shooting at random, then there had to be something else out there.

Those men who could do so managed to grab some sleep, slumping down into the trenches and getting some rest. Although the conditions weren’t ideal, sleep wasn’t hard to come by. After all, most of them had been awake since long before dawn, if not most of the night before. Sleeping in the landing craft hadn’t exactly been inviting.

Deke was as tired as anyone, but he kept his eyes open. He had no intention of going to sleep just yet.

“Go on and get some shut-eye,” he said quietly to Philly. “I’ll keep watch.”

“All right, then. I appreciate it.”

Deke stared into the humid night. The air smelled damp and fetid, somehow mixing the lush scent of greenery with decay, like the stagnant air of an orchid hothouse that he had visited in Hawaii. It didn’t take much imagination to think of the Japanese soldiers who might be creeping up on them in the dark. For all he knew, there might be a whole division out there, holding its breath, waiting to attack.

He glanced down at his Timex watch — the most valuable item that Deke had ever owned that wasn’t a firearm, the luminous dots emitting the faintest light — and saw that it was approaching midnight. So far there hadn’t been any sign of the enemy.

All of a sudden, the chatter of creatures in the nighttime jungle fell silent. Something had disturbed them. He stared harder into the hushed darkness, looking for any sign of movement.

Considering that Deke had been a hunter since he was old enough to carry a rifle into the woods, he knew that when the forest went quiet, it meant that something was there that didn’t belong or that was unwelcome. Usually, that meant something human — or a predator. He supposed that the same rules applied in the jungle.

He leaned out of the foxhole, rifle at the ready, straining his eyes and ears, hoping to see or hear something.

To his right, someone opened fire, causing Deke to jump.

Several other men started shooting. The night lit up with muzzle flashes and even tracer fire. The firing went on for at least a minute. Nobody shot back at them.

Finally, they could hear Lieutenant Steele shouting to make himself heard. A nearby lieutenant was also ordering his men to stop shooting, although his voice carried less authority.

“Cease fire! Cease fire, goddamn it!” Steele shouted. “What the hell was everybody shooting at? That’s what I’d like to know.”

“I thought I heard something, sir.” The soldier sounded sheepish.

“When the Japs are here, you’ll know. Believe me. In the meantime, knock it off and show some fire discipline. If the Japs didn’t know where we were before, we sure as hell just drew them a map.”

Reluctantly, the men had stopped shooting into the darkness. If nothing else, the one-sided firefight had been a way to release tension.

“I know I heard something,” the soldier muttered again, sounding miserable in his nearby foxhole.

“All right,” Lieutenant Steele said, sounding calmer now. “Everybody’s jumpy. Listen, if anybody leaves his foxhole, make sure you know the password.” He repeated it quietly so that those in the vicinity could hear it. “Pollywog.”

“Sounds silly to me,” Philly said with a snort. “What kind of password is that?”

“Thanks for sharing your opinion,” the lieutenant said in a tone that meant he hadn’t appreciated Philly’s comment at all. Philly seemed to shrink in the darkness. He hadn’t meant for the lieutenant to hear him.

But the lieutenant wasn’t ready to let him off the hook just yet.

“On Guadal, we learned that the Jap infiltrators were pretty good at picking up on our passwords,” the lieutenant said. “The thing is that the Japs have a hard time pronouncing the letter L. That sound is not part of their language. They’d butcher your name, Philly, that’s for sure. So if you ask for the password and someone can’t pronounce it, chances are, it’s not one of us. Now, do you still think that’s a dumb password?”

“No, Honcho,” Philly admitted.

After the outburst of fire, it was clear that nobody was going to get any more sleep. The soldiers settled down to watch and wait.

As it turned out, the enemy waited just long enough for them to get bored and let their guard down.

Out of the darkness, they heard running feet.

“Who’s out there?” somebody shouted. “What’s the password?”

There wasn’t any answer. Instead, several figures began to take shape, shadows moving fast. The soldiers who spotted the enemy felt mesmerized, still chastened after shooting at nothing earlier, and their fingers remained frozen on their triggers.

Then came a bloodcurdling scream out of the darkness: “Aaaiiiee!” A Japanese battle cry.

Something flew through the air.

Too late, the soldiers realized it was a grenade, which bounced into a foxhole and exploded.

Now there were more screams, but these were not more Japanese battle cries. They were the agonized screams of dead and dying soldiers.

“Japs!” someone yelled.

Another grenade flew in and exploded. Somebody lit a phosphorous flare, and in the harsh white glare they could see a couple of figures charging at them with rifles, bayonets glinting.

Deke quickly fired and dropped one of the attackers.

Lieutenant Steele’s shotgun took out the other enemy soldiers.

“It’s starting,” Steele said. “This is just what the Japs did on Guadal. They’ll keep this up all night, attacking us in twos and threes, just to wear us down. Everybody, stay alert.”

The warning was unnecessary. The men gazed uneasily into the darkness for fifteen minutes before the next attack came. This time, they distinctly heard a single word being shouted, “Banzai!”

They had all heard of banzai attacks before. The word alone struck fear into their hearts.

Another flare was lit, illuminating the landscape with its harsh light like a lightning bolt hanging in the sky.

Framed against the light, a soldier had managed to get right up on top of them. While the other small group of attackers was busy shouting Banzai!, this Jap had been so stealthy that they hadn’t heard him at all.

To their surprise, he was not carrying a rifle, as were the other attackers.

Instead, the light glinted off a sword.

“It’s a Jap officer!” Philly shouted. “He looks like a goddamn samurai!”

The Japanese officer waved the blade wildly as he shouted and ran at the foxholes as if sheer fury could drive out the Americans. Maybe it could. Still green, the GIs were so stunned by the sight of the screaming, sword-waving Japanese that nobody fired at the attacker.

Finally, a soldier jumped up to confront him, brandishing his own rifle and bayonet. Expertly, the Japanese sidestepped the GI and struck at him with the sword. Screaming, the man went down.

The Japanese officer continued his one-man attack.

Standing above the foxholes, he slashed down at the GIs below. Caught by surprise, some raised their hands and arms to stop the blade. They were cut badly by the razor-sharp sword.

“Just shoot the bastard!” Lieutenant Steele shouted, trying to get his shotgun into play. The problem was that the attacker was already in among them, and firing meant risking hitting one of their own.

Meanwhile, the Japanese officer continued to hack and slash.

Deke was having the same problem getting a clear shot. He crawled out of the foxhole. His plan was to get the muzzle of his rifle right against the Jap if he had to — if he could even get that close with that blade whirring around.

The swordsman wasn’t the only attacker. The other Japanese ran among the defenses, shooting down into the foxholes.

Quickly, the situation was turning into a bloodbath.

As Deke ran toward the samurai, or whatever he was, another soldier jumped up to confront the Japanese swordsman. In the light from the flare, Deke saw that it was Ingram, one of the members of the new sniper squad. He was a big man, seemingly twice the size of the Jap. The sword bit at him, but Ingram kept going and grappled with the Jap.

The man fought back furiously. Ingram was forced to get his hands around the sword blade to keep from being cut to pieces. Meanwhile, streaks of blood ran down his forearms as the edge cut into his hands and fingers.

“Hold on, that’s a Jap officer. Take him alive if you can!” Lieutenant Steele shouted. He had abandoned his own foxhole and charged at the Jap, his shotgun at the ready. Reaching the two struggling men, he reversed his shotgun, the butt ready to strike.

Deke stood nearby, rifle at the ready.

But it was too hard in the tussle to tell who was who.

Finally, the bigger figure slumped. The pain and the loss of blood had been too much for Ingram. The Japanese officer stepped back and watched Ingram drop to his knees.

Then he raised the sword for a killing blow.

Deke didn’t give him the chance. He darted forward and swatted the Jap right in the head with the rifle butt. Stunned, the officer fell, dropping his blade. Deke kicked the sword away and hit the Jap again for good measure.

Lieutenant Steele settled one boot on the Jap’s chest and put the muzzle of the shotgun in the officer’s face, but there was no need. The man was unconscious.

“Philly, get some rope and tie him up,” Steele said. “Headquarters would like nothing better than to interview a Jap officer. Nice work, Deke. You might be another one to keep around.”

Deke felt a swell of pride. Something about Lieutenant Steele made Deke glad to be singled out. Steele was the first officer whom Deke had felt that way about, but it wasn’t just his rank — his age gave him a fatherly air. He was what the mountain folks back home called a “good man.”

But there was no time to dwell on that. Several shots rang out up and down the line, finally finishing off the other Japanese attackers.

Once again, the night settled into an uneasy silence.

But the GIs felt shaken to a man. There had not been more than a half dozen Japanese attackers, but the whole defensive line had been in danger of being routed.

If the GIs had run, what then? There was nowhere to go but back into the sea. The dire reality of their situation began to sink in.

“They’re crazy,” Philly said, looking down at the trussed-up Japanese officer in the dying light from the flare. “Who attacks anybody with a sword? Who do these guys think they are?”

“Some of them still think that they’re samurai,” the lieutenant said nearby. “They have a code of honor that’s hard for us to understand. It’s called Bushido.”

“Looks like a death wish to me,” Deke said.

The lieutenant nodded. “That sounds about right,” he said. “The trouble is that they want to take some of us along with them.”

“They killed Ben. I hate ’em. I hate these Japs.”

Deke thought about how he had lost control and stabbed that Jap over and over again. He knew exactly what Philly was saying about the enemy.

The endless drills and exercises that they’d had right up until the moment of landing on the island had still left the war seeming distant, like something from the pages of a training manual.

That wasn’t the case anymore. The war was far too real. Each one of them had lost a buddy or someone from their unit. For Deke and every other GI and marine on the island, the war was now personal.

Kill or be killed — with a little revenge mixed in for good measure.