Rising Sniper

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Not long after first light, Ikeda was leading a reconnaissance patrol on the beach. He found that it kept him and the men sharp, giving them a little exercise away from the hill. He got tired of all the fresh dirt and concrete. The greenery of the forest or the sandy beach was a welcome change of scenery.

In fact, so much attention had been focused on the hill and its defense that it was almost possible to forget that there was far more to the island.

Ikeda breathed in the fresh salt air, enjoying the feel of the sea breeze on his face. What man did not feel energized by the start of a new day? The sun was rising, a big red ball of fire coming out of the Pacific, but the heat of the day was not yet present. There was nothing so glorious as a Pacific sunrise. Later on, they would swelter in that heat, but for now, the rising sun was a thing of beauty, a reminder of Japan itself.

They walked on, some of the men talking quietly in hushed tones. Ikeda permitted it — on the beach, out in the open, there was not much worry about giving away their position, was there? The Filipino guerrillas were not much threat to an armed patrol. As for the Americans, all reports indicated that they must still be many thousands of miles away.

Up ahead, though, something didn’t look right in the sand. The smooth surface of the beach had been disturbed. Moving closer, he could see that several sets of footsteps led from the water, across the beach, and disappeared into the fringe of forest beyond the sand.

“Sir?”

“I see it,” Ikeda said.

Instantly, he was on alert, the sniper rifle gripped tightly in his hands. The men sensed that something wasn’t right and looked around them, but what was there to see but more beach, surf, and sand? Whoever had made those tracks was long gone, the tide having erased many of the tracks.

Ikeda bent closer to examine the marks. He was puzzled as to why the tracks only led away from the sea, as if whoever had left them had materialized out of the water. Also, most of the tracks showed footsteps that were fairly large, sunk deep into the sand. These marks had been left by big men — bigger than the average Japanese soldier or Filipino laborer, at least.

Slowly, a realization began to sink in for Ikeda. The morning calm that he had been experiencing had vanished. If these were not Japanese tracks, or Filipino tracks, then that left one possibility.

Enemy soldiers had landed on this beach and made their way into the jungle at the base of the hill.

This was the only explanation that Ikeda could think of for the tracks on the beach, which clearly showed an organized team had landed here. There had been warnings of commando raids. At long last, those warnings appeared to have come true.

Reluctantly, he dismissed the idea of following the tracks. He would have liked nothing better than to hunt down the invaders and put his rifle to use. However, it was possible that the men who had left these tracks had a head start of several hours. Instead, the reason these men were here seemed far more important. Had the raiders come to attack the hilltop battery?

“We must get back to the hill immediately,” Ikeda said, preparing to set off at a trot back the way that they had come. It would be the fastest way to sound a warning, even if it meant letting the raiders get away — for now. “We must warn the others. There is no time to lose.”

It had taken the men of Patrol Easy most of the night to make their way to the base of the hill. The forest between the beach and the hill had not been very dense, much of it having been cleared by the Japanese, in part for defense of the island, but also for the raw materials needed to construct the defenses on the hill. In fact, they would have felt more confident if the forest had offered more cover. They proceeded cautiously, but by some miracle they did not encounter a single enemy soldier.

“I don’t get it,” Philly wondered aloud. “Where are all the Japs?”

“It’s spooky,” Deke whispered, looking in every direction, rifle at the ready. “I hope we ain’t walkin’ into a trap.”

“They’re not expecting us yet,” Honcho said. “When the fleet gets here, they’ll see it. They’ll have plenty of time to slither into whatever hidey-holes they have prepared for their snipers and machine guns before our boys come ashore. Until then, I suppose they’re all still up on this hill, working to dig themselves in even deeper.”

“You think we can reach those guns?”

“One way or another, we’re gonna have to.”

Lieutenant Steele was correct that most of the Japanese seemed to be working on the hill. They could see work parties busy digging or hauling buckets or rocks and dirt. It was a little surprising that not a single piece of heavy machinery was visible. Japanese soldiers were not the only laborers. A large number of civilian Filipino men appeared to have been pressed into service, ranging in age from boys to gray-haired older men.

It was a miserable existence. They appeared to be constantly abused by the Japanese, punched, kicked, and beaten with sticks whenever they stumbled or moved too slowly to satisfy the cruel Japanese overseers. It was clear that the Filipinos amounted to little more than slave labor.

All that work had produced results. To Deke’s eye, the entire hillside appeared to be a network of trenches, bunkers, and pillboxes. It had all been accomplished with a backbreaking amount of effort, using basic tools.

“It’s like these guys are straight out of the Stone Age,” Philly said.

“Lucky for us,” Deke replied. “Imagine what they could have done with a few bulldozers.”

They could see what must be their destination near the top of the hill. The dark maw of a large bunker was visible. Whatever guns were inside would have a commanding view of the approach to the beach and could rain destruction down on any fleet that approached.

“That’s got to be the big guns we’re after,” Philly said, voicing what everyone was already thinking.

“No doubt about it,” Steele agreed.

“How the hell do we get up there?”

Steele grinned. “We walk on in, bold as brass, that’s how. Luckily, nobody seems to be expecting us.”

Deke could see that the lieutenant was on to something. They could have planned the attack for days and never have had such an opportunity as the one that now presented itself. The attack was bold and spontaneous. It remained to be seen if they could pull it off, but they had total surprise on their side.

While there were plenty of Japanese soldiers in sight, very few of them were armed. These were work details, with the men carrying shovels rather than rifles. Many had their shirts off, no helmets on, or were wearing only the traditional loincloth that the Japanese called a fundoshi. It was the only clothing needed in the tropical heat, but it was basically the same as working in your underwear. Talk about being caught with your pants down, Deke thought.

He could also see that the Japanese troops looked thin, dirty, and exhausted. There were a lot of them, but they were definitely not in top condition.

Hidden in a trench at the bottom of the hill, Lieutenant Steele used a finger to map out their route, drawing in the dirt.

“See how these trenches zigzag up the hill?” Honcho asked. “We can follow them right to the top.”

“That’s crazy,” Philly said.

“Sometimes crazy is what works. We’ll be done and out of here before the Japs know what hit them. That said, I don’t want any shooting.”

“Honcho, in case you haven’t noticed, those are Japs!”

“Japs who don’t even know we’re here, so don’t go shooting anyone and telling them otherwise. Got it?”

“You’re the boss.”

“I’ll lead. Bat and Ball, you’re next. Have those charges ready. Rodeo, Yoshio, Alphabet, you cover them when they go to toss those satchels into the bunker. Deke, you watch our tail.”

It was a simple plan, and sometimes simple plans worked best — even when they were fraught with danger.

They started up the hill, Steele leading the way. By keeping to the network of trenches, and staying crouched low, they managed not to attract any attention to themselves.

In fact, most of the Japanese soldiers were so intent on their work that they didn’t pay any attention to the soldiers moving through the trenches. Maybe they were too exhausted to notice or maybe even to care. Besides, most of the rank-and-file Japanese soldiers had learned a long time ago that it wasn’t smart to pay too much attention — it was best to keep their heads down and do what they were told.

The exception was a soldier who spotted the movement through the trench and the uniforms that looked out of place. He stared at Deke bringing up the rear, and his eyes went wide in disbelief. Deke brought his rifle up, ready to pop him, but he remembered Honcho’s warning not to spoil the surprise by firing any shots. Besides, the poor bastard wasn’t armed with anything but a shovel.

Instead, Deke put a finger to his lips in the universal gesture to keep quiet. The soldier seemed to realize that if he shouted an alarm, Deke would shoot him. It was all the warning that he needed. He just stared quietly as Deke disappeared around a switchback in the trench.

They climbed higher. It took just a few minutes to approach the top. Below, the beach and the blue water of the gulf stretched out before them. Deke had sharp eyes, but he didn’t see any sign of the destroyer that had brought them to the Japanese doorstep. If the USS Ingersoll was still out there, it must be over the horizon.

With a sinking feeling, Deke realized that all it would take was to position a few machine guns up here, along with some artillery, and that beach would be very hard to take. Not impossible — after all, US forces had already taken Guadalcanal and Guam, among other places — but there would be a heavy price to pay. I reckon that’s why we’re here.

At the top of the promontory, they reached the bunker where the big naval guns were hidden. Deke caught up to the others but hung behind a few feet, watching their back trail. At any moment, the soldier he’d seen earlier might change his mind and sound the alarm. He didn’t even want to think about fighting his way back down the hill.

He pushed that thought from his mind and studied the bunker instead. The sight of the massive guns was enough to give anyone pause. He could just see the barrels in the gloom inside the bunker. Three guns, side by side, each barrel at least thirty feet long. The muzzles looked big enough for a man to put his head into. The barrels were set at a forty-five degree angle, probably to give them the greatest range. It was no different from firing a rifle a long distance — you had to aim high because gravity constantly worked to pull things back to earth. He didn’t even want to think about the damage those guns could do if they were aimed at the invasion fleet that would appear soon.

“I don’t know,” Bat said. He looked at Ball, who shook his head.

They both had the satchel charges ready. The plan had been for them to throw them into the bunker, starting with Bat, but he was hesitating. “Heavy as those guns are, I’m not sure we’ve got enough bang here to take them out.”

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and set off the ammunition,” the lieutenant said.

“Maybe. But with batteries like this, I’d say most of the ammunition is stored separately, just to prevent any accidents,” Bat said knowingly.

“What are you telling me?”

“That I want to get closer. If I can get one of these charges into the magazine, it will take the top off this hill. Otherwise, I’m not sure how much damage we’ll really do.”

The lieutenant nodded reluctantly. “All right, get in there and get as close as you can.”

“What about the Japs?” Philly asked.

“We’ve been lucky so far. Let’s hope our luck holds.”

It was easy to see why Bat was concerned that the demolition charge might not be enough. The guns looked massively heavy. Then again, how close did he really want to be when that charge detonated? Each satchel contained eight half-pound blocks of TNT. That ought to be enough to blow the battery to kingdom come — along with anybody who happened to get too close to the explosion.

With Ball hanging back with his own satchel charge in reserve, Bat crept closer. Each moment that they lingered up here at the bunker, where there were surely alert guards, increased their danger. The element of surprise could be lost at any moment — and then what?

Deke held his breath as Bat moved toward the entrance to the bunker. He could see movement within — perhaps the gun crew putting finishing touches on the defenses or guards on duty.

Almost there.

Bat stood up to his full height, then pulled his arm back so that he could whip the satchel deep into the bunker. It seemed impossible that none of the Japanese had noticed him.

But his luck didn’t hold.

A shot rang out.

“I’m hit!” he cried.

He had been in the process of releasing the satchel charge when he’d been shot. The explosives were now in the air, but his pitch had been thrown off when he’d been hit. They watched helplessly as the satchel struck the side of the bunker entrance and bounced off, landing just outside the mouth of the bunker.

When he saw that the throw had gone wrong, Bat started to haul himself out of the trench, favoring his wounded arm. Deke had to hand it to the marine. It looked as if the determined son of a bitch was going to try to throw the charge deeper into the bunker — even if it meant getting himself blown up in the process.

Another shot followed, striking the lip of the trench that Bat was crawling out of. His natural reflex was to duck back down, costing him the few seconds he needed to get to the bunker.

Too late. With a tremendous blast, the satchel charge went off. At least four pounds of TNT sent dirt flying everywhere, raining rocks and debris across the top of the hill. The Japanese sentries in the vicinity of the bunker entrance had been sent to join their ancestors. As the air cleared, it became evident that the explosion hadn’t been close enough to the battery to do it any real harm. Deke could see the three massive barrels still pointing toward the sea, ready to pulverize any Allied ships that appeared.

Dazed soldiers began pouring out of the bunker, but an officer emerged, getting them organized. There was no hope now of getting the second satchel charge anywhere near that bunker.

That was when the other marine sprang into action. Ball hurried forward, got an arm around Bat, and dragged him away from the bunker entrance. Bat was covered in dust from the blast, and bloody, but he still seemed to be alive.

Ball didn’t even attempt to throw his own satchel charge. More and more Japanese appeared from the swirling dust at the bunker entrance — and they were carrying more than shovels. Their rifles cracked as they opened fire, although it wasn’t clear that they knew yet what they were shooting at through the billowing dust and smoke. No matter — the message was clear. It was time to get out of Dodge.

In the midst of the chaos, a single rifle cracked with accurate fire, kicked up dirt near Ball’s head as he helped Bat get away from the bunker entrance. Deke realized the shots had come from below them, and he swung his rifle in that direction, searching through the telescopic sight for a target.

The two marines tumbled into a ditch and kept going. They ran stooped over, but the ditch wasn’t very deep. Another shot struck near Ball’s head, even closer this time. If he hadn’t been on the move, he would have been a dead man.

Deke spotted the Japanese sniper. To his surprise, the enemy soldier carried a rifle with a telescope. No wonder the bastard had nailed Bat in the first place. Also, he wasn’t alone. He was accompanied by a half dozen men who took their time aiming and firing their rifles with telling effect. A shorter, squat man who stood just behind the sniper, holding binoculars, was clearly his spotter.

One thing was clear — these Japs were trained marksmen. Patrol Easy had been lucky so far, but bullets began to sing past their ears or strike the ground around them.

Deke put his crosshairs on the enemy sniper and was in the process of squeezing the trigger when something exploded nearby with a flash-bang that threw off his aim. His bullet passed close enough to the enemy sniper to give him a close shave, like a pitcher brushing back a batter.

He had certainly gotten the other sniper’s attention. For a split second, they regarded each other through their riflescopes. Deke didn’t have a live round in the chamber — and lucky for him, he didn’t suppose that the Jap did either. Instead, they regarded each other coolly through their telescopic sights. Like Deke, the other sniper was not wearing a helmet but had on the billed cap that noncommissioned officers wore.

It was only a split second, but it was enough to leave an impression of the other sniper burned into his brain.

He worked the bolt, but by then it was too late. The moment had passed. The enemy sniper took cover, and Deke did the same. Given time, they might have hunted each other through the network of trenches, but this wasn’t how things were playing out.

Still, Deke wasn’t about to give up on fighting the sniper. He was like a dog with a bone. He slid his rifle over the lip of the trench. He was careful to keep his head behind a big rock. The Jap had already proved himself to be a good shot, so Deke wasn’t about to give him a target. Silently, he willed the Jap sniper to show himself.

But like Deke, the sniper had found good cover. Unseen, he sent shot after well-placed shot in the direction of the US soldiers. So far, he hadn’t hit anyone other than Bat, but the rifle shots weren’t making their retreat off the hill any easier.

Deke observed that the report of the lighter-caliber rifle was drowned out by the sound of other gunshots — especially a Nambu machine gun that the Japanese had gotten into action that now churned up the dirt in all directions. In their haste, the machine-gun crew was firing at anything that moved. Hit by a burst, a whole group of civilian laborers were mowed down.

Out of frustration, Deke gave up looking for the sniper and put his crosshairs on the machine-gun crew. A quick shot took out the gunner.

Next, he spotted a Japanese officer who stood atop a pillbox, waving a sword and shouting in an effort to organize the troops.

Deke squeezed the trigger and the officer went down. He worked the bolt, looking for another target.

“Let’s get the hell out of here!” Honcho shouted.

Deke wasn’t inclined to listen, thinking that he would hold off the enemy while the others got away.

But Honcho was having none of it. He grabbed Deke’s shoulder as he went past and pulled Deke after him.

Their spur-of-the-moment attack had failed to destroy the guns, but they had stirred up the hornet’s nest. Soldiers ran everywhere in confusion and officers shouted orders. The element of surprise was long gone. It had been a gamble that didn’t pay off. Deke didn’t even want to think about what that meant. Getting anywhere near the bunker again was going to be damn near impossible.

There was no time to think about that now as they raced back through the trenches, dodging fire as they ran. The civilian laborers scattered. One or two of the Japanese leaped at them, wildly swinging their shovels. One Jap made the mistake of trying to stop Philly, waving his shovel at him, and got a rifle butt in the face for his trouble. Philly jumped over the writhing body and kept going.

Getting down off the hill was much faster than climbing it had been. It wasn’t quite fear or panic, but the need for self-preservation had given wings to their feet. They raced back down the way that they had come. Their best hope of survival was to get off the hill as fast as possible, before they could be pinned down.

Deke was the last man off the hill. He and the rest of Patrol Easy fled into the jungle as bullets and bursts of machine-gun fire shredded the lush green leaves of the trees like confetti. From the hill behind them, above the sound of the furious guns, they heard screams of outrage growing closer.

The Japanese were now on the attack, pursuing them like dogs running after rabbits.

Sometimes you didn’t have any choice but to be a rabbit.

Deke ran like hell.