CHAPTER NINETEEN

Deke had hoped for more time to pick off targets without attracting attention. But he’d been overdue for someone to notice him, considering the number of shots that he had taken from the same location.

The truth was that Deke was still relatively inexperienced at sniper warfare, but one basic rule had come through loud and clear, which was that a sniper had to keep moving if he wanted to stay alive. Either that, or he had to be extremely well hidden — invisible was best. It was a rule that the Japanese snipers who tied themselves into trees tended to ignore, which was why they didn’t last long. They did their fair share of damage nonetheless.

Deke had violated that rule this morning, and somebody had noticed him, all right. That somebody had to be another sniper. He figured it took one to know one.

Deke was still busy picking off targets below, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he had time to hope that it wasn’t the same Jap sniper that he’d run into yesterday.

On the hillside below, the attack was faltering. Several of the Filipinos were down. Deke reckoned that the dead guerrillas would be the lucky ones. If the Japanese captured any of the Filipino guerrillas, wounded or not, he didn’t like their chances. The Japanese wouldn’t like having been duped, and they might consider any captured Filipinos to be spies, considering that they had been dressed as Japanese soldiers. The punishment for spies was swift and merciless.

For the Filipino soldiers, the stakes were high. This was one of those situations where if it came down to being captured or killed, then they were truly better off dead than alive.

What about Yoshio? Deke spotted him working his way back down the hill. Given the odds arrayed against him as more and more Japanese poured into the fight, overwhelming the small guerrilla force, Yoshio was doing the sensible thing and retreating — but it looked like he might be too late.

He could see Japanese soldiers moving to work their way in behind Yoshio, trying to cut him off before he reached cover. The worst part was that the Japs weren’t shooting at Yoshio — they seemed intent on taking him alive.

Deke was having none of that. He had to at least give Yoshio a fighting chance of reaching the trees, where he could lose himself in the jungle cover. Deke shot one of the soldiers, and the rest scattered for cover. He fired again to make them keep their heads down. Yoshio saw his opening and ran for the trees.

But Deke’s interference had come at a price, revealing his position and helping the Japanese sniper zero in on him. Another bullet struck the tarp, punching a fresh hole in the canvas that let in more daylight. With a sinking feeling, he realized that the enemy sniper was probably above him, a position that was allowing the Jap to shoot down at the tarp. Just what he had been afraid of. Whoever was up there knew his business. Sure, Deke had found a good vantage point, but the Jap sniper had done him one better and found an even higher position.

Maybe the tarp gave Deke some concealment, but it sure as hell wasn’t bulletproof. The Jap sniper might not be able to see him, not exactly, and the tarp might end up with more holes in it than a screen door, but it was only a matter of time before he made a lucky shot.

“Philly, where is that guy?”

“I’m looking!”

Another bullet perforated the tarp. And another. His hiding place had definitely been detected, and the tarp now had several holes that Deke could look up and see daylight through. He was just starting to debate taking his chances and making a run for it when Philly called out, “I see him!”

“Where’s he at?”

“On the peak above us. My ten o’clock.”

Deke might never have known where the Jap was hiding if it hadn’t been for Philly, which spoke to the value of working with a spotter. With the binoculars, Philly had been able to detect some sign of the enemy sniper. Philly might be a loudmouth and a pain in Deke’s backside at times, but silently he praised the fact that he had the best spotter in the Pacific working with him.

It was time to get a move on. He’d had enough of that Jap sniper. Deke slipped his rifle under the tarp and worked his way around to the other side, being careful to keep low so that he didn’t brush the canvas with his head and give away his position. Once he was on the other side of the foxhole, he eased the muzzle out from under the canvas.

From here, he had a much better view up the slope, although he could still see a slice of the hill below, which was now swarming with the enemy. Philly was in a foxhole just off to Deke’s left, and figuring about where Philly’s ten o’clock was located, he began to survey the hillside above through his riflescope.

“How far up?” Deke asked.

“About a hundred feet down from the bunker, to the left a little. There’s kind of a darker spot in the dirt — might be a dugout.”

Another bullet crashed in, making another singsong whine as it ricocheted away. That was the thing about the Jap bullets — they tended to bounce off things because they were lighter, hitting more like a varmint round than a .30–06 bullet. Would you rather get shot with a varmint rifle or a deer rifle? It was a moot point, because in the hands of an experienced marksman, either one would kill you all the same.

At the sharp crack of the Japanese rifle, Deke had been able to focus on what appeared to be a rifle pit, in just the right spot. He’d bet a jug of moonshine that was where the Jap was hiding. Philly had called it. He had done his job as a spotter and found the target, more or less. Now it was Deke’s turn to do his job as a sniper and take out that target.

Easier said than done, considering that all he really had to shoot at was a patch of dirt. There wasn’t any real target, just some promising real estate. If he missed by an inch, he’d miss by a mile.

With a sinking feeling, he wondered if it was the same sniper that he had tangled with during yesterday’s ill-fated attack on the hillside. He got his answer when he saw a familiar figure break from the dugout, run about ten feet, and dive into the nearest trench.

Taken by surprise, Deke wasn’t able to get a shot at him. There was something familiar about the enemy soldier. Deke realized it was the same heavyset, squat figure that he had seen accompanying the sniper yesterday. The man must be the spotter, doing for the Jap the same thing Philly was doing for Deke. These Jap snipers had their act together.

The question was, Where was the Jap spotter going? There were several possibilities — none of them good. Maybe the Jap sniper was low on ammo and the spotter was running to find more. Or maybe the spotter was going to relay Deke’s position to Japs equipped with those wicked knee mortars. They’d zero in on the foxholes occupied by Deke and Philly in no time.

Wouldn’t be good, Deke thought.

He had to take out that Jap, and soon, before somebody called in the cavalry.

Also, he hadn’t lost sight of the fact that there were a lot more Japanese soldiers on this hillside than there were Americans. As a matter of fact, he and Philly were the only American soldiers on this hillside. If they became surrounded, he sure didn’t want to become a prisoner of the Japanese.

Deke pressed his eye closer to the end of the telescopic sight, practically screwing it into his eye socket. He had a good idea of where the sniper was hiding, but he needed something more — a hint of motion, or a muzzle flash — to pinpoint his location. Once Deke could see a target, there was pretty much nothing he couldn’t hit.

But he had to see it.

“Hey, Philly,” he called. His view of Philly’s foxhole was blocked by the tarp. “You ain’t dead yet, are you?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. We need to get out of this pickle barrel. I want you to try something.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Put your helmet on the end of your rifle and stick it out of your foxhole. Let’s see if he takes the bait.”

Next door, Deke heard muttered curses, followed by metallic scraping noises. “All right. Here goes.”

Deke waited behind the rifle, eye pressed to the scope, carefully studying the spot where he suspected that the enemy sniper was hidden. All he needed was a hint of a muzzle flash, a puff of smoke, the glint of sunlight off a telescopic sight. Then he’d know where to put his bullet.

He could hear another scrape of metal on metal nearby as Philly raised up his helmet. Deke tensed, ready to take the shot.

Nothing happened.

“He’s not buying it,” Philly called out.

“Keep trying. Maybe he’ll get annoyed enough to shoot.”

After another minute, Philly announced that he was done with the ploy. “My arms are getting tired. Now what?”

“Now we wait.”

“I hate to tell you this, but we don’t have a lot of time. I vote for getting out of here.”

“The second either one of us shows ourselves, we’re dead men. That sniper has got the drop on us.”

“Then you’d better work some hillbilly magic with that rifle of yours — and fast. We’re not going to be alone up here for long.”

Deke was nothing but patient, but he had to admit that Philly was right. They didn’t have a lot of time. The Jap sniper’s spotter had likely gone to relay the fact that there were two American soldiers hiding out on this ridge. It was only a matter of time before the Japanese attacked in force.

He stared at the spot where he thought that the sniper was hidden, but nothing presented itself as a target.

Down the slope behind him, Deke heard angry shouting. Was it the Japs coming after them? He took his eye off the scope long enough to look down the slice of slope that he could still see.

A terrible spectacle was taking place there. It appeared that the Japanese forces had captured four of the Filipino guerrillas. Fortunately, Deke didn’t see Yoshio, who must have gotten away.

The Filipino guerrillas had been forced to kneel in the dirt. With a sense of dread, Deke realized that one of the men was Pinstripe. Somehow he had survived the raid only to be captured by the Japanese. He had still been wearing the Japanese uniform tunic, but a soldier ripped it off him, none too gently, revealing the Filipino’s trademark pinstripe shirt with its contrasting collar. The other guerrillas were also stripped of their Japanese uniforms. It was as if the Japanese did not want their precious uniforms sullied by the guerrillas.

The Japanese had a reputation for being cruel to prisoners, and with a sinking feeling, Deke realized that he now had a front-row seat to see just how those prisoners were treated.

Next, an officer appeared. Ominously, he carried a drawn sword. He approached the prisoners and stopped behind the first man, looming over him. The officer set his feet, got a good grip on the samurai sword with both hands, and raised the gleaming blade over his head.

A soldier stepped forward and forced the kneeling man to tilt his chin down to better expose his neck. The captured man knew what was coming and had little choice but to cooperate. As the soldier moved away, the blade slashed down. Deke watched in horror as the Filipino’s head separated from his body and rolled in the dirt.

The officer moved behind the next man, careful to avoid the dark pool of blood spreading across the dirt.

Ever so slightly, Deke started to shift his rifle around. He settled the crosshairs on the Japanese officer as the Jap raised his sword once again.

“Don’t even think about it,” Philly whispered.

“You saw what he just did. I can’t let those bastards get away with that.”

“Right now, that Jap sniper is the only one who seems to know where we are. He hasn’t been able to get word to anyone else yet. If you shoot Errol Flynn down there, the rest of the Japs will know we’re here.”

“Dammit, Philly—”

“See all those guns down there pointed at the Filipinos? It’s not like they’re going to stand up and walk away if you shoot that guy with the sword.”

Deke kept his sights on the officer. Deep down, he knew Philly was right.

But still.

He held his fire.

The sword swung down, decapitating another man.

Then the officer got to Pinstripe. The sword rose.

Philly uttered one last warning, “Deke, don’t you do it.”

Ignoring Philly, he put the crosshairs on the Japanese officer — and held steady. He couldn’t miss.

But Deke took his finger off the trigger, hating himself for doing it. In the end, he supposed that he didn’t really owe Pinstripe anything. Besides, they still had the mission to complete. But he hated to see a brave man slaughtered like a hog or a steer.

The sword swept down. Pinstripe’s body joined the others, spilling their life’s blood into the soil that they had fought for against the Japanese. The Filipinos had been incredibly brave and determined.

Gritting his teeth, Deke put his rifle sights back on the spot where they thought the Jap sniper was hidden. There was still no sign of him, however. They seemed to have each other pinned down. Just how long could they keep this up?

Deke heard another shout from the hillside below.

Now what?

He took his eye off the scope long enough to see that the Japanese spotter had reached the group of soldiers who had overseen the executions. The man was pointing up the slope toward the spot where Deke and Philly lay hidden.

“Uh-oh,” Philly said. “Looks like we’re about to have company.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for that sniper. See if you can hold off the rest of them.”

Philly opened fire, causing more angry shouts from the hillside below. Instantly, bullets began to churn the dirt around them as the soldiers figured out where they were hidden. Their foxholes sheltered them from most of the fusillade, but now they were seriously pinned down. They were stuck between a rock and a hard place, between the troops coming at them from below and the sniper perched above them. So far the sniper still hadn’t shown himself, although Deke still kept his attention focused on the scope while Philly fired downhill at the Japanese.

Come on, come on.

He could hear the firing and the shouts of the enemy drawing closer from below. From the constant crack of Philly’s rifle, it was clear that he was trying to hold them off, but there were just too many enemy troops coming at them.

Deke reached down and touched the pistol in his belt. If it came down to it, he’d save the last bullet for himself rather than be taken alive. He had already seen how the Japanese treated their prisoners. I’ll be damned if some Jap is gonna cut my head off.

He forced himself to focus on the limited field of view through his telescope that had reduced his world to a narrow circle of red-tinged dirt and shadows that might have been the hiding spot for the Japanese sniper.

Finally, there it was. Just the hint of a muzzle flash.

Over in his foxhole, Philly yelped in pain.

Deke fired at where he’d seen the muzzle flash.

He ran the bolt, fired again. Impossible to tell if he’d hit anything. But the Jap sniper had fallen silent for now.

The fact that they weren’t being shot at had emboldened the other Japanese, who now surged up the hill. Ominously, Philly had stopped firing at them.

“Philly, are you all right?” Deke shouted.

“Punched a hole in my helmet, but I’ll live. Did you get him?”

“Don’t know yet, but here come the rest of the Nips.”

It wasn’t looking good. If they’d had M1 rifles, rather than the slower-firing bolt-action Springfield rifles, maybe they would’ve had a chance. Deke touched the handle of the pistol once again, just to reassure himself. If it came down to it, all he needed were a few seconds, and one bullet.

That was when a tremendous explosion ripped across the hilltop beyond them. Deke looked up to see smoke and debris swirling around the entrance to the bunker.

It looked as if the rest of the team had gotten to those guns, after all.

The blast took the Japanese by surprise, prompting a momentary lull in the firing.

It was now or never.

Deke jumped out of the foxhole. Nearby, Philly had the same idea and came scrambling out of his own foxhole.

“They did it,” Philly said in amazement.

But Deke didn’t want to stand around and discuss it. “Run!”

They both headed back down the ridge, running full tilt for the trees, expecting at any moment to catch a bullet in the back.

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