Savage Sniper

CHAPTER TEN

With no time to spare before dark, Patrol Easy headed back into the interior of Leyte, leaving the beach behind. The tropical sea breeze was soon replaced by the stifling heat and humidity of the island interior. The breeze had kept the worst of the insects at bay, but the flies and midges now returned in hungry, biting clouds.

“Here we go again,” Philly grumbled. “I thought the front lines were dangerous, but what do you know, hanging around too close to HQ turns out to be just as hazardous when someone decides to volunteer you for a mission deep into enemy territory.”

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” Deke agreed. “It’s gotten so that I can’t tell which one is hotter.”

“But if it means getting those poor bastards out of the POW camp, then it’s worth it,” Philly pointed out.

“Let’s just make sure we don’t end up in the boneyard in the process, or ambushed. We won’t be much use to anybody if we’re dead.”

After that brief exchange, no one seemed inclined to say more. As the vegetation deepened around them, a silence settled over the group.

Even just a stone’s throw from the sea, the jungle grew lush and thick right up to the edge of the dirt road. The jungle was a riot of green, with trees of all kinds and sizes. Deke was more than familiar with the mountain forests where he’d grown up and could identify oaks, maples, and hickory trees. He didn’t even know where to begin here, these being far different from the species back home, but the trees were just as impressive.

Overgrown vines hung from the trees, the creepers adding to the lush vegetation that snaked down from the canopy.

The scary part was that Deke realized he was starting to feel right at home. There were hidden dangers lurking in the jungle, to be sure, but it also provided cover. The protection offered by the forest was a lot better than feeling exposed on the beach.

In any case, it felt good to be on the move. A few hours of rest in the relative security of the beach area had felt good, but now it was time to get back into the action.

It would have made sense to head out the next morning, but even the few hours they had before darkness arrived suddenly seemed essential.

Nobody had come out and said it, but by unspoken mutual agreement they were all double-timing it. The area was securely in American hands — more or less, aside from a few infiltrators and small bands of enemy soldiers — so there wasn’t much worry yet about encountering any stray enemy units. That would come later. For now they could hurry it up.

Major Flanders’s description of the fate that might await the American POWs added to their sense of urgency. They all knew only too well what the Japanese were capable of doing. They had witnessed the enemy’s cruelty too many times to count.

Maybe Americans weren’t always saints, and the frustrations of the battlefield resulted in a few captured Japanese not making it to the rear. However, wholesale slaughter of defenseless Japanese POWs was unthinkable. Once the captured enemy troops were safely corralled in the POW compound, they were treated with respect and well fed. The men of Patrol Easy would find out soon enough that the treatment of American POWs held by the Japanese fell far short of what anyone might expect.

“Hey, Deke, do you think the Japanese will really murder those POWs?” Philly asked.

“You heard what that major had to say, same as I did,” Deke replied. “Also, you know the Japanese as well as I do. What do you think they’re capable of doing?”

Philly clammed up for once, thinking it over. He didn’t respond directly, but turned to shout with annoyance at Rodeo, who was lagging behind. “Pick up the pace, why don’t you? It would be nice to get where we’re going before Christmas.”

If Lieutenant Steele had overheard, he chose not to comment. Deke figured that the lieutenant had other things on his mind — such as how they were all going to survive this mission and bring home those POWs to boot.

The plan to liberate the POWs had sounded well and good back in the relative safety of the tent at HQ. It hadn’t taken much to get them fired up about rescuing the POWs. The plan had unhatched in the shadowy corner of the tent. But now in the harsh light of day, they were headed back in what Deke thought of as Indian country.

The last that they had seen of Major Flanders was him piling into a transport to ferry him back to General MacArthur’s HQ aboard USS Nashville, taking his reconnaissance photographs with him. Deke supposed that you couldn’t really blame the major for not heading into the field with them. That wasn’t the man’s job.

One thing for sure — they were on their own.

There were just a handful of them on this patrol: Lieutenant Steele, Deke, Philly, Yoshio, and Rodeo. Philly was already grumbling about having to walk who knew how many hours before they reached that POW camp.

Their Filipino guerrilla guide, Danilo, was on point. There hadn’t been any discussion about him joining this dangerous mission. He had simply attached himself to their patrol, ready to go — and silent as always.

Deke felt reassured by his presence. The deeply tanned Filipino was wise in the ways of the jungle — plus, he was a tough nut to crack. Danilo appeared to have a select knowledge of English, understanding only as much as he wanted to. Nonetheless, they would welcome even his limited communication skills once they linked up with the Filipino guerrillas somewhere up ahead.

At least that was the plan. Deke knew well enough that trying to locate another friendly force in the hills and jungles would be a bit like trying to hit a tin can from one hundred yards while wearing a blindfold and swatting at bees. It was only the enemy that nobody ever had trouble running into.

Glancing up ahead at their guide, Deke realized that he still couldn’t determine just how old Danilo was. He was certainly older than the GIs or possibly even Lieutenant Steele, which put his age somewhere between forty and Methuselah territory. Yet the man’s wiry arms and legs seemed tireless.

Egan and Thor were sitting this one out. Instead, they would be carrying out guard duties at the beachhead. Thor’s powerful nose would be needed to sniff out any Japanese infiltrators bent on sabotage during the night.

It was true that a mission such as this, which involved traveling fast and light through rough terrain, was no place for the war dog. Still, Thor had become their mascot of sorts. Egan did not encourage them to show too much affection toward the dog, fearful that Thor might lose his aggressive edge, but the war dog wasn’t averse to allowing Deke to scratch his ears from time to time.

Deke had grown up with dogs and felt a soft spot toward Thor — he also felt like a war zone was no place for a dog. It was bad enough for the two-legged soldiers.

Steele had ordered them to travel as light as possible, carrying nothing more than a few rations, canteens, their weapons, and plenty of ammo. Nobody bothered with blankets in the tropical heat. They didn’t bother with ponchos, either — hell, they were already soaked through with sweat, so what would a little rain matter? Spare clothes were a luxury they couldn’t afford. The only real extra they were bringing along were two sets of wire cutters to deal with any fence or barbed wire that the Japanese were using to contain their prisoners.

Rodeo lugged along a handheld radio to keep in touch with HQ, although it was doubtful that the device would have much range once they got back into the hills. Rodeo also carried their scant medical supplies, which included a few bandages, some morphine, and aspirin. Any wounds or injuries that required more serious treatment likely meant that you were a dead man, anyhow.

Deke was grateful that he had finally shaken his jungle fever, an illness that had plagued him for most of the fight to seize Ormoc. The fever had left him feeling weak and hollowed out, but he had mostly regained his strength in the last couple of days. He just hoped and prayed that the fever didn’t return. The last thing he wanted was to be a burden to anyone on this mission. They trudged along, weapons at the ready, eyes scanning the jungle terrain for any sign of danger. There was no time to set up camp, no time to rest. They had to keep moving if they wanted to reach the POW camp before it was too late.

They soon reached the vicinity of Camp Downes, which had been the scene of a sharp fight only recently. The old outpost had been turned into a supply base, with material being moved up from the beachhead. They also passed the concrete bunkers that had given them so much trouble when passing through initially on their road to Ormoc.

The Japanese within those bunkers had proved to be a tough nut to crack. It had only been the arrival of the flame-thrower tanks known as Satans that had enabled them to burn out the enemy. In some cases, the tanks had fired point-blank into the bunkers.

Deke recalled how a few soldiers had insisted on collecting souvenirs in the midst of that chaos. It hadn’t ended well for them. An officer’s sword or pistol was hardly worth getting shot over.

As they approached the bunkers, they could see the blasted and blackened ruins. The area was too quiet, too still. The air was thick with an overwhelming stench of death and decay. The team approached with caution, weapons at the ready, unnerved by the quiet, and soon found themselves in the middle of what was essentially a graveyard. Any American dead had been treated with respect and buried, but the enemy dead had been left out in the open.

Scorched enemy bodies were strewn everywhere, some still in uniform, others stripped down to their underwear. In the oppressive heat inside the bunkers, some of the enemy soldiers had evidently fought wearing as little as possible.

Some had simply been shot as they fled the bunkers, but many of the bodies were burned beyond recognition, looking like something that had been left on the barbecue too long. This had once been a battleground filled with the earsplitting sounds of combat. Now the only sound was the buzzing of flies.

Deke couldn’t help but feel a sense of horror and disgust at the gruesome scene before him. He clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the grip of his rifle.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Philly muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Steele motioned them forward. “Let’s keep moving,” he said. “There’s nothing for us here.”

They were glad to leave the battleground behind. The jungle canopy overhead thickened, and the air became harder to breathe. Sweat poured down their faces and soaked through their clothes. Mosquitoes and the ubiquitous gnats buzzed incessantly around their faces, but swatting them away was a futile effort. After a while, it was easier just to let them be. The breeze on the beach kept the worst of the bugs away, but here in the jungle the insects were relentless.

As they trekked deeper into the forest, the trees grew taller, and the underbrush became denser. It was like stepping into another world, one where danger lurked around every corner. Every rustle of leaves, every twig snapping underfoot, only managed to set their nerves even more on edge.

Up ahead, a tree branch cracked somewhere to their left, and they all froze in their tracks. They all ducked down, expecting a volley of gunfire.

“Hold your fire,” Steele whispered in a voice that was barely audible over the sound of the wind stirring the branches and palm fronds.

Seconds later, a pig and piglet wandered across the road, gave the soldiers a disinterested glance, and then disappeared into the foliage on the other side.

“We could’ve had bacon for dinner,” Philly said.

“Yeah, and we would have let every Japanese soldier in the vicinity know that we were here,” Steele replied. “Stick to the pork and beans in your ration cans.”

“You got it, Honcho.”

After a while, Steele traded places with Danilo and took point. It was rare for him to do that, but the lieutenant seemed unhappy with the pace. Somehow the sense of urgency was lost in translation when he had tried to explain it earlier to the Filipino.

They couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Every minute that passed was another minute the POWs were being held captive, and who knew what kind of torture they were being subjected to. Major Flanders had painted a dire picture of Japanese savagery, igniting their sense of outrage. They had to get there fast, before it was too late. They all felt the fact keenly that there were many miles to go between their current position and the POW camp.

The jungle grew darker as they wove their way through it. The only sounds aside from their footsteps were the occasional rustling of leaves and the chirping of insects. It was eerily quiet, as if the jungle were holding its breath in anticipation of their next step.

Steele led the way, his one good eye scanning the path ahead. He moved with a silent confidence that even Danilo lacked. Deke found himself following Steele’s lead without even thinking about it. It was faster than he was comfortable moving, but he trusted the lieutenant with his life.

Steele held up his hand, signaling for them to stop. He pointed ahead, where they could just make out a crumpled form on the dirt road. The figure wore a uniform — and it wasn’t an American one.

“I’ll be damned,” Philly whispered. “If that’s not a dead Jap, then I’m the president of the United States.”

Nobody was going to call Philly the president anytime soon, because there was no doubt that this was a dead enemy soldier. They approached the body cautiously, wary of tricks.

“Watch out for booby traps,” Lieutenant Steele warned. “Whatever you do, don’t touch the son of a bitch.”

“You got it, Honcho.”

The Japanese soldier had been shot in the back, with a pool of blood mixing with the dirt of the road. Flies buzzed in and out of the pool, which gave the appearance of only recently coagulating. The enemy soldier had not been dead for long.

There was always a strange “otherness” to dead Japanese. It was rare to catch an actual glimpse of the enemy, even a dead one. He looked small and compact. There was no weapon in sight.

“What the hell was he up to?” Philly wondered.

“Nothing good, I’d expect,” Deke replied.

Lieutenant Steele inspected the area surrounding the dead soldier carefully for any trip wires, then leaned over the corpse and poked at the body with the muzzle of his shotgun. The man’s hand opened, and a small object fell into the dirt. It appeared to be a small stone carving.

“What the hell is that?” Steele asked, bending down to take a closer look.

Yoshio spoke up. “I believe that it is a lucky stone for a warrior. It is called a maneki-neko.”

“Are you kidding me?” Philly asked. “A good-luck charm? It sure as hell didn’t do him much good.”

“No, I don’t suppose that it did,” Steele agreed. “The only luck this poor bastard had was that it looks as if he died quickly.”

Deke was busy scanning the nearby forest, the road ahead, and a few isolated treetops, his eyes focused as far out as he could see. He was looking for any flicker of movement.

“What I want to know is, Does he have any friends?”

His question was answered in the next instant, when a rifle shot cracked. They all heard the round zing overhead, barely missing them.

They all scattered off the road. Deke threw himself into some thorny weeds at the road’s edge. Instantly he slid the Springfield to his shoulder and put his eye to the scope.

“Anybody see where that came from?” he shouted.

“Hell no!”

Another shot cracked. This time Philly fired off a couple of rounds.

“Do you see the bastard?”

“No, but I’m giving him something to think about!”

Deke had the sneaking suspicion that the enemy sniper had been using his dead comrade’s body as bait, waiting for some curious GIs to happen upon it. The dead soldier was being used as a booby trap of sorts.

Silently he cursed their own stupidity. Like a bunch of idiots, they had walked right into the sniper’s trap.