Savage Sniper

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Patrol Easy and their guerrilla allies knew that there was no time to rest. They realized that the Japanese would not be giving up so easily. The enemy would surely regroup and give chase. The attack by the guerrillas had taken them by surprise and stopped the pursuit for now, but for how long?

Lieutenant Steele was well aware that the reprieve was only temporary.

Soon the entire garrison would be giving chase. The enemy would be well rested, better armed, and more numerous in terms of able-bodied fighting men. Steele and his patrol had been focused on liberating the prisoners, but not on fighting a running battle against the enemy. This was all turning out to be far more than they had bargained for.

Then again, what else was new?

“Keep moving, keep moving,” the lieutenant urged, going down the slow-moving column. “Speed it up, boys. I’ve seen my grandma move faster.”

Their snail’s pace was frustrating. He resisted the urge to give the slower soldiers a shove to move them along. After all, some of them were so weak that they were barely able to keep upright. His heart went out to them, but at the same time, he really needed them to move faster.

The rear-guard action by Father Francisco and his guerrillas had indeed bought them some time, but they were losing precious minutes in the way that money slipped through the fingers of a drunken sailor.

Looking at the condition of the former POWs, it was easy to see why they weren’t moving along the jungle trail more rapidly. Most were emaciated to the point where they appeared hollow eyed, almost skeletal. They literally did not have enough meat on their bones to give them the strength to keep walking. These had all been good men, good soldiers.

To see his fellow Americans in this condition simply made Steele feel fresh anger toward the Japanese. How could they have treated the POWs so poorly? He took it as a sign of the overall disdain that the Japanese had for Americans.

Then again, not all the liberated prisoners had been Americans. Along with a couple of Aussies, there were a few Filipino men who had survived the prisoner camp. Most had been low-level local officials or even farmers who had irritated the occupiers in some way and had consequently found themselves imprisoned.

Being an American prisoner was bad enough. The enemy had been extra brutal toward the Filipino prisoners. These men had survived a special kind of hell.

Deke had even witnessed some of that treatment in the camp.

“The Japanese see us as the enemy,” Deke explained. “They see these Filipino prisoners as ungrateful or even as traitors, and they treated them accordingly.”

Father Francisco had taken these Filipino prisoners under his wing. While he gave them food and water, the truth was that most really craved news of home. What had happened to their families and villages while they had been imprisoned? For most, the news had not been good. However, the priest did his best to ease their minds, possibly doling out a white lie from time to time or simply not telling the full story.

He was sure that he would be forgiven for not telling the whole truth, if it meant giving these men hope.

“Give us weapons,” one of the former American prisoners said. “Hell, I’ll go at ’em with a sharp stick if I have to.”

He was not the only one who had expressed that sentiment. The former prisoners might be worn out and downtrodden, but there was no mistaking the murderous, vengeful gleam in their eyes.

“We haven’t got any weapons to give you,” Steele said truthfully. “We had to travel too light to bring extra weapons with us. The best weapon right now is just to get down this trail as fast as possible. Each step brings us closer to the cutting edge of the advance, which is the only place where we’re really going to be safe.”

“I guess the question is, Will we get that far before the Japanese catch us?” Philly wondered. He raised his voice to be heard up and down the column. “Honcho says to get your asses in gear!”

“That’s enough, Philly,” Steele said sharply. “These men are doing the best they can. Now go help them instead of shouting at them.”

Admonished, Philly did as he was told and lent a shoulder to lean on for one of the former prisoners, whose foot was swaddled in a dirty bandage.

The column continued to wind its slow way down the jungle trail. Closer to the prison camp, there had been an actual road through the jungle. But it had narrowed again as they followed the same path that had brought them here; now it would lead them back the way that they had come. The footing grew more rugged as unseen roots and rocks tried to trip them in the dark.

The heat and humidity only compounded the difficulty. There was very little light in the canopy, the glow of the stars not reaching this far, so each man relied on following the form of the man in front of him. In some of the darker places, some men even reached out and held the shoulder of that man or the back of his belt. They all knew that if any of them wandered off the trail, it was unlikely that they would be seen again.

The only sound was the swishing of the leaves that they brushed against as the path narrowed. Once the column had moved through, the vegetation closed in again like a zipper, as if they had never passed through at all.

Well before first light, Colonel Yamagata had assembled the garrison in the prison yard. Without any actual prisoners, the place had an empty feeling. They would just have to get used to it, he thought.

He did not plan on returning with any of the POWs.

The escape would be a good excuse to carry out the plan that he had been considering for some time: total elimination of the POWs.

That was not to say that he wasn’t angry about the escape. The fact that his entire contingent of prisoners had vanished into the nearby jungle certainly made him look like a fool.

“The men are ready, sir,” Lieutenant Osako reported.

“Sergeant Matsueda and I will lead the column,” Yamagata said. “You will bring up the rear of the column. The machine-gun squad will be under your command if it is needed. Is that understood?”

It was clear that Osako was disappointed about being in the rear echelon, but he knew there was no point in protesting. He gave a curt bow and said crisply, “Hai!”

He was leaving behind just a handful of men, mostly cooks and invalids who would not have been able to keep up. As he had indicated to Lieutenant Osako, he had even ordered the machine gun to be brought along. Who knew what they were up against in the forest?

He had no expectation of the raiders circling back to attack the compound. They had come for the prisoners, so now there was nothing here for them.

Sergeant Matsueda waited nearby, his Arisaka rifle slung over one shoulder and a machete in his hand. The sturdy man looked truly formidable.

Yamagata wore a pistol on his belt, but his main weapon was the bow that he carried. At first glance, a bow might seem to be a poor weapon against a rifle or pistol, but Yamagata knew better. He had hunted with a bow since boyhood, bringing down a variety of game.

His head ached a bit from the sake he had imbibed the night before, so he took a deep breath of fresh air, then another, hoping to clear his head. Otherwise, he felt strong and capable, even excited. He had not felt this way in many years, not since he was a boy going hunting in the mountains of Korea. At the time, that vassal nation served as a vast playground for Japanese sportsmen. He had hunted for days at a time in the rugged mountains and loved every minute of it.

There was no doubt that Yamagata had a great deal of experience as a hunter, in many types of terrain.

The bow made a good weapon at the close ranges in the jungle. It was also nearly silent.

There was also the fact that such a primitive weapon created a sense of fear and intimidation. Unlike a man hit by a bullet, a man shot with an arrow did not usually die instantly. Typically he would bleed to death, aware of the pain of an arrow buried inside him. Yamagata knew well enough how it worked, and even he shuddered at the thought.

He nodded at Sergeant Matsueda, who shouted the order to move out. The column marched through the gate.

Already the sun was beginning to rise over the distant ocean, the dawn light filtering through the forest. Mist clung to the tree trunks. The chattering of insects gradually increased with the light and heat.

In Japan, there was the belief that various minor gods or spirits inhabited the natural world, especially forests, mountains, and lakes. These were known as yōkai. Yamagata supposed that these foreign lands also had their demi-gods and spirits. Because he believed in the old ways, he said a silent prayer now to the yōkai of the forest, asking for success.

They were now on the hunt.

The column made up of Patrol Easy, the Filipino guerrillas, and the former POWs had already been moving through the woods for hours when the first gray light of morning arrived. The forest around them was growing slightly brighter as the sun rose on another steamy tropical day.

Lieutenant Steele called for a halt, their first since the daring breakout. Gratefully, many of the men sank to the ground, too exhausted to talk, much less feel any excitement about having escaped from the POW camp.

“Share your rations, fellas,” Lieutenant Steele said. “I know we haven’t got much, but these boys need it more than we do.”

Unfortunately, nobody had thought through how to feed the former prisoners by bringing extra rations on the raid. It had not even been a consideration when Major Flanders had briefed them for this mission. Steele supposed that the best they could do was reach American lines as quickly as possible.

However, it was clear that the lack of food was critical for men who were already on the razor’s edge. They had no reserves of energy or extra calories to burn.

It was a rare soldier who wolfed down his C rations with gusto. After all, C rations were designed as a means of survival in the field and would never be confused with a home-cooked meal. However, the former prisoners devoured everything they could, right down to licking the cans clean, even the cans of the dreaded lima beans and ham.

“I hate to say it, but that was delicious,” said Faraday, smacking his lips.

Deke laughed. “You must have been pretty damn hungry.”

“You saw what the Japs fed us. It could hardly be called food.”

“You mean that dishwater with weeds in it? You’d be right about that.”

Deke had already introduced Steele and Faraday, the de facto commander and spokesman for the liberated prisoners.

The two officers conferred, with Faraday pushing to let the men rest for an hour.

“We don’t have the time,” Steele replied. “It will be a massacre if the Japanese catch up to us.”

“How long do you think they can keep running without a rest? Some of these men haven’t had solid food in months,” Faraday countered. “They just ate. Now let them get a little sleep. When they wake up, you’ll have soldiers again. That’s all they need — some food and sleep. Well, some guns would help. These boys can’t wait to get back at the enemy.”

Steele conceded the point. The truth was that nobody had gotten any sleep the night before. Even a short rest would do them all good. “One hour,” he said.

Deke didn’t need to be told twice. He was exhausted, and his body ached from all the punishment it had taken. He curled himself up into a ball and instantly fell asleep on the bare ground as if it had been a feather bed.

Steele and the rest of Patrol Easy kept an uneasy watch, half-expecting the sounds of pursuit to reach them at any moment. The hour passed all too quickly. But even that short rest, along with the food, had done the men a world of good. Many were still weak from their long ordeal, but at least they now had the attitude of soldiers once again.

However, for two of the former prisoners, escape had come too late. These were the men who, Deke recalled, had been too weak to go out on the work detail. When the orders came to move out, they did not stir. It was soon clear that they would never move again. Their final reserves had been used up in the escape from the prison camp.

“Poor bastards,” Deke said.

“At least they died free,” Faraday pointed out. “A fella can’t ask for much more than that in this world.”

The column was soon up and moving. They could have all used more food and more rest, but this was as much as they were going to get for now.

Deke had already reunited with Rodeo and Yoshio. As for Danilo, the man seemed to have disappeared.

“Have you got something for me?” Deke asked, once he had caught up to Philly.

“What, your rifle and knife?”

Deke had given them to Philly for safekeeping before surrendering himself to the Japanese. Being caught with a sniper’s rifle wouldn’t have done him any favors with the enemy.

“Yeah, my rifle and bowie knife.”

“You know what, I traded them to one of the guerrillas for a jug of hooch.”

“That’s too bad for you,” Deke said. “I would’ve just shot you or cut your head off, but now I reckon I’ll have to carve your heart out with a spoon, slow and painful like.”

“Relax, Corn Pone.” Philly grinned and touched the rifle slung over his shoulder. He carried his own rifle in his hands. “I’ve got your rifle right here. Your knife too.”

“It’s about time,” Deke said. “Got to admit, I felt kind of naked without Old Betsy.”

Philly handed the weapons over. Deke was more than glad to hold the rifle once more. The smooth wood and cold steel were as familiar in his grasp as an old friend — or even a lover. He slipped the knife onto his belt and slid it around to his hip. He felt ready for action once again.

“Are you feeling OK?” Philly asked. “How was being a prisoner?”

“It wasn’t great, I can tell you that much. But I was only there a short time. Some of these boys have been guests of the Japanese for months.” Deke nodded at the man Philly was helping along the trail. “They weren’t shown a whole lot of hospitality.”

“No, it sure doesn’t look like it,” Philly agreed.

As it turned out, Deke had gotten his rifle and knife back none too soon. From the rear of the column, they heard shots being fired. Father Francisco and his guerrillas had once again taken the duty of being the rear guards, so the firing meant that the Japanese had caught up with them.

“Sounds like the fun is about to begin,” Deke said, turning toward the sound of the shooting.

“Hey, where are you going?” Philly asked.

“You asked me how I was doing. Well, now, I’ve been kicked, beaten, and starved. Enough is enough.” Deke gave a cold smile. “I reckon it’s time for a little payback — with interest.”

Deke didn’t know it yet, but that payback wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as he thought.