Savage Sniper

CHAPTER FIVE

The column crept along the road, burdened by their gear and watching the surrounding vegetation warily. They had begun to pass refugees streaming in the opposite direction, running away from the Japanese and the fighting that was sure to come. Men hurried by with children or the elderly clinging to their backs. What few possessions they could carry were stuffed into baskets and battered suitcases. Cows and dogs were led on ropes.

Fear was etched into the faces of the civilians, although a few gave the Americans encouraging smiles and nods. But for most of the Filipinos fleeing war, getting their families to safety was their only priority.

Although Deke’s attention was drawn to the refugees, for the most part he kept his eyes focused on the road ahead, his senses sharp and alert. The sounds of shuffling feet and protesting animals created a constant background noise, but he kept his ears open for the first crack of an enemy rifle that would indicate an ambush.

He could feel the weight of the humid air and the oppressive heat that permeated the crowded road. Sweat beaded across his forehead, but he made no attempt to wipe it off, his hands steady on his rifle.

The soldiers had not only the Japanese and the tropical heat to worry about, but also the terrain. Their first real obstacle turned out to be the bridge over the Tagbog River. This was just one of the many rivers and streams that drained the lush jungle highlands and flowed toward the sea.

The muddy brown river ran between high banks, swollen by recent rains to the point where it resembled an overflowing rain gutter. Though not more than ninety feet wide, the river appeared deep, with a strong current. It would be impossible for the troops to cross the river without the benefit of the bridge.

The Japanese had known this all too well. Realizing that the Americans were coming, the Japanese had made an effort to close off the road behind them by wrecking the bridge. Earlier, Patrol Easy had heard the boom of a large explosion up ahead. The wreckage of the bridge made it clear what all the ruckus had been about.

They arrived at the scene to find some of the timbers still smoldering. In all honesty, the bridge probably hadn’t been all that substantial to begin with. Here in the countryside, bridge construction relied on whatever materials were on hand, which meant wood and stone and sometimes even rope lashing rather than steel girders.

The smashed and broken lumber resembled oversize Popsicle sticks rather than properly sized bridge timbers. Halfway across the river, the single stone pillar that anchored the span remained upright.

While a few stringers were still intact, the bridge appeared to be rickety at best and a death trap at worst. In its current condition, there was no way that what was left of the structure could handle the number of men and the weight of the supplies that needed to cross.

“I was afraid of that,” the lieutenant said. “The Japanese are trying to pull up the drawbridge behind them.”

“From the looks of things, they won’t have to try too hard,” Deke said. “Now what?”

Steele replied, “We need to rebuild the bridge, that’s what.”

Deke looked doubtfully at the brown water and the structure that remained. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

At that moment, a single bullet sang through the air near their heads.

“Sniper!” someone shouted.

They sprinted for cover. The wreckage of the bridge on this side of the river provided just what they needed.

Another shot split the air overhead. Then there was a long stretch of silence.

“Anybody see him?” Philly asked.

“Nah, he’s gone for now,” Deke said.

“Well, boys, I have to say that it looks like our job won’t involve construction,” Steele said. “Our job will be keeping the men rebuilding the bridge from getting shot.”

Steele was correct in that regard. An officer arrived and started directing the reconstruction of the bridge. It was no easy task, considering that the building would need to be done mostly with salvaged materials.

Meanwhile, the scouts and snipers of Patrol Easy fanned out, keeping out of sight, and trying to get a glimpse of the enemy sniper or snipers.

It was a familiar game of cat and mouse, with the Japanese attempting to pick off the Americans trying to get the bridge into working order, while Deke and the others tried to stop them.

Like any good hunter, Deke relied on movement to spot his target. The enemy wasn’t visible behind the wall of green, but the occasional motion of the brush betrayed them.

Deke saw something stirring in the greenery on the far side of the river and fired. Seconds later he was rewarded with the sight of a Japanese soldier tumbling down the bank into the water. The enemy sniper landed face down and slowly floated away.

“One down,” Philly noted. “Who knows how many more to go.”

“Then why don’t you help me out and shoot some Japs?”

“Hey, I’m trying!”

Philly was right — it was challenging to line up the sights on an actual target on the other side. The enemy kept to cover and took potshots at them from the trees.

Meanwhile, the team of bridge builders worked valiantly, knowing that this structure was holding up the entire advance. Part of the problem was that anchoring the bridge would require someone to not only get in the water, but also to go under the water and secure supports to the stone piling that stood upright in the middle of the river.

A raft was made by lashing together logs and empty fuel barrels that the Japanese had helpfully, if unwittingly, left by the side of the road. However, that didn’t solve the problem of going underwater.

A resourceful soldier had an idea. Using a gas mask and tubing, he was able to rig a diving mask. It wasn’t much, but the idea was that it would be sufficient for him to stay under long enough to secure a rope around the stray timbers so that they could be lifted into place and lashed securely to the pillar.

Watching the diver’s preparations from the riverbank, Philly shook his head in awe. “That is one brave bastard,” he said. “I wouldn’t trust that contraption in a bathtub, much less that river.”

Deke tended to agree. He had never much cared for the water himself, that was for damn sure, especially muddy brown rivers. He thought the diving mask looked flimsy at best. But he knew that in combat situations, men took chances to do what needed to be done.

To complicate things, the enemy snipers on the far bank redoubled their fire when they saw what the dive team had planned. Bullets began to splash on the muddy surface like raindrops from a summer downpour. Troops on shore returned fire until shredded green leaves flew like confetti. This gave a temporary reprieve from the enemy, but they soon returned, forcing the dive team back to shore.

There was also the problem of time. If the Japanese brought up mortars or machine guns to add to their firepower, this would turn into a full-scale battle. Crossing the river at this exact location would become that much harder, if not downright impossible. Valuable time might be lost if the troops were forced to try another route.

Against his better judgment, Deke had an idea. It wasn’t necessarily a good one, considering his dislike for anything that had to do with water. But they were stuck sure as a fat cow in a cattle chute and needed to get something going. To that end, a plan began to take shape in Deke’s mind.

The dive team had reached shore and taken shelter behind the stone bridge pillar on the riverbank held by the GIs. Deke went down and found them.

“Show me how that mask works,” he said.

“It’s easy,” said the soldier, who was obviously proud of his invention. “Honestly, it’s more like a snorkel. You slip it on and make it as tight as possible with the straps. The breathing tube goes in through this slit here. As long as you keep the other end of the tube above water, you can breathe.”

“Can you put together another one of these masks?” Deke asked the inventor. “I want to pay those Nips on the other side of the river a visit.”

“Sure I can.”

Deke had dragged Yoshio along, mainly because he knew that he was a good swimmer. He looked at him now. “What do you think? Are you ready to help me give these bastards some hell?”

Yoshio grinned. “Let’s do it.”

While the soldier made another mask, Deke and Yoshio got organized. Deke decided to leave his rifle behind. Instead, he gathered several hand grenades. Yoshio did the same. If the grenades didn’t do the trick, he always had his bowie knife.

When the rest of Patrol Easy saw what he was planning, they made it clear that they thought he was crazy.

“The Japs will see you coming,” Philly said.

“In this water? You can’t see your hand more than six inches down,” Deke replied. “Besides, you are going to be shooting up a storm to distract them. The last place they’re going to look is the river.”

“If you say so,” Philly said. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Have you got a better idea?”

Philly didn’t.

Lieutenant Steele put it more bluntly. “You are a crazy bastard. If I thought there was another way, I’d tell you to forget it.”

A few minutes later, Deke and Yoshio slipped into the river. On shore, several GIs opened fire along with Patrol Easy. As expected, the Japanese shot back from the cover of the vegetation on the other side.

The two swimmers started out at a point somewhat above where they wanted to end up on the far shore, hoping that the current would carry them in that direction. From shore the distance hadn’t seemed that great, but once Deke was actually in the water, the muddy waterway looked as wide across as the Pacific.

Deke slipped beneath the surface, and Yoshio followed suit. Despite the weight of the grenades, the swimming was fairly easy. Deke used a scissor kick and a sort of breaststroke to carry him across. He swam awkwardly at best, but it was good enough to keep him moving.

Once or twice his legs bumped against something solid that bounced away. He hoped to hell that had been a submerged log and not a fish — or worse yet, a crocodile.

I’ve already been chewed on by a bear, so I reckon it can’t get much worse, he thought.

What he hadn’t counted on was how difficult it was to see anything underwater. From time to time, he had to lift out his head to get his bearings.

The snorkel itself worked well, as long as Deke didn’t dip too far below the surface. He made that mistake once or twice and nearly got a lungful of water as a result.

It also didn’t help that the gas mask was not watertight. Deke had cinched the straps until they nearly cut into his face, but water still leaked in. Before long, it was sloshing around his nose and eyes, but he kept going. He was already more than halfway across, too close to the opposite shore to surface undetected. Dealing with a little water was far better than getting a bullet in the head.

After what seemed like an hour, but what he knew couldn’t have been more than the five minutes needed to swim ninety feet, he reached the opposite bank and hunkered down at the waterline. He felt confident that he couldn’t be seen by the Japanese higher up on the bank. He was more worried about the gunfire coming from the American side of the river. Someone must have spotted him and had the same thought, because the fire slackened.

Now where the hell was Yoshio?

He got his answer a few seconds later when Yoshio surfaced, looking very much like some kind of frogman. They both removed their masks, glad to be breathing freely again.

“Ready?” Deke asked.

Yoshio nodded.

They crawled stealthily up the bank. At a nod from Deke, they pulled the pins. Deke’s hand curled around the cold metal of a grenade, palming it; then his fingers tightened for fear of losing his grip, what with the sweat and the river water still clinging to the grenades. He hoped to hell this worked — he didn’t much like the idea of having to fight the Japanese with nothing more than his bowie knife once the grenades ran out.

He threw the grenade as far as he could up the bank.

There was a sharp blast, then another. A tornado of grass, mud, and debris swirled across the riverbank. Deke kept his head down. Shrapnel sang overhead, punctuated by the dying enemy’s screams. By the time that the last grenade had been thrown, the shooting from the Japanese side had stopped.

For the bridge repair crew, it was now or never.

Out on the river, the GIs launched their small boat again and got to work repairing the bridge. Deke and Yoshio had bought the repair team the time they needed. It turned out that there was at least one more mask that could be rigged for going underwater, so Deke and Yoshio didn’t need to swim back to return their masks.

That was just fine with Deke, who preferred not to brave the muddy water again. They stayed under cover on the far bank, hoping that the regiment managed to cross before any Japanese returned.

It was a difficult process. First, one of the soldiers lengthened the tubing and used the mask to work underwater, securing ropes to the submerged beams.

They watched as the soldiers rigged a tackle system for the rope and, teetering in the unsteady boat, managed to raise the stubborn beams into place. As soon as the beams were in position, more soldiers raced out and lashed them into place.

The entire operation took no more than half an hour. The river had been bridged once again. The repaired bridge wouldn’t hold a tank, but it was solid enough for men on foot to cross. Once the area was secure, a team of engineers would be able to build a proper bridge or even a pontoon crossing. For now, this was enough.

Patrol Easy was among the first to cross.

“What took you so long?” Deke asked as Philly gave him back his rifle.

Philly just shook his head. “I tell you what, Corn Pone. You are one crazy son of a bitch. You and Yoshio both. I’ve never seen anyone pull a stunt like that.”

Deke was glad to feel his rifle back in his hands. “Stick around, City Slicker,” he said. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Deke returned the masks to their grinning inventor. “Thanks for that,” he said.

“You’ve got guts,” the GI said. “I had no idea if that mask would keep out the water long enough to get to the other side of the river.”

“I’m glad you didn’t tell me that beforehand,” Deke said. “Anyhow, I won’t be in any hurry to do that again. But you better keep those masks handy. I understand that there are several more rivers to cross between here and Palompon.”

As it turned out, Patrol Easy was never going to see Palompon, the destination at the end of Highway 2.

“We just got a message by radio,” Lieutenant Steele said. “We’re being recalled to division HQ.”

“All the way back at the beach? That’s an awfully long walk.”

“Then we’d better get started.”