“You sure as hell don’t have a gentle touch,” Alphabet complained. “I’ve had prettier nurses too.”
Yoshio gave one last twist of the tourniquet. The flow of blood from the bullet wound eased to a trickle, which was a good thing — Alphabet was starting to look an unhealthy pale color beneath the sheen of sweat on his face.
“We need to get you back to Doc Harmon,” Deke said. “He’ll fix you right up.”
They knew that the surgeon had set up a makeshift field hospital at the edge of Ormoc to accept casualties from the fight. From there, the wounded could be taken back to the beach, then evacuated to a hospital ship when the time came. The trouble was that they were far in advance of the rest of the unit.
“I’ll help take him,” the clerk offered.
He had made the offer to Deke, and the others waited to see what he would say. Deke had long since become the de facto squad leader. It was a job he had taken on reluctantly, because he had no desire to be in charge of anyone but himself. However, the other men seemed to trust his decisions. Even Philly didn’t argue.
Deke weighed what to do. There were several decisions that had to be dealt with. His fevered mind felt like it was lifting heavy rocks, but he tried to stay focused.
He knew that the clerk had made a selfless offer under the circumstances, considering that he didn’t really know Alphabet — two stretcher bearers would make an irresistible target for any enemy snipers in the area.
Doubtfully, Deke looked Rafferty up and down.
Despite his considerable spirit, it was clear that the jockey-size headquarters clerk would have struggled to carry his end of a stretcher all the way back to the field hospital.
“You know what? I’ve got another job for you,” Deke said.
The clerk would serve as Deke’s new spotter and watch his back while he was on the telescopic sight. This was a job that didn’t require any heavy lifting.
In the end it was decided that Philly and Rodeo would carry their wounded comrade back to see what Doc Harmon could do for him.
That wasn’t their only problem. Word had to be sent back to Captain Merrick sooner rather than later so that the company didn’t walk into the Japanese trap. There was an awful lot of firepower hiding within that bunker.
“I will volunteer to take the message back to headquarters,” Yoshio said.
Nobody argued with that. It was a dangerous job that had gotten them into all this hot water in the first place.
“Go,” Deke said.
A moment later Yoshio was over the wall and gone. Fortunately, he was also one of the patrol’s swiftest runners. A rifle cracked, but he kept going and was soon out of sight.
Danilo had been covering him, but like Deke, he had not seen where the sniper’s shot had come from. The Filipino muttered in frustration. The echo from the rifle shot was distorted by the buildings lining the street, making it even more difficult to determine the source.
The stretcher bearers prepared to leave.
“Good luck, boys,” Deke said. “Whatever you do, don’t lollygag.”
“No worries there. We’re gonna haul ass.”
Then they, too, were over the wall and gone, with both Deke and Danilo firing at any spot where they thought the sniper might be hiding. The Japanese sniper held his fire, Deke and Danilo having forced him to keep his head down.
Or had they? Deke wondered. The fact that the enemy sniper had held his fire was almost like a taunt.
He was still out there, along with who knew how many other hidden Japanese defenders. They were just waiting for fresh targets.
For now, Deke, Danilo, and the clerk were the point of the spear that was the advance into Ormoc. Deke felt like that point had been blunted.
But they were not alone. A handful of other troops were there with them, an ad hoc mixture of veteran soldiers and rear-echelon troops. It would be up to them to clear the way as best as they could for the rest of the company.
If the enemy tried to advance with a counterattack, it would be up to them to hold the line.
Or die trying.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Adding to the frustration was the fact that the sniper was still out there.
“Where the hell is he?” Deke whispered. Bleary eyed, he peered through the rifle scope, searching once more for the Japanese sniper he knew was just biding his time.
“I don’t see anything,” the clerk whispered back, glassing the street with the binoculars.
“He’s out there, all right,” Deke replied.
He could sense the Japanese sniper, even if he couldn’t see him. Deke didn’t know whether to call it instinct, intuition, or just a gut feeling. It was as if he could feel the enemy marksman out there, eye to the rifle sights, waiting with a patience that matched Deke’s own.
But Deke’s patience was wearing thin, thanks to his fever and the heat. Sweat trickled into his eye, and he tried blinking away the stinging, salty tears. More sweat blurred his vision, which only added to his frustration.
He was tempted to swipe at it with the back of his hand, but that would require pulling his gaze away from the scope. He didn’t want to do that, not even for a moment.
When he blinked again, his eyelids felt so heavy that he wanted to keep them shut. It wouldn’t have taken much for him to fall asleep right there behind the rifle.
He forced his eyes back open.
Where are you at?
Somebody had shot that runner, and then in turn had shot Alphabet, and Deke hadn’t been able to do a damn thing about it.
That sniper was still out there, awaiting his next victim.
He glanced over at Danilo, motionless as a lizard behind his own rifle. But he hadn’t had any luck spotting the enemy sniper either.
That sniper was a slippery character, that was for damn sure.
But they couldn’t wait forever for him to show himself. There was a town to capture.
They had to get a move on.
The urgency to seize Ormoc before the Japanese could regroup or mount a counterattack reminded Deke of being a boy on the farm, rushing to put up hay before a summer storm. Still feverish, he was suddenly carried away by the memory into a kind of waking dream, so intense that he could almost smell the clean, fresh scent of newly mown hay.
The hay had been cut, drying on a perfect summer day before it could be raked and stowed in the hayloft. But perfect weather in the mountain country seldom lasted long. The heat had spawned dark clouds on the horizon, heralding a thunderstorm. If the cut hay in the field was rained upon, it would turn moldy and be ruined.
They counted on that hay to feed the stock when the high-country grass turned dry and stingy.
They had all rushed to get the hay put up — Deke and Sadie, Ma and Pa. Even Old Man McGlothlin from the next farm over had come by to lend a hand, same as they would have done for him.
Pa occasionally feuded with McGlothlin over property lines — Pa claimed the corner boundary was an ancient oak tree, but McGlothlin favored a large boulder that his own pappy had told him was the corner. Sometimes the older farmer’s hogs wandered onto their land and rooted up their fields.
In the mountains, shooting had started over less.
Grudges were often set aside when someone needed help. That was the way it had always been among the mountain people.
The wagon went around with Ma driving it, keeping the horse following the rows. Pa, Deke, and McGlothlin forked the dry hay onto the wagon. Sadie, being the most agile, climbed on top, stomping the hay down to fit more. When the wagon was loaded, they rushed to the barn and forked it up to the hayloft, Deke and Pa lifting it up with their forks, and Sadie and McGlothlin taking the load and pulling it into the loft.