Deke found it disconcerting that this was the exact technique for sniper warfare that Honcho had recommended. The longer that you stayed in one place, the better your chances were of being detected. It was as if the Japanese sniper had been listening in. Usually they stayed put until someone rang their bell for good. Maybe the enemy’s tactics were evolving.
Lying there waiting, Deke thought about the other snipers he had fought. Most recently there had been the nameless enemies in Ormoc who had given him so much trouble. During his feverish state, they’d almost had him licked.
There had been Ikeda, a very tough nut to crack, whom he had finally defeated with a clever ruse during a nighttime fight on a jungle trail.
The sniper that had eluded him was the one that he thought of as the Samurai Sniper, whom he had faced on Guam. That sniper had been more than Deke’s match, but he felt that he had grown more skilled since then. If they ever met again, the outcome might be different.
Anyhow, that marksman had made it onto one of the few boats evacuating Japanese troops as US forces closed in. With any luck, the boat had been sunk by a passing American plane. It was easy for snipers to get caught up in their own private game, one man against another, but even the most skilled sniper wasn’t immune from the whims of the tremendous war going on around him.
Deke’s thoughts were interrupted by the high-pitched crack of an Arisaka rifle.
Feeling pestered and angry, the GIs trying to unload supplies around Ormoc harbor immediately peppered the buildings across the street with a fusillade of angry shots. Their bullets hammered chunks of stone from the walls, kicking up spurts of dust, but it was doubtful that they’d gotten the sniper.
“Now that right there is a waste of government property,” Deke remarked. “It doesn’t take more than one bullet.”
“Sure, if you know what you’re shooting at — and if you can hit it.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Deke said.
The firing died away and they waited.
A lone shot from the ruins verified that the volley had completely missed the enemy sniper.
It seemed impossible, but it slowly got hotter. Sweat accumulated in Deke’s headband. In the heat and quiet, it would have been easy to fall asleep. But there was no chance of that. Never taking his eye from the scope, he slowly swept the muzzle up one side of the street and down the other, then back again, like a restless shark.
“Hey, I see the son of a bitch,” Philly whispered. “See that building that’s kind of pinkish? He’s on the second floor, third window from the left.”
“Yep,” Deke said.
He settled the crosshairs on the window Philly had indicated. Through the telescopic sight, he could just see a shadow, set back from the window itself. No wonder the boys on the ground hadn’t been able to get at him. Wisely, the enemy sniper was firing from deep within the shadows of the room.
Deke felt reassured that the enemy sniper hadn’t spotted him, hiding under the sheet of rusty tin. The wait in the heat had been worth it.
One shot would be all he got before giving away his position.
Could he do it?
Easy now, easy. His finger took up tension on the trigger.
He prayed that the shadow wouldn’t move. So far he still had the enemy sniper in his sights.
He held his breath. The crosshairs never wavered. The rifle fired, the concussion deafening in the cramped hole under the sheet of tin.
He worked the bolt, the still-smoking brass casing spinning away, and immediately resettled the sights on the window. The shadow that had been his target was gone. He had no doubts that he’d taken out the enemy sniper. It was hard to explain, but he had felt the bullet hit.
“That’s that,” he said.
“About time you nailed that son of a bitch,” Philly replied. “Let’s get the hell out of here before my brain melts.”
They found the rest of Patrol Easy gathered nearby, diminished by one from the loss of Alphabet. They had also lost one of the patrol members back on Guam, but that felt like years ago, before the bonds had really grown between them all. It was not to diminish the man’s death but to be honest about the fact that they hadn’t had the time to get to know him all that well. Maybe that had been for the best.
Egan was there, too, with his war dog, Thor. He was a beautiful German shepherd mix, mostly a golden tan, with just enough black markings on his coat to give him some natural camouflage. As the breeze ruffled his fur, the dog almost seemed to smile with enjoyment, pink tongue lolling between strong white teeth.
Deke had grown up with dogs on the farm and always had a soft spot for them. The way that Deke figured it, you could trust a good dog more than you could trust a human.
“He’s the smartest dog I’ve ever known,” Egan was fond of saying. “Sure, he’s a mutt, not a purebred, but I like to say he’s part German shepherd and part Albert Einstein.”
He’d lost his first dog, Whoa Nelly, during the fighting on Guam, and had taken it as hard as if he’d lost a human buddy.
In Ormoc, Thor had been busy sniffing out any Japanese who had been hiding in the city’s ruins. For the dog, it had all been a game, but one with a deadly outcome for the enemy troops who were discovered. The Japanese had come to despise the war dogs. Given the choice between shooting an American officer or one of the hated war dogs, they would target the dog every time.
The dogs were certainly useful, but more than that, they were also a psychological weapon. The message seemed to be that the Americans planned on using dogs to hunt the Japanese like beasts. Sure, Thor was friendly toward the GIs, but one look at those teeth and you could understand why the Japanese might both detest and fear the war dogs.
Glancing at the dog stretched out at Egan’s feet, sound asleep, Deke felt a pang of envy. Talk about a dog’s life. Given half a chance, he would have liked to do exactly the same thing and snatch a few minutes of sleep, but that was not to be.
Deke felt his spirits lift at the sight of Lieutenant Steele approaching, carrying his trusty combat shotgun, ugly and brutal as a stump. It appeared that Honcho had escaped his duties as an officer, at least for a short while. His familiar grin had even returned.
Among the GIs laboring at the docks, word had gotten around that one of their own marksmen was taking care of the Japanese sniper. They had heard the crack of a rifle on their side of the street, and the Japanese sniper had troubled them no more.
Some of them spotted Deke and Philly returning, Deke conspicuous with his Springfield rifle and its telescopic sight. They had cheered and whooped.
“Nice shooting!”
“You got him, Deke!”
Deke felt a sense of surprise that some of the soldiers knew him by name.
“You’re getting famous,” Honcho said, grinning.
“Watch out or the Japanese will put a price on your head,” Philly said. “Hell, I might shoot you myself if the money is right.”
“Yeah, I’d shoot Deke for a hundred bucks,” Rodeo agreed.
“I was thinking that I’d do it for twenty,” Philly said. “Hell, there are times I’d do it for free.”
Deke snorted. “Keep it up and you won’t be around to collect the reward.”
“Listen up, you degenerates,” Honcho said. “We’ve been summoned to HQ. Word is that General Bruce has another mission for us.”
“Uh-oh, I don’t like the sound of that,” Philly said. “Last time we got sent on a mission, taking out that big gun on Hill 522, we almost got killed.”
“How is that different from any other day?” the lieutenant asked.
“Good point, Honcho,” Philly said. “I can see why somebody put you in charge. What is it, do you think? Are there more snipers they want us to deal with?”