“Watch out, or you will be the one using the shovel, Ikeda.”
“Hai!”
Noguchi paused long enough to give Ikeda a long glare, then disappeared back into the bunker.
Ikeda shrugged off Noguchi’s warning, but he decided not to press his luck by shooting at more of the laborers.
He looked down the slope. He could see the body fallen in the dirt. Such a little man. He looks like a bundle of sticks and rags. No one will even miss him. The laborers kept making nervous glances up the slope now that Ikeda had shown himself. Some of the officers waved their sticks in his direction, but he was too far away to hear whether they were cursing him or applauding his efforts in punishing another lazy laborer.
Once again Sergeant Ikeda had lived up to his reputation.
What reputation was that? A madman, a loose cannon, someone to be feared. Ikeda did not actually consider himself to be any of these things, but he liked keeping everyone off balance.
Then again, shooting laborers was little more than target practice. He yearned for the days to come, when he and his band of sogekihei snipers would have real targets once the Americans came ashore. Major Noguchi had confirmed that the reports said the Americans’ arrival wouldn’t be long now.
Ikeda would welcome that day. This hill was ready. He and his men were ready. With any luck, Ikeda might even be able to settle the score with the American sniper who had taken part in the raid.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Finally, the waiting game was over with the approach of A-Day on October 20, 1944. Along with thousands of other troops, the men of Patrol Easy would be going ashore to wrest Leyte from the Japanese.
Nobody knew yet how hard that job was going to be, but recent experience everywhere from Guadalcanal to Guam indicated that it would be no small task.
Everywhere aboard USS Elmore, preparations were being made. Deke had long since honed his bowie knife to a razor-sharp edge, cleaned his rifle, and prepared his gear. Philly still had his gear strewn across his bunk.
“Don’t tell me you’re already set to go,” he grumped, when he saw Deke’s neatly packed haversack.
“I was born ready.”
“You know what? I believe you were.”
The other members of the patrol were also still packing, but they seemed to have everything under control. They knew the drill. They had been through this before.
Rodeo was going to carry a walkie-talkie this time instead of a radio. Disastrously, he had dropped his radio into the sea during the first few minutes of their initial arrival on Leyte, during the raid. He still felt bad about it. He was carefully wrapping the walkie-talkie in layers of plastic.
Alphabet was giving his sniper rifle one last coat of gun oil. For the men, the smell of gun oil was like a tonic.
Yoshio had been ready since yesterday. He lay on his bunk, reading yet another Western novel. He was clearly so engaged in the pages that it was hard not to be a little envious of the fact that he had managed to escape the worry and fear of what was to come.
Like Yoshio, Deke’s pack and rifle were long since ready. What’s done is done, he thought. He wasn’t going to fuss over his gear again and again like some old lady. He went around to see what he could do to help the others get ready.
The soldiers’ packs comprised several parts. At the core was the canvas haversack, the actual pack itself that the soldiers carried. Canvas webbing formed the carrying straps. A pouch on top held the mess kit, which consisted of a two-piece frying pan and plate that locked together for carrying.
Anything that might rattle in any way was tied down with string or strips of cloth. They all knew that in the jungle, the slightest noise might give them away. The Japanese excelled at stealth, and the American GIs had learned the hard way that it paid to be silent. In more ways than one, how a man packed his gear could make the difference between life and death for himself and his buddies.
If anything was going to rattle and give them away to enemy troops, it was the mess kit. Soldiers had learned to silence it by putting rags between the pieces. Deke’s solution was to throw them away and rely on a single spoon and his knife. Cold rations were just fine by him.
The bottom of the haversack was connected to the ammunition belt. Everyone was being given several stripper clips of rifle ammunition and even loose cartridges. Some of the combat veterans took what they were given and then some, knowing that the worst thing that could happen to you in the field was to run out of ammunition when you needed it most. They didn’t feel comfortable heading into the field with anything less than a hundred rounds of rifle ammo, even if it meant lugging along a lot of extra weight.
Their entrenching tools ran down the outside center of the haversack. The tool was a small shovel with a short handle that ended with a T grip. In a pinch, the shovel made a good close-quarters combat weapon.
A bayonet was attached to the left side of the haversack — Deke had ditched his standard-issue bayonet in favor of the custom-made bowie knife. The snipers weren’t going to attach bayonets to rifles with telescopic sights, anyhow.
He had to wear a helmet to avoid catching hell, but as soon as he could, he’d ditch that, too, in favor of the Australian bush hat that had been given to him by a grateful soldier on Guam. It was now strapped to the back of his haversack, ready to go.
Finally, the first-aid kit and all-important canteen hung from the ammunition belt. The canteen included a sort of cup that fit over its base, perfect for brewing coffee.
Deke watched Philly fretting over his pack and shook his head. Philly had a thing for gear — if he’d gotten something for free, he felt like he ought to keep it, even if he knew better by now.
“You ought to just leave the rest of that junk,” Deke said. “All you need is your rifle, a canteen, and a knife.”
“Spare socks won’t hurt.”
“All right, then. Spare socks.”
“And maybe this flashlight. Might come in handy.”
Deke shook his head. “What, so you can read your Bible at night? The only light you need at night is a muzzle flash.”
Feeling antsy, Deke left Philly muttering to himself and went to prowl the corridors of the ship. Everywhere he looked, similar preparations were being made. In a way, packing gear was a good approach to taking your mind off what was to come in the morning, when they would be landing on a beach that the Japs very likely didn’t want to give up. The preparations were a distraction. Sergeants moved among the men, making sure that everything was shipshape.
Harsh words caught Deke’s attention as he passed a bunk room: “You stupid green bean! Didn’t you learn anything in basic? For Chrissake!”
Curious, he paused long enough in the door to catch a glimpse of a young recruit with a chubby face. The man was wearing glasses and seemed to be surrounded by hard-bitten veterans. Most veterans didn’t have any patience with the new men who had been bunked with them. Besides, every time they looked at them, they felt a pang for the fact that the new men were there to replace buddies who hadn’t made it off Guam.
The other GIs looked on in disgust as the soldier tried in haphazard fashion to organize his gear. If Philly had fretted and fussed, this soldier looked helpless in comparison.
It didn’t help that nothing about the young soldier inspired confidence in him winning any Medals of Honor against the forces of Imperial Japan. But the kid didn’t have any choice in the matter. Ready or not, he’d be hitting the beach with everyone else in the morning.
Deke started to walk on but for some reason found himself turning back. He realized that he never did like to see anyone picked on. The new soldier had a job to do as much as any of them.