What had seemed like child’s play at first, with so many targets to choose from, was turning out to be far more challenging than he had first imagined. The Americans fought hard, even if they did not have the same willingness that the Japanese did to sacrifice themselves.
High on the hill, Ikeda saw the line of Americans emerge from the surrounding jungle. His attention was soon drawn to one American in particular — a lone soldier in a wide-brimmed hat who stepped out of the jungle shadows and into the light.
Something about the man’s figure looked familiar. Had Ikeda seen him before? And then in a flash of recognition, he knew — this was the same American soldier he had encountered during the earlier raid on the hill. Most GIs wore helmets, but this soldier wore a hat like the Australians — or maybe like a cowboy. The American sniper stood there for a moment, alone, as if taunting Ikeda, although that was impossible. The American couldn’t possibly know that Ikeda was there. Or did he?
Ikeda was so taken aback that he didn’t have time to shoot before the American launched himself at the trenches, jumped down, and disappeared. Incredulous, Ikeda cursed. He had missed his chance.
More American soldiers poured from the underbrush. Ikeda fired, but running shots were never easy, even for a skilled marksman such as himself. He fired again and again. Some of his targets fell and did not rise again, but others kept going and disappeared into the trenches.
Within seconds, there were no more targets. This must be an advance force, he thought. The Americans couldn’t be so arrogant that they actually thought that they could take his hill with a relatively small number of men — no more than a company. To take this hill, didn’t they know that they would need an army? The Americans were in for a surprise if they thought that this would be an easy fight. Such arrogance!
The thought angered him. He kept the rifle sights trained on the trench, but no targets presented themselves.
Morosawa nudged him. The other sniper was smiling. He held up two fingers. “I got two.”
“Well done, Kazuyuki.” Ikeda nodded in approval, then turned back to his rifle scope. If his sogekihei squad member had already shot two, then Ikeda had some catching up to do.
Patrol Easy had taken the first trench alongside B Company, anchoring the right flank. Peering over the lip of the trench, Deke could see the summit of Hill 522, with its cave-like artillery emplacement near the top. That was their destination if they hoped to silence the battery that was tearing hell out of the beach and landing craft.
As he watched, a tongue of flame and smoke licked from the mouth of the cave. The shell was headed for the vessels ferrying men and supplies to the beach. Deke wondered if this same battery had sunk the landing craft carrying him to shore. If so, knocking it out would be sweet revenge.
Now what? They needed to knock out that battery. Just a few hundred feet to go, Deke thought.
Not far. A man could easily stroll that distance in a few minutes and toss in a couple of grenades. But this was no walk through a field of daisies.
Might as well be a hundred miles away.
With their Nambu machine guns, the Japanese had cleverly set up overlapping fields of fire that would mow down any squad that attempted to advance. No, there would be no strolling. The only way across that killing field was crawling on your belly, one desperate yard at a time.
Deke wasn’t looking forward to it. Meanwhile, every Japanese in the neighborhood would be trying to pick them off.
He heard a sneeze and realized that it had come from somewhere up ahead, beyond where the GIs had advanced. Startled, he realized that he’d just heard a Japanese sneeze. It was a reminder of just how close they were to the enemy.
“What do you think, Deke?” Philly asked. He crouched in the trench a few feet away, peering over the rim at the same no-man’s-land that Deke was looking at. “I’ve got to admit, I’d rather walk down the worst dark alley in Philadelphia at midnight than try to cross that patch of ground.”
“An alley at midnight? You know me, being a country boy and all, I ain’t sure which is worse, an alley or this hillside. I never had much use for cities. What I do know is that we’ve got to take this hill, Japs or no Japs.”
“I was afraid you’d say something like that.”
“What we’re gonna do is pick off these sons of bitches one at a time.”
“You seriously think you’re going to shoot all those machine gunners?”
“Ain’t got much choice.” Deke spat a mouthful of dry grit into the sandy soil. “You got a better idea?”
“Yeah, how about a boat ticket back to Hawaii?”
Deke snorted. “You just watch how it’s done. Oh, and keep your head down. You too, Yoshio.”
The young Nisei interpreter nodded grimly.
“Those Japs are all dug in,” Philly said. “We can’t even see them. How are you supposed to shoot ’em if we don’t even know where they’re shooting out of?”
It was a fair question. For some reason it prompted a boyhood memory. Deke recalled, as a young boy, watching a calf being born. He had already been witness to the barnyard amour that resulted in pregnant heifers and sows, so he knew how those babies got in. Children learned about the “birds and bees” quite young on the farm. He remembered asking his father how people’s babies got out. His pa had just grinned and said, “The same way they got in, son.” That had been an eye-opener for the young Deacon Cole.
He thought about that now. “You know how bullets get in, Philly? The same way they get out.”
“I’ll just pretend that I know what you’re talking about.”
“Listen, you two watch the trench on both sides of us and make sure no Japs come sneaking up.”
Deke settled behind the rifle, welcoming the familiar feel of the smooth stock against his cheek and the way that the stock fit into his shoulder. Until now, there hadn’t been any need for precision shooting. They had taken the trench by brute force.
Through the scope, the Japanese lines sprang closer. He was able to pick out details — a rock that hid a Japanese soldier here, a sandbag with a rifle barrel poking out there. Plenty of targets, all within sneezing distance.
He realized that during their whole time on the ship, this was just what he had been waiting for. Hell, this was what he’d been born for. Deke wondered sometimes if there was something wrong with him because he liked this so much. Other men found themselves paralyzed with fear, but not Deke. Sure, he might die in the next few minutes, but until that moment came, he had never felt so keenly alive.
Hidden behind the scope and the stock, a hint of a smile crossed the good side of his face. It wasn’t a pleasant smile, but one that hinted at meanness. Deke tried to be a good person in his own way, but the war had opened up someplace hot and cruel in more than one man, a bit of hellfire seeping out the way that lava spills from fissures in the earth.
It wasn’t long before a burst of fire erupted from the slope above, trying to flush out the Americans in the trench. The bluish tracers streaked through the air just inches above the dirt. Bullets pockmarked the area all around the trenches where the Americans had taken shelter, forcing them to keep their heads down. Their attack was completely stalled.
Deke couldn’t see a target, so he was relying on instinct. He could see the dark hole, some kind of bunker, that the shots had erupted from. But there wasn’t anyone to shoot at.
How does a bullet get in? The same way it gets out.
He lined up on the dark hole and squeezed the trigger. The merciless tap, tap, tap of the Nambu abruptly fell silent.