And then he squeezed the trigger.
The soldier tumbled, went down, struggled to rise again. His legs kicked feebly, lacking the strength to get him to his feet.
Ikeda grunted with satisfaction. He had hoped that the bullet would not kill the water bearer outright. With any luck, other soldiers would run to help him.
Ikeda pressed his eye to the rifle sight, waiting for more targets.
It seemed as if every soldier had been watching Dickie Shelby, rooting for him as he dodged the Japanese fire. Not only was the water welcome, but Dickie’s ability to dodge bullets made it seem like he was thumbing his nose at the Japs.
But Dickie’s luck finally ran out. He fell in a heap, water from a holed canteen running out into the dry dirt and mixing with his blood.
“The bastards got him!” Philly cried out.
Deke had been watching the rocks opposite him. He was certain that the fateful shot had come from there — just where the Japanese sniper Ikeda was hiding. Deke couldn’t see anything to shoot back at except rocks and more rocks. That Jap lurked in there like a spider, waiting to pounce on whoever entered his sniper’s web.
He glanced over at Dickie and saw that he was still moving, struggling to get up. “Stay down, you dang fool!”
Of course Dickie couldn’t hear him. He struggled to get to his hands and knees but couldn’t seem to get any traction.
Another soldier broke cover and ran to help. Just as he reached Dickie’s side, a shot rang out from the pile of rocks where Deke believed Ikeda was hidden. The soldier fell.
Philly had also seen what was happening. He swore. “Dammit, he’s luring them in.”
“Cover me,” Deke said. He crouched, preparing to dash across the open ground.
Yoshio touched his arm. “Wait. I have a better idea.”
Without bothering to explain, Yoshio started shouting in Japanese at the top of his lungs. The fire from the Japanese position suddenly slackened.
“What the hell did you shout at them?”
“I ordered them to hold their fire. It will confuse them, but it won’t last for long. Go!”
Deke didn’t wait for Yoshio to say it twice. He sprinted across the open ground faster than a fox after a rabbit. A couple of bullets buzzed around him like angry bees, but Yoshio’s ruse had bought him some time.
He grabbed the back of Dickie’s collar and dragged him behind a boulder. It took some effort — the kid was a lot heavier than he looked. No sooner had they taken shelter than a solitary, well-placed bullet struck the boulder, scattering rock fragments in its wake.
Deke checked Dickie’s wound and saw that it wasn’t good. He had a hole in his side that was sucking air, pink froth showing on his lips. Lungshot. Wasn’t much that he could do for this kid. It was only a matter of time.
Deke propped him up and gave him a drink of water. Dickie’s eyes had been closed, but now they fluttered open.
“You’re gonna be all right,” Deke lied. “That was some chance you took, going to get that water. What the hell did you go and do that for?”
“I wanted to show that I could do something,” he said, flecks of blood showing at the corners of his mouth. “I wanted to show that I was a good soldier. If I get killed, it won’t matter.”
“We all matter, kid. Every last one of us. Don’t forget that.”
“The thing is, you don’t seem scared like the rest of us.” As shock set in, the kid was babbling like a drunk. He grimaced in pain. “You saved me off that boat. You led us through the jungle. I guess I was just tired of being scared all the time. I guess I wanted to be more like you.”
“Never mind about me.” He gave the young man’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’re a dang fool, you know. But I’ve never seen anything like what you did. You’re a better man than I am, Dickie Shelby.”
“A sniper got me,” Dickie said. “I saw a glimpse of him, back in those rocks. I saw him taking aim at me.”
Ikeda, Deke thought. “You let me worry about that sniper. You just hang there.”
“He’s a good shot. He nailed me while I was running. You’ve got to get him. I’ve seen you shoot. You’re the only one who can get him.” Dickie winced in pain, his breath shallower. He reached out and grabbed Deke’s arm with surprising strength. “Make sure the captain puts it in the letter to my parents what I did. Let them know I died doing something useful.”
“Save your breath, kid. You can write them yourself.”
Deke couldn’t be sure that Dickie had even heard those last few words. The young soldier’s eyes had glazed over, and he had stopped breathing. Deke shook him roughly by the shoulder, but there wasn’t any response.
Just like that, he was gone. Dickie wasn’t the first soldier that Deke had seen die right in front of him, and he probably wouldn’t be the last. It didn’t make it any easier.
The Japanese had started shooting again, having wised up to Yoshio’s tricks. They were shouting back at him, probably with insults. Despite the fusillade of bullets and curses, a soldier managed to sprint across to the boulder where Deke was sheltering. He slid behind it like a baseball player crashing toward home plate.
“He bought it?” the soldier asked.
“Yeah, he bought it,” Deke replied.
“Dammit.” The soldier whipped off his helmet and swiped a grimy sleeve across his sweaty face.
“Listen, take these canteens and bring ’em around to anybody who needs a drink. That kid brought the water this far, so the least we can do is make sure everybody gets it.”
Deke thought about Dickie Shelby, whose body now lay in the hot sun. He put the dead soldier’s helmet across his face to keep the flies off. It was a hell of a thing. That young man would never go home, never marry or have a kid. It was all over for him, the end of the story just when it was getting started. All across the Pacific, too many young American lives had been snuffed out too soon by the Japanese.
He didn’t think that he hated the Japs, but he was starting to wonder. These deaths, this war — it was all their fault.
Deke supposed that this was how the war was won, so many brave young men doing small deeds that added up the way that buttons filled a button jar. But Dickie’s death weighed heavily on him. That was strange, considering that he had barely even known the kid. But Deke had saved him from drowning off the beach, only to see him gunned down by the Japanese sniper. In some strange way, he had felt responsible for him.
Maybe, just maybe, if Deke had gotten that sniper, then Dickie might still be alive. Dickie had held up his end of the bargain by fetching that water, but Deke felt like he and his rifle had let him down.
Dickie’s incredible courage — or perhaps foolhardiness — in finding water enabled the GIs to hold out the rest of the afternoon, even as the Japanese poured fire at them from a superior position. While Deke’s marksmanship helped keep the Japanese in check, along with occasional bursts from the BAR, it was ultimately a few canteens full of jungle water that had saved the day.
The way some told it, especially those who had not confronted the enemy except in headlines and newsreels, killing Japs was as easy as firing one shot and watching them all fall over and die as easily as knocking down ten pins at a bowling alley. But that wasn’t how it worked at all. Not by a long shot. The Japanese were tough customers.
In part, the Japanese had gotten their reputation for dying so easily due to their banzai attacks. Though terrifying for the defending troops, the banzai attacks were almost always futile. What many who weren’t there didn’t understand was that the charges were a form of mass suicide — desperate Japanese forces had no intention of surrendering, so why not take a few of the enemy with them?