Meanwhile, Steele wondered about the fate of Deke, Philly, and Yoshio. They were probably hiking across the mountainous interior of the peninsula while Steele and the others took a “shortcut” by sea. He wasn’t entirely sure who had gotten the better deal. Going along for the ride with the navy wasn’t as easy as it looked. With any luck, he would see them again down the road and hear all about it.
For Deke and the others, their victory at the ridge did not mean that their worries were over. Other Japanese units occupied the mountainous jungle interior. Captain Merrick’s orders were simple in that regard. He was supposed to push across the peninsula and eliminate any Japanese troops that he came across.
The company was hung up now near a grove of dense trees, which gave cover to a squad of Japanese soldiers.
“Can’t be more than a dozen of them,” Philly said.
“If you say so,” Deke replied, then spat into the rotting humus of the jungle floor — or tried to spit, anyway. His mouth was too dry to do anything but go through the motions. He didn’t understand how the rest of him could be soaked through with sweat while his mouth stayed so dry.
Wistfully, he thought of Dickie Shelby’s heroic canteen run. He could have used some of that water right about now. The men had taken to recounting that day until it had taken on the proportions of myth — and rightfully so. Deke still didn’t think that he’d seen anyone so damn brave or foolish as that kid.
Deke had taken to carrying a pebble in his pocket because they weren’t readily available on the jungle floor. He popped it into his mouth to relieve the dryness. Maybe it was his imagination, but he was beginning to think that the pebbles had some flavor — salt, a bright mineral essence, mixed with a bitter tang. It was the taste of Leyte.
He studied the jungle patch that they had to get around. The path went through a clearing, and this patch of dense trees was almost like an island — or maybe like a fort guarding a harbor.
“No more than a dozen,” Philly repeated, like it was a weather forecast — a chance of showers for their picnic.
“Don’t matter if it’s a dozen or a hundred,” Deke said. “They’ve got to go. We can’t have them sneaking in behind us after we go by. Yoshio?”
Beside him, Yoshio nodded grimly. Not so long ago he might have called out in Japanese to see if the enemy hiding in the grove would surrender. Those days were over. There was only one language that the enemy understood. He held a grenade in his hand. The pin was already pulled, the charging handle gripped firmly. Yoshio popped up from cover and, with a grunt of effort, hurled the grenade deep into the trees.
“Good arm,” Philly observed.
Then they all ducked.
There was a shattering explosion, followed by a scream or two. Then the shooting started. It was hard to say what the Japanese thought they were shooting at, because bullets flew in every direction.
An enemy soldier broke from the trees, trying to get away. Deke led him through the scope, then dropped him in his tracks. Danilo and Philly both got a couple more Japanese who made a run for it. One of the Japanese ran right at them, screaming bloody murder, gleaming bayonet like a spearpoint in front of him. Deke shot him.
“Damn, he got too close for comfort,” Philly said.
“You think?” Deke asked.
“I could use a shave, but not like that.”
Private Frazier had come up, and now that the Japanese had broken cover, he opened fire with the BAR. Bits of leaves and shredded bark filled the air as he let loose with a short burst. By the time he took his finger off the trigger, no more firing came from the Japanese position.
“Love that thing,” Philly muttered.
Despite the impressive show of firepower, Deke still thought that the BAR was all smoke and no fire. Snipers didn’t waste bullets.
“I reckon we got ’em all,” he said, then straightened up from behind a low-growing tree with massive green leaves and a patterned trunk that reminded him of a pineapple skin.
Deke approached the grove where the Japanese had been hiding and poked the barrel of his rifle through the grass and fronds. He found none of the enemy left alive. Maybe the BAR hadn’t been a waste of ammo after all.
“Come on through,” he called back to Captain Merrick, who brought up the rest of the company a minute later.
“Good shooting,” Merrick said. “Lots of dead Japs and none of us dead.”
“Not so bad,” Deke agreed.
“How many did we get?” Captain Merrick asked. “I ought to put it in the report.”
“I think half a dozen, maybe eight.”
“Make that nine,” Merrick said, nodding at a Japanese soldier who suddenly broke cover and ran at them with a grenade.
“Got him,” Deke said.
He raised his rifle and shot the Japanese soldier. Danilo fired at the same time, shooting from the hip. Hit twice, the Japanese soldier fell. The grenade rolled harmlessly from the dead soldier’s grip because he hadn’t had a chance to arm it with a quick knock on his helmet. Deke observed that it was something of a strategic failure on the part of the enemy soldier, considering that the Jap might have taken out at least some of them with that grenade. He wasn’t going to complain about it.
Deke stepped around the dead soldier and continued along the trail, with Philly, Yoshio, and Danilo right behind him. “Keep your eyes open, fellas,” he said. Deke was unable to resist a small smile as he added, “It’s a jungle out there.”
NOTE TO READERS
When I started working on Jungle Sniper, I thought that this would be the last novel set in the Philippines before Deke and Patrol Easy moved on to the next adventure. However, I soon found that I was mistaken. There was too much to squeeze into one story. I haven’t even gotten into the fight for Ormoc or Manila, the liberation of POW camps, or the daring raid on Leyte by Japanese paratroopers. What about Father Francisco and his guerrilla fighters? Did I mention typhoons? To do these aspects of the Pacific campaign justice, Deke and Patrol Easy will be returning to the Philippines in the next book.
That said, there are plenty of adventures here. What I found to be a fascinating aspect of the Leyte invasion was the arrival of General Douglas MacArthur on Red Beach. Although the moment was highly orchestrated right down to arranging for photography and a film crew, the long-range planning and the efforts that made this moment possible should not be underestimated. MacArthur’s “I have returned” speech remains inspiring today for encapsulating many of the ideals for which the WW2 generation fought.
As noted in other books, the language and slang used by the soldiers reflect their era, although we find these terms distasteful today. The Japanese people remain our close allies. The scene with Yoshio’s mother and her teapot was inspired by Farewell to Manzanar, a memoir that recounts one Japanese American family’s experience in the internment camps.
This story is just that — a story — and it falls short of the actual events endured by our parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and uncles while fighting in the Pacific. Many of the events and even the small scenes described in Jungle Sniper have been adapted from the memoirs of these individual soldiers. I hope that this book helps their memory live on in some small way.
Finally, I want to thank the advance readers and “armchair generals” who gave advice and corrected some of my factual errors. Their help was deeply appreciated. Hopefully I won’t keep them waiting too long for the next book.
— DH