But those were not the only defenses. The northern reaches of Guam rose in steep hills covered in jungle. If they were pushed off the Orote Peninsula, this was where the Japanese forces would make their last stand.
It would be a hell of a thing digging them out of there.
None of that concerned Deke now. He just had to find headquarters.
That turned out to be easy enough. A tarp had been strung up as protection against the tropical sun, the only such structure on the beach. Beneath it, clerks with typewriters were already busy typing up the casualty reports and inventorying supplies. Above the clack of the typewriters, the distant sound of gunfire could still be heard.
“You there,” said a lieutenant who spotted Deke right away. “Are you any good with that rifle, or was somebody just trying to get rid of you because you’re a pain in the ass?”
“Sir?” Deke didn’t understand how the officer had known why he was there, having been able to single him out from the soldiers coming and going.
“Don’t look so surprised, soldier,” the lieutenant said. He seemed to be sizing Deke up. In turn, Deke was struck by the fact that the man looked too old to be a lieutenant. When the man took off his helmet to swipe at his sweaty brow, Deke could see that the man’s hair was shot through with gray. Even more noticeable than his graying hair was the fact that one of the officer’s eyes was bandaged. “Anyhow, you look like you could be a mean son of a bitch, so that’s something.”
Somebody shouted, “Lieutenant!” and the officer’s attention was momentarily diverted.
Curious now, Deke took the opportunity to look more closely at the officer. The man was tall and lean, well over six feet, with a weathered, outdoorsy face. The man’s right eye was bandaged — but it didn’t look like a recent wound.
Then the lieutenant’s attention returned to Deke, and he seemed to notice Deke’s scars for the first time. His good eye narrowed as he took them in. “What’s your name, son?”
“Cole, sir.”
“All right, Cole. Go stand with the others over there. If you’re lucky, there might even be some rusty water left in that drum. It smells bad, and you could maybe use it to run a generator, but it’s all we’ve got. Make sure you fill your canteen. I’ll be over in a minute.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Easy on the sir stuff. If any Japs are listening, that means I’m as good as dead.”
The lieutenant turned away, and Deke walked over to join the group that the lieutenant had pointed at. A handful of men stood near a drum that was indeed filled with rusty water. It also smelled like diesel oil. Deke wrinkled his nose.
“It’s not spring water, that’s for sure,” said one of the men. “As a matter of fact, it’s mostly rust with a splash of oil, but it hasn’t killed us yet.”
As the men coming ashore were quickly finding out, drinking water was a commodity in short supply. In the tropical heat, everybody was constantly thirsty. If there was a decent source of water on the island itself, nobody had found it yet. Rumor had it that the Japs had poisoned all the wells and springs.
Consequently, all water for the thousands of GIs and marines fighting on the island had to be brought in from the ships. Somebody hadn’t done a good job of cleaning out the old fuel barrels used to carry the water to shore. The result was this foul concoction of water, rust, and oil. They were all so thirsty that they didn’t have any choice but to drink it.
Like the others, Deke felt desperately parched. He took a sip, almost gagged, and took another sip. Although his stomach and throat revolted at the taste, the rest of his body craved the water.
It was no wonder — his uniform was soaked through with sweat, just like everybody else’s. He forced down a couple of gulps.
“I guess we’re supposed to be some sort of crack sniper squad,” said the soldier who had assessed the water. He was busily chewing a piece of gum, making popping and snapping sounds between the words. He had an accent that Deke couldn’t place right away. “Can you shoot?”
“Some,” Deke allowed.
“That’s good,” said the soldier with the gum. “Somebody’s got to. I can’t shoot worth a damn.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I volunteered,” he said. “It sounded better to me than getting my ass shot off by the Japs.”
“You do know that we’ll be going back out there, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but for now, here I am on the beach getting sunburned, drinking this delicious water — and not getting shot at.” The soldier was about five foot eight, but he had a beefy build and exuded a confidence that made him seem bigger.
“You got a point there,” Deke said.
“I’m Philly, by the way. That’s short for Phil-a-del-phi-a,” the soldier said, slowly sounding out each syllable as if Deke might not understand the English language. “It’s where I’m from. How about you?”
“Well, I ain’t from Phil-a-del-phi-a.”
“Gee, what a surprise with that hillbilly accent you’ve got. Ever been there?”
“I don’t like cities.”
The soldier frowned. “Oh, I get it. Another hayseed, huh? That’s just great. This army’s full of ’em.” Then he noticed Deke’s scars for the first time, and whatever steam he was building up seemed to dissipate. “What the hell happened to you, anyhow?”
“Keep it up and you’ll find out for yourself.”
“All right, don’t get sore.” Not being one to back down, Philly had wanted to say more, but something in Deke’s eyes convinced him to let it go.
In the welcome silence that followed, Deke finally had a chance to look at the others. Some appeared competent, while the rest seemed more like Philly — looking as though maybe they were in the wrong place.
One by one, the other men introduced themselves. Ingram was a big guy with movie-star looks, and he seemed to know it. There was Rodenbeck, who went by Rodeo. And finally a soldier named Pawelczyk.
The lieutenant came over. Deke was a little confused, because the man was carrying a pump-action combat shotgun. Shouldn’t the officer in charge of a sniper squad have a rifle?
But the lieutenant wasn’t ready to answer their questions just yet. “Come on,” he said, and led them down the beach, away from the busy staging area. Other than a couple of lookouts posted to keep an eye out for Japs, this section of beach was mostly empty. The surf ran up on shore, and a cooling sea breeze broke the tropical heat. In fact, this section of beach hinted at the tropical paradise that Guam might very well have been until 1941, when the Japanese attacked the small marine garrison not long after Pearl Harbor and seized the island. The scene was marred only by the sight of a body bobbing in the waves just offshore.
Once they were assembled, the lieutenant began.
“Congratulations,” he said. “Or maybe I should say, my condolences. You are now part of a designated anti-sniper squad assigned to recon. As you know, the Jap snipers are really tearing us up. The Japs have put a lot of thought into sniper warfare.”
Deke remembered how the Japanese soldier he had killed earlier that day had been so effectively camouflaged. If the man hadn’t moved, Deke wouldn’t have seen him. The United States Army lacked any similar tactics.
“Now how did I get stuck with you misfits? You might be wondering, so I’ll tell you. I’m Lieutenant Steele. Before the war I was a trapshooting pro at a country club, teaching rich people how to shoot clay pigeons.” The lieutenant paused, letting that sink in. Some of the men smirked at the mention of a country club. Trapshooting had been a popular sport all through the 1920s and 1930s, but you needed money to waste shells on clay targets. Growing up, Deke had only enough shells to shoot game for food. “I was also a pretty good shot with a rifle, which came in handy when I was sent to Guadalcanal, where I learned all about the damage that a Jap sniper could do. I also learned how to fight back, rifle to rifle. Just before we kicked the Japs off Guadalcanal for good, I caught a bullet in the face.”