“Sounds like a lot,” Philly said.
“Nobody said this was going to be easy,” the lieutenant said. “The thing is that the Japanese have a head start on us in this department. They use sniper warfare as part of their overall defensive strategy, and they train for it. We don’t do any of that, so we have some catching up to do.”
The lieutenant proceeded to explain Japanese sniper strategies that he had encountered on Guadalcanal. The Japanese tended to favor treetops — which gave the advantage of a bird’s-eye view of the terrain — or snipers dug into “spider holes” on elevated ground.
Both had their advantages and disadvantages, from a sniper’s point of view. While the treetop position enabled long-distance shots, these snipers often tied themselves right to the tree. Once they had been located, they were sitting ducks with little protection. The snipers in the spider holes relied more on clear lanes of fire. Their positions were usually well protected, which made them difficult to root out.
“You know what my favorite position is, don’t you?” Philly wisecracked. “The missionary position.”
“Very funny, Philly. Keep it up and we’ll use you for target practice.”
But even the reporter had cracked a smile at Philly’s joke.
“Are you really turning any of this into a story, Mr. Pyle?” the lieutenant asked.
“Believe it or not, the folks back home will want to know how we’re beating the enemy at their own game.”
“If you say so,” the lieutenant said, then continued with his lesson. “The Japanese are shortsighted, and I don’t mean eyeglasses. It’s their philosophy that I’m talking about. I saw it myself on Guadal. They see all this glory and honor in dying for their Emperor. I think it’s a whole lot better to make the enemy die, and you go on living so that you can kill more of the enemy. It’s also a waste of trained personnel and resources. It’s also terrifying to be going up against some bastard who doesn’t really care if he lives or dies. He’s just interested in killing you.”
Deke spoke up. “Honcho, the way you tell it, each one of these Japs is making his own last stand.”
The lieutenant nodded. “You will find that the Japanese overall have a different mindset that you may not have encountered before. Their goal is not survival. Once they have themselves set up, they don’t really have an exit plan. Their intent is to keep shooting until either we’re dead, or they are.”
“Sounds about right,” someone said. The other men nodded. Some of them thought about the fight the night before and the fanatical way that the enemy had attacked. The enemy must have known that what they were doing was nothing short of suicide, but that hadn’t stopped them from throwing themselves at the dug-in soldiers.
“Also, the Japanese sniper is a master of camouflage,” the lieutenant continued. “He’s very good at affixing leaves and branches to his helmet or to his uniform so that he looks more like a shrub than a soldier. It wouldn’t be all that unusual to walk right past a Jap sniper and not even know he’s there — until he shoots you in the back.”
Deke recalled the first soldier that he had shot yesterday. The lieutenant was right about that — sharp-eyed as Deke was, he hadn’t spotted him in time. The Jap had been cleverly concealed.
“Does that mean we have to cover ourselves with leaves, Honcho?”
“It does if you want to stay alive.”
“I guess I do, so somebody pass me some leaves.”
The lieutenant smiled wryly. “Here’s how he does it. Most Japanese are small — smaller than us, anyway — which gives them an advantage as a sniper. Look at Ingram here. Where the hell are we going to hide him? He’d be more useful if we get into a football game.
“Let me tell you something else. The Nips are damn good at camouflage. Never forget that we are on their turf. The jungle comes naturally to them. We’re more used to snow and pine forests and trees that lose their leaves. That is not their world. Imagine a Jap fighting in the Ardennes Forest — some of them did, more Nisei — your mind finds it hard to picture, right? Now think of that same Jap in the jungle. He fits right in. You’ve got to fit right in.”
They spent some time putting into practice what the lieutenant had described. Netting was affixed to helmets. Strips of cloth were wrapped around arms so that they had a place to stuff branches and twigs to help break out their profiles. The lieutenant produced green and black grease paint to cover their faces and even the backs of their hands. The whole idea was to fade into their surroundings as needed.
“You want us to paint our faces?” Philly asked in disbelief.
“The Japs do it. Ask those dead marines on Guadalcanal about that.”
This was a different mindset. The US Army thought only in terms of advancing. Concealment wasn’t part of the strategy. However, the lieutenant explained that, as snipers, they might be fighting ahead of the advancing front — or even behind enemy lines. In that case, concealment and stealth meant survival.
“We’ll do whatever it takes to win. We’ll climb trees or dig our own spider holes if we have to. But one way that we’re going to fight different from the Japs is that we fight to survive and fight some more.”
“I’m all in favor of that,” Philly said. For once, he sounded serious.
As it turned out, learning about camouflage was just part of their training. The lieutenant also lectured them about Japanese weapons.
“The Japs are using the Arisaka rifle. The sniper rifles are a fairly small caliber and not nearly as loud as our M1 or Springfield rifles, which makes them hard to locate.”
“A smaller caliber, but I reckon they’ll kill you all the same,” Deke said.
The lieutenant nodded. “However, I’m not going to suggest that we all start shooting Jap rifles. Deke, why don’t you go ahead and open that box now?”
Deke did as he was told. To his surprise, he saw three Springfield rifles inside, each mounted with a telescopic sight. He whistled. “Now that’s a sight for sore eyes.”
“All right, listen up. Deke, Ingram, Alphabet, each of you gets a sniper rifle. It’s a Springfield, a single-shot bolt action. You won’t find a more accurate rifle in the Pacific. I had to pull some strings to get those, believe me. Deke, hand them out.”
“What about the rest of us?” Philly wondered.
“You’ve got your M1, and like I said, there’s no finer rifle for all-around combat. Don’t forget that the Springfield is a single-shot weapon — good for sniping, but not so much for throwing a lot of lead at the enemy.”
Deke handed out the rifles, saving the last one in the box for himself. They spent the rest of the day making sure that the scopes were zeroed in to their satisfaction. Then the lieutenant decided to have them do some shooting again.
“All right, let’s see how you do,” he said.
Once again, they used the coconuts scattered across the sand as targets. With the telescopic sights, these targets were much easier to hit.
Finally, the lieutenant pointed out the farthest coconut on the beach. Nobody else could hit it, but when Deke’s turn came, he set the crosshairs on the target and blasted the coconut high into the air.
“Not bad,” the lieutenant said. “Let’s see how you do with a moving target.”
At that, the lieutenant took a coconut and tossed it high into the air.
Deke didn’t bother with the rifle. Instead, he drew his pistol and fired a single shot that shattered the coconut.
The lieutenant stared at him. “I swear to God, Deke. You are some kind of goddamn prodigy. Do me a favor and try not to get killed right away.”
“Roger that, Honcho.”