“If you say so. It’s a hell of a thing.”
As they slowly advanced, they crisscrossed swaths where the flamethrower had taken its toll. The flamethrower was effective, but it was a brutal weapon. What it left behind was the stuff of nightmares that would haunt the men the rest of their lives.
Soldiers had to advance through a blackened landscape, past the still-smoking corpses of the enemy. The dead enemy soldiers were left curled in positions of pure agony, teeth bright white against shriveled and blackened lips. The flamethrowers also claimed more innocent victims, and they passed the burned corpses of forest creatures, birds, and even the humanlike remains of monkeys.
They were all too glad to get clear of the jungle, even if it meant that they were that much closer to the assault on the main Japanese defenses.
As it turned out, they received a reprieve.
“We’ll hold up here for the night,” Lieutenant Thibault announced, having received new orders by radio. “The navy is going to give us a little help.”
Aside from the dangers posed by submarines and a few stray enemy ships and planes, the US Navy was free to maneuver in the Philippine Sea. Coordinating with the land assault, ships moved into position and unleashed a bombardment against Mount Santa Rosa.
After a while, the navy guns fell silent, and they could hear the drone of bombers coming in. These were the big boys, B-29s out of Saipan, which the US had wrested earlier that summer from the Japanese and turned into a major airfield and base of operations.
The result was a spectacular show. Explosions covered the face of the mountain. Eruptions of dirt and rock stretched toward the sky. Once again, it seemed impossible that anyone could survive all that naval firepower along with the bombing mission, but the Japanese had proved them wrong about that before.
“Get some sleep,” Deke said to Philly and Yoshio, although that was easier said than done, given the fireworks show. “When the shooting stops tomorrow, we get to head up there and see who’s left.”
“Lucky us,” Philly said.
Deke was thinking about one enemy soldier in particular, the Samurai Sniper. They had seen no sign of him today during the attack on Yigo.
But the noose was tightening around the necks of the enemy.
If this Captain Okubo was still alive, he would be one of the enemy holdouts, and along with the rest of the Japanese, he wouldn’t be going quietly.
Chapter Twenty-Six
For two days, the soldiers waited while the ships and planes softened up the Japanese defenses. A few probes against the enemy were met with a series of hidden defenses, including sniper attacks. One of the worst of these was a road through an open field that swiftly earned the nickname “Sniper Alley.”
Tension made the time pass slowly. Conditions grew more miserable daily due to the poor food and rations, the insects, and occasional Japanese incursions.
Waiting was the worst part, so they all felt a sense of relief when, just past dawn, the orders finally came to move out.
“Drop anything you don’t need here,” Sergeant Hawley said. “Fill your canteens. Take all the ammo you can carry. Be ready in fifteen.”
Despite his crisp orders, Hawley sounded nervous, as well he should be. His glance kept flicking toward the mountain that they were supposed to take today. Now that the bombs and shells had stopped falling, it was eerily quiet. A chorus of insects and birds worked to fill the void. Had the bombardment wiped out the Japanese, or were they up there, waiting?
Soon enough, the squad was going to find out.
Deke had already been awake since before first light, cleaning his rifle once more as Philly snored nearby in the foxhole. Yoshio tossed and turned, sleeping fitfully.
The morning mist carried the smell of cordite mixed with a salty tang. As the heat quickly grew, Deke could also smell the fetid jungle, the mud, even the unwashed soldiers around him. Wistfully, he thought of long-ago mornings when the smell of coffee and bacon, along with fresh-baked biscuits, had filled the old farmhouse kitchen. There had been some good times and enough to eat before the Depression hit and his father died.
Deke’s belly rumbled, and he ate some of his rations, surprised that he was hungry at all. Other men scrambled to gather their gear or hurried off to relieve themselves.
Minutes later, the squad moved out in silence. Even Philly kept his mouth shut for a change.
They could see their objective up ahead. The mountain.
Their route took them through a rugged area of stunted trees and heavy underbrush. The sun rose higher, and the heat grew quickly, along with the swarms of insects.
“Glad somebody’s getting a hot breakfast,” Philly grumped, slapping at the mosquitoes.
They paused at the edge of a large field dotted with clumps of kunai grass between what looked like overgrown vegetable patches. The Chamorros must have been farming this land before being forced into labor camps by the Japanese. A few huts were scattered around the field, but they had an abandoned air.
Out on the dirt road that crossed the field, they could see the body of a dead man. It was hard to say if he was American, Japanese, or an unlucky Chamorro who had gotten caught in the cross fire.
“Sniper Alley,” Philly said, gazing out at the field. “We get to cross it, lucky bastards that we are.”
Deke scanned the field and frowned. There were too many hiding places, from the clumps of grass to the huts and clumps of trees.
Any number of enemy snipers could be hidden out there, but all it took was one.
“Make sure you ain’t the first one to leave cover,” Deke said quietly to Philly and Yoshio.
Lieutenant Thibault called a halt. Once the soldiers were in that field, they would be fully exposed. It was the perfect place for an ambush. But he didn’t have any choice. Skirting the field would have taken too much time. The only choice was straight across the open field.
“Sergeant, what do you think?”
Hawley didn’t have any insights. “I don’t see any Nips, sir.”
Still, the lieutenant hesitated. He turned to Conlon, who waited nearby with his rifle. “Conlon, what do you see?”
The sniper eyeballed the field with his riflescope. “I don’t see anything, sir.”
Nobody had asked Deke his opinion — except for Philly. He said quietly, “What do you say, Deke?”
“I say we’re gonna get our asses shot off.” He couldn’t have said how he knew. It was just a feeling.
“Great.”
“You’re the one who asked.” Deke turned to the interpreter. “Hey, Yoshio. When the shooting starts, keep your head down and do whatever Philly and me tell you.”
“What shooting?”
“You’ll see.”
Up ahead, the lieutenant gave the order to move out.
It was hot out in the open, and the sun beat down mercilessly, early though it was. Nobody talked, and not so much as a breeze stirred the humid air.
They were halfway across when the first sniper shot took out a GI named Horton. The bullet punched through his helmet, and he was dead before he hit the ground.
Everyone threw themselves down, but there wasn’t a lot of cover. The sniper didn’t fire again until after Sergeant Hawley stood up and told everyone to get moving.
Another shot. A soldier Deke had known since basic fell dead.
They kept going, but it was a big field. Each man seemed to be able to feel the crosshairs on him. It made their skin crawl.
They reached a clump of abandoned huts, which provided some cover, although the grass walls wouldn’t stop a bullet.
The sniper fired again. A soldier who had been crouching behind one of the huts fell to his knees, then slumped over, dead.
“Where’s that sniper at?” Thibault demanded. “Conlon, make yourself useful, goddamn it.”