He could see Japanese soldiers moving to work their way in behind Yoshio, trying to cut him off before he reached cover. The worst part was that the Japs weren’t shooting at Yoshio — they seemed intent on taking him alive.
Deke was having none of that. He had to at least give Yoshio a fighting chance of reaching the trees, where he could lose himself in the jungle cover. Deke shot one of the soldiers, and the rest scattered for cover. He fired again to make them keep their heads down. Yoshio saw his opening and ran for the trees.
But Deke’s interference had come at a price, revealing his position and helping the Japanese sniper zero in on him. Another bullet struck the tarp, punching a fresh hole in the canvas that let in more daylight. With a sinking feeling, he realized that the enemy sniper was probably above him, a position that was allowing the Jap to shoot down at the tarp. Just what he had been afraid of. Whoever was up there knew his business. Sure, Deke had found a good vantage point, but the Jap sniper had done him one better and found an even higher position.
Maybe the tarp gave Deke some concealment, but it sure as hell wasn’t bulletproof. The Jap sniper might not be able to see him, not exactly, and the tarp might end up with more holes in it than a screen door, but it was only a matter of time before he made a lucky shot.
“Philly, where is that guy?”
“I’m looking!”
Another bullet perforated the tarp. And another. His hiding place had definitely been detected, and the tarp now had several holes that Deke could look up and see daylight through. He was just starting to debate taking his chances and making a run for it when Philly called out, “I see him!”
“Where’s he at?”
“On the peak above us. My ten o’clock.”
Deke might never have known where the Jap was hiding if it hadn’t been for Philly, which spoke to the value of working with a spotter. With the binoculars, Philly had been able to detect some sign of the enemy sniper. Philly might be a loudmouth and a pain in Deke’s backside at times, but silently he praised the fact that he had the best spotter in the Pacific working with him.
It was time to get a move on. He’d had enough of that Jap sniper. Deke slipped his rifle under the tarp and worked his way around to the other side, being careful to keep low so that he didn’t brush the canvas with his head and give away his position. Once he was on the other side of the foxhole, he eased the muzzle out from under the canvas.
From here, he had a much better view up the slope, although he could still see a slice of the hill below, which was now swarming with the enemy. Philly was in a foxhole just off to Deke’s left, and figuring about where Philly’s ten o’clock was located, he began to survey the hillside above through his riflescope.
“How far up?” Deke asked.
“About a hundred feet down from the bunker, to the left a little. There’s kind of a darker spot in the dirt — might be a dugout.”
Another bullet crashed in, making another singsong whine as it ricocheted away. That was the thing about the Jap bullets — they tended to bounce off things because they were lighter, hitting more like a varmint round than a .30–06 bullet. Would you rather get shot with a varmint rifle or a deer rifle? It was a moot point, because in the hands of an experienced marksman, either one would kill you all the same.
At the sharp crack of the Japanese rifle, Deke had been able to focus on what appeared to be a rifle pit, in just the right spot. He’d bet a jug of moonshine that was where the Jap was hiding. Philly had called it. He had done his job as a spotter and found the target, more or less. Now it was Deke’s turn to do his job as a sniper and take out that target.
Easier said than done, considering that all he really had to shoot at was a patch of dirt. There wasn’t any real target, just some promising real estate. If he missed by an inch, he’d miss by a mile.
With a sinking feeling, he wondered if it was the same sniper that he had tangled with during yesterday’s ill-fated attack on the hillside. He got his answer when he saw a familiar figure break from the dugout, run about ten feet, and dive into the nearest trench.
Taken by surprise, Deke wasn’t able to get a shot at him. There was something familiar about the enemy soldier. Deke realized it was the same heavyset, squat figure that he had seen accompanying the sniper yesterday. The man must be the spotter, doing for the Jap the same thing Philly was doing for Deke. These Jap snipers had their act together.
The question was, Where was the Jap spotter going? There were several possibilities — none of them good. Maybe the Jap sniper was low on ammo and the spotter was running to find more. Or maybe the spotter was going to relay Deke’s position to Japs equipped with those wicked knee mortars. They’d zero in on the foxholes occupied by Deke and Philly in no time.
Wouldn’t be good, Deke thought.
He had to take out that Jap, and soon, before somebody called in the cavalry.
Also, he hadn’t lost sight of the fact that there were a lot more Japanese soldiers on this hillside than there were Americans. As a matter of fact, he and Philly were the only American soldiers on this hillside. If they became surrounded, he sure didn’t want to become a prisoner of the Japanese.
Deke pressed his eye closer to the end of the telescopic sight, practically screwing it into his eye socket. He had a good idea of where the sniper was hiding, but he needed something more — a hint of motion, or a muzzle flash — to pinpoint his location. Once Deke could see a target, there was pretty much nothing he couldn’t hit.
But he had to see it.
“Hey, Philly,” he called. His view of Philly’s foxhole was blocked by the tarp. “You ain’t dead yet, are you?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. We need to get out of this pickle barrel. I want you to try something.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Put your helmet on the end of your rifle and stick it out of your foxhole. Let’s see if he takes the bait.”
Next door, Deke heard muttered curses, followed by metallic scraping noises. “All right. Here goes.”
Deke waited behind the rifle, eye pressed to the scope, carefully studying the spot where he suspected that the enemy sniper was hidden. All he needed was a hint of a muzzle flash, a puff of smoke, the glint of sunlight off a telescopic sight. Then he’d know where to put his bullet.
He could hear another scrape of metal on metal nearby as Philly raised up his helmet. Deke tensed, ready to take the shot.
Nothing happened.
“He’s not buying it,” Philly called out.
“Keep trying. Maybe he’ll get annoyed enough to shoot.”
After another minute, Philly announced that he was done with the ploy. “My arms are getting tired. Now what?”
“Now we wait.”
“I hate to tell you this, but we don’t have a lot of time. I vote for getting out of here.”
“The second either one of us shows ourselves, we’re dead men. That sniper has got the drop on us.”
“Then you’d better work some hillbilly magic with that rifle of yours — and fast. We’re not going to be alone up here for long.”
Deke was nothing but patient, but he had to admit that Philly was right. They didn’t have a lot of time. The Jap sniper’s spotter had likely gone to relay the fact that there were two American soldiers hiding out on this ridge. It was only a matter of time before the Japanese attacked in force.
He stared at the spot where he thought that the sniper was hidden, but nothing presented itself as a target.