David Healey
Savage Sniper
A World War II Thriller
Savage:
1. (adj.) Wild and ferocious; extremely cruel
…I still wish with you that Pikes could be introduc'd; and I would add Bows and Arrows. Those were good Weapons, not wisely laid aside.
CHAPTER ONE
Still as stone, Deacon Cole stared through the rifle scope at the ravine directly across from him.
His eye had caught a flicker of movement in that ravine, indicating that Patrol Easy might be walking into an ambush. Maybe it had been only a bird, or some small jungle animal, but his gut told another story. Trusting your gut was the best way to stay alive.
“What is it?” Philly whispered.
“I think I saw something.”
“When you’re nervous, then I know I ought to be nervous.”
“I ain’t nervous,” Deke said. “I’m just trying not to get shot.”
“If that doesn’t make you nervous, then I don’t know what does,” Philly replied.
“Hush now and let me think.”
Philly had his own sniper rifle to his shoulder, peering through the telescopic sight at the tangled vegetation ahead. Though useful, the scope amplified just a small circle of greenery.
It didn’t help that the dense vegetation could have hidden an entire Japanese company, let alone a single sniper. Deke stayed on the scope and waited, staring in hopes of catching the smallest flicker of movement, confident that Philly was watching his back.
Although Philly also carried a sniper rifle, there was no doubt about which of the two men was the better shot. In situations like this, Philly defaulted to being the spotter, keeping an eye on the big picture so that Deke could stay focused on whatever he saw through the narrow field of the rifle scope.
After all, it had been Deke who had spotted something in the ravine. He seemed to have a sixth sense about these things. When Deke said something didn’t feel right, nobody argued.
During their months of fighting, starting with their arrival on Guam, some men had simply survived, but Deke had somehow grown more comfortable in hunting men with a rifle. Philly had also sensed this about Deke, and it sometimes made him wary of the former farm boy, the same way you might watch out for a dog that liked to bite even after you had scratched his ears.
They were in the countryside on the outskirts of Ormoc. The transition from residential areas back to forest was abrupt here, northwest of the city. To the northeast lay vast rice paddies that, in their own way, would likely prove more hazardous than the jungle.
Ormoc had finally fallen to the US Army after fierce street fighting. The port city and its nearby airfield were a vital cog in the wheel that was Leyte. Now that American forces held Ormoc, they were one step closer to taking complete control of Leyte. Of course, that was just one of the Philippine islands, but it was a key Japanese stronghold. Nobody even wanted to think as far ahead as capturing Manila.
This fight came down to one day at a time, one step at a time. That was how you eventually won the war. That was how you stayed alive.
The Japanese had been defeated at Ormoc, but they were far from beaten elsewhere in the jungles and mountains of Leyte. In one of those twists of fate, it was the Japanese who had traded places with the Filipinos, who early in the occupation had fled their villages and homes to shelter in the hills, growing whatever meager crops they could encourage in the rugged soil. Now those refugees were returning to their homes, and it was the Japanese who were taking to the hills to make their last stand.
Patrol Easy’s task was to probe this area, determining where all the enemy units were hidden. It was a job that was easier said than done. It was also a job that was necessary, hard as it might be. The last thing they needed was a clutch of enemy holdouts so close to Ormoc, giving them an easy place from which to launch insurgent attacks.
The enemy was out here, all right. Deke was certain of that. Probably closer than anybody knew. Like maybe right in front of them.
But where?
Deke set aside his rifle and took out his binoculars to scan the jungle. There was nothing but trees and bushes. He continued to look, searching for any sign of movement. Suddenly he spotted the greenery shifting as something pushed through it. He couldn’t tell what it was, but he knew it was the enemy.
“Did you see that?” Philly whispered. “Movement at your two o’clock.”
“I see it,” Deke replied in a barely audible whisper.
He signaled to the others, pointing in the direction where he had seen something moving through the trees. He held his fire, hoping for a clear target.
The rest of the squad took up positions, their weapons at the ready.
Lieutenant Steele edged closer. Steele commanded their small sniper patrol. He carried a twelve-gauge shotgun, and one eye was covered by a patch. He’d lost the eye at Guadalcanal, and it should have been the lieutenant’s ticket home. However, he claimed to have some unfinished business with the Japanese. Deke understood.
“What have you got?” Steele asked.
“There’s something up in those trees.”
“How many?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“All right. Go check it out. We don’t want to bite off more than we can chew.”
Deke nodded and began to move toward where he thought the enemy soldiers might be hidden.
The dense vegetation seemed to swallow him whole as he crept forward, his senses on high alert. He could feel his heart pounding as he searched for any sign of the enemy. Every sound seemed amplified, every rustle of leaves a potential threat.
Despite his efforts at stealth, he heard a twig snap beneath his boot. He froze, his eyes scanning the trees ahead. Sweat ran down his face, but the hands holding his rifle remained steady as ever.
Waiting, he held his breath.
But there was nothing. No movement, no sound. Just the oppressive silence of the jungle. Even the birds and ever-present insects seemed to have fallen silent.
Deke felt a moment of doubt. Had he been wrong? Was there really nobody there?
No — he had seen something. He was sure of it.
Just then he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He spun sideways, his rifle at the ready.
A Japanese soldier was charging at him, a bayonet reflecting in the dappled sunlight under the canopy of trees. The man burst from the greenery, shouting some sort of foreign battle cry.
Deke had only a split second to react. He lifted his rifle and fired. At this range he didn’t have to aim — just point.
The soldier fell to the ground and lay still, apparently dead before he hit the forest floor. The sharp crack of Deke’s rifle had almost immediately been swallowed by the surrounding leaves and branches, leaving the forest as silent as ever.
He kept the rifle pointed at the dead Japanese, but the body didn’t stir. The soldier’s mistake had been trying to skewer Deke with his bayonet. If he’d taken a shot at Deke, the outcome might have been very different.
It turned out that the soldier who had attacked Deke wasn’t the only Japanese in hiding.
A shot rang out, and Deke froze. He heard the crack of a bullet passing overhead. Had the bullet been intended for him? It seemed likely — he was the man closest to the forest.
“Sniper!” Philly shouted, almost by reflex.
“No shit,” Deke grumbled. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Ever so slowly, he backpedaled through the weeds and brush. Sweat trickled down his back. An ant crept over his face, but Deke ignored it, not even bothering to flick it away.
Even in the middle of a war, with the sky filled with planes and the beaches crawling with troops, sometimes everything came down to a single bullet, especially if you were either the one trying to dodge that bullet or the one trying to deliver it.