Another shot was fired, the bullet singing through the air, close enough this time that Deke heard it whip through the brush nearby. The crack of the bullet made his skin crawl.
Dammit. Where the hell is that sniper?
Working his way backward like a retreating crab, Deke eased first his legs and then the rest of his body into a patch of kunai grass and shrubs. He kept working his way into the greenery until not even the muzzle of his rifle was visible. But it was there all the same, pointed in the direction of the enemy. All that Deke could see ahead was a wall of green.
His oasis of greenery provided cover, but like the rest of the patrol, Deke was basically pinned down. He still had no idea where the sniper was hiding, knowing only that the enemy marksman was out there somewhere close and seemed determined to put Deke in his rifle sights.
Now seemed as good a time as ever to try one of the tricks that he had up his sleeve. He remembered the metal shaving mirror in his pack.
Deke had bought it from a vendor selling all sorts of baubles in the ruins of Ormoc. Sure, he could use it for shaving, but he’d also had another idea in the back of his mind. It was just what he would need now to distract the enemy sniper.
The flat metal mirror was polished to a bright shine, much like a military-issue signal mirror. It was similar in its dimensions to the cover of one of Yoshio’s paperback Western novels. There was a hole in one end so that he could hang it from a nail and shave or maybe comb his hair. That took care of the grooming needs of your average GI, including Deke.
The wind rippled the jungle every which way, causing the foliage to flow in a dull green blur that masked any movement by the enemy. Keeping out of sight and working quickly, Deke tied the mirror into the brush nearby so that the breeze made the dangling mirror flash occasionally, a shiny bauble in the jungle to fake out and distract the enemy sniper.
The light caught the mirrored surface and flashed, surely as irresistible to the enemy sniper as a shiny lure was to a bass in Old Man Thompson’s fishing hole back home.
The enemy sniper was good, but he wasn’t good enough to escape the trap that Deke had set for him.
Sure enough, the Japanese sniper fired at the mirror.
Deke had been sure to keep well clear of the mirror, but he immediately planted his face in the dirt, wishing he had more cover. He could hear the others shouting and cursing as they took up positions and began scanning their surroundings.
“Where is he?” Steele whispered urgently.
Deke scanned the trees and foliage, his heart still hammering. He couldn’t see anything. The sniper was too well hidden.
Another shot rang out, the crack of the bullet once again passing dangerously close to Deke’s head.
Had he actually seen the muzzle flash that time, or had it been his imagination?
“He’s up in the trees,” Deke yelled, pointing at the canopy overhead.
Without another word, the rest of the patrol began firing volley after volley into the trees. Branches were ripped apart, leaves scattered in the wind, but there was no sign they had taken out the sniper.
Deke scanned the trees, searching for any sign of movement. His eyes were fixed on a patch of dense foliage high above, and he caught a glimpse of something moving.
He brought his rifle up, firing at the movement.
There was a scream, and then silence.
“I think I got him,” Deke announced, relaxing somewhat.
The silence was deafening, with only the sound of his own heartbeats filling the void, and the tension was palpable. If the sniper hadn’t been eliminated, the slightest noise could give away Deke’s position.
As he crawled across the jungle floor toward the sniper’s position, Deke couldn’t shake the feeling that the sniper was still watching him, waiting for the perfect opportunity to take him out. His whole body itched with anticipation of the bullet that didn’t arrive.
He parted the foliage and looked up at the nearby trees, relieved to see the sagging corpse of the enemy sniper. The man had wedged himself into the fork of a small tree, several feet above the ground, offering a vantage point. The sniper’s rifle had fallen to the jungle floor, and Deke retrieved it, popped out the bolt, and hurled the rifle deep into the jungle. He threw the bolt in a different direction. Others would have kept the rifle as a souvenir, but he wasn’t interested in collecting trophies.
He walked back out and signaled to the rest of the patrol that the coast was clear.
“Just another day at the factory,” Philly said.
“I don’t know what the hell kind of factory you worked in, but remind me not to put in for a job there.”
Moving along the forest perimeter, they sought out any other Japanese presence. For the moment, the enemy seemed to have retreated.
They drifted back to what might be called the suburbs of Ormoc, glad to be free of the immediate threat of the Japanese.
Bone weary, they returned to the city streets that had been so hotly contested just a few days before. It was getting so that they recognized a few of the city’s landmarks. While many of the houses had been destroyed or damaged in the fighting, a few buildings remained largely intact.
“I’ve been thinking that I might buy a house here as an investment,” Philly said. “You know, get in early on some of this waterfront property. I’ll bet I could buy one of these houses cheap.”
“You may want to hold off on that, Philly,” Lieutenant Steele reminded them. “There are still a few Japanese soldiers hiding out in these houses.”
“Well, now, there goes the neighborhood,” Deke said.
CHAPTER TWO
Like a stray cat on the prowl, Deke moved through the ruins of the port city, studying the streetscape with more than casual interest. He didn’t need Lieutenant Steele to remind him that each window, each pile of rubble remaining from an artillery strike, even the wreck of a battered jalopy, might very well be the hiding place for a Japanese sniper.
Danger lurked everywhere. They had learned that lesson the hard way, losing a surprising number of soldiers to sneak attacks and enemy snipers.
While it was true that Ormoc had been captured, there were still a few stubborn enemy holdouts. They remained a thorn in the division’s side, but one by one the stray snipers and saboteurs were being rubbed out.
The sniper that Deke had encountered in the forest just beyond where the city streets ended was a case in point.
Like a fighter on the ropes, a few enemy soldiers still awaited their chance to pop up and take one last swing at the enemy.
None of that managed to suppress Philly’s need to yak about nothing.
“I heard of a guy in the 306th who walked ten miles dead asleep,” Philly said. “He would’ve kept right on walking all the way to Tokyo if somebody hadn’t woken him up.”
“It’s kind of hard to walk to Tokyo from an island,” Deke pointed out absently, his eyes on the surroundings.
“That’s not the point of the story.”
“You know what’s funny? I’m actually asleep right now,” Deke said. “It just looks like I’m listening to you.”
“Very funny, Corn Pone.”
“Keep it up.”
The banter helped keep them awake. Deke’s legs dragged wearily with each step, but his eyes never stopped moving, flitting from one spot to the next. To give in to fatigue made you vulnerable to attack.
Some of the others had slung their weapons now that they were back in the city, but he kept his rifle in his hands, just in case.
Despite the dangers, commerce was returning rapidly to Ormoc. It was a reminder of the population’s resilience. After all, the city had survived more than its share of raids and pirate attacks over the centuries.