Hunter Sniper

Danilo wore a floppy hat, a stained and ragged shirt that was two sizes too big for him, pants hacked off unevenly at the calves, and rope-soled sandals. In these parts, it was what passed for a guerrilla uniform. Danilo had rigged a piece of rope to serve as a sling for the Japanese rifle. He might not look much like a soldier, but he was one of the toughest men that Deke had met.

While Danilo respected Deke’s skills, and Deke in turn respected the Filipino’s, there remained a sort of competition between them as to who was the better woodsman. Danilo certainly had the home advantage.

“Bang! Bang!” Danilo said again, happily.

“All right, that’s enough of that.” Deke pointed at Danilo and then at the empty position in front of him. The gesture needed no explanation, but Deke added, “Why don’t you go on and lead us, if you’re so smart.”

The Filipino seemed happy to oblige, apparently still pleased with himself for having gotten the drop on Deke — well, almost.

Captain Merrick must have been wondering what was going on, but Deke gave him a wave. The captain signaled back that they should move forward.

“Well look who turned up,” Philly said. “I guess Danilo has been visiting the local senoritas.”

It was impossible for them to get any details from their guide, but his smile seemed to indicate that he had, in fact, spent his time away from the company pleasantly. The Filipino started up the trail.

Deke was glad to let Danilo take point for now. They would trade off later, which had been their method for most of this jungle trek. By and large it was the most dangerous position. Considering that Deke was right behind him, having Danilo go first wasn’t much of a buffer. Should something happen, chances were good that they would both buy it.

The two men trusted one another. So far Deke had been reluctant to let Philly lead the way. Philly had his attributes, but he was no woodsman.

If an ambush awaited the company, whoever was on point would walk into it first. The same held true for any nasty surprises, such as booby traps. This was why it was so important to have the company led by someone with skill at sensing ambushes and traps. One wrong step and — well, that might be your last step.

* * *

They walked for miles until it started to get dark. Except for a couple of false alarms — one of which turned out to be a wild pig — the day was uneventful.

Their hope had been to reach the sea and the coastal area around Ormoc, but so far that had not happened. It looked as though they would be spending yet another night camped out on the jungle trail.

By then Deke’s head ached, and he felt feverish. Hot as it was, he felt even hotter.

“You don’t look so great,” Philly said to him, looking him up and down.

“I’m fine,” Deke snapped. “Just tired is all.”

“You look a little yellow,” Philly insisted. “I hope to hell you don’t have malaria.”

Danilo had also seemed to notice. “May malaria ka,” he announced. “Kailangan mo ng pahinga.”

“What’s he sayin’, Philly?”

“I understood the malaria part,” he said. “I don’t think the rest of it matters. Danilo here thinks you’re coming down with malaria.”

“What does he know?” Yet Deke’s feverish brow was beginning to tell him otherwise. Getting sick out here wasn’t surprising. Malaria and other fevers ran rampant. For some the malaria was debilitating, and for others it was an illness that nagged at them for weeks at a time.

Sometimes it seemed as though the germs had felled as many soldiers as machine guns.

The trouble was that there wasn’t any bed rest out here in the jungle. There was no choice but to keep moving.

Danilo pointed at the ground, indicating that Deke should sit. Suddenly weary to the point of feeling dizzy, he was glad to oblige. Danilo draped a blanket over Deke’s shoulders.

“Better eat something,” Philly said. “Keep your strength up.”

“I ain’t hungry.” Deke wasn’t one to be picky, but he suddenly couldn’t stomach the thought of another tin of rations.

Danilo had other plans for supper than C rations. He carried a small bag, hardly more than a sack, over one shoulder rather than a haversack like the soldiers. Other than his rifle and his bolo knife, everything that he needed to survive in the forest was in that bag. He didn’t even carry a blanket roll.

Once they were camped out on the trail for the night, Danilo quickly built a small fire, using dry twigs and branches that made very little smoke. Even the fire was small. A man could have scooped it up and held it in both his hands. Like the true woodsman that he was, everything that Danilo did was about economy and efficiency.

“Tell him to throw some green leaves on there and keep the mosquitoes away,” someone suggested.

“What, and let every Japanese soldier in the vicinity know we’re here? Didn’t you ever hear of sending smoke signals?” Philly shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”