Hunter Sniper

Steele stood at the rail of the troopship and looked out at the Pacific. It was a bright, clear day, and the sea was blue and calm. Hell, it would have been a pleasant cruise if it hadn’t been for the Japanese Navy patrolling the waters, and the threat of planes with those big red meatballs on their wings flying overhead.

Steele felt the big ship shift its stance in the waves so that its rolling changed. He was no sailor, but it was clear that the ship had changed course.

They had never really lost sight of land, but now they were drawing closer again. He could see the distant hills of the island. The wind had also shifted, blowing out of a different quadrant. The breeze smelled vaguely of the jungle, tinged with salt air.

The change in course hadn’t been his imagination. Orders began to be shouted as officers organized the men on deck.

It wouldn’t be long now.

They would all be going ashore, hitting the beach yet again.

Along with the other officers, Steele had already been briefed on their mission. In addition to the men of Patrol Easy, he had also been put in charge of an entire platoon. It was not an assignment he had asked for or wanted, but the battalion commander had looked around in desperation, spotted Steele’s lieutenant’s bar, and that was that. Thanks to the sharp-eyed Japanese snipers, there was a growing shortage of officers.

If he wasn’t careful, he might even wind up getting promoted.

He turned and looked at the soldiers milling around on deck. They mostly ranged in age from their late teens to their twenties and early thirties, young men who were about to go into battle. Steele realized that calling them men was a stretch in some cases, considering that some of these GIs barely looked old enough to shave.

Some of them were nervous, others excited. They were in good physical shape and ready for the fight. They were dressed in new khaki uniforms, each man with a loaded rifle and bandolier of ammunition over his shoulder. Most were veterans of other beach landings, but a handful were green replacements.

Steele approached his platoon. Another combat veteran, Sergeant Bosco, had been more than capable of getting the men organized. Steele figured his job was to stay out of Bosco’s way.

“Sir,” Bosco said respectfully, and stepped back, leaving Steele alone in front of the platoon. It was an opportune moment for last-minute instructions before they got into the boats and the actual landing operation began.

“I wish I had a few words of wisdom to offer you,” he said, looking around at the men. The inexperienced soldiers eyed him expectantly. The expressions on the faces of the combat veterans appeared sullen, which Steele could understand. They seemed to be thinking, Another damn beach landing. Let’s just get it over with. “Well, I can give you some words, anyhow. Not much in the wisdom department. When we get to shore, keep your heads down and keep moving forward. If you stay on the beach, you’ll get killed. Do what Sergeant Bosco tells you. Sergeant, anything to add?”

“No, sir,” the sergeant said gruffly. He sounded surprised to have been asked.

The moment stretched on, and the men were still silent, unmoving. Was he supposed to say more? Steele paused and looked out over the sea for inspiration, the sun-dappled waves glaring back at him. Some of the faces were still watching him expectantly, as if maybe he hadn’t said enough, so he turned back to the men. “I’ll tell you this, men. Our job is to beat the Japanese, pure and simple. No matter what happens on that beach, if you stay focused and do your job, we’re going to come out all right in the end. It’s going to be tough. I’m not going to lie about that. Like I said, stick together and do your job. When you see a Japanese soldier, shoot him before he shoots you. Do that, and you might just have a chance of making it back home again. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

The men remained silent as they listened to him. Some of the men who had done this before nodded, seemingly satisfied. They might not know their new lieutenant, but the eye patch was the best medal he could be wearing, and they appreciated that he hadn’t given them a load of crap. Short and sweet.

The cargo nets were lowered, the landing craft pulled alongside, and it was time to go ashore.

* * *

The thing about a beach landing was that nobody knew what the hell to expect.

The officers could plan all they wanted, but things tended to go to pieces as soon as a few big waves scattered the boats and the Japanese opened fire with guns that had supposedly been knocked out.

As usual, the navy had lent a hand by shelling the beach and inland areas. It was anyone’s guess whether the impressive show of fireworks had softened up the Japanese — or simply let them know that they should be expecting company.