Hunter Sniper

Incredible as it seemed, the ship kept right on coming. It was just possible that in the evening light, whoever was at the helm of the transport could not see that the shore was, in fact, occupied. Or if they could see troops on shore, maybe they had assumed that those troops were Japanese.

Just a day or two before, after all, there would have been Japanese troops here. They had since retreated to defend Ormoc.

There was a lot of confusion in war for all sorts of reasons. It wasn’t called “the fog of war” for nothing. It was even possible that the transport had outdated orders or had been out of communication, its radio knocked out or malfunctioning. After the devastating naval battle, whatever the case, the crew of the Japanese transport seemed uninformed.

It was even possible that the officers on the ship were well aware that they were sailing into a suicide mission but had no intention of turning back. The Japanese mindset was a mystery.

Captain Merrick watched in as much disbelief as any of his men.

“Hold your fire,” he ordered. “Let’s make sure those buggers are Japanese before we go and sink one of our own ships. Where’s Deke? Deke, you’ve got sharp eyes. Tell me when you can see a flag on that ship.”

Their fingers itchy on their trigger fingers, the soldiers waited. They didn’t have any artillery, but a mortar squad set up to greet the incoming vessel if needed.

At least two heavy machine guns were lined up, their sights zeroed in on the vessel.

“Come on, come on. Just a little closer,” muttered Private Frazier, balancing his BAR across a chunk of driftwood. “Come to Papa.”

Silently, almost eerily, the dark hulk of the vessel approached. The men on shore could hear the steady thrum of its engine carrying across the water, directly toward the harbor entrance. Aside from a few small fishing boats moored here and there, the harbor itself was otherwise empty. The muddy water of the Malbasag River ran out to mix with the clear ocean water. The vessel was still far enough out that the water was quite deep, well over a man’s head. The swirling currents where the river’s flow met the sea looked treacherous.

Lieutenant Steele had his binoculars out and was studying the ship intently. “I’ll be damned.” He whispered the words in disbelief. “It is a Japanese vessel, all right. Deke?”

“I can see their damn meatball flag, Honcho.”

Soon, even without binoculars, the men on shore could clearly see the enemy flag silhouetted against what remained of the bright sky above the darkening sea.

“Steady, steady,” Merrick shouted. “Here they come.”

The vessel was picking up speed, apparently intent on racing into the harbor and up onto the shore so that its Japanese troops could disembark. As the ship came closer, they were able to see a few helmets appearing above the straight-sided gunwales. Clearly these were not troops expecting a battle. They were just curious to see what awaited them on shore.

Deke was feeling well enough that he could put his rifle to his shoulder and fix his crosshairs on one of those helmets.

“Don’t shoot till you see the whites of their eyes,” some witty bastard said, and a few men nearby laughed.

Captain Merrick was having none of it. “Everybody shut up. This is no joke. Get ready. When I give the order, I want you to put more holes in that boat than a screen door.”

Silence fell over the company as they tensed up before the hell that they were about to unleash.

So far the Japanese had not opened fire on the shore. Surely the transport was equipped with at least a machine gun. They seemed about to be taken by utter and complete surprise.

“Fire!” Captain Merrick shouted.

No sooner had the order escaped his lips than the entire company began shooting at the barge. The air seemed to shimmer with bullets. Tracers from the machine guns raced across the water and tore into the transport at the waterline. The heavy bullets ripped open the lightly built structure as effectively as a can opener, so that water began to pour into the transport. The gap was made worse by the force of water as the vessel continued rushing forward. Soon the vessel began to list badly to one side.

If the lookouts on the vessel had thought that the troops on shore were friendly, they had received a rude awakening. Too late, a machine gun began to answer from the Japanese.

The weird blue tracers from the Japanese gun danced across the harbor toward shore. Near Deke, a soldier cried out as one of the enemy rounds found its mark, but his cry was instantly cut short as he was hit again by the Japanese gun.

Private Frazier had unleashed the full fury of his BAR and emptied it into the vessel in one long burst. He slapped in another magazine and went to town on the vessel. He was shouting something as he fired. It was hard to make out the words, and maybe there weren’t any — it was almost a high gleeful sound, very nearly a girlish squeal of delight, which sounded strange coming from such a big man.