Hunter Sniper

The brief barrage had created another problem for the Japanese, igniting fires that began to spread among the village huts, sparks carrying from one burning hut to its tinder-dry neighbor. The huts that had provided such good camouflage were now turning into death traps for the Japanese soldiers in the cellars below.

They began to escape, crawling out from under the huts and making a run for it. Some continued firing as they ran, while others simply dashed away without so much as a look back over their shoulder.

Eager for revenge, the soldiers targeted the Japanese as soon as they appeared from under a burning hut. Some of the enemy waited as long as possible to attempt their escape, finally running out with their clothes literally on fire. They didn’t get far before they were cut down.

Judging by a few of the screams that reached their ears, it was possible that some of the Japanese waited too long before trying to escape and had been trapped by the flames. The sickly-sweet smell of burning flesh reached Deke’s nose. No matter how many times he smelled it in this war, he still found the cloying smell repulsive.

“Let them burn!” a soldier shouted. “Don’t waste a bullet on the ones that are on fire. We’re only putting them out of their misery.”

“To hell with that,” Philly said, and kept on shooting.

Deke lined up his sights on an enemy soldier whose shirt was on fire. The soldier was running away, and Deke shot him between the shoulder blades, sending him sprawling into the dirt. The dead enemy soldier continued to burn, looking like a pile of smoldering rags.

“What did you go and do that for?” demanded the soldier, who didn’t want to waste bullets.

“Go to hell,” Deke said.

The soldier looked as if he might say something in response, but then thought better of it when Deke turned his full attention on him. The look in Deke’s eyes signaled that he wouldn’t mind wasting another bullet right then and there.

Deke worked the bolt and searched for another target. But by the time another enemy soldier appeared, two or three other bullets found him instantly.

This was like the barge all over again, just shooting fish in a barrel. It was clear that the Japanese who still could were pulling out of Ipil.

Deke lowered his rifle, his head swimming from the noise and heat. Damn this fever. Just when he thought that he was feeling better, another dizzy spell washed over him all over again.

Just as quickly as it had started, the skirmish in the village of Ipil had come to an end in the Americans’ favor. Not all the Japanese had made a run for it, and what followed was a mopping-up operation in which the soldiers moved from hut to hut, searching for Japanese.

Nobody bothered to ask if they wanted to surrender. Yoshio could have translated, but his services were not requested. Instead, the soldiers went from hut to hut, tossing grenades into cellars. Sometimes a soldier bent down and sprayed a burst from a submachine gun into the space below the floor. Simply put, this was eradication of the enemy.

If the little village had seemed peaceful when they first approached, it was now being left a smoking ruin as the flames kept spreading from one burning hut to another. Thick, dark smoke roiled into the sky, the clouds of smoke bejeweled with flecks of red sparks and orange embers. The hamlet was now a scene of perfect destruction. Even some of the crops in the vegetable patches had caught fire, flames crackling through the dry vines and leaves. There were a few racks of fish drying in the sun, and these too caught fire. The whole damn place was going up in smoke.

Deke watched it all, wondering how the Filipinos were going to feel when they returned home. It was evident that the people who lived here must be subsistence farmers, scratching a living out of their fields, the nearby jungle, and even the sea. Like poor people everywhere, he reckoned that they would pick up the pieces and go on. At least they would finally be free of the Japanese.

The resistance in Ipil seemed to be at an end. Or most of it, anyway. It appeared that most of the Japanese had been killed or had slipped away into the surrounding forest.

So far he had managed to avoid the mopping-up action.

But he felt like he ought to be doing something rather than standing around gawking. He went to take a step and staggered, catching the attention of Lieutenant Steele.

“Are you all right?” the lieutenant asked. “Are you hit?”

“No, I’m just fine,” Deke replied.

He paused to gather his strength before taking another step. The smoke, the flames, the heat — and through it all the nauseating pork-like smell of roasting flesh — it was all too much, and he felt his senses being overwhelmed. Another wave of dizziness left him swaying on his feet.