Hunter Sniper

Although the enemy had delayed their advance, the victory had come with some rewards. For one thing, the Japanese had left behind several trucks. The original plan must have been for the Japanese to withdraw from the village using the trucks, but the intensity of the fight had spiraled out of their control. Any survivors had simply fled on foot.

Immediately, these trucks were pressed into service. Later, when there was time, sloppy white stars would be painted on them. For now, it would have to suffice that someone had tied a small, ragged American flag to the lead vehicle. Hopefully they wouldn’t be machine-gunned from the air by their own planes.

The vehicles were smaller than comparable US trucks — they had found that everything from rifles to the interiors of tanks to the cockpits of Zero fighters was scaled to the smaller dimensions of Japanese men. Built by Isuzu, these were Type 94 six-wheeled trucks with canvas tops rigged across the beds to keep the sun off. The tall front grille, along with swooping running boards over the front tires, gave the trucks a vague resemblance to a working man’s Packard.

The trucks might be cramped, but they sure beat walking. Even better, the trucks were fueled up and ready to go.

As they climbed into the back of a truck, Philly said, “Gee, it sure is strange riding in a Japanese truck. Might as well have been built by Martians. You could never sell a Japanese vehicle in the States, that’s for sure. Nobody would buy them. I just hope these things don’t fall apart — or blow up before we get where we’re going.”

“I hate to say it, but these are better built than our own trucks,” Honcho said. “Maybe not as big, but sturdy as hell. The Japanese were planning for jungle conditions.”

Deke, at least, was grateful for the ride. He closed his eyes and almost instantly fell asleep.

Captain Merrick wanted to know how many Japanese they had killed so that he could report it back to headquarters. The final tally was eighty-three dead Japanese and one prisoner.

“I suppose we were lucky to get a prisoner, even just the one,” Honcho said. “Over in Europe, the push across France toward Belgium and Germany is in full swing. I heard they’ve taken hundreds of thousands of German POWs, maybe even close to a million German prisoners. We’ve captured around half a million Italians.”

“Maybe they’re all a bunch of cowards,” Philly said. “Especially the Italians.”

Honcho shook his head. “The Wehrmacht doesn’t allow any cowards into the ranks, let alone the SS. Just ask our boys who have gone up against them. As for the Italians, didn’t you ever hear of the Roman Empire? Italians make good soldiers. We’ve got any number of Italian Americans in our army. The ones over there are just poorly led. Anyhow, my point is that the soldiers we’re fighting in Europe know better than to keep fighting when the odds are against them.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Philly conceded.

“Altogether, that’s far more than a million prisoners of war who have been captured in Europe,” Honcho continued. “You know how many Japanese we’ve captured so far in the Pacific? Last I heard, it was about thirty thousand. You don’t have to be a math wizard to know that’s a whole lot less than a million. Say what you want about the Japanese, but they sure as hell don’t like to surrender.”

“That’s not news to me,” Philly said.

The company had lost just five men, and another handful had been wounded. While the soldiers keenly felt the loss of each fellow soldier, it was also clear that this fight in the village had been a lopsided victory.

“That is a ratio of sixteen to one,” Yoshio noted. “That is quite impressive.”

“Yeah? Ask our guys who got killed how impressed they are,” Philly pointed out. “They’re dead all the same.”

Nobody had a response, because it was true. In the minds of the soldiers, dead Japanese didn’t count no matter how many there were — only dead Americans mattered. Maybe it was wrong to think that way, but that was the way it was.

More shells began to arc overhead. The US battery was back in business, intending to clear a path for the company’s advance. To their surprise, a few Japanese guns responded. The enemy still had operative artillery and was sufficiently organized to return fire, albeit sporadically. Overhead, the dueling shells crossed back and forth as the men looked up nervously.

It had become clear that the Japanese hadn’t simply run away. Nor had they all been killed. That was just wishful thinking on the part of the American troops. Instead, the Japanese had fallen back to new defensive positions. The Japanese prisoner appeared to have been telling the truth during his brief interrogation by Yoshio before being sent back to the rear area.

They had won the skirmish, but there promised to be plenty of fighting ahead.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN