Hunter Sniper

“And here I always thought you didn’t brag much.”

“My pa always said it ain’t braggin’ if it’s true.”

Philly reloaded his own rifle. “All right, then. I’ll keep him distracted.”

Making the situation difficult was the fact that the Japanese were shooting at them the whole time, forcing Deke and Philly to keep their heads down, not to mention the rest of Patrol Easy.

“What we need is a tank,” Philly said. “Honcho called for tanks, but I don’t know how long they’ll take to get up here.”

“I don’t see any tanks around, do you?” Deke snapped.

But he had to agree with Philly. What they really needed was more firepower. They couldn’t do much good against concrete bunkers. The rifle felt like a puny instrument in his hands compared to what appeared to be an impregnable fortress in front of him.

He put the scope to his eye and kept focused on the firing slit, hoping for a sign of movement within. However, the Japanese sniper didn’t appear eager to show himself.

He realized that, just maybe, he had been bragging to Philly, after all. Could he really put a bullet through that slit in the bunker?

The day’s heat had continued to build so that the tropical sun beating down through the foliage felt like heated pinpricks. Sweat streamed into Deke’s eyes, making aiming the rifle that much harder. Insects buzzed in his eyes and ears, as if the buzz of bullets wasn’t bad enough.

Damn it all. He inched higher above the corpse, where he had rested the rifle, trying to get a better look at the Japanese position before him. Sure enough, there was machine-gun fire coming from the bunker, but it was the more accurate fire from the sniper that was proving to be even more deadly and taking a toll on the troops.

Maybe it was Deke’s imagination, but he thought he saw a glimpse of movement through the slit in the concrete, even the black gaze of the Japanese sniper’s eye.

But of course he was too far away to actually see that. He knew it was all in his imagination. Maybe he was still feverish.

Deke lined up his sights on the slit and fired. However, he had flinched at the last instant because a bullet had passed too close for comfort. He saw a puff of concrete dust through the scope but wasn’t sure exactly where his bullet had struck.

“You missed,” said Philly, who was watching through his own rifle scope.

“That ain’t exactly helpful.”

“Aim a little to the left,” Philly said.

Deke wiped the sweat from his eyes and put his finger back on the trigger, lining up the sight on the target. Slowly, slowly, his finger took up tension on the trigger until he felt the satisfying jolt of the rifle stock against his shoulder.

This time there was no puff of concrete dust. The bullet sang right through the slit. When the sniper did not reappear, it seemed to indicate that Deke’s bullet had done its job.

“Did you get him?”

“I reckon.”

“What are you waiting for?” Philly demanded. “Shoot some more of those bastards.”

Philly was right. Every sniper duel was so intense that it was easy to forget the bigger battle taking place.

Deke put his eye back to the scope and began to search for another target. Before he found anything to shoot at, he heard a sound behind him on the road and swiveled around to take a look.

Tanks. Two of them. Coming up the road toward Ipil. He turned to watch the behemoths approaching. The breeze carried the smell of exhaust as their powerful engines churned. Both tanks rushed forward, their treads clanking. To a man on the ground, the churning tracks appeared strong enough to pulverize anything in their way. The tanks were not buttoned up, but their commanders stood in the hatches atop the turrets, trying to size up the situation before them.

They held their fire for now. The fact that the tanks hadn’t even brought their machine guns into play seemed odd.

At the sight of the tanks, a few of the men even cheered.

“Here comes the cavalry,” Steele shouted. “I’m glad to see them, that’s for sure.”

“I don’t know what the hell they’re waiting for,” Philly complained. “Why the hell don’t they shoot?”

After coming up the road in a rush, the tanks took their time getting into position, like two bulls preparing to charge. When they began to draw fire, the tank commanders pulled the hatches shut, disappearing inside. They were soon seemingly oblivious to the rain of fire headed their way. Even the fire from the Japanese antiaircraft weapons that had been adapted to defend the bunker bounced off. The frustrated Japanese doubled their rate of fire, which made things only worse for the men on the ground.

Formidable as the tanks appeared, their guns were no match for the thick concrete of the bunkers, cleverly angled to deflect shells.

The tanks tried anyway, firing their main guns into the nearest bunker at almost point-blank range. Whang! With that awful sound, one of the shells bounced off without detonating and flew into the trees, where it exploded with an earsplitting release.