Hunter Sniper

The surgeon knelt to examine one of the men who had been bayoneted by the Japanese. Although it was dark, the man’s blood appeared darker still as it pooled beneath him. Harmon finally straightened up, shaking his head.

“Gone,” he said, a hint of anger in his voice. “I can’t say that I’m encouraged by the fact that the Japanese keep killing them faster than I can patch them up. It’s not exactly easy operating by flashlight, you know.”

“Don’t worry about the Japs, Doc,” Honcho said, stepping forward and racking a fresh shell into his combat shotgun. “You concentrate on helping those wounded. I’ll admit that the sneaky bastards caught us by surprise. It won’t be happening again. We’ll make sure not so much as a mosquito gets through. Deke? Philly?”

Deke nodded. He tightened his grip on his rifle. Something about the thought of helpless wounded men being murdered in their blankets made him angrier than usual at the Japanese. What the hell was wrong with these people? “On it.”

“All right,” the surgeon said. “I appreciate it. Just try not to get yourselves shot or stabbed in the process. I seem to have all the work that I can handle.”

Deke, Philly, and Steele kept vigil around the operating tent, fingers on their triggers. The rest of Patrol Easy, including Thor, were kept busy elsewhere. Yoshio was off with Alphabet and Rodeo, guarding what served as headquarters at Camp Downes. Captain Merrick seemed to like having an interpreter on hand, just in case Yoshio overheard any shouted orders. In any case, there appeared to be plenty of infiltrators to go around.

As for Danilo, the Filipino had not been content to play sentry. Wordlessly, he had left his rifle behind and crept into the darkness, armed only with his bolo knife. To merely call it a “knife” was something of an understatement, like calling an eagle a bird. The traditional blade was more like a machete or short sword. By comparison, even Deke’s custom-forged bowie knife looked like the bolo’s little brother — or maybe a toothpick.

For generations the bolo had served the Filipinos as both a tool and as a weapon when necessary. They were handed down from father to son and treated as heirlooms as valuable as Excalibur, even when they had the humblest workaday appearance.

In Danilo’s hands, the bolo blade would be more than enough. Deke shuddered to think about the fate that awaited any Japanese that Danilo encountered. While the Americans fought the Japanese because it was their job as soldiers, Danilo and other guerrillas had suffered cruelly at the hands of the occupiers. The Japanese had taken away their freedom, their homes. For them, this was more than combat — this was revenge.

“Damn fool is gonna get himself killed out there,” Philly muttered.

“Maybe, but he’ll take a few Nips with him, that’s for sure.”

* * *

They settled down to wait, which was always the hardest part at night when you were expecting an attack. It was only a matter of time before there were more infiltrators. The Japanese seemed to have plenty of tricks up their sleeves. One thing, at least — nobody was in any danger of falling asleep.

Once or twice Deke heard a distant shriek cut short. It was hard to say if the cries had come from a human or an animal. Either way, any hunter would recognize that sound as the dying cry of prey. Was it Danilo at work, or some other predator?

Deke stared out into the darkness until he saw spots. He blinked them away, looking for any movement. Given the depth of the tropical night, it wasn’t easy. The darkness appeared to ebb and flow like the eddies and currents of some great, black river.

“How dark did you say it was out here, Philly?” Deke asked. Deke was poking at him because Philly had become somewhat infamous for his similes.

“I’d say it’s as dark as my boot up your ass.”

Deke snorted. “Yep, that sounds about right.”

“All right, you two, knock it off,” Honcho said irritably. Ever since he’d had to take command of an entire platoon within Merrick’s company, Honcho’s patience had worn thin. “Pay attention. I need to leave you and go check on the rest of these ladies.”

Once the lieutenant had gone off to check on the rest of his platoon, Deke and Philly traded one-liners and insults to stay awake, and in part to be reassured that there was another man just a few feet away in the darkness.

Twice more that night, Japanese attacked the medical tent. The first time, it was another trio of infiltrators who made the mistake of shouting some kind of battle cry. If the attack had been silent, the outcome might have been different, but the shouts of the Japanese jolted Deke’s trigger finger awake. By then Honcho had returned from his rounds and taken up his guard duties again. Honcho’s shotgun boomed beside Deke, and then Philly’s rifle. All three infiltrators went down.