Hunter Sniper

The next attempt was even more of a stealth attack, undertaken in total silence. They didn’t even spot the two Japanese at first, not until they were already at the tent, using their bayonets to cut their way in through the canvas to get at the medical team and wounded inside.

Before the infiltrators could do any real damage, they were shot down by Honcho, Deke, and Philly.

At first Deke thought that Doc Harmon hadn’t been aware of how close the Japanese had come to getting inside the tent. But then a hand appeared from within and tugged the slits in the canvas closed. It was as if the infiltrators were nothing more than a nuisance.

“I’ll be damned,” Honcho remarked. “That doc has got some sand, all right.”

By first light, the Japanese attacks had subsided. Somewhere within the morning mist that enveloped the edges of the forest, they could actually hear the Japanese talking to one another, and even laughing at one point. The smell of cooking food drifted their way. Apparently the enemy troops were having a hot breakfast.

The Japanese did not depend on canned rations like the Americans did, although the Americans had occasionally come across caches of tinned Japanese crabmeat and even fish. Instead, Japanese troops were typically issued dried rice.

The rice was highly portable and easy to prepare, plus had the benefit of providing hot food. Theoretically US soldiers could heat up their ration cans, but few ever bothered to do so in the field. The distant talk and laughter, along with the smell of the small cooking fires and the hot food, served as a reminder that the Japanese defenders were not only well supplied but in good spirits.

“I’d say those Japanese have a passel of fight left in them,” Deke remarked.

“Yeah, they just don’t know they’re beat yet,” Philly said. He held out a chunk of cold, hard, bitter tropical chocolate, designed not to melt in the tropical heat. First thing in the morning, it was not very appetizing, but it provided instant energy to weary men. “Want some breakfast?”

Deke took it, stuck the square of chocolate in his mouth, and snapped off a bite. The chocolate crumbled like chalk and tasted about the same. He washed it down with some canteen water. “Mmm, mmm. I’ll just pretend it’s scrapple.”

Philly shuddered. “Scrapple? I can’t believe you eat that hillbilly crap.”

“In case you ain’t noticed, I am a hillbilly. Proud of it too.”

The surgeon emerged from the operating tent, which was covered in a heavy dew from the previous night’s damp jungle air.

Honcho offered the surgeon a cigarette, which he accepted with a nod.

“How did it go, Doc?”

“I fixed them up as best as I could. Hopefully the wounded will be transported out to a hospital ship as soon as possible. A couple of them need more surgery, but I patched up the worst of it. Some of them need plasma, too, and we’re damn low on that. It would be helpful if nobody else gets shot today.”

“We’ll see what we can do about that, Doc, but that’s really up to the Japanese.” Honcho grinned. “You can see that the Japanese weren’t too keen on you fixing up the wounded. It doesn’t make sense, being so intent on attacking them. Those men are out of the fight.”

“It’s their way of getting at us mentally,” the doc said. “When they kill our wounded, it makes us feel vulnerable.”

“Then I’ve got to say, it works pretty well.”

Despite his air of nonchalance, it was clear that the doctor was exhausted. He had worked through the night, operating by flashlight, under constant threat of enemy attack. He yawned wide and rubbed his face.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of getting some hot coffee around here? Maybe with two sugars?”

“If you find any, Doc, let me know.”

“I guess a cigarette will have to do.”

“Say, aren’t those bad for your health?”

“So is being on a battlefield, but that hasn’t stopped me yet either.”

The surgeon sucked the cigarette smoke deep into his lungs, exhaled, and then walked around the tent, inspecting the dead Japanese with what appeared to be professional curiosity. Like most dead men, they looked smaller than they had while animated by life.

However, the enemy soldiers looked relatively well fed, and their uniforms were in better shape than those of some of those worn by the Americans. Cleaner and not as ragged. These were indications that at least some supplies must still be getting through to the Japanese. The army brass always pitched the idea of the enemy being on the ropes, starving and low on ammo. The GIs in the field knew otherwise.

Even in death, the enemy casualties did not have the look of troops who had been fighting out of desperation.