Hunter Sniper

Deke said a silent prayer that for once Philly would be able to keep his mouth shut. If he so much as asked anything in his usual loudmouth voice, which was better suited to hailing a taxi than to scouting within a stone’s throw of the enemy, then all three of them were as good as dead.

Blinking through the sweat in his eyes, trying to ignore the hammering of his heart, Deke looked down at a trench dug into the slope a few feet beyond the ridgeline. He could see the helmets of what appeared to be an entire Japanese company dug into the slope. The soldiers all had fixed bayonets and looked ready to use them.

Deke held his breath. The soldiers were so close that Deke could almost have reached down and tapped the nearest soldier on the head.

They were so close that he could smell them, that slightly fishy, oily scent that seemed to hang around the Japanese. He knew from his boyhood spent hunting in the mountains that all game animals had a smell that clung to their lairs and bedding places — the muskiness of a fox den was different from the pungent smell where deer in rut bedded down, for example.

He wrinkled his nose, hoping the Japanese couldn’t smell him. Whatever an American smelled like, he was sure it was oozing out of his sweaty pores.

It was only by some miracle that he and Danilo hadn’t been spotted.

Deke and Danilo eased back from the ridgeline, still crawling on their bellies. Both men could move with the silence of a caterpillar, or maybe a snake in the grass, as they reverse-wriggled away from the Japanese. Finally they settled in beside Philly.

“What?” Philly had the good sense to whisper the question. “From the look on your face, it can’t be good.”

“Japs,” said Deke. “Lots of Japs. There must be an entire company dug in just on the other side of that ridge, waiting for us, well, waiting for somebody to show themselves.”

“I’ll be damned,” Philly said. “It’s a good thing we took a look-see first.”

“Yeah,” Deke agreed. “The Japanese won’t be happy that we’ve gone and spoiled all their fun. We’d better scoot back down this hill and warn the others. Whatever the hell you do, don’t make any noise, or we’ll have the whole damn bunch down on our heads.”

“You got it,” Philly said. “You know me. I’m quiet as a Caddy rolling on new tires.”

They started to move down the slope toward the rest of the company waiting at the base. Philly hadn’t gotten more than ten feet when his foot kicked a loose rock that tumbled down the slope. Ordinarily it would not have been very loud, but in the tense silence, the rolling stone sounded like thunder itself.

“Dammit!” From the look on his face, it was clear that Philly realized what he had done.

The Japanese would have their own scouts, and they’d be listening for just such telltale sounds. He and Danilo had managed to climb up and back without making any noise, but Philly had just blown it.

Deke knew what was coming and got his rifle ready. Sure enough, seconds later, a Japanese head popped above the ridge. The soldier spotted them, pointed, and started to shout something.

Deke got off a quick shot and worked the bolt, then sprang to his feet. The time had passed for stealth. Now it was all about speed.

“Let’s get the hell outa here!”

Philly didn’t need to be told twice. He started running down the slope, Deke racing after him. Danilo took the slope in a series of running leaps, agile as an old billy goat.

The steep slope made running downhill difficult, so the men were half falling as they made their way back toward the company. Philly was shouting and waving a warning as they ran, getting the attention of the others below.

Deke paused long enough to spin and fire again, just as several Japanese soldiers appeared over the ridge, coming after them. The Japanese could run only so fast, but their bullets could move a whole lot faster. Fortunately for the three American scouts, shooting downhill and hitting anything was notoriously difficult, as the Japanese soldiers were discovering.

Still, dust and dirt exploded all around them as bullets struck at their feet, ricocheting off rocks and careening through the stands of kunai grass. The wave of Japanese soldiers had launched themselves over the ridge and were sweeping down toward the American line, which had spread out to meet them.

The US troops were firing at will. Bullets filled the air along with the crackle of rifle fire. Very few men went down on either side for the simple reason that the GIs and the Japanese were in motion, trying to get into position, and the fire was not very accurate as a result. It was a firefight on the fly.