Hunter Sniper

The Japanese was a squat, sturdy man, with a long torso and short legs wrapped to the knees in puttees. He had a flat face big as a pie pan and an orange-yellow coloring that did, in fact, remind Deke of a pumpkin pie. This close, the enemy soldier smelled like sweat, and something vaguely fishy emanated from his pores.

The two men faced each other. They weren’t more than twelve feet apart, and yet Deke held his fire. The Japanese hadn’t shot at him. Did this Jap intend to surrender?

Not at all. It became apparent that the Japanese sniper’s Arisaka rifle was hung up in some kind of harness that the Japanese had rigged to steady his aim. The harness had been tied off into the window frame, giving the soldier the ability to swivel instantly and fire accurately at whatever target presented itself — as long as that target was outside. The Jap was having a hard time getting his rifle free, and the narrow window frame prevented him from turning the rifle into the room and pointing it at Deke.

The soldier’s frantic movements seemed to border on panic, but not for long.

With a frustrated bark that might have been a curse, the Japanese soldier let go of the rifle and reached for the knife at his belt. It sure as hell wasn’t a gesture of surrender. The look on the other soldier’s face said it all — it was an expression of sheer outrage. He barked again as he drew the knife.

There was no need to aim the Springfield at this proximity, only to point it at the enemy soldier.

Deke fired.

The sound of the gunshot in the small space made Deke’s ears ring. The bullet hit the soldier in the chest. The smaller man made a sound like oomph as all those foot-pounds of muzzle energy knocked the breath clean out of him.

The Japanese soldier’s look of anger instantly transformed into one of shock and surprise.

Knife forgotten, his hand shifted to the oozing hole in his torso. He took his hand away and looked at the bloody fingers as if inspecting them, then almost absently touched his face, leaving streaks of red like war paint.

Then the soldier began to slide down the wall.

Deke had won the fight, but he wasn’t sure that he would call it a victory.

There was a sound behind him, and Deke dropped and spun, coming within a split second of shooting the clerk, who had finally followed him into the thatched hut.

“You got him!” the clerk said, eyes widening at the sight of the enemy soldier. “I’ve never seen a live one up close.”

“Go on and finish him off if you want to,” Deke said. “You can tell your grandkids how you killed a Japanese face-to-face.”

It was clear from the way that his eyes flicked back and forth between them that the Japanese soldier was still alive, listening to their conversation, even if it was unlikely that he understood a word.

“Maybe we can capture him,” the clerk said, moving closer to the soldier. “Get Yoshio in here, talk to him—”

Deke stepped around the clerk and pulled the trigger again, the sharp rifle blast like a thunderclap. The Japanese slumped, sightless eyes staring.

“Why the hell did you do that?”

“He was done for. Might as well put him out of his misery,” Deke said.

Already a fly had come out of nowhere and settled on the dead man’s open eye.

“Do you think he’s the one that shot your buddy?”

“Doubt it,” Deke said. “He’d have to be up higher, not hiding in a hut. But look at the sniper rig he had. I’ll bet this son of a bitch shot plenty of our boys. Don’t go feeling sorry for him.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Deke headed toward the door. “Come on. There’s lots more where he came from. Maybe one of them will even surrender for you, but I doubt it.”

Up and down the street, soldiers were clearing the houses. Most of the houses were empty, but in others there was a short, sharp firefight. By some miracle it was a lopsided affair, with none of the soldiers even being wounded.

“Do you think we got ’em all?” the clerk asked.

The answer came soon enough, when they were met by more sniper fire.

Deke didn’t know where the shot had come from.

But the clerk had seen movement. He pointed excitedly. “There he is, in that window!”

“I’ll be damned, but you’ve got good eyes for a typist,” Deke muttered, then ran for cover.

He slid behind a pile of rocks next to a burned-out vehicle, the clerk running up right behind him.

Deke reached up and pulled him down.

Another bullet whipped down the empty canyon of the street. So far their progress through the city had been slow, hampered by enemy snipers.

When Deke peered over the pile of stones, another bullet came zipping past.

“Stay down,” Deke said. “He’s got us in range, that’s for damn sure.”

Philly came sliding in next. “What’s the plan?”

Deke thought it over. It would be hard to see where the sniper was, considering that he now had them pinned down. He picked up a sliver of mirror that was lying in the street, a relic from the destroyed car. By angling the mirror low and studying the reflection, he was able to study the street behind him.