Pacific Sniper

“Hai,” Kimura said, without a great deal of enthusiasm.

Okubo left the pillbox and ran toward the flight control tower. By some miracle, it had survived this latest attack, although the rough wooden structure was only a replacement for the tower that had been destroyed days before.

They encountered a wild-eyed officer hurriedly climbing down from the tower. He looked on in disbelief as Okubo slung his rifle across his back and began to climb up.

“What are you doing?” the officer asked.

“I am fighting back,” Okubo replied. “Where are you going? You will return to your post.”

The other officer hesitated, seeming to debate whether he should listen to this madman, then nodded and took hold of the ladder.

Letting the officer get a head start, Okubo then moved up the wooden rungs. He looked back at Kimura, who appeared almost as terrified as the officer who had been fleeing the tower. “Private Kimura, follow me.”

Kimura gulped. “Hai!”

Okubo ascended the rungs of the ladder. The previous tower had used steps, but there hadn’t been time to replace those. He had to admit, he was breathing heavily by the time he reached the top of the tower. The flight control officer had stopped on the next level down and operated a machine gun intended for the tower’s defense.

From this height, Okubo had a clear view of the airfield. Falling bombs had left new craters in the concrete. Several aircraft burned on the ground. Sadly, he knew that these were aircraft that could not be replaced. The Japanese did not make use of mass production, although they had a vast industrial complex. Each aircraft motor was essentially assembled by a single mechanic; a similar method of craftsmanship was used to assemble the wings and fuselage. In normal times, this method ensured a quality product.

But the war demanded more and more planes. No matter how hard and fast the factory workers labored, they could not hope to meet the output of American mass production, where creating an aircraft was broken down into a series of steps, each worker focusing on a single basic task. There was precious little craftsmanship to be found, but there was tremendous output. He was seeing the result now in the skies over Guam, in wave after wave of American planes.

Okubo raised his rifle. He knew that there was little damage that a single bullet could do. Even hitting an enemy plane was next to impossible. But this was an act of defiance against the enemy.

He picked out his target. The planes sweeping over the field on their strafing runs were moving much too fast. Instead, he spotted a fighter plane flying right at them.

Perhaps the enemy pilot had spotted him as well. He saw the bursts of fire from the wing-mounted guns, and a stream of fire poured into the tower. Beneath them, they heard the officer that Okubo had shamed into climbing the tower scream. He glanced down and saw the man’s body hanging limply.

He returned his eye to the riflescope. With the plane traveling so fast, he knew that he would get a chance at just one shot. The gunfire from the plane continued to tear up the tower, reducing some of the support posts to splinters. It would be a wonder if the tower remained standing.

He felt the platform sway beneath his feet as the entire tower began to cant toward the east, in danger of collapsing. More machine-gun fire gnawed at the structure, but the pilot couldn’t seem to bring up the nose of the plane enough to level the guns at Okubo.

“Captain Okubo!” Private Kimura cried out in dismay, but Okubo ignored him, keeping his focus on the target.

The plane was so close that Okubo could see the pilot inside the glass canopy. Keeping the crosshairs on the target, he squeezed the trigger.

Then he dived, pulling Kimura down with him as the plane swept past them, the wing seeming to cut the air where their heads had been a moment before.

Slowly, he got back to his feet. The tower rolled like a ship at sea. To Okubo’s astonishment, he saw the plane veer to the left and begin to roll, going belly-up before crashing into the base of Mount Alifan, a promontory that rose more than a thousand feet above the otherwise level peninsula.

“You got him!” Private Kimura shouted. “You shot down the plane!”

“So it seems.” It had been a one in a million shot, Okubo thought. He allowed himself a moment to stare in amazement at the flaming wreckage.

Fresh movement beneath his feet reminded him of their predicament. The tower might give way at any moment. He gave Private Kimura a shove toward the ladder. “Iku! Iku! Go! Go!”

The private did not need to be told twice. He started down the ladder with Okubo right behind him. They passed the bloody remains of the flight control officer, draped over a beam. All around them, the swaying tower creaked and groaned.