Pacific Sniper

“That Jap bastard was aiming for Nelly,” said Egan. During the sniper attack, he had covered the dog with his own body.

“They’re afraid of the dogs,” the sergeant said. “Hell, that dog might be bigger than they are.”

“It’s not right to be trying to shoot dogs.”

“Egan, I swear you love that dog more than your girlfriend.”

Somebody else spoke up. “Everybody knows that dog is his girlfriend.”

A couple of guys laughed. “Hubba, hubba.”

They were all shaken up. Rivers was dead, not to mention Ben’s death earlier. But kidding Egan about his love for the dog was the relief valve they all needed. Egan just smiled and scratched Nelly’s ears.

“All right, all right. Let’s get going again. And Deke? You’re on point. You see any more Jap snipers, you know what to do. But I want you to stay in sight. You see anything up there, you signal back.”

“Like what, Sarge?”

“Like the Jap army, that’s what, you dumb hick. We know they’re here somewhere, just waiting for us.”

Nearby, Conlon shot Deke a dirty look. After all, he was supposed to be the one who dealt with enemy snipers.

Deke ignored him. He didn’t care what Conlon thought. If Conlon was going to lug around a rifle with a fancy telescopic sight, then he ought to do something useful with it. Like shoot Japs.

Taking point, Deke moved ahead of the others, his eyes flicking across the landscape ahead. He held his rifle with the barrel pointed slightly down, ready to snap it to his shoulder. His feet moved soundlessly, boots finding the sandy spots between the twigs and branches littering the ground.

Deke grinned to himself.

He might be on an island surrounded by thousands of miles of Pacific Ocean, but he suddenly felt right at home.

As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t on patrol.

He was hunting.

For Deke and the rest of the soldiers, the day seemed to stretch on endlessly as they moved from one nameless coconut grove to another. Sometimes they encountered small pockets of resistance that resulted in a short, sharp fight.

So far they hadn’t encountered the enemy in any kind of numbers. The worst fight took place against a Japanese machine-gun emplacement. Finally, a soldier worked himself close enough to hurl a grenade into the cleverly disguised pillbox and silence the gun. Two of his buddies who had tried before him lay dead in the sand. The squad was making progress, pushing deeper into the interior from the beachhead, but at a terrible price. Sarge didn’t seem to mind ordering men forward into harm’s way, but at the same time, he didn’t hesitate to lead from the front. The lieutenant preferred to hang back.

These fights were taking place all over the interior of the island adjacent to the beaches. There were pockets of defenders concealed within concrete pillboxes that revealed themselves as barely more than slits in a hummock of sand. Each of these pillboxes took precious time to clear as the day wore on.

But these were all small fights. It was as if the Japanese forces had simply melted into the jungle.

“What I’d like to know is: Where are all the Nips?” Deke wondered.

“They’re out there, all right. It’s like they’re leading us on.”

“Leading us into a trap?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“I guess we’ll find out the hard way,” Deke said.

A distant rifle cracked, and they all ducked. But none of them had been the target. If they had, then one of them would already be dead. These Jap snipers rarely missed.

“One thing for sure is that there’s no shortage of snipers.”

“You got that right,” Deke said.

Throughout the day, the Japanese snipers had harassed the GIs. Fighting back was frustrating and nearly impossible. No sooner did they get a position on the sniper than the Jap slipped away—only to shoot at them from a new position. Orders were to ignore the snipers and advance, but that was easier said than done. The sniper proved to be an unrelenting thorn in their side.

Deke kept wanting to slip deeper into the jungle so that he could engage the snipers one-on-one. To him, the rest of the platoon felt like a ball and chain. But the sergeant wasn’t having any of that.

“Cole, get your ass back here,” Sergeant Hawley shouted as loudly as he dared. “Stay in sight.”

Finally, the sergeant had enough of trying to rein Deke in and put Conlon back on point.

Conlon moved forward cautiously, making a show of swinging his scoped rifle every which way with herky-jerky motions.

Deke moved back with the rest of the platoon. He fell into step beside Egan, leading his dog on a leash.

“Conlon puts on a good show. Too bad he hasn’t shot any Japs yet,” Egan said. “You do know that if you quit pissing off the sergeant that your life would be easier?”

“Easier said than done.”

“You know what your problem is, Deke? You’re stubborn. If you were a dog, I’d put a choke collar on you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Egan just shook his head and moved a couple of paces away.