Pacific Sniper

As the men coming ashore were quickly finding out, drinking water was a commodity in short supply. In the tropical heat, everybody was constantly thirsty. If there was a decent source of water on the island itself, nobody had found it yet. Rumor had it that the Japs had poisoned all the wells and springs.

Consequently, all water for the thousands of GIs and marines fighting on the island had to be brought in from the ships. Somebody hadn’t done a good job of cleaning out the old fuel barrels used to carry the water to shore. The result was this foul concoction of water, rust, and oil. They were all so thirsty that they didn’t have any choice but to drink it.

Like the others, Deke felt desperately parched. He took a sip, almost gagged, and took another sip. Although his stomach and throat revolted at the taste, the rest of his body craved the water.

It was no wonder—his uniform was soaked through with sweat, just like everybody else’s. He forced down a couple of gulps.

“I guess we’re supposed to be some sort of crack sniper squad,” said the soldier who had assessed the water. He was busily chewing a piece of gum, making popping and snapping sounds between the words. He had an accent that Deke couldn’t place right away. “Can you shoot?”

“Some,” Deke allowed.

“That’s good,” said the soldier with the gum. “Somebody’s got to. I can’t shoot worth a damn.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I volunteered,” he said. “It sounded better to me than getting my ass shot off by the Japs.”

“You do know that we’ll be going back out there, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but for now, here I am on the beach getting sunburned, drinking this delicious water—and not getting shot at.” The soldier was about five foot eight, but he had a beefy build and exuded a confidence that made him seem bigger.

“You got a point there,” Deke said.

“I’m Philly, by the way. That’s short for Phil-a-del-phi-a,” the soldier said, slowly sounding out each syllable as if Deke might not understand the English language. “It’s where I’m from. How about you?”

“Well, I ain’t from Phil-a-del-phi-a.”

“Gee, what a surprise with that hillbilly accent you’ve got. Ever been there?”

“I don’t like cities.”

The soldier frowned. “Oh, I get it. Another hayseed, huh? That’s just great. This army’s full of ’em.” Then he noticed Deke’s scars for the first time, and whatever steam he was building up seemed to dissipate. “What the hell happened to you, anyhow?”

“Keep it up and you’ll find out for yourself.”

“All right, don’t get sore.” Not being one to back down, Philly had wanted to say more, but something in Deke’s eyes convinced him to let it go.

In the welcome silence that followed, Deke finally had a chance to look at the others. Some appeared competent, while the rest seemed more like Philly—looking as though maybe they were in the wrong place.

One by one, the other men introduced themselves. Ingram was a big guy with movie-star looks, and he seemed to know it. There was Rodenbeck, who went by Rodeo. And finally a soldier named Pawelczyk.

The lieutenant came over. Deke was a little confused, because the man was carrying a pump-action combat shotgun. Shouldn’t the officer in charge of a sniper squad have a rifle?

But the lieutenant wasn’t ready to answer their questions just yet. “Come on,” he said, and led them down the beach, away from the busy staging area. Other than a couple of lookouts posted to keep an eye out for Japs, this section of beach was mostly empty. The surf ran up on shore, and a cooling sea breeze broke the tropical heat. In fact, this section of beach hinted at the tropical paradise that Guam might very well have been until 1941, when the Japanese attacked the small marine garrison not long after Pearl Harbor and seized the island. The scene was marred only by the sight of a body bobbing in the waves just offshore.

Once they were assembled, the lieutenant began.

“Congratulations,” he said. “Or maybe I should say, my condolences. You are now part of a designated anti-sniper squad assigned to recon. As you know, the Jap snipers are really tearing us up. The Japs have put a lot of thought into sniper warfare.”

Deke remembered how the Japanese soldier he had killed earlier that day had been so effectively camouflaged. If the man hadn’t moved, Deke wouldn’t have seen him. The United States Army lacked any similar tactics.