Pacific Sniper

“You’ve got your M1, and like I said, there’s no finer rifle for all-around combat. Don’t forget that the Springfield is a single-shot weapon—good for sniping, but not so much for throwing a lot of lead at the enemy.”

Deke handed out the rifles, saving the last one in the box for himself. They spent the rest of the day making sure that the scopes were zeroed in to their satisfaction. Then the lieutenant decided to have them do some shooting again.

“All right, let’s see how you do,” he said.

Once again, they used the coconuts scattered across the sand as targets. With the telescopic sights, these targets were much easier to hit.

Finally, the lieutenant pointed out the farthest coconut on the beach. Nobody else could hit it, but when Deke’s turn came, he set the crosshairs on the target and blasted the coconut high into the air.

“Not bad,” the lieutenant said. “Let’s see how you do with a moving target.”

At that, the lieutenant took a coconut and tossed it high into the air.

Deke didn’t bother with the rifle. Instead, he drew his pistol and fired a single shot that shattered the coconut.

The lieutenant stared at him. “I swear to God, Deke. You are some kind of goddamn prodigy. Do me a favor and try not to get killed right away.”

“Roger that, Honcho.”

With the lesson over, the reporter got their names and asked where they were from. He’d been so quiet that they had almost forgotten that he was even there. He produced a small camera from his rucksack.

“All right, I’m just going to take a picture of you fellas, if you don’t mind.”

Lieutenant Steele stepped away. “You don’t need me in there. Just get the men.”

Standing with the others, facing forward as the journalist fiddled with the camera, Deke suddenly felt self-conscious about his scars. “You don’t need me either,” he said. “I reckon I might break the camera.”

“Hold it right there, Deke,” the lieutenant said. He took hold of Deke’s chin and turned his face so that his good side faced the camera. “Is that what you were worried about? Handsome as ever. How’s that, Ernie?”

The camera clicked a few times, with Pyle winding the film between exposures. “All right, I’m all done with you good-looking sons of bitches,” he announced with a laugh. A sad smile crossed his face. “It was good meeting you boys. Take care of yourselves, will you?”

They were just wrapping up when they saw a jeep approaching down the beach. “That can’t be good,” the lieutenant muttered.

The jeep rolled to a stop, and a single soldier got out. Pyle took the opportunity for a ride back and got in before the jeep sped away, leaving the newcomer behind.

“It’s a Jap!” Philly shouted in alarm, leveling his rifle at the soldier.

“Hey, watch where you point that thing!” the soldier said anxiously, staring into the muzzle.

Slowly, Philly lowered the rifle. It was easy to see why he had been alarmed, even if the newcomer wore a GI uniform—Who knew what sort of tricks the Nips might be up to? Without doubt, the soldier had distinctly Asian features.

“All right, what’s this about?” the lieutenant wanted to know.

The soldier looked over the lieutenant and the other soldiers with what appeared to be skepticism. Then he sighed deeply. “Private Shimizu reporting for duty, sir.”

“You’re a Jap.”

“I am an interpreter.”

All that the men could do was stare. They had all heard about the Nisei interpreters, men with Japanese heritage who could speak the language of the enemy, but they had yet to set eyes on one. Until now, apparently.

“What am I supposed to do with an interpreter?”

“Apparently, headquarters was impressed that you captured a Japanese officer, and they’re hoping that you’ll capture more of them. If you do, I’m supposed to help you question the prisoner.”

The lieutenant stared at the interpreter as if waiting for the punch line. Then he laughed. “Well, boys, it just goes to show you that no good deed goes unpunished. Maybe Deke here was right. Maybe we should have shot that Jap prisoner and saved ourselves a lot of trouble. Anyhow, welcome to the squad, Private Shimizu.”

Chapter Nine

Once they had finished their crash course in sniper tactics, Deke and the rest of the squad did what they could to make themselves comfortable while Lieutenant Steele headed toward HQ to see what his latest orders were. They sprawled out on the sand, dug out rations, and smoked cigarettes. There was no hope of making hot coffee, so they had to settle for more of the rusty, oil-infused water in their canteens. It was a poor substitute for decent drinking water, let alone coffee.

“The best thing you can say about this water is that it’s wet,” Philly commented.

“Just don’t smoke around it,” Deke added. “This so-called water might burst into flame.”