Pacific Sniper

It almost seemed like a waste of effort, this striving for an airfield on a jungle island. However, Okubo knew that the stakes were high. Each airfield that the Americans seized was like a stepping-stone that brought them that much closer to Japan itself. The airfield also had strategic value for naval battles. Just last month, Japanese planes had used the Orote field to attack the American fleet during the Battle of the Philippine Sea. More than one hundred Zero planes and a dozen Gekkō night fighters had been based there. Those planes had not been enough, and the Japanese fleet had been defeated, leaving Guam open to invasion. Now all those planes were gone, either destroyed on the ground or shot out of the sky.

For this strip of concrete in the vast Pacific, thousands of men would die.

Okubo pushed these thoughts of strategy from his mind and focused on the task at hand. He would do his part to help make the attack a success.

He froze. Kimura walked right into him, and Okubo heard him open his mouth to utter an apology, but he reached out to grip his arm and silence him.

Not more than one hundred feet away, he had seen a momentary flash of muted light. Someone had lit a match or flicked a lighter, and then like a firefly, the light was gone.

They had reached the American defenses.

Moving parallel to where he thought the line of foxholes was located, Okubo barely dared to breathe. Each step might give them away.

In fact, they were much closer than was prudent. If he hadn’t spotted that light, they very well might have walked right into the American lines.

The jungle had mostly given way, and the ground was more broken by coral boulders and even fallen trees. All that he needed to do was find the right spot.

He required a good position where he could set up his sniper’s nest. The easiest course of action would have been to climb a tree. From above, he could have picked off anyone in the foxholes. However, once daylight arrived, he might be an easy target.

Some snipers did not care about that. They had been taught that their lives were expendable. But Okubo considered himself to be a samurai. He believed in the Bushido code of honor. A samurai did not throw his life away but lived to fight again.

Finally, he nearly bumped into the wreckage of a Japanese tank. Though fierce fighters and extremely damaging to infantry, the light Japanese tanks were no match for the more heavily armed Sherman tanks or threats from the air. This tank and crew had paid the price. Okubo could smell burned metal, spilled fuel, and the stink of putrefying flesh in the tropical heat. Perhaps the crew had been trapped inside and were rotting like a tin of bad sardines.

“Private Kimura, you will take your rifle and fire on the Americans when I give the order.”

“From where, sir?”

“From inside the tank.”

Kimura wrinkled his nose. “There are dead men in there, sir.”

“They will not ask any questions.”

“Hai,” Kimura said without much enthusiasm.

Leaving Kimura at the tank, Okubo walked a short distance away to a pile of coral boulders. He worked his way down among them, squirming in like a badger.

When dawn came, he would have a clear field of fire. If the enemy noticed the sniper fire, then the wrecked tank would be an obvious target. Private Kimura would certainly draw their attention with his inept shooting. Meanwhile, Okubo would continue to slay the Americans, unseen.

With everything in place, Okubo settled down to wait. He must be patient. General Takashina’s attack would come soon enough.

He was the samurai sniper, and they were nothing more than the gaijin that he would slay.

Chapter Eleven

No sooner had Deke and the rest of the squad dug in as best as they could in the hard volcanic soil than the rain that had been threatening on the horizon arrived.

Rain in the tropics wasn’t quite like anywhere else. The rain clouds seemed to build up momentum while crossing the vast expanses of the Pacific, soaking up moisture like a sponge. Once over land, those clouds seemed determined to wring themselves out. Torrents of rain fell, washing the dust of battle from the fronds of the coconut and palm trees overhead. The hard-packed ground couldn’t drain fast enough, and deep puddles formed. Thunder rumbled as darkness fell and lightning flashed. Deke had experienced his share of mountain storms back home, but for some reason, being on an island made the experience feel more like being on a ship at sea.

Deke hunkered down. The foxhole that he and Philly had dug soon began to fill with rainwater. Their boots and uniforms were soaked through. The rain had brought chill air, and their teeth chattered from the cold.

“It would be a hell of a thing to freeze to death on Guam,” Philly complained.

“Yeah, your chances of getting a Jap bayonet in the gut are a lot better.”

“Now that’s a thought to warm anybody up,” Philly said. “Thanks for that.”