Pacific Sniper

Deke was sure that the bullet had come from the sniper hidden among the boulders. However, he was not sure exactly where the sniper was located. He also realized that the enemy sniper must have spotted them and targeted them. Deke himself was well hidden, but Yoshio had been more exposed and showing more of himself above the foxhole than he should have. But instead of feeling afraid, Deke grinned. Two can play at that game, you sly Nip bastard.

“You all right?” he whispered to Yoshio, as if the enemy sniper could hear him.

Yoshio touched his cheek, where a chip of stone had drawn blood. He was shaken but otherwise uninjured. He was certainly a lot better off than the two dead men in the belly of the foxhole. “I am fine,” he replied, though his voice sounded shaky.

“Good. I reckon I’d hate for you to be dead, just having gotten to know you and all. Besides, you’re the only Japanese friend I’ve got.”

“Gee whiz, thank you.”

“Listen, here’s what I want you to do. Take the helmet off that dead fella there and stick it over the rim of the foxhole.”

“You want me to do what, exactly?”

“We’ve got to lure out that sniper. You got any better ideas?”

Reluctantly, Yoshio crouched down toward the dead GI. The man’s eyes stared as if accusing him of something as he slipped off the chin strap and tugged the helmet free. “Got it,” he said, and crept toward the edge of the foxhole.

“And Yoshio?”

“Yes?”

“Keep your head down.”

Deke held his breath as Yoshio got into position, his eye pressed tight to the scope, finger tense on the trigger. He reckoned that he would get one chance at this. One shot.

“Ready?” Yoshio asked.

Deke grunted.

Beside him, he heard Yoshio take a deep breath, and then the sound of the metal helmet grating across the debris at the rim of the foxhole. His eye didn’t waver from the rifle sight.

There. He spotted a dim muzzle flash. At the same instant, Deke heard Yoshio cry out as the sniper’s bullet struck the helmet and snatched it away.

Deke fired.

It was impossible to tell if he had hit the enemy sniper, who was clearly burrowed down in those rocks. They seemed to offer much better protection than the tank had, because he didn’t have any real glimpse of the sniper.

Then came another muzzle flash, and a bullet snapped the air just past his ear. He felt his body shudder involuntarily. Damn, but that was close.

He fired again at the spot where he had seen the muzzle flash.

Another bullet flicked past his ear.

He knew where the sniper was, and the sniper knew where Deke was, but neither of them could seem to get a clear shot at the other. They were at an impasse.

“Did you get him?” Yoshio asked.

“I don’t rightly know. Like I said, keep your head down.”

He heard Yoshio settle deeper into the foxhole but didn’t dare take his eye from the rifle sight. Where was that sniper?

Then a curious thing happened. From the boulders, a hand appeared, as if raised in greeting.

Deke held his fire. What the hell? Was that Nip about to surrender?

Slowly, a figure emerged from the volcanic boulders. The Japanese sniper held a rifle at the ready, but for the moment it was not aimed at Deke. He saw a man who appeared older—and taller—than many of the Japanese he had seen. Curiously, the man was not wearing a helmet. Instead, a bright-white scarf was tied around his head, decorated with some kind of badge.

Unable to resist his curiosity, Yoshio had retrieved the binoculars and retaken his position at the rim of the foxhole. Deke heard him inhale sharply and mutter, “Samurai. He wears the archer symbol.”

“For real?” Deke had heard the term samurai but hadn’t thought that they would run into one on the battlefield.

“He looks real to me.”

“Ask him if he wants to surrender. If he doesn’t, I’m gonna shoot his ass in about two seconds.”

“He can’t hear me from here!”

“Shout real loud.”

“The other guys were right. That freakin’ Deacon. If it makes you happy, I’ll tell him to surrender,” Yoshio said. He took a deep breath, raised himself higher, and shouted in Japanese, “Kōfuku!”

It was hard to say if the enemy sniper had heard him. The man didn’t move but stood like a stone.

“Aw, to hell with it,” Deke said, and stood up. He couldn’t say why, but as he did so, he put his bush hat back on. Like the Japanese sniper, he kept his rifle to his shoulder but didn’t entirely raise it to point at the other man.

The two of them regarded each other across no-man’s-land.

The Japanese sniper nodded at him, then slowly sank back into the jumble of rocks. Deke slumped back down into the foxhole. “Ain’t that the craziest thing. What the hell was that about?”

“He was wearing a samurai headband,” Yoshio said. “He must regard himself as a warrior. I think he was giving you a sign of respect.”

“I think what he wants to give me is a big fat bullet, right through my head.”

“You may be right about that,” Yoshio agreed.

“Now what?” Deke wondered aloud. “I guess we go back to trying to kill each other.”