Pacific Sniper

As it turned out, he didn’t have a chance to find out. They heard a rumbling from the jungle, sounding almost like distant thunder, although the morning was clear and bright. Then came the sound of something smashing its way through the vegetation.

Moments later, a line of mustard-color machines burst from the cover of the jungle.

“Tanks!” Yoshio shouted in surprise.

Another group of Japanese foot soldiers appeared in the wake of the tanks, screaming the now-familiar battle cry, “Banzai!”

Chapter Thirteen

It was an awe-inspiring sight, with the machines leading the way ahead of the soldiers. The Japanese had launched a second wave led by tanks. From one of the tanks there flew an Imperial Japanese flag, bloodred sun against a snow-white background. It was as if the bright flag signaled that the attackers intended to make a clean, if bloody, sweep of all those in their path. Deke doubted that he had ever seen anything that looked so sinister as that Jap flag. But instead of fear, he felt anger. Goddamn Japs! Who do they think they are?

The small, nimble tanks were perfect for island fighting. Known as the Type 95 Ha-Go, the light tank was just fourteen feet long and less than seven feet wide. Although the tank was no match for a Sherman, the Japanese tanks were more than effective against infantry. The tanks fired a ragged volley, shells screaming directly overhead or exploding among the foxholes. One of the shells struck almost directly between their position and the jumble of boulders where the enemy sniper was hidden, sending a geyser of rocky island soil high into the air.

“Fall back!” Lieutenant Steele shouted, running along the line. “We can’t fight tanks!”

And just like that, Deke’s duel against the samurai sniper was over. The pile of boulders where the enemy sniper lay hidden was suddenly obscured by the shower of debris.

There was no time to wait around. The battlefield had instantly changed and turned against the Americans, like a table with a leg that had suddenly snapped. Everything had tilted and slid out of place. Deke and Yoshio crawled out of the foxhole and ran with the others, trying to stay ahead of the oncoming tanks and screaming Japanese soldiers.

With the surprise and force of the tank banzai charge, the entire American line was in danger of collapse. Those who could got out of the way. Fear had given some of the men swift feet, and they ran all the way back to the beach, stopping only when the waters of the blue Pacific gave them nowhere else to run.

But the majority of troops quickly regrouped.

“The marines didn’t run, and we’re not going to either,” Lieutenant Steele shouted, rallying any man he could find, in addition to the sniper squad, once they had reached a fallback position. “Get some grenades up here. Get as close as you can and try to knock out their treads.”

It seemed like their only chance, but it was a futile effort. Brandishing a grenade ready to throw, a soldier crouched and ran at the tanks from the side, but was cut down by a burst of machine-gun fire from one of the tanks. The thirty-seven millimeter guns were not the only weapon that the tanks employed to deadly effect.

Soon it looked as if the squad would be forced to join those who had already run for the beach.

Deke aimed at the tank carrying the Japanese flag, seeing the tank spring even closer through the telescopic sight. Although the tank had a hatch from which a man could direct the tank, the tank was buttoned up tight.

In the armor he could see a slit that the tank crew used to see out, but the motion of the tank over the rough ground made that gap a very difficult target. He put his crosshairs on the gap and fired, not sure if his bullet had gone through or not. The tank kept coming.

Firing as it rolled, the tank’s round struck the wreckage of a Jap plane that a group of soldiers had taken cover behind. The group disappeared, scattered and broken. Pieces of the plane and worse rained down.

“We’ve got to move,” Steele said. “We’re sitting ducks out here.”

It didn’t help matters that the American line was in complete disarray. Everywhere they looked, soldiers fought against small groups of Japanese who had been part of the first banzai wave. The fighting was vicious—up close and personal.

As Deke watched, two Japanese soldiers used their bayonets to attack a GI who found himself caught in the open. It was a strange sight, because the Japanese were so small and diminutive—they looked like children compared to the tall GI they were attacking. But there was nothing childlike about their bayonets or the twisted looks of hatred on their faces.

The soldier managed to shoot one down, but not before the Nip had managed to ram his bayonet through the man’s guts. Deke’s own guts clenched just thinking about it.

He raised his rifle and shot the Japanese soldier. As for the wounded GI, there was nothing that could be done for the man as he sank to his knees, head bowed, clutching his belly.