Pacific Sniper

With the failure of both waves of the Japanese counterattack, the path forward to the capture of the Orote airfield was now open. The Imperial Japanese Army had done its best to push the Americans back into the sea. They had come within a bayonet’s edge of success, and the banzai attack by the tanks had almost won the day. But now the Americans had gained their objective, and the battered Japanese stragglers had no choice but to retreat to the deep, mountainous jungle of the island interior. The Americans had wrested a hold on the beachhead and won the airfield, but the Japanese still held the bulk of Guam.

However, not all the Japanese had retreated. Before the arrival of American forces, the Japanese had weeks to prepare defenses. They had built tunnels, trenches, hidden dugouts, and even concrete pillboxes. These defenses were scattered throughout the peninsula through which the American troops now moved. Trench by trench, pillbox by pillbox, it was their job to clean out these Japanese defenses—a brutal and bloody task. As for the Japanese who had been left behind when the bulk of their forces retreated into the ancient volcanic mountains, they saw it as a last stand. For them, surrender was not an option.

“What’s with these Japs?” Philly wanted to know. “They don’t ever give up. It’s not natural.”

“I got to say that I’m a little worried about how eager you are to give up,” Deke said. “If the tables were turned, would you put your hands in the air? Something tells me that the Japs ain’t all that hospitable to prisoners.”

“The Japanese equate surrender with dishonor,” said Yoshio, who was walking with them as they made their way through the war-torn landscape. “Surrender would bring dishonor not just to the individual but also to their families.”

“I’m no expert, but it seems to me there ain’t gonna be much chance for you to question prisoners at this rate.”

“Not all of the Japanese are so dedicated. There will always be some Japanese who surrender.”

“It’s real interesting how you talk about the Japanese,” Philly said, “considering that you are one of them.”

“I am not Japanese,” Yoshio pointed out. “I am American. Just like you.”

Philly snorted. “If you say so.”

“When did your family come to the United States?”

Philly thought about it. “My grandparents came here from Germany. Well, on one side. The other side came from Ireland.”

“My grandparents came here from Japan,” Yoshio said. “I suppose that makes us even.”

“It’s not the same,” Philly said. He looked at Deke. “What about your family, Deke? You know, your kin, or whatever you hillbillies call them.”

“You mean my people?” Deke asked. “Kin is more like distant cousins that live on the other side of the mountain.”

“Thanks for clearing that up,” Philly said.

Deke ignored him. “Anyhow, I got you both beat.”

“How’s that?” Philly asked.

“My people fought the British,” Deke said. “That’s a fact. Some even fought against the French.”

“When did we ever fight the French?”

“It was called the French and Indian War,” Yoshio explained. “Before the Revolutionary War.”

“There you go,” Deke said. “So, a long time ago.”

Philly snorted. “Next thing you know, Deke here will be telling us that his people came over on the Mayflower.”

Lieutenant Steele interrupted any further discussion of genealogy. He was walking a few paces away, the ugly twelve-gauge balanced over one shoulder. “Knock it off and pay attention,” he said. “Yoshio is right about the Japs. They aren’t eager to surrender, and this island is still crawling with them.”

They didn’t have to go far before Steele was able to make his point. They were moving in tandem with a larger squad, advancing through an area pockmarked by shell holes.

It was slow going between the broken ground and the need for caution. Moving with them was also a tank. Clanking and loud, the presence of the Sherman felt reassuring. The tank hatch was open, and the tank commander had his head out, trying to navigate around the worst of the obstacles.

Shattered trees littered the ground. The thick, sharp-edged grass that grew across most of the open places on the island obscured many of the surprises that awaited them, from pillboxes to snakes—the shelling and disturbed ground seemed to have brought them out in force. Deke did his best to ignore them. Anyhow, the snakes were basically harmless in comparison to the hidden Japanese troops.

Deke kept his eyes constantly roving over the landscape, looking for any telltale flicker of movement ahead that would indicate that the Japanese had a surprise for them.

But not all the dangers lay ahead. They had just started across an open stretch when shots rang out from behind them. One of the soldiers in the nearby squad went down, shot dead.

“Sniper!” somebody yelled.