Savage Sniper

Scorched enemy bodies were strewn everywhere, some still in uniform, others stripped down to their underwear. In the oppressive heat inside the bunkers, some of the enemy soldiers had evidently fought wearing as little as possible.

Some had simply been shot as they fled the bunkers, but many of the bodies were burned beyond recognition, looking like something that had been left on the barbecue too long. This had once been a battleground filled with the earsplitting sounds of combat. Now the only sound was the buzzing of flies.

Deke couldn’t help but feel a sense of horror and disgust at the gruesome scene before him. He clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the grip of his rifle.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Philly muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Steele motioned them forward. “Let’s keep moving,” he said. “There’s nothing for us here.”

They were glad to leave the battleground behind. The jungle canopy overhead thickened, and the air became harder to breathe. Sweat poured down their faces and soaked through their clothes. Mosquitoes and the ubiquitous gnats buzzed incessantly around their faces, but swatting them away was a futile effort. After a while, it was easier just to let them be. The breeze on the beach kept the worst of the bugs away, but here in the jungle the insects were relentless.

As they trekked deeper into the forest, the trees grew taller, and the underbrush became denser. It was like stepping into another world, one where danger lurked around every corner. Every rustle of leaves, every twig snapping underfoot, only managed to set their nerves even more on edge.

Up ahead, a tree branch cracked somewhere to their left, and they all froze in their tracks. They all ducked down, expecting a volley of gunfire.

“Hold your fire,” Steele whispered in a voice that was barely audible over the sound of the wind stirring the branches and palm fronds.

Seconds later, a pig and piglet wandered across the road, gave the soldiers a disinterested glance, and then disappeared into the foliage on the other side.

“We could’ve had bacon for dinner,” Philly said.

“Yeah, and we would have let every Japanese soldier in the vicinity know that we were here,” Steele replied. “Stick to the pork and beans in your ration cans.”

“You got it, Honcho.”

After a while, Steele traded places with Danilo and took point. It was rare for him to do that, but the lieutenant seemed unhappy with the pace. Somehow the sense of urgency was lost in translation when he had tried to explain it earlier to the Filipino.

They couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Every minute that passed was another minute the POWs were being held captive, and who knew what kind of torture they were being subjected to. Major Flanders had painted a dire picture of Japanese savagery, igniting their sense of outrage. They had to get there fast, before it was too late. They all felt the fact keenly that there were many miles to go between their current position and the POW camp.

The jungle grew darker as they wove their way through it. The only sounds aside from their footsteps were the occasional rustling of leaves and the chirping of insects. It was eerily quiet, as if the jungle were holding its breath in anticipation of their next step.

Steele led the way, his one good eye scanning the path ahead. He moved with a silent confidence that even Danilo lacked. Deke found himself following Steele’s lead without even thinking about it. It was faster than he was comfortable moving, but he trusted the lieutenant with his life.

Steele held up his hand, signaling for them to stop. He pointed ahead, where they could just make out a crumpled form on the dirt road. The figure wore a uniform — and it wasn’t an American one.

“I’ll be damned,” Philly whispered. “If that’s not a dead Jap, then I’m the president of the United States.”

Nobody was going to call Philly the president anytime soon, because there was no doubt that this was a dead enemy soldier. They approached the body cautiously, wary of tricks.

“Watch out for booby traps,” Lieutenant Steele warned. “Whatever you do, don’t touch the son of a bitch.”

“You got it, Honcho.”

The Japanese soldier had been shot in the back, with a pool of blood mixing with the dirt of the road. Flies buzzed in and out of the pool, which gave the appearance of only recently coagulating. The enemy soldier had not been dead for long.

There was always a strange “otherness” to dead Japanese. It was rare to catch an actual glimpse of the enemy, even a dead one. He looked small and compact. There was no weapon in sight.

“What the hell was he up to?” Philly wondered.

“Nothing good, I’d expect,” Deke replied.

Lieutenant Steele inspected the area surrounding the dead soldier carefully for any trip wires, then leaned over the corpse and poked at the body with the muzzle of his shotgun. The man’s hand opened, and a small object fell into the dirt. It appeared to be a small stone carving.