Savage Sniper

On that second afternoon, the sky darkened and the wind picked up, churning the trees overhead. While showers and downpours were a frequent occurrence, the wind indicated that this was a stronger storm. They could hear the gale build force and head for them, howling through the lower depths of the forest. The roar of the approaching wind and thunder was more than a little unnerving. A few heavy droplets began to fall, creating mini explosions as they pummeled the bare soil of the trail.

“Here it comes, boys,” Lieutenant Steele said glumly. “Batten down the hatches.”

When the wind struck, it was like a bowling ball rolling through a forest of tenpins. Around them, branches cracked and trees fell. It was the worst kind of tropical storm, almost like a tornado. Deke worried that the storm was leaving them blind and deaf, vulnerable to attack, but then realized that the Japanese would not have been faring any better in these conditions.

They had been traveling too light to bother bringing ponchos. The soldiers had no choice but to tuck in their chins and bear it as the rain swept in, plastering their clothing to their bodies, leaving them soaked through. The sheer force of the water drummed on their helmets, rain sluicing off them. The guerrillas didn’t fare any better, but they didn’t complain.

Forward motion through the storm became impossible. In the blowing wind and rain, it would be too easy to simply lose the track and wander off into the jungle.

Without any hope of shelter, they hunkered down right there on the narrow trail. All around them, leaves and branches danced in the storm’s hurricane winds. Off to the right, a tree suddenly gave way and crashed to the jungle floor with such force that it shook the ground. If it had fallen a few feet closer to the trail, the massive trunk might have wiped out half of the patrol.

Through the fresh gap in the canopy, they could see lightning stitch the darkened sky in a blazing quilt. Nearby, a bolt struck with all the sound and fury of an artillery round. Deke and the others hit the ground just in case there was another electrical blast in store for them.

There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run. Or so it seemed.

Up ahead, Danilo was shouting something and pointing. Then he was beckoning them forward.

Deke got to his feet. Although he trusted Danilo implicitly, he couldn’t help wondering, Where the hell does he think he’s going?

Blindly, they followed the Filipino guide, squinting through the rain and even losing sight of him for several seconds at a time. The trail climbed upward, which was disconcerting, considering that each step seemed to carry them infinitesimally closer to the lightning-laced sky. But then Danilo reappeared, motioning them toward a structure that rose out of the forest.

In the flickering light, Deke could see that it was a bunker of some kind, apparently abandoned by the Japanese — or so he hoped. How Danilo had known it was here was anybody’s guess, but the man seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to navigating the forest.

This deep into the interior, the Japanese had been unable to use concrete. Instead, the walls were built of rammed earth, stone, and heavy timbers. Deke was sure that like many of the enemy fortifications, it had been built using slave labor. One weak point was the roof, which seemed to be constructed of the same heavy material to defend against shrapnel and mortar bursts, but which leaked water like a rusty bucket.

For whatever reason, the Japanese must have decided to abandon this position. If nothing else, it would provide some shelter against the storm.

The patrol piled inside. The space was cramped yet able to accommodate everyone, although some of Father Francisco’s guerrillas preferred seeking shelter in the forest nearby.

As the soldiers crowded inside, the space immediately felt claustrophobic, and the roof was too low — perhaps it was adequate for Japanese soldiers, but the taller Americans, especially Lieutenant Steele, were barely able to stand up. Still, it was a relief to be out of the thrashing wind and rain.

Flashlights provided some light. A couple of bunks had been built against one wall, and there was a rough table lashed together out of sticks and branches. Otherwise, the interior was rudimentary at best. Deke wrinkled his nose against the smell of musty earth and that fishy odor he had come to associate with the Japanese, although he was half-convinced that smell was only in his imagination.

Deke looked through the firing slits. In a flash of lightning, he got a glimpse of wet leaves and driving rain as the storm continued unabated. However, they were now sheltered from the wind and relatively dry. His opinion of the Japanese bunker suddenly improved considerably.

“Make yourselves at home,” Lieutenant Steele said. “We’ll wait out the storm here. Good work, Danilo.”