Savage Sniper

Danilo nodded at the mention of his name, but his face remained impassive. As always, it remained a mystery as to just how much English he understood.

“I hope to hell the Nips don’t suddenly decide to come back,” Philly said. He looked wet as a drowned rat and was starting to shiver. “I’m not sure this place is worth fighting over.”

“Nobody has been here in a while,” Deke pointed out.

The lieutenant had noticed that Philly was shivering, and he wasn’t the only one. Their cotton uniforms did nothing to retain body heat. It was hard to believe, considering that they usually suffered in the heat, but the rain and the sudden drop in temperature brought by the storm had left them all chilled to the bone.

“Everybody, get out of those wet clothes,” he said. “Your body heat isn’t enough to dry them. You’ll only get colder.”

The men shed their clothes and hung them from the rafters to drip dry. For simple ease of movement and function, they all went commando in the field rather than deal with an added layer of baggy and soggy boxer shorts. Consequently, the interior of the bunker soon resembled a locker room, and the soldiers were more like young men after the big game than warriors.

Philly looked Deke up and down, then laughed. Deke reddened at first, feeling his temper flare, thinking that Philly was ridiculing the deep scars that raked his torso.

As it turned out, that wasn’t what Philly found funny. “You know what, Corn Pone? If the flashlights go out, that lily-white cracker ass of yours will be enough to light this whole place up.”

“You’re one to talk, Philly. The last full moon wasn’t as bright as your backside.”

Philly laughed again. The truth was, they all had serious farmer’s tans, with hands, necks, and faces burnished to a deep brown by the tropical sun. The rest of their bodies typically remained a pale white. There were only rare occasions when they had shed their shirts to sun themselves on a beach or on a ship. Notably, none of the soldiers had tattoos — that was a tradition for the boys in the navy and marines, usually acquired during a drunken shore leave.

Despite the damp conditions, Deke quickly built a fire — he always had been good at that. The smoke gathered around the rafters, but it was a small price to pay for the warmth of the flames. Naked as jaybirds, the lieutenant included, they gathered around and heated up their rations. Gradually the raging storm began to subside. Night was coming on, so they posted a guard and got ready to sleep.

They had escaped the storm. They had dodged the Japanese who had built this place. However, the men of Patrol Easy might not have slept so soundly if they’d known that those enemy soldiers were waiting just around the corner.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

At first light, the soldiers shrugged back into their clothes, which were not entirely dry, but better than the sopping-wet rags they had been. Considering the constant damp and humidity, they would likely be soaked again in no time.

All around them could be heard the constant patter of water droplets shedding from the foliage following last night’s rain. Morning mist lingered among the tree trunks. The forest bore the scars of the storm, with a few broken tree limbs scattered around. Nearby, a large tree had split cleanly in two, the new wood bright and running with sap. No doubt the tree had been struck by lightning. They had certainly heard a few lightning bolts strike near their shelter.

Above them, through the canopy of trees, a blue sky shimmered. It was the calm after the storm, the rain having cleansed the air and thinned the forest of weak trees. Deke thought that the day looked promising.

Philly seemed to be the only one compelled to talk and interrupt the silence. “Hey, somebody call room service and order up some breakfast. I’ll take some coffee for starters, then some bacon and eggs.”

“Pancakes for me,” Yoshio said.

Of course there wasn’t any pot of fresh coffee, and certainly no pancakes, so they had to settle for a few swigs of canteen water that tasted stale and metallic. Deke sighed. He never had stayed in a fancy hotel, but his mouth watered at the thought of some biscuits and gravy. The closest thing a soldier in the field could get to breakfast was the “Chopped Ham, Egg, and Potato” C-ration. It came in a sixteen-ounce can and was wildly unpopular. Deke munched on a few crackers instead.

Their small task force reunited. A few of the guerrillas had taken their chances sheltering in the forest, none too eager to spend the night in the confines of the abandoned Japanese fortifications. They emerged dripping wet from the forest, but evidently ready to face whatever the day presented. Many of the guerrillas had lived rough like this for weeks, if not months. They were a hardy bunch.

“How did you sleep?” Father Francisco inquired pleasantly, as if they had all just passed the night at a roadside inn rather than in a jungle potentially crawling with enemy troops.