Savage Sniper

They looked around nervously before hurrying through the gap and then dragging him inside. The gate was immediately shut again.

Before Deke even knew what was happening, his legs were kicked out from under him, and he was dumped on the bare dirt. When he tried to look up, one of the guards clipped him on the jaw with the butt of his rifle, and Deke fell again, his whole world spinning.

He was starting to think that this had been a very bad idea.

“You are a prisoner now,” the officer said. He then said something in Japanese to the guards, which Deke surmised to be something like, Drag him along and make sure he hits every bump on the way.

Two guards shouldered their rifles and dragged him between them. They were a lot stronger than they looked. If Deke hadn’t been a few inches taller than the men, he doubted that his feet would have touched the ground. While dragging him, they somehow managed to get in a few punches as well.

He was taken to what resembled a small, rough-hewn shed with a single door. The door was opened, Deke was thrown inside, and then the door was slammed shut.

There were no windows, so it was like being thrown down a well. The only light filtered through the cracks, so it took his eyes a while to adjust to the darkness. When they did, he found himself staring at four plain walls made of unpainted boards. In fact, the interior of the shed proved to be sweltering. The lack of light did not make it any cooler. The whole place smelled of dust, rot, and despair.

The inside of the door had no knob or latch of any kind. There was a solid floor of thick boards. He couldn’t quite stand up all the way before his head hit the pitched roof. The roof was thatched with some sort of reedy material that had the musty smell of moldering straw, but it didn’t have any give to it whatsoever. The thatch did provide a home for a multitude of tropical insects that he could hear scurrying around inches from his face.

The shed hadn’t looked all that sturdy from the outside, but Deke quickly determined that it was more than sturdy enough to hold him.

He put his back against the wall and slid down until he reached the floor, noting that his jaw ached from where he’d been hit with the rifle. That guard had whacked him a good one. He was sure that he’d have one helluva bruise.

Now what?

It turned out that he didn’t have to wait long, although in the dark interior he had somewhat lost track of time. He was dragged out again, blinking in the blinding sun. The Japanese officer that he had started to nickname Eyeglasses in his mind was there with a couple of soldiers who took him firmly by the arms. Also present was a tough-looking noncommissioned officer who promptly punched Deke in the gut, knocking the wind out of him.

The sergeant grunted in satisfaction and said something in Japanese.

The bright sun in his eyes was causing more pain than the blow, but he managed to swivel his head around, doing his best to get a good look at the interior of the prison camp. There were no other prisoners to be seen. They had apparently been ordered to their barracks or were out on work detail, but several Japanese were present. Some stared in amazement at the man who had shown up at their gate; others laughed at the sight of such a pathetic American soldier as Deke was presenting himself to be.

One thing seemed clear, which was that the compound was not on high alert. Deke apparently was not seen as a threat, and his appearance had not set anyone on edge. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or insulted.

This time around Deke was dragged into a much larger structure. His best guess was that he had been taken to the camp headquarters. This building had windows, at least. A Japanese battle flag on the wall and a framed portrait of what must be the Japanese emperor were the only decorations. The flag with its off-center meatball radiating the rays of the rising sun seemed oddly out of context, considering that he had mainly seen these flags waved as souvenirs by GIs. The sight of it in its natural state felt sinister.

Once again he was dumped unceremoniously on the floor of a large room. When he started to get up, he was shoved back to his knees. Apparently he would only be allowed to kneel.

For a while no one spoke. Deke noticed that the room was presided over by a single desk. Given the rustic surroundings, the desk was imposing and almost baronial, built of dark wood with ornate trim. He supposed that it had been liberated from some old plantation house and brought here as a spoil of war and a symbol of prestige, a statement about who was now the master of this domain.