Savage Sniper

Accompanying him to the room were the officer who had captured him, along with the stocky noncommissioned officer who had punched him. With a start Deke realized that this might be the same sergeant he had watched beating a prisoner with a cane. There were also a couple of soldiers, bayonets at the ready on the muzzles of their rifles. At one command from Eyeglasses, Deke was sure that the two soldiers would be more than happy to skewer him with those bayonets.

Behind the massive desk sat an officer who watched him with a gaze that resembled that of a cat — seemingly disinterested but predatory all the same. At any moment Deke feared that the man might pounce.

This must be the commandant. He appeared to be in his early forties, with strong shoulders evident even as he sat behind the desk. His hair was close cut and balding in the classic male pattern, making the bony ridges of his skull stand out like the backbone of a mule. With his face of stone, Deke had to admit that the man had an intimidating appearance.

This was the Japanese whom he had seen previously from a distance, armed with a bow and arrow. Glancing around, Deke spotted the bow and arrow in a corner, within easy reach of the man behind the desk. The bow was surprisingly tall, roughly Deke’s own height. The wood looked smooth, well rubbed with oil or wax so that it gleamed. He was sure that a bow that size packed a wallop. There was a kind of resting power to it, like an unflexed muscle.

Deke couldn’t help but think of the sniper that he had gone up against on Guam. That sniper had favored wearing a Samurai headband.

What was with these Japanese? Did they all figure that they were Samurai?

Deke nodded at the bow. “What do you hunt with that thing?”

Immediately Deke was swatted in the back of the head by the noncommissioned officer. The expression on the man’s face was one of complete outrage.

The officer who had taken Deke into custody at the prison gate shouted angrily, “You do not question Colonel Yamagata!”

Deke just rubbed his head while the commandant assessed him. Finally the man said in English, “What are you doing here?”

“I got separated from my unit,” Deke said. “Then I came across this place. I figured that it was either surrender or starve.”

This response generated a fresh series of blows, again delivered by the sergeant, this time with a length of cane across Deke’s shoulders and back.

The commandant asked him again, “What are you doing here?”

“Like I said, I got separated from my unit. I was lost until I came across your Ritz-Carlton here in the jungle.”

Again, the cane came down. The commandant repeated his question. That was when Deke realized that he was being interrogated. Everyone else in the room seemed clear on that. Deke reckoned that he was just slow to catch on.

He was regretting his plan again for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

In any case, he gave the same answer that he had before. This only earned him another beating.

However, the commandant did not repeat the question in the aftermath. He only looked at Deke with a sneer and said, “You must not be much of a soldier if you chose surrender over an honorable death in the jungle.”

“The way I figured it, what with how things are going for you Japs here on Leyte, I won’t be your guest for very long.”

That comment prompted another flurry of whacks from the bamboo cane. Deke figured that he’d been asking for it that time. Some of the blows fell upon his shoulders, some across his back, and a few drifted to his buttocks and the backs of his legs — maybe that was just so they wouldn’t feel left out.

Each strike hurt like hell, but he didn’t do more than grimace. He refused to give these Japanese the satisfaction of hearing him cry out in pain.

The beating hurt, but he’d grown up with a stern pa who believed that the most direct route to the loving correction of one’s son involved a leather belt with a big brass buckle. The leather strap stung, and the buckle left bruises. These lessons were most often delivered after Pa had consumed some amount of whiskey.

Consequently, Deke was no stranger to a beating. Also, his pa had been a whole hell of a lot stronger than this sergeant beating him now. He never had given his pa the satisfaction of whimpering, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to do it now for these Japanese.

By the time he was done, the sergeant was panting from the effort.

The commandant looked on impassively, but Eyeglasses seemed a little uneasy. He appeared to be staring at something in the back of the room, as if trying to avoid watching the proceedings.

The commandant took up a new line of questioning. “What is your name?”

“Private Deacon Cole.”

Whack went the cane across his shoulders.

“I will ask you again. What is your name?”

Deke’s name didn’t change, and neither did the beatings.