Savage Sniper

None of these motivations would have mattered to Deke, who saw the Japanese officer as just another obstacle to getting out of this hellhole. Accompanying Lieutenant Osako was a soldier carrying a basin of water and a clean cloth.

Eyeglasses carried a lantern, which he brought close to Deke’s face. The officer nodded at the soldier with the basin, who proceeded to wash the worst of the cuts and gouges on his face. Some had crusted over with dirt and dried blood, but the soldier worked to get them clean. Soon, the water in the basin turned pink, then red.

“You must learn not to provoke us,” Eyeglasses said, speaking in slow but clear English. He spoke in a low voice, as if afraid that he would be overheard beyond the confines of the hot box. “Do as you are told, and no more harm will come to you.”

“You call this harm? This is nothin’.”

“We are not monsters,” Eyeglasses said. “But prisoners must obey.”

“I appreciate the advice,” Deke said, surprised at how his voice creaked like a rusty hinge. “But what happens when you ain’t around and your buddy the sergeant is in charge?”

Eyeglasses looked away. He didn’t seem to have a good answer to that question. “Do as Sergeant Matsueda tells you.”

“You must mean Mr. Suey.”

The officer shifted uncomfortably. “You know who I mean.”

From that response, it was abundantly clear that the commandant and his toady, Sergeant Matsueda, were running this show, even if the commandant’s subordinate officer did not always agree with their actions. Deke supposed that providing a few words of warning and some rudimentary medical attention helped to ease this officer’s conscience.

The medic set a clean corner of the bandage with something from a bottle and swabbed at Deke’s cuts. Deke couldn’t tell if it was iodine or sake, but either way, it sure did sting. He took that as a sign that the stuff was doing its job.

Eyeglasses nodded with satisfaction, seemingly glad that they were managing to clean Deke up.

“Tell me, why are you here?” the officer asked. “You do not seem like the sort of man who gets lost easily.”

“Have you seen that jungle out there? I took a wrong turn.”

The officer frowned, staring at Deke as if expecting him to say more. Finally, he prompted, “A wrong turn that took you directly to our gate? This seems very curious.”

But Deke wasn’t interested in giving the Japanese officer additional information — or making him feel any better about himself. In Deke’s book, this officer was just as bad as all the rest. “You do know that when this war is over and you’ve lost, they’ll hang you just as high as the others for what has happened at this camp. General MacArthur has promised as much, and he’s a man who keeps his word. Don’t forget that he said he’d be back to the Philippines, and he meant it.”

Eyeglasses glared at Deke, then said something in Japanese to the medic, speaking a few harsh words. The medic gathered up his bowl and bandages, then hurried out. Eyeglasses and the soldier with the bayonet left, leaving Deke to his evening meal.

As Faraday had promised, the meal was disappointing. When it had been delivered, the light from the open door had revealed a bowl that contained nothing more than tepid water with what looked like a few green leaves floating in it. He thought they might be the Japanese equivalent of turnip greens. He’d seen dishwater that looked more appetizing. His first thought was to dump it out, but he realized that to survive this place, and perhaps escape from it, he needed every last bit of energy.

There were no utensils, so Deke was left to lap up the watery broth like a dog and stuff the slimy greens into his mouth using his fingers. He ate quickly to avoid tasting it.

He thought that maybe he could use the bowl as a tool, but two guards returned to collect it, once again waving a bayonet in his face as if Deke were some sort of cornered wild animal.

Maybe they ain’t too wrong, he thought.

Eyeglasses was not with them this time. Deke smirked at that. Perhaps the officer had been dissatisfied with Deke’s unwillingness to appear thankful to the man for being just slightly less awful than the rest of the bunch.

Having finished what passed for a meal, he leaned back against the wall, willing himself not to fall asleep despite his exhaustion.

Out of sheer habit, he felt around for his rifle, which he was so used to having nearby. The feel of the smooth wood and steel in his hands was always reassuring. The rifle protected him but also gave him power. He reminded himself that he didn’t have his rifle with him, which only made him feel more hollow and powerless.

The minutes passed, becoming hours. Without being able to see the sky, the stars, or the moon, he had no way of knowing the time. He hadn’t worn a watch upon giving himself up at the prison gates, because the enemy would have seized it.

Patrol Easy and the guerrillas would be cutting through the fence at midnight.

He had pinned his hopes on Faraday to lead the escape.