Pacific Sniper полностью

“That’s his name. The samurai. Okubo. Our prisoner here was his gofer. His kosho. He’s a little bitter because he sees now that Okubo was basically willing to use him as a decoy to get at you.”

“Get at me?”

“Yes. According to our prisoner, Okubo recognized you from earlier, back at the tank battle. It’s that hat you’re wearing, I suppose.”

“Good hat,” Deke said. “Keeps the sun and the rain off.”

“It also makes you stand out when everyone else is wearing a helmet. This Okubo noticed you.”

“I doubt that we’ll cross paths again.”

“Don’t be so sure. Okubo got away. It’s not a very big island, and after talking with Kimura, I do know one thing for certain.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Yoshio shook his head. “This fight won’t be over until the very last enemy soldier is dead. That includes this Okubo. But if there’s anyone who can get him, it’s you.”

Deke shook his head. “Sure don’t seem that way to me. That son of a bitch got away from me twice. I let him kill Ingram, and he would have killed Lieutenant Steele if Honcho hadn’t gotten lucky.”

“Hey, this Okubo is supposed to be one of the best marksmen that the enemy has. He’s a samurai! He was also on Guadalcanal, Kimura says, so he shot an awful lot of our guys before he got out in the evacuation. But if anyone can bring him down, it’s you. You’re probably the best shot on this island.” Yoshio paused, hesitated. “It’s not just that, Deke. You’re not like the rest of us. Deep down, I think you kind of enjoy this.”

“Enjoy getting shot at? That’s crazy talk.”

“Nobody likes getting shot at. But you do like shooting back. Fighting. I can tell. Anyhow, watch out for Okubo, and if you do see him again, make sure you’re the one who shoots first—and don’t miss. From what Kimura says, you might not get a second chance.”

Yoshio moved away to tighten the prisoner’s bindings again, leaving Deke to think over what Yoshio had said earlier. He wasn’t sure that he agreed that he liked fighting. Well, maybe a little, he admitted. It sure as hell beat working in the sawmill.

The account of the Samurai Sniper that Yoshio had relayed from the prisoner made him angry. Who the hell did this Okubo think he was, anyway?

Deke turned his attention to his rifle. He cleaned his Springfield daily, no matter how tired. Neglected weapons quickly rusted in the tropical climate.

There wasn’t much light left, but Deke didn’t need to see his rifle to clean it. He was more than familiar with every part of it simply by touch. He dismantled the rifle and spread the parts on his blanket, then cleaned and oiled them carefully.

The clean smell of the gun oil dispelled the unpleasant odors of vegetative rot and dampness. Gun oil was the best smell in the world. Besides, if Deke didn’t know better, he would have sworn that it kept the mosquitoes away.

His conversation with Yoshio had left him feeling angry about the Japanese sniper. Cleaning and reassembling the rifle made him feel calm.

He slid the bolt back into place, enjoying the satisfying sound that it made. Clunk. Snick.

There in the jungle dark, Deke nodded to himself, deciding that he was ready for whatever came next.

They waited three days for the division to arrive. The soldiers emerged from their trek through the jungle looking exhausted, and with good reason. Whole platoons had gotten lost for days at a time. Malaria had already set in, thanks to the ubiquitous mosquitoes. Some soldiers shook so uncontrollably that they couldn’t sleep. Every last soldier was wet, muddy, covered with insect bites, and excoriated by the sharp-edged kunai grass.

“Some cavalry,” Philly grumped. “They look more like some half-dead mules that the cavalry rode in on.”

Deke looked at him sideways. “What do you know about mules? Do they have a lot of mules in Philadelphia?”

“It’s a figure of speech,” Philly said, looking Deke up and down. “Let’s just say I know a jackass when I see one.”

“Keep it up.”

“I’m glad it’s not my job to tell them that now they’ve got to fight the Japanese, who’ve been resting up this whole time, eating hot meals and drinking sake, while they’ve been crawling through the jungle.”

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” Deke agreed.

The division’s arrival meant that Lieutenant Steele could finally get some measure of medical care. He was in no shape to continue the fight.

“I feel like somebody is beating on my head with a hammer,” he said. He moved slowly, as if each step pained him. “It’s like I’ve got the world’s worst hangover, without any of the fun.”

Soon enough, Lieutenant Steele was on a vehicle carrying him back to the beachhead, where he would be evacuated to a hospital ship. It all happened before Deke or anyone else in Patrol Easy could give him a proper goodbye. Once again, Deke felt as if he had let the lieutenant down.

Another officer arrived to take command of the patrol. The man looked muddy, but Deke recognized him easily enough. He felt his heart sink.