Deke felt his earlier fury grow. What the hell was wrong with the enemy to do this to civilians who were just trying to get out of harm’s way? It made no sense to him.
The intelligence provided by the Filipino who had drawn the rough map simply verified what the officers already knew, which was that the enemy was dug into those hills. It was Deke who spotted them, his eyes being some of the sharpest.
“I’ll be damned,” he said. “That hill is covered in Japs.”
He was pointing toward a ridge to the left of the landmark Bugabuga Hill. Sure enough, large numbers of Japanese could be seen scrambling into fortified positions. It was the most enemy troops that they had seen in one place for some time. They could handle infantry. What was more worrisome was that the Japanese appeared to have several artillery pieces that they were preparing to fire. Clearly, they planned to bombard the advancing American column.
Seeing the threat, officers from the 305th began shouting orders to get their own guns into play. The problem was that unhitching the guns from the trucks pulling them and getting the howitzers into position wasn’t a quick task. But to the credit of the drivers and crews, some swung their trucks around so that their guns at least pointed in the right general direction. The GIs on the road scattered to get out of their way.
Deke decided to do what he could to buy them some time.
“How far away do you reckon those Nips are up on that hill?” he wondered.
“A thousand yards, at least,” Philly said.
Lieutenant Steele squinted with his one good eye. “More like twelve hundred,” he said.
“Yeah, I’d say about that,” Deke replied.
He took off his pack and put it on the hood of a truck, then set his rifle on the pack. The Weaver scope mounted on his Springfield was relatively low power — good enough for the closer ranges of jungle fighting, but next to useless at this distance. But you had to work with what you had.
However, he also had something of a secret weapon. The Springfield normally fired a 150-grain round, but he had managed to obtain a few rounds of 180-grain ammunition that was technically a hunting round. The rounds had come from a grizzled master sergeant who had heard of Deke’s reputation and pressed them into his hand with the admonition “Use ’em well, son.” Deke planned to. Considering that there were four hundred grains to an ounce, the difference in weight seemed minuscule. However, the heavier bullet could shoot farther and more accurately. And hit harder. He still had a few in his pocket, saved up for a special occasion. This seemed like as good a time as any.
Philly was suddenly beside him, glassing the ridge with binoculars far more powerful than Deke’s scope. “See that Jap gun about two o’clock from us?”
“I see it,” Deke said after a moment, spotting it through the scope. “I’m gonna reach out and give them a poke.”
He breathed in and held it. He reminded himself that he was shooting uphill and at a considerable distance. In theory, his bullet could reach that target. In reality, you had to be able to
At this distance, it took a few heartbeats for the bullet to reach the Japanese target.
“Got him,” Philly said beside him.
Deke worked the bolt and fired again.
“A little high and to the right.”
“Yeah,” Deke said. He worked the bolt, adjusted his aim, then fired again.
“Hit,” Philly reported.
Deke kept it up, firing more quickly now that he had the range figured out, targeting first one gun crew and then another. He was dimly aware of the gunners around him hurrying to get into position. Finally, there came the satisfying boom of a howitzer sending a round toward the Japanese. A burst of flying dirt on the ridge showed that the gunners were off target, so they worked to adjust their aim.
One of the Japanese guns got into play, sending a round screeching over their heads. The civilians who were still on the road dashed for cover.
“Get in the ditches!” Steele shouted to his men. “We’ll let the big boys duke it out for now.”
But Deke was reluctant to leave his position. With more shells beginning to land on the ridge, it was proving harder to spot targets through the flying dirt and smoke. Enemy shells began to land uncomfortably close. One hit a truck nearby and the vehicle exploded. A fearless gun crew — those who had survived the close round, anyhow — worked to get their howitzer unhitched from the burning truck.
“Dammit, Deke, take cover!” Steele was shouting.
Something held Deke in place, however. A moment later, he understood why. The rising sun battle flag that had taunted them earlier from the peak still flew. A knot of Japanese officers had appeared under it and stood watching the fight unfold. For all Deke knew, it might even be General Suzuki or even General Yamashita up there.
