Deke wasn’t easily distracted; when it came to fighting, he was like a tractor with a stuck gear. He had one speed and one purpose only, ignoring everything else. But when he looked into Juana’s soft brown eyes, it was as if he were transported by thoughts of mountain spring mornings, the smell of fresh-baked pies, the music of cool running streams, and something that he longed for but could not identify. He felt a similar warmth in Juana’s gaze, like heat off a cast-iron griddle, shimmering in the morning light. Though pleasant, he hoped the distraction didn’t get them both killed.
The Filipino snipers had shown themselves to be quick learners when it came to hunting the enemy. Also, they seemed motivated by revenge in a way that was hard for the average GI to grasp, because it was the Japanese who had occupied their country, after all. The enemy had ruined their fields, taken over their homes, stolen their freedoms. Simply put, they hated the Japanese with every fiber of their being.
So far, just one of the Filipinos had been killed when he had tried to run between buildings and had been picked off by a Japanese marksman. Since then, his countrymen — and women — had paid back the Japanese many times over.
The battle for the stadium promised to be a difficult fight, but the Japanese there had to be eliminated. The stadium could not be left as an enemy stronghold while the American advance encircled it.
“Deke, I want you and Juana to get to third base,” Honcho said. “See if you can find some cover in those weeds and start picking off the Japs in the stands on that side of the stadium.”
Philly laughed. “That’s a good one, Honcho!”
“What’s so damn funny?”
“I’m not sure that Deke has ever gotten to third base before.”
Honcho did not appear amused. “You’re a regular comedian, aren’t you, Philly? Just for that, you can take the outfield. There are enough bushes growing out there to give you some cover.”
Nobody but Philly seemed to have much of a sense of humor considering that they were about to face at least a hundred dug-in Japs. Deke glanced at Juana, who made no sign of having picked up on Philly’s joke about third base. He wasn’t about to explain.
Besides, he and Juana had barely exchanged more than a few words during the last few days. In the field, they had made do with hand gestures and nods. It was the only communication they needed, and they had made a good team. After that Japanese sniper had taken out one of the Filipinos, Juana had rigged a helmet on a stick to draw the Jap’s fire, enabling Deke to spot his hiding place and put a nice fat chunk of lead into him.
There wasn’t time for much conversation when you were busy fighting and trying to stay alive. Deke wondered if he even
He pushed any stray thoughts from his mind to focus on the task at hand, which involved shooting the enemy without getting shot himself.
Deke scrambled forward, crawling on all fours. Juana moved behind him, a little off to his left. Somewhere off to his right, he reckoned Philly would be moving into position. A couple of days ago, it might have felt strange being teamed up with Juana instead of Philly. But they seemed able to read each other’s minds. She was a natural and a much better shot than Philly.
Deke was developing a theory that women made better snipers, in the same way that female cats were better at catching mice than tomcats. Everybody back home knew that if you had a barn overrun by mice, the thing to do was to get yourself a mama cat and put her in there. Then again, Deke mused, you didn’t want to mess with a mean tomcat.
Thankfully, the machine guns that they knew to be in the dugouts did not open fire, perhaps not wanting to waste ammo on the sparse targets presented by Patrol Easy. Instead, they were going to let the Japanese snipers in the stands pick them off.
The weeds were tall enough to reach above him, but he worried that the snipers in the stands had a good view of anything moving on the infield. The crack of a rifle and the snap of a bullet overhead verified his concerns. He pressed himself lower to the ground and moved more slowly to create less of a disturbance in the sea of weeds. Another bullet whined overhead, and Deke wished that he could burrow like a box turtle into the infield.
