Shadows In the Jungle Read Online Free Page A

home left to wonder.
    For the past thirty minutes, Dove had been scrutinizing Kaptisoe, trying to think of a way around it, but with neck-deep swamps on both sides, doubtless inhabited by some of New Guinea’s fierce crocodiles, his only course of action soon became clear. Gathering his team in a close huddle, he said in a hushed voice, “Going through the swamps is out. They might hear us and we’d be caught out there like sitting ducks. So we’re going to walk straight through. Nips have been moving along this trail all day and night. With luck, in the dark, those fellas will assume we’re just more of their buddies.”
    â€œAnd if they spot us?” Fisher asked.
    â€œWe open fire and run like mad,” Dove replied. “Follow me.”
    Rising, Dove led his men into the village, walking among the darkened huts and sleeping enemy.
    Nerves taut, they had gone only partway when a Japanese soldier emerged from the nearby shadows. He saw the strange dark shapes of men walking through the village, and halted. Though the soldier was smiling, Dove could see fear creeping across his countenance. Taking four steps toward the man, Dove swung up his carbine and squeezed off two quick rounds into the man’s face. The impact of the .30-caliber slugs smacked the soldier backward and he hit the ground hard.
    â€œFire!” Dove said, and the team’s weapons were instantly in action, the flat, rapid crack of carbines blending with the sharp brrraaapp, brrraaapp of the Thompsons.
    A Japanese guard came running out from a hut and was swept off his feet as a hail of lead ripped through him, creating a bloody mist with each impact.
    â€œGo! Go!” Dove shouted as he and his men, spraying bullets in all directions, ran along the trail, through the village, and into the gloom of the forest beyond.
    The team raced on for several hundred yards, through woods and swamp, tripping over underbrush yet somehow keeping their feet, until Dove finally called a halt. He led them a few steps off the trail, where they sat to catch their breath.
    â€œJesus, that was fun,” the youthful Ray puffed. “Friggin’ O.K. Corral.”
    The boy’s analogy—he loved cowboy movies—brought a chuckle from the men. Then Dove said, “This is home for the night. Settle in and get some sleep, but any man who snores gets a boot. And don’t forget those quinine pills, I don’t want anyone coming down with malaria. We’ll stand guard in two-hour shifts, two men each.” He pointed at Ray. “Wyatt Earp and I will take the first watch.”
    As Dove sat quietly in the dark, listening to the jungle sounds mingled with the soft, easy breathing of his men, a sensation of scents came to his nostrils: the dank, moldering odor of the swamp and the fragrance of jungle flowers. Then a new smell came to him, that of sweating human bodies. Putting up a hand to signal Ray to remain silent, they sat still as a trio of natives walked along the path, passing not three feet from the sleeping Americans. Dove listened to their steps recede.
    â€œThink they spotted us?” Ray asked nervously.
    â€œI don’t know,” Dove said. “But we smelled them, so they must’ve smelled us.”
    The answer to Ray’s question came the next morning, when one of Dove’s men shook him awake.
    â€œSomeone’s coming,” Dove was told in a harsh whisper.
    Dove was instantly alert as a lone native drew near. From the man’s gaze and the wary manner of his approach, Dove was certain he knew exactly where the GIs were. Some yards away, the native stopped and began to speak.
    â€œHe says he’s a friend, that he hates the Japs,” the interpreter said. “He is inviting us to follow him to his village.”
    The man gestured at the Americans.
    â€œWater,” he said. “Ka ka.”
    â€œThey have fresh water and food,” the interpreter said.
    Dove turned