David Healey - Winter Sniper

“Maybe we would be sent back to Germany.”

“Yes!” Petra said, clearly alarmed at the idea. “That is why I sent the note. I was protecting us, Frau Von Stahl. You could not have known what that man planned to do. You did not know why he was here. I know you would not have helped him commit such a crime because you are not a true German.”

Eva swung the poker at the girl’s head. The hooked tip made a whistling noise as it cut through the air. Just like Errol Flynn , some part of Eva’s mind thought. Petra made a little oh sound and cowered away so that the poker struck the girl across the back. It made a solid whump like carpets being beaten.

How dare the girl say that to her! She had sacrificed so much for Germany — her home, her acting career, her husband. Not a true German! What did that girl know about it? Petra had no right to say such things. Eva raised the poker again and the girl screamed. She hit Petra a solid blow across the ribs and spine. The jolt as she connected with flesh and bone was oddly satisfying.

“You will not presume to act for me!” Eva raged. “You will not forge my name! You will do only as I say!”

Before she could slash down again with the poker, someone grabbed her arm. She looked up, enraged, to find herself glaring into the face of an utterly terrified young man. The soldier had indeed been asleep, only to be awakened by the sound of women shouting and screaming in German. Eva tried to tug her arm away. He might have been frightened and groggy with sleep, but the soldier had a firm grip. Eva let the poker fall from her grasp. The young soldier seemed to relax then, though he was still holding her by the arm, so Eva chose that moment to drive her knee into his groin. He collapsed onto the floor, red-faced and gasping.

“How dare you touch me!” she practically snarled at him. Petra was on the floor nearby, crying and cowering. Eva would have hit her again if she had still been holding the poker, but she satisfied herself by shouting at the girl. “Stupid Polish cow, now look what you’ve done!”

Eva took a moment to smooth her robe and then walked out of the kitchen. She was Eva Von Stahl and they were… well, they were nothing to her.

The doorbell rang. Eva, still breathing hard and angry, did not want to answer it. More than likely the noise and shouting had brought more soldiers, or perhaps the neighbors. Worse yet, it might even be Colonel Fleischmann. The bell rang again. Eva paused in front of the hallway mirror to tuck loose strands of hair behind her ears. She was not wearing makeup and her cheeks bloomed with angry red splotches, but that could not be helped. She took a deep breath and transformed her face into an unreadable mask before opening the door.

To her great surprise, there were not more soldiers on the front step waiting to arrest her. The lone man standing there held a bouquet of flowers in his hands, wrapped heavily in paper against the winter cold.

“Are you Eva Von Stahl? For you, ma’am.”

She took the flowers and closed the door. The short note said, Enroute to White Sulphur Springs. I don’t know when or if we will see each other again before the war is over. With all my love until then. Ty.

Eva read the note and felt her heart, so hard a moment ago, soften. In another time… under different circumstances… Damn you, Ty , she thought. Damn you for being the enemy .

Hess and Zumwald left the Old Washington Road and followed the Baltimore National Pike for several miles, heading west. From the maps he had studied back in his hotel room, Zumwald knew they were driving in the direction of the Appalachian Mountains. He had, however, thrown away all the maps because if someone did become suspicious of him, the surest way to look like a spy was to be carrying maps.

Zumwald kept his eyes on the horizon, hoping for the first glimpse of the peaks ahead. The sky was beginning to look gray and leaden. Snow, thought Zumwald. The air had that smell he remembered from back home. They rode most of the way in silence, although Zumwald couldn’t wait to hear what Hess was doing out here in the countryside. He told Hess about his plans for seeing the American West, but the run-in back at the crossroads gave him more than a few doubts and he had cooled his enthusiasm. He hadn’t been more than a day’s walk out of Washington; did he really expect to cross thousands of miles without more trouble?

Without explanation, Hess turned off the road at a tiny motel surrounded by farm country. According to the sign, they had reached the Apple Blossom Motel, a one-story roadside establishment that reminded Zumwald somewhat of an army barracks, although it was cheerful enough and new.

“Why are we stopping?”

“I need to make a telephone call.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Something like that.”

Zumwald stayed in the car. The engine ticked as it cooled. A few cars whisked past on the two-lane highway. He watched Hess cross to a pay phone outside the motel office. Hess’s eyes never stopped moving, taking everything in. Zumwald rolled down the window for some fresh air and realized that Hess’s feet did not so much as crunch on the gravel. The man moved quietly as some sort of forest animal, and just as alert. He noticed that as Hess made the phone call, he kept his back to the wall, one hand in his coat pocket. What did he have in there, a pistol?

Although he had been glad at first to see Hess — and grateful for his escape from the local goons — he knew that his fate might now be wrapped up with his comrade’s. He doubted that Hess was interested in sightseeing.

Hess was back in a few minutes. He got behind the steering wheel but did not start up the car right away. He seemed to be collecting himself for some task ahead. A few snowflakes began to drift down.

“You can get out now,” Hess said without looking at him. “Or I can drop you farther down the road if you want.”

“What are you talking about?” Zumwald was surprised.

“You know what I am,” Hess said. “If you get out now you won’t be involved in it. You can go out West and see a buffalo. If you’re lucky and you stay out of trouble, you can wait out the war. No one will care if you’re German once the war is over. I have more money if you need it.”

“Maybe I can help you,” Zumwald said. Hess had spoken the last few words in English with a strong German accent. He wouldn’t get far on his own. “You saved my life twice.”

“I am going to shoot General Eisenhower.”

Zumwald slumped back in the seat, feeling relieved. “You’re in the wrong country for that, my friend. Everyone knows Eisenhower is in England.”

“He is in the United States secretly to meet with the American president and the military chief of staff,” Hess said. “For the next few days he will be at a resort town south of here called White Sulphur Springs.”

Zumwald couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You are talking about an assassination.”

“General Eisenhower is planning the invasion of Europe,” Hess said. “Another name for it might be the assassination of Germany.”

“This is insanity,” Zumwald said.

Hess started the car, the sudden sound of the engine startling Zumwald so that he jumped. “Now you know what you would be in for, Zumwald. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. I don’t know. You want to get out now?”

He wondered if Hess would shoot him if he opened the door. Zumwald looked into the sniper’s glassy eyes, but they were impossible to read. “Drive,” Zumwald said. His throat felt so dry that the word barely croaked out.

Snow was coming down harder now, beginning to cover the road. All the world seemed quiet as the big white flakes fell. He glanced at Hess, who seemed unconcerned about the snow. The sniper looked right at home as they drove through the gathering storm.