David Healey - Ardennes Sniper

“At least they’re easy to follow.” The road ahead had been churned up by the passage of tanks and trucks. “What I want to know is, where the hell are our planes?”

The lieutenant shook his head. “They can’t fly. Look at this sky. It’s right on top of us, right down to the ground. Nothing but clouds and snow. Lousy weather — unless you’re the Germans trying to advance without being attacked from the air, in which case it’s beautiful weather.”

“Lieutenant, do you even have a map?”

“We don’t need one, Vaccaro. All we need to do is follow these tracks. Best of all, the Germans are going to be in such a hurry covering ground that they won’t even worry about us coming up behind them.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Cole said. “I have a feeling this German unit is going to have eyes in the back of its head.”

“What are you talking about?”

He nodded toward the field, where the bodies of the massacred Americans lay slowly freezing into twisted poses. “Something I found other there.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the spent rifle cartridges he had found and held it out to the lieutenant. “Does that look familiar?”

“It’s got those Russian markings on it.” The lieutenant’s eyes lit up. He knew all about Das Gespenst. “I’ll be damned. You don’t think it’s the same guy?”

“Reckon I do,” Cole said. “The Ghost Sniper. He’s one of their best snipers, and now he’s a goddamn murderer, too. And he’s out there somewhere up ahead. Best not let him get the drop on us.”

The lieutenant hefted his rifle. “You heard Cole. Keep your eyes open, everybody. It sounds as if the Germans will be doing the same.”

Once the squad was on the move, Cole fell into step alongside Jolie. They had some catching up to do.

“So, where you been all this time?” he asked Jolie. “I thought — hell, I don’t know what I thought.”

“I was mostly in the hospital. The bullet did a great deal of damage. I wrote you.”

Cole didn’t have an answer for that. They walked a bit in silence, glad to be moving again, because that helped them to stay warm. “Jolie, maybe you ought not to be out here with us. Mulholland is a goddamn Boy Scout most of the time, but he’s got a point. For one thing, it’s cold as hell, in case you ain’t noticed.”

“Where else would I go now?” Jolie asked, sounding exasperated, then sweeping her arms wide to indicate the barren white landscape. “If I get too cold, maybe you can keep me warm.”

“I take it then that the bullet didn’t damage anything important?”

Jolie did not answer right away. “I get pains now, just thinking about what happened. My body aches all the time.”

“For what it’s worth, Jolie, I didn’t expect to see you again, but here you are, and I’m damn glad to see you.”

“The lieutenant, he is not so happy.”

“To hell with him. But you know, he is worried about you. You showed up just in time to be in the middle of a big goddamned fight. Why are you here, Jolie?”

She took her time answering. “There is nothing for me at home, Cole. Most of my family and friends are gone, thanks to the Germans. I want to see this war through to the end. If I can, I will go all the way to Berlin. I will dance on Hitler’s grave.”

“Something tells me that you just might.”

She walked along in a silence for a moment. “Are you sure he is still out there? The Ghost Sniper?”

“I don’t know who else shoots a Russian rifle and smokes them fancy cigarettes, so it’s a good bet it’s our old friend.”

“He is no friend of mine. This time, you need to shoot him.”

“I reckon I will, if I get half a chance. That is, if he don’t shoot me first. This Ghost Sniper is a tough customer.”

“So are you, Micajah Cole. A real hillbilly, no? This time, you show him who is the better shot.”

“If I get the chance, I’ll only have to show him once.”

Fifty feet ahead, Vaccaro was filling in the Kid about the sniper squad. “Let me give you the lay of the land, so to speak. The unit you were with — what did you and those poor bastards do?”

“We were artillery support mostly — finding positions, moving munitions, observing fire.”

“So you didn’t actually shoot at anything yourself?”

“No, that wasn’t my job.”

“Well, your job description just changed, at least temporarily. You’re in a sniper squad now. Hang on to that gun Cole gave you. Like he said, we’ll find you a rifle when we can.”

“I used to hunt a lot. Squirrels and rabbits mostly. I was a good shot with a twenty-two.”

“There you go, Kid.”

“Tell me about Cole. It was nice of him to give me his pistol, but he seems like a real cracker.”

Vaccaro laughed. “You don’t know the half of it. And if I was you, which fortunately I ain’t, I would not go around calling him a cracker. You do not want to screw with Cole. Just be glad he’s on our side. I can joke around with him because he’s used to me by now, but your best bet is to keep your mouth shut around him and just do what he says. If it wasn’t for Cole, we’d of been dead a long time ago.”

“What about the lieutenant?”

“Mulholland? He’s all right for an officer, but half the time it’s really Cole who calls the shots. The problem with the lieutenant is that he’s got a little too much Sunday school teacher in him. He likes to play by the rules.”

“And you don’t?”

“Hey, I’m just a guy from Brooklyn who wants to survive the war. My only rule is, ‘Don’t get killed.’”

“The others?”

“Rowe and McNulty have only been with us for a few weeks. They ain’t bad, but they ain’t stone-cold killers like Cole.”

The Kid glanced back at Jolie and Cole. “What’s with the French girl? She and Cole seem awfully close.”

“Yeah, so you better steer clear of her if you don’t want Cole’s boot up your ass. Jolie is a tough one herself. She’s one of those French Resistance fighters. You know, a Machi. She absolutely hates Germans.”

“She seems all right. She tried to keep me from freezing to death back there.”

“Hell, Kid, you looked like a lost puppy. What did you expect? I was ready to wrap you in a blanket myself.”

“Sorry.” The Kid looked down at the snow, his shoulders slumped.

“Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry about. You survived a massacre. It’s those Krauts I’ve got a problem with. Now, let’s go get even.”

“I don’t know. Those SS guys—”

“Don’t worry about them. Just stick with us and keep your head down, Kid. That, and keep your socks dry. You get wet feet in this cold and it’s as good as taking a bullet.”

The German column rolled into the next village beyond Baugnez. The place was little more than a scattering of buildings around a wide place in the road, but the hamlet was large enough to have a handful of residences, a boulangerie, a post office, a school house, and a tavern. In the snow, the modest stone buildings had a Christmas village look about them, like a scene from a whimsical Weihnachtskarte . The arrival of the tanks, with their treads churning the road to slush and their engines filling the air with exhaust, soon shattered that peaceful illusion.

This was the first village beyond the Baugnez crossroads and Malmedy, where the massacre had taken place. Most of the German troops were not even aware of the killings. Those who had taken part were still filled with a kind of blood lust, like dogs that had gotten a taste of raw meat.

Some of the villagers came out to wave at the tanks as if the brutal machines were on parade. Although this town was in Belgium, they were close enough to the border that a few Germans had settled here over the years. A middle-aged woman emerged from the tavern with a basket loaded with bottles of beer and sandwiches, handing them out to the passing troops. Clearly, she and a few of the parade spectators were German loyalists. An older man emerged from a house and waved an old German flag, the black, red, and gold tri-color of the Weimar Republic.