David Healey - Ardennes Sniper

Mulholland looked at Jolie. “Can you keep up, Miss Molyneaux?”

“I would walk to the moon for a chance to stop these Nazis who want to get back into France.”

“All right, let’s do it. You lead the way, Cole.”

They left the road and started across the fields. It was better than trying to pick their way around the muddy ruts left by the Germans, but the footing was challenging in its own way. Beyond the shelter of the trees and hedges that lined the road, the cold wind and blowing snow cut at their exposed faces. The new snow was just a few inches deep, but it lay atop an older layer of snow that had crusted over, so that every few paces they broke through the crust and sank shin deep in snow.

Cole soon found that in the lee of the low stone walls the snow was thin, barely covering the frozen ground. He led the snipers single file, following the stone walls that crossed the fields like the seams of a patchwork quilt. Up ahead, the column of smoke darkened and spread across the sky. Whatever was burning was really rolling now, sending up billowing smoke. It was likely that the Germans would be moving on soon. The snipers needed to hurry if they hoped to get ahead of the enemy.

Cole broke into a trot. It wasn’t a full-out run, but a long-legged lope that would have been familiar to a coyote — or a mountain bootlegger. With Cole setting the pace, the others struggled to keep up.

A soldier in the field carried a variety of gear, and the snipers were no different. They were laden with mess kits, cleaning kits for their rifles, spare ammo, and a dozen other items in their haversacks and in their pockets — or hanging off their utility belts. It was a lot of weight to lug, considering they were already weighed down with winter clothing.

What was noticeable was that despite all the gear they carried, the men ran almost silently. A unit of green troops would have clanked and rattled as the things they carried banged together with each step. Men who had been in the field long enough knew that to stay quiet — to stay alive — it was important to tie everything down. And with the Kid and Jolie not really carrying any gear, the only real sound was their breathing and the crunch of old snow under their boots.

Despite the cold, sweat soon ran from their armpits and down the backs of their necks. Later on, they would feel damp and cold as a result. But for now, the objective was to get out ahead of the German column.

They ran for a couple of miles until they reached the edge of the road. Cole’s shortcut across the road had worked. Cole hunkered down behind a stone wall and waited for the others to catch up.

Off to their left, the road ran toward the village, and they could see the flames now from the burning building.

After he had caught his breath, Lieutenant Mulholland got out his binoculars. “Looks like our friends set fire to a tavern. But their column hasn’t left the village yet. We got here ahead of them.” Mulholland put down the binoculars and grinned. “You know what Nathan Bedford Forrest used to say, ‘Get there firstest with the mostest.’”

“I reckon we are firstest,” Cole said. “But we sure as hell ain’t mostest.”

“We’ll see about that,” Mulholland said. He nodded at a thicket of trees off to their right that surrounded the road like a bead around a string. The trees were thick enough to create a bottleneck for the German column — they would have to follow the road through the woods. Also, a deep ravine paralleled much of the road, creating even more challenging terrain. On the other side of the thicket, the road emptied out into wide open fields, punctuated here and there by deserted farmhouses. An ancient stone barn located several hundred yards from the road was the largest visible structure. “If we take up positions in that field beyond the woods, we can pick off the Germans as they come out of the trees.”

“Not a lot of cover for us.”

“There are some hedgerows we can get into, and plenty more stone walls. That should give us enough cover. We’ll be all right. You lead the way again.”

Cole was skeptical. These were SS panzers they were going against. “If you say so.”

Cole slipped over the stone wall and ran down toward the road. Fortunately, the Germans were confident enough that they had not sent scouts ahead. Soon, the sniper squad was running down the road and into the woods.

The trees seemed to close in around them, sucking the light from the winter air. It was such a silent, gloomy place. They ran on. The woods stretched for half a mile, and then they emerged on that open field — and kept running.

Lieutenant Mulholland brought the squad to a halt. He pointed Rowe and McNulty toward a hedgerow. “You two take up positions in there. Once the Germans are out in the open, let them have it. Try to pick off the tank drivers. When it gets too hot, get the hell out — we’ll regroup by that barn over there. These Jerries are in a hurry to get somewhere and they’re not going to bother chasing after a few snipers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“One last thing. Let Cole shoot first. Don’t fire until he does.”

“Why the hell not?” Rowe asked.

“Because he’s got good instincts. You, you’re just a good shot. There’s a difference.” The lieutenant turned toward Jolie. “Listen, I want you to—”

“I will go with Cole,” Jolie announced.

“All right,” he said. If he wasn’t happy about that idea, he was trying hard to hide it. He handed Hank his binoculars, “Kid, you stick with me. I can use a spotter.”

“All I’ve got is this pistol.”

“Don’t worry, Kid. We aren’t going to let the Germans get that close.”

The snipers spread out through the field, taking up positions. There wasn’t time to set up a real hide before the Germans came at them, so they would simply have to rely on the natural camouflage around them.

Back toward the village, smoke still filled the sky from the burning tavern. The countryside was no longer silent. Instead, the frigid air trembled with the rumble of distant engines. The German column was on the move, headed right for them.

“Brace yourself, Bridget,” Cole said to Jolie. “It’s about to get rough around here.”

He crouched behind a low stone wall, his rifle aimed toward the passage through the trees where, in a few minutes, he expected the advance elements of the German column to appear. Jolie knelt nearby, her head just visible as she rested a pair of binoculars on top of the wall.

He would have liked a better sniper’s nest, or at least one that put them farther away from the Germans. This land looked to be what the mountain people back home called scald — barren. Cole felt far too exposed. They did have the stone wall, which Cole could keep between himself and the enemy, using it as a shield if he and Jolie had the need to slip away across the open plain. Also, Cole did not expect that they would be in position long. Once they opened up on the armored column, they would have a few minutes at the most before the German fire got so hot and heavy that they would have to retreat. Considering that it was a few rifles against panzers, there was no doubt they would retreat.

Cole wasn’t interested in making any last stands in some godforsaken Belgian field. This was a delaying action, not the Alamo.

“I reckon it’s cold enough out here to freeze the warts off a witch,” he said, shucking his mittens to flex his stiff fingers.

“Misérable,” Jolie agreed. “In French we say, ‘Cold enough to freeze the grin off an American’s face.’”

“Are you funnin’ me, Jolie?”

She made a noise through chattering teeth that might have been oui . “Perhaps it should be a saying.”