David Healey - Ardennes Sniper

She shook her head and forced a smile. “Not if you don’t have a glass. It is unladylike.”

Von Stenger shrugged and took a swig from the bottle. “The Obersturmbannführer is going to have you shot in the morning. He may interrogate you first. Have you ever been interrogated by the SS? You may find it, how shall we say… unpleasant.”

“I have nothing to tell him that I haven’t already said, and nothing more to say to you.”

“I am sure that you do, but I think I have heard enough.” They sat for a while quietly in the back of the bouncing truck. “Hold out your hands.”

“What?”

“Do it!”

She extended her hands, which were tightly tied together at the wrists with rough cord. Von Stenger took out a folding knife, opened the blade, and sawed through her bindings.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“Tell your friend the hillbilly sniper that I will see him later, and that this time, I will finish him off. I want him to have something to think about until we meet for the last time. Now listen carefully. Get into the woods and let the column go past. There is an American unit following in our rear. Make sure you put your hands up high when they come along so that they don’t shoot you. Now go!”

Without so much as a word of thanks, the woman slipped out of the truck and was gone, far more agilely than he had entered. She reminded him of a wild animal set free.

Von Stenger looked up at the sky. He could see stars for the first time in many nights. The clear sky cheered him, but only briefly. For it meant that the Allied planes could fly. The Luftwaffe itself had disappeared from the skies, so there was no hope for cover.

His leg throbbed, but he chose to ignore it. He hoped to have the opportunity to pay back this hillbilly sniper for the pain he had caused him. If the woman did survive and find the hillbilly sniper, she could give him that message.

He smoked a cigarette, finished the wine, and closed his eyes. The war would go on tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. But for how much longer, it was hard to say, especially if Operation Watch on the Rhine faltered.

The thought of the war ending made Von Stenger wistful. If he survived this end game, what would he do? Manage a factory somewhere? Teach Goethe to university students? There were whispers that some Nazis with the money to do so were leaving for Argentina or smuggling their families there. It was a better alternative than living in a defeated Germany. Something to think about.

He climbed out and returned to the vehicle where the medic had attended to him. Rocked by the lurching truck, Von Stenger slept.

Just as Von Stenger had told her, the Americans came along in the wake of the German column. It was getting close to midnight when she stepped out into the road with her hands up. The American sentries were easier to convince than the German ones had been. Nobody clubbed her over the head. A few minutes later, she was reunited with the snipers.

Cole surprised her by giving her a hug that crushed the breath out of her. “Goddamnit, Jolie. We heard you were captured.”

“I got away,” she said, then looked around. “Where is leetel Hank? Is he all right?”

“I’m right here,” the Kid said. “Those Krauts never saw me. You saved my life.”

Jolie grabbed Mulholland’s elbow. “You have to stop now. The Germans are right in front of us. If these men keep going, they are going to run right into German tanks.”

Mulholland called over the major. When he heard how close they were to the rear of the German column, the American commander called for them to stop for the night in that stretch of desolate forest. The major wanted to press on, but the darkness in the woods was too thick to do more than feel their way along the road. Using headlights was now too much of a risk, and even the noise of the truck engines was dangerous, given that the Germans could be closer than they thought.

Cole returned to the back of the truck in which he had been riding, getting what rest he could, and the other snipers joined him, making their camp in the back. Vaccaro draped some canvas half shelters across the opening in the back to keep out the cold, and he and the Kid camped out there, along with Lieutenant Mulholland. The driver let Jolie have the cab.

“It’s not exactly warm, but you’ll get a little heat off the engine,” he said apologetically, before going off to find shelter elsewhere.

They settled down, looking forward to some much-needed sleep.

The snipers’ rest did not last long thanks to a corporal named Daryl Muckelroy, who was on his way back from sharing another soldier’s bottle of captured schnapps in a futile effort to stay warm. In fact, he had spotted the bottle and made a beeline for it, then managed to drink much of the schnapps. If it had been Muckelroy’s bottle, he wouldn’t have shared.

He passed by the truck and noticed Jolie sleeping inside. He recognized her right away as the French woman who had taken up with the snipers. He recalled that she had been none too friendly. One glimpse of her civilian clothes filled him with anger. Why should he be the one who had to sleep on the snowy ground tonight? He stopped and pounded on the door of the truck.

“No civilians!” he shouted. “If I’m going to be over here fighting for your lousy country, the least you can do is let me sleep in the cab.”

His anger fueled by the schnapps, he pulled open the door and made the mistake of grabbing Jolie by the foot and trying to drag her out, which earned him a kick in the face.

“You little French bitch! Why don’t you give me something to stay warm! Foutre, baby, foutre avec moi! ”

The scuffle that followed brought Vaccaro, the Kid, and Lieutenant Mulholland crawling out from the back of the truck, where they had already been asleep. Cole climbed down stiffly from the truck, following the rest.

The corporal was outnumbered, but he wasn’t ready to give up. “She ought to sleep in the goddamned mud and snow if she’s not going to be friendly, if you know what I mean.”

“Give it a rest, Corporal,” Lieutenant Mulholland said wearily. It wasn’t the first time an American GI had gotten angry about the French not being more accommodating.

He saw Cole approaching and made sure he put himself between the soldier and Cole, who was carrying his huge hunting knife. He knew all too well that Cole had a short fuse and violent tendencies. Mulholland confronted the corporal. “She’s killed a lot more Germans than you, believe me.”

“It’s not like I haven’t made these French bitches pay up before, whether they wanted to or not. What is she to you, anyway? Just give me ten minutes with her and—”

“What’s your name, soldier?” Mulholland demanded.

The corporal hesitated. “Muckelroy.”

“That’s Muckelroy, sir,” Vaccaro said, standing shoulder to shoulder with the lieutenant.

“Get lost, Corporal Muckelroy, and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear what you just said,” Mulholland said. “That’s an order.” He held the flashlight so that it lit up his rank, making it clear to this asshole that he was talking to an officer.

Looking around, the corporal seemed to realize that he was outnumbered and outranked. His eyes lingered on the flashing blade in Cole’s hand. “Goddamn snipers. Nobody likes you sneaky bastards,” he muttered, and strode off.

Vaccaro had also managed to put himself between Cole and the soldier. When the corporal had gone, he turned to Cole. “Jesus Christ, put that knife away. It’s as big as a sword. I was worried you were gonna cut his head off.”

“It ain’t his head that I’d cut off,” Cole said. “But I’m too tired to kill him right now. I reckon that down the road we might just need us a cull for the herd.”