David Healey - Ardennes Sniper

On top of the crude cross was a helmet. One with a Confederate flag painted on it. And a bullet hole in the middle of the flag. A hole made by his bullet.

The name on the cross was Cole. So that was his name. This was the grave of the American sniper.

The American really was dead. He felt a sense of relief, but also of regret. The American had been a worthy adversary, but ultimately he had let his guard down and died in a careless moment.

Von Stenger reflected that he had been there waiting when the moment came. He had won their deadly game.

He slung his rifle and reached for the helmet. He was not above keeping trophies. It was how he had obtained his first Russian rifle, after all.

Hmm. Heavier than the German helmets. But not as deep, which left more of the head exposed.

He flipped the helmet over and looked inside. Much to his surprise, he saw a piece of paper tucked into the webbing there.

He took it out and unfolded the note. It was written in English, but he had no trouble understanding it.

Pine tree. Twelve o’clock. See you in hell, you Nazi son of a bitch.

He read the note in disbelief. Then he felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, knowing he was in the American’s sights. He sighed. What else could he do? The American had been playing chess, after all, and this was checkmate. He took a deep breath, enjoying how the cold air filled his lungs. Let it out.

Then Von Stenger looked up.

A day and a half after slipping out of La Gleize, Kampfgruppe Friel arrived back in Germany.

Or what was left of Kampfgruppe Friel. On foot, Friel’s remaining eight hundred troops had avoided American forces as much as possible but still had been involved in a running battle or two. Yet they counted themselves lucky to live and fight another day.

Operation Watch on the Rhine had begun with so much hope, not to mention around two hundred thousand men and nearly two thousand tanks. In the days of fighting between December 15 and the official end of the offensive on January 25, the casualties were astounding on both sides. Only half of the Germans troops managed to return. Hitler had gambled everything on one last battle — and lost at tremendous cost. In the East, the Russian army approached.

American forces were also severe, with nearly ninety thousand casualties and missing — including nineteen thousand dead. It would go down in history as the biggest and bloodiest battle ever fought by the United States Army. It was the only major defensive battle fought by U.S. troops in Europe.

Among those who would never be coming home were the eighty-three Americans murdered by Friel’s men at Malmedy. In retaliation, angry Americans machine gunned sixty German prisoners of war on New Year’s Day at the town of Chenogne. Most of those lined up in rows and shot were eighteen or nineteen years old.

The fact that Friel had essentially disobeyed orders in abandoning La Gleize was overlooked. Germany needed soldiers and capable officers for the final defense of the Fatherland. After the years of war since 1939, so few remained.

Instead of a court martial, he received a hero’s welcome. Hitler personally ordered that Friel receive the addition of a sword to the Knight’s Cross he had won in Russia.

“Obersturmbannführer Friel, what are your orders?” one of his officer had asked, once they had rested and eaten on the German side of the Rhine. It was the day after Christmas. They had crossed more than twenty kilometers of frozen woods and snowy fields, dodging American forces most of the way.

Friel gazed in the direction of the distant hills of the Ardennes. Before long, the Americans would be following them. There would be planes, tanks, men—

“We will make camp here, then resupply and regroup,” Friel said. “The war is not over yet.”

When the end did come the next spring, Friel was a wanted war criminal for the massacre at Malmedy. Using false papers, he fled to Argentina, evading the Allies one last time, just as he had done at La Gleize.

The guards came for Klein just before noon. He decided that today was just as good as any to die. It was not in the way he had expected, of course, but at least he was dying for the Fatherland. Clinging to that thought gave him courage.

To his surprise, there were three others being marched out of the makeshift prison. He recognized them as fellow saboteurs who had trained with Skorzeny. None of them met his eyes, however. Each man inhabited a bubble of his private thoughts. Final thoughts, Klein reminded himself.

The gray skies had lifted, finally, and the sky, if not quite blue, was at least clear. The cold, fresh air felt like tonic after being confined to a single room. He took a deep breath, filled his lungs.

Four posts had been set into the ground, each post about ten feet apart. These might have been the beginnings of a fence, but he knew well enough that these posts had a darker purpose. Klein and the others were each brought to a post, and stood against it. Their hands were tied behind them, on the opposite side of the post.

To their credit, his German comrades remained completely silent.

Just fifty feet away from the Germans stood a row of American GIs, all armed with rifles. The Americans appeared very grim. In fact, they looked like they wanted to be there even less than Klein, if that was possible.

The officer in charge read out something official, but Klein wasn’t really listening. He caught the words guilty … spy … shot . No matter. He already had heard the words read to him before inside the building behind him during a kind of puppet trial.

Someone had the idea to pin a white square of paper to his shirt to make a target, as if the Americans might miss at this range.

Another officer moved to put a blindfold on him. Klein shook his head. “I do not need it,” he said, his voice sounding raspy to his ears. The atmosphere suddenly seemed unreal, as if being seen in a dream.

“It’s not for you, son,” the officer said, not unkindly. “These men don’t need to see your eyes.”

The blindfold tightened into place.

He thought of a girl he had made love to while on leave at the start of the war. It was a pleasant memory, but not worthy to be his last, he decided. Instead, Klein thought of his parents, home in Frankfurt. They were proud of him, he knew, and the thought comforted him. He took one last breath and let it fill his lungs, calming his pounding heart.

The last words he heard were those of the officer calling out, “Ready… aim… fire!”

And so the wolf slumped against the post, bringing his reign to an end.

Slowly, spring came to the Ardennes. Winter unlocked its grip on the mountains and forests. Rivers full of snow melt rushed around the skeletal pillars of the ruined bridges. Even in the killing field at Malmedy, a few flowers struggled out of the cold ground.

In the woods around La Gleize, some boys ventured out and found all manner of abandoned gear left by the Germans: helmets, bayonets, canteens. It was a real treasure hunt.

One of the items was a thick, pocket-sized book of Goethe’s verse with what appeared to be a bullet hole through the center. The boy who found it flipped through the pages hoping that there might be some money tucked inside. Finding nothing, he tossed the book to the forest floor and ran on after his companions.

The spring brought more than the end of winter; it also signaled the thawing of Hitler’s grip on Europe. On March 22, the first U.S. Forces crossed the Rhine into Germany. Hitler was dead by April.

Among the first troops to cross that pontoon bridge and walk on German soil were a handful of snipers wearing battered uniforms. Over the last several months Cole, Vaccaro, and Lieutenant Mulholland had walked nearly every step of the way from Omaha Beach to the Rhine, and they looked it. Even the Kid, who was now officially part of the sniper squad, looked weary.