David Healey - Ghost Sniper

“You did what? Why on God’s Green Earth would you sic that German sniper on us by telling him we were here?”

“Lieutenant, if you saw this man you would know he is not the second best at anything. He considers himself to be the best. He knows Cole is good. Cole is responsible for killing two of his comrades, who were very good snipers themselves—he shot one and outfoxed the other so that Meacham could shoot him. I made certain he knew Cole was to blame. Cole has almost shot this Ghost Sniper. Almost. And so, he will come to kill Cole. He won’t be able to help himself. He will come here. And then we will shoot him.”

The lieutenant shook his head. “What you have done is stupid and dangerous, mademoiselle. I don’t see how luring Von Stenger here is a good idea.”

“He will be here,” Jolie said. “Von Stenger verified that the Germans will be making a push in the morning to take back the town. Von Stenger will come with them when they show up. You see, we have to stop him. You saw how many men he killed by himself. One man with a rifle. It is your duty to stop him.”

“My duty, huh?” The lieutenant nodded. “You may be right about that, mademoiselle, but I don’t agree with your methods. And tomorrow, when the shooting starts, I want you inside the church. You are not to fight. We need you as a guide. You have risked enough. Understand me?”

“I am not one of your soldiers to be ordered about,” she said.

“You’re right that you are not a soldier,” the lieutenant said. “Like I said, you stay in the church, out of harm’s way.”

Jolie nodded, though she had no intention of obeying. “Of course,” she said. “ You are the boss.”

Later that night, Cole was cleaning his rifle when Jolie found him in the kitchen of an abandoned house on the main street. Wisely, most of the town’s residents had fled for the countryside. He had disassembled the Springfield and had the parts spread across a blanket on the kitchen table. She watched him rub down the bolt action with solvent. Then he began running a cleaning rod through the barrel.

“I could not do it,” she said. “I could not kill him.”

“Don’t fret on it,” he told her without looking up, still busy cleaning the rifle. “Killing someone is an ugly business. Sounds a whole lot easier to do than it is, no matter how much you might want to do it.”

“He had a pistol, like he suspected something. If I had tried to stab him he would have shot me.”

“Then this Ghost Sniper ain’t a fool. Give him that much. And he didn’t shoot you when he could have, just to be ornery, so I reckon that’s something in your favor.”

“He was playing with me, like a cat with a mouse.” She shook her head angrily. She took out the knife Cole had given her and tossed in on the table, where it landed with a clunk. “I should have taken that out and stuck it straight into his heart! Merde! But I could not.”

“You not being able to kill him just means you ain’t a monster like he is.”

“What about you? You have killed other men.”

“In case you ain’t noticed, Jolie, there’s a war on. Pretty much anyone who ain’t dead by now has killed someone here in Normandy.”

“You killed men before the war.”

He looked at her sharply with those cut glass eyes. “How would you know that?”

“It is a way you have about you. You are afraid of nothing. When you look at someone, it is like you see right through them.”

Cole didn’t answer for a long time. “You ain’t like me, Jolie. You ever seen a wolf or a panther? No, ain’t likely here in France now, but maybe back in the old days your grandpa saw one. Well, I’ve seen them back in the mountains. They are pure wildness. Ain’t many of them left, and some people say they’re all gone, but I seen ’em. They are hunters, Jolie. They hunt down other animals and kill them. Ain’t nothin’ cruel in a wolf or panther when it kills, no right or wrong, good or bad. Predator is the word for it. They’re hunters, born to kill. It’s how God made ’em. Let’s just say I’ve got a lot of wolf or panther in me. It’s how God made me. You think that’s how a person should be? No, you’re the normal one, Jolie.”

Jolie was a little surprised by the speech—it was certainly the most words she had heard Cole speak at one time. She had the disconcerting realization that she had felt the same presence when talking with the German sniper. So he was a wolf or a panther too. A hunter. “Von Stenger will be here in the morning,” she said. “He will try to kill you.”

“Then he won’t be the first to try it,” Cole said. “And don’t forget that we’ll be trying to kill him . That’s why you invited him to the ho down. Now, give me that rifle of yours and let’s give it a cleaning.”

Cole had already reassembled the Springfield, and now he set it aside and laid the rifle taken from the dead German sniper on the table. “Mauser K98. One thing about these Germans is that they make good equipment. Good planes, good tanks, good rifles. All I can say is we are damn lucky we’re fighting ’em now, after the Russians done worn them down. We’re mostly fighting older men and boys. Good thing, too, or they would have tossed our asses right back into the ocean.”

Expertly, even though he had never done it before, he disassembled the German rifle and set the parts on the blanket: bolt, magazine, scope. Then he dabbed some solvent on a clean rag and began to rub down the bolt action, almost lovingly, removing tiny metal filings and powder residue. When he finished, the metal gleamed.

“Lieutenant Mulholland was not happy with me for going to see Von Stenger.”

“You told him?” Cole shook his head. “The lieutenant ain’t a bad man, Jolie, but he’s a man who follows the rules, which don’t include sneaking behind enemy lines and meeting with the Jerries. Besides, I’ve seen how the lieutenant looks at you like you were a piece of French pastry. Maybe a slice of chocolate cake. Mmm. Mmm.”

Jolie laughed. “You are joking!”

“He was worried about you.”

“Were you worried about me?”

“Hell no. I’ve heard all about you French maquis . Resistance fighters. You’re too tough to worry about.”

“So you do not see me as a piece of chocolate cake?”

“Nope. You look more like stale French bread to me. Or maybe an old baked potato with a leathery skin. Like I said, you’re tough.”

“You know how to flatter a girl!” From the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, she could tell that he was teasing her. She could not help but smile. Then her smile faded as Jolie thought again about how she had not been able to bring herself to stab the German sniper. He would be out there, waiting for them, waiting for Cole, in the morning. “Maybe some of us are not as tough as you think.”

Cole started on the rifle barrel next, threading a cotton patch soaked in solvent onto the cleaning rod. He entered the barrel from the action end, following the path that a bullet would take through the barrel. The Mauser was a slightly different diameter from the Springfield and the rod going into the barrel was a tight fit. He eased the tip in, then worked the rod through until the patch emerged at the muzzle, showing streaks of black where it had reached deep into the contours of the rifled grooves.

Jolie watched him work over the rifle and then finally put the Mauser back together, thinking that he was wasting all that attention on a weapon. Hmm . When he was done, she reached across the table and took his hand.

“What?” he asked.

“Tomorrow may be our last day. I want a good memory to take to my grave.”