David Healey: Ghost Sniper

When light began to fill the sky, Von Stenger finally got up from the chair on the balcony and stretched. The rain of parachutists had stopped some time ago. It was hard to say how many he had shot, but the stone floor of the balcony was littered with cigarette butts and brass casings.

On a small table nearby were the leavings of his breakfast—an empty coffee cup and crumbs from what had been a rather delicious omelet with fresh bread and butter. If this war had kept up the way it had been going, he would have gotten fat. So very different from Russia, where the men had resorted to boiling their leather belts into a kind of soup to keep from starving. Von Stenger had been one of the fortunate few to escape that hell on earth, mainly because he’d had the good luck to suffer a minor wound that got him sent home to recuperate.

He thought back to Russia. All that snow and cold. What a disaster that had been. He sighed. Der Fuhrer had been convinced that the Russians could be beaten. They were nothing but peasants. Well, Hitler should have asked a few of his men in the field about that. The Russians were anything but beaten. They were indeed peasants, but they were wily. Soon enough, they would be advancing on Berlin. Von Stenger knew it with certainty the way he knew the tide would come in.

He gazed at his empty plate and sighed. He could have done with another slice of bread and butter.

As if reading his thoughts, Willi Gault came in with a pot of coffee—and a bottle of calvados, Normandy’s famed apple brandy. Gault was assigned to the engineer corps and he did not look at all like a soldier. He wore round spectacles, was balding, and his rotund figure indicated that he had partaken well of the regional French food. Von Stenger liked him because he was a good and competent officer.

“I see you have been getting in some target practice,” Willi said, kicking at the spent shell casings. “Were you able to stop the invasion?”

“I don’t think so,” Von Stenger said. “But it was entertaining. Like shooting geese.”

“I always favor shooting at things that can’t shoot back,” the engineer said with a chuckle. He poured them coffee and calvados. “So, this is it. The long-awaited attack on the Atlantic Wall.”

“Will it hold?”

Hitler and the German High Command had long praised the so-called Atlantic Wall, the ring of coastal defenses protecting France. It had been part of Willi’s task to improve and strengthen these defenses, but Von Stenger felt he could ask without insulting his fellow officer. Only recently, Field Marshall Irwin Rommel had been brought in to oversee the coastal defenses. While Rommel had made many practical improvements, there was a vast coastal area to defend and a dwindling number of troops to do so.

“We are told it will stop an invasion.” Willi shrugged. “Who knows?”

They both knew propaganda did not stop bullets or enemy troops. Von Stenger had seen as much in Russia. Both men sipped their brandy and drank their coffee. Willi topped off his own glass of calvados, but Von Stenger shook his head. In the distance, the deep roar of naval guns had begun. The coast was only two miles distant as the crow flies and the pounding of the guns shook dust loose from the ancient walls of the farmhouse.

“Ah,” said Willi. “The bombardment begins. Next they’ll be sending in the landing craft. It is going to be an ugly day.” He drained his glass and stood. “Well, I’m off to the beach.”

Von Stenger raised an eyebrow. “What? You’ll be driving right into the bombardment. I would not recommend it.”

Willi shrugged. “They will expect me there. Anything less would be cowardice. Listen, Kurt, I have a driver, but I think I’m going to leave him behind this morning. It doesn’t make sense for us both to… go. He’s just a boy, really. I wondered if you would take him on?”

The sniper was surprised. “What am I going to do with a driver? I don’t have a car!”

“Surely you need someone to carry your gear.”

“I don’t think I’d be doing him any favors, Willi. I’ll be going into the bocage to fight the Americans.”

“They’ll be putting him into the front lines, then, and somehow I think his chances will be better with you.” Willi seemed to consider, sighed, then poured himself another calvados, filling the glass to the brim, and drank it down. He offered his hand, and the two men shook. “Good luck to you, Kurt. It has been good knowing you.”

Then Willi left the room, a little unsteadily. He was not normally such a big drinker. A few minutes later a car started in the courtyard below, and drove off toward the sound of the bombardment.

Von Stenger listened to it go and thought, Good luck, old friend.

Von Stenger dressed in field gear and then packed quickly and efficiently, putting just a few essentials such as spare socks into a haversack. Normandy was not Russia—and thank God for that—but the nights would be cold and miserable with wet feet.

He packed a small book of Goethe’s verse and, after a moment’s hesitation, a bottle of particularly good French burgundy that he had been saving, perhaps to drink with Willi some night. There was no reason to save it anymore, and he’d be damned if he was going to leave it for some soldier from New Jersey to guzzle. As Goethe would say, “Enjoy when you can, and endure when you must.” Von Stenger decided it would be far easier to endure some future cold, rainy night with a bottle of good red wine. He topped off the haversack with a thick wool blanket, tightly rolled.

He and Willi had not finished the calvados, so he went out and poured what was left off the balcony. No point in leaving it for the American marauders to polish off.

The house felt empty, because the other engineers billeted there were already at the beach, and the mother and daughter of the house had fled to the nearby village. He made his way down to the kitchen, whistling, and was surprised to find Willi’s driver sitting at the table, wolfing down coffee, bread and butter. He was baby-faced and his uniform was a bit too big for him, so that he looked more like a schoolboy than a soldier. He understood why Willi had left him behind—he was just a boy, and the engineer had been driving toward certain death. On the other hand, Von Stenger was not sure the boy would fare much better in the days of fighting to come.

“You are coming with me,” he told the young soldier, who jumped to his feet at Von Stenger’s arrival. “Pack your haversack and meet me back here in five minutes.”

Von Stenger was amused to see that the boy took the time to salute before racing off. Who said that replacement troops had no discipline?

The kitchen was well stocked and Von Stenger collected canned meat, some fresh bread and a jar of jam, even some chocolate. Then he divided the food items into two piles; one went into his haversack and when the boy returned he told him to pack the other half.

The sky was brighter now, and the sounds of fighting coming from the coast were constant. Explosions from the Allied bombardment flickered on the horizon like distant fireworks. The deep boom of the Navy guns rattled the windows. A fine dust filled the kitchen as the ancient walls vibrated.

He noticed that the boy was white faced. Well, only a fool wouldn’t be scared at the thought of thousands of Allied troops trying to come ashore just a short distance away. It would be nice to think that the defenses would hold, but Von Stenger was sure the Americans and British and Canadians would keep coming until they finally captured the beach. In any case, he was certain that the surf would run red before the day was through.

He started off through the fields, with the boy following him. Apart from the distant thump of artillery, they might have been heading into the woods for a camping trip. The boy marched along deferentially a few paces behind and to Von Stenger’s right.