David Healey: Ghost Sniper

“Sir, are we joining up with another unit?”

“We are a unit. I am a sniper, and you are my scout. What is your name, anyhow?” he asked the soldier.

“Fritz, sir. Matthias Fritz.”

“Well, Fritz, there are a few simple rules to follow if you wish to stay alive out here. The first is that you always do what I say without question, and do it immediately. The second rule is to keep your eyes open at all times. It seems quiet now, like we are just out for a stroll in the fields, but you saw those paratroopers coming down. There is a lot more out here now than rabbits and foxes. The third rule is not to walk so close to me because two men make a more inviting target than one.” Von Stenger stopped walking and stared at the young soldier. “ Schütze Fritz, where is your rifle?”

“I, uh, I do not have one, sir. I am a driver.”

“Perhaps I should shoot you now and spare the Amis the trouble. Every soldier must have a weapon.”

“Yes, Herr Hauptmann.”

Von Stenger started off again. “Well, don’t fret, soldier. A boy like you probably won’t live until nightfall. So try to enjoy your last day alive.”

Von Stenger moved deeper into the hedgerow country surrounding the farm. Despite what he had said to Fritz, he was not particularly worried about running into enemy troops.

Judging by the way they had come down in such scattered fashion in the early morning darkness, they would be trying to join up and figure out what the hell they were doing. In other words, the Allied forces would be highly disorganized. But Von Stenger had been fighting since 1938, first in the Spanish Civil War, then in Poland and Russia. He did not take survival lightly or for granted.

He considered the purpose of the airborne troops. It was obvious that the invasion taking place at the beach was to bring ashore vast numbers of men, tanks, trucks, and other materiel. Why had a relatively small number of men been parachuted into Normandy itself? Even a few hundred enemy troops might be no more than a diversion intended to wreak havoc, but surely they must have certain key objectives in mind.

Towns, he thought. Bridges. Roads. Rail lines. Yes, the Allies would be seeking either to gain control of these keys to transportation, or to destroy them.

From their present position, the nearest key target would be the bridge at La Profonde. And so he led Fritz in that direction.

Within an hour they were in view of the bridge. Von Stenger told the boy to wait, shed his haversack, and crept through the underbrush on a bluff above the bridge. Sure enough, the bridge was swarming with enemy troops. He could see a few dead Germans down below, all laid out in a neat row. Well, that was something—the Russians wouldn’t have bothered with that nicety. The dead troops must have been the detail assigned to protect the bridge, or possibly couriers who’d had the bad luck to run into the Americans. They would not have had a chance against so many.

“Fritz, leave your haversack and come here,” Von Stenger said quietly. “Move slowly. So far you have been rather useless as a soldier, but you can do that much, I expect.”

The boy did just that, advancing until he lay in the underbrush alongside Von Stenger. Von Stenger had a pistol, which he drew and handed to the boy. Fritz hesitated before taking it. “Sir?”

“You are my scout, remember? It is best for a sniper to work as part of a two-man team,” Von Stenger explained. “This is as good a position as any. We have effective cover, and occupy relatively high ground above the bridge, which gives us a vantage point.”

“Won’t they shoot back?”

“This is a war, boy. Of course they will shoot back. However, they appear to be armed with automatic weapons, which don’t have much range. Also, it is unlikely that they can flank us or get behind us because we can see their movements. They hold the bridge, it is true, but now we make them pay a price for it.”

“Do you want me to shoot at them with this?” The boy waggled the pistol.

“You truly are a Dumpkupf . From this range, you might as well throw rocks at them as fire a pistol. No, as the scout your job is to guard our rear. My attention will be on the men at the bridge. There is no telling who might be behind us. Go back to where we left the packs. If someone does come up behind us, shoot him.”

Fritz gulped. “Yes, Herr Hauptmann.”

The boy moved off, and Von Stenger turned his attention to the troops around the bridge. It was clear that they were planning to hold the bridge rather than destroy it because no charges had been placed that he could see. He counted at least fifty men spread out around the bridge. Some had out their trenching tools and were digging defensive positions. Von Stenger was pleased to see that their focus was on the road leading to the bridge on both sides of the river. Clearly, if there was to be a counterattack, the Americans expected it to be from the road.

Located here on the high ground above the river, Von Stenger felt that he was in a strong position. He had good cover in that he was shooting from behind the bushes on the ridge—it was very unlikely that the Americans would see him or his muzzle flash, particularly not in daylight. If someone did come up behind them, the boy would at least get off a warning shot or two.

The Americans were maybe 200 meters away, which was a relatively easy shot. He picked out the man who seemed to be giving orders, put his crosshairs on the officer’s chest, and squeezed the trigger. The man crumpled.

As Von Stenger had expected, the Americans below scrambled like ants, running for cover. One or two fired wildly, but the shots came nowhere near Von Stenger’s position. He picked out a man hunkered behind a heavy machine gun in a foxhole commanding the causeway and shot him. A sergeant was his next target. Von Stenger fired again and again.

The Americans had no idea where the firing was coming from. They were learning a lesson that Von Stenger already knew very well, which is that it is very difficult to pinpoint the location of a single rifleman firing isolated shots. The breeze carried the sound away, and the echo of the shots made them seem as if the bullets were coming from several directions. At one point, the Americans spread out as if they thought they were surrounded.

Von Stenger smiled. Like babes in the woods. It was clear that these men never had been under fire. The Russians wouldn’t have been so confused. At the very least, they would have had the good sense to keep their heads down. A sniper wasn’t much use if he had nothing to shoot at. The Americans, however, were slow to learn their lesson.

Next, Von Stenger picked out another officer who seemed to be trying to establish some order among the men. At 200 meters, the four power scope made his face spring clearly to Von Stenger’s eye. He was a young man with strong cheekbones beneath the shadow of his helmet. He could have been German, if not for the olive drab uniform. The sniper shot him through the temple.

Though they were slow learners, after that, the Americans finally kept their heads down. He stopped firing and waited them out.

After a few minutes of silence, he heard Fritz moving toward him. “What’s going on?” the boy asked. He looked white as a sheet. “Are they all dead?”

“Fritz, if you leave your post again against orders, I will shoot you,” Von Stenger said. “Now go back and guard the rear like I told you to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

Von Stenger sighed as Fritz moved off. At that moment, it became clear to him that Germany was going to lose the war. The boy was too young and improperly trained. He knew very well that the ranks of the troops defending the Atlantic Wall now under attack were much like the boy, or conscripts from Poland and Russia. In other words, they were not reliable German troops. Conscripts and boys could never be counted on to fight real battles. Until that morning, Von Stenger had still held out some hope of victory. The best Germany could hope for now was that Hitler might negotiate some settlement with the Allies.