James Mullins - The Winter Sniper

Before the Sergeant’s corpse hit the ground, Hale was running toward the nearest Russian body. He snatched up the man’s ammo satchel, the three grenades clipped to his belt, and the man’s backpack. The sound of whistles and shouts filled the air, as Hale, took a moment to remove the man’s gloves.

Before any Russians could arrive on the grisly scene of carnage, Hale disappeared into the forest. He ran for ten minutes, trying to put some distance between himself and the Red Army Soldiers he had slain. As he ran, he spotted a fallen log that would afford him good cover while he regrouped. He stopped running and listened for sixty seconds to determine if there was anyone pursuing him. Satisfied there wasn’t, he slipped behind the log to hide and went to work.

He started by clipping the three grenades to his own belt, and then checked the ammo satchel. Like the first one, this satchel had at least fifty rounds of 7.62 mm ammunition. Now I understand why their aim is so bad. I don’t think these Russians ever use their ammo.

He counted out fifty rounds as he removed the bullets one by one from the satchel. Satisfied that he had more than enough, he worked to quickly reload the PPD 34 magazine as the first sounds of the pursuit drew closer. He paused for a moment to listen to the shouting and whistles. I wonder how many of the bastards they sent after me? Not much sense in hanging around and giving them a chance to find me. Thanks to Stalin’s war machine, I’m now nicely armed. Time to head to the farm, collect my family, and lead them to safety behind the Mannerheim line.

Dressed like a Russian, Hale set off in the direction of his family’s farm. With these clothes I took, I look like a Russian now. I sure hope there aren’t any Finnish snipers lurking in these woods. Hale chuckled out loud at the thought, Thank God it’s getting dark.

He set a brisk pace, not wanting to waste the remaining hour of daylight. As he ran, his thoughts drifted back to the ceremony earlier in the day, I never realized Nea could be so beautiful! I’m a lucky man.

Despite the cold, thoughts of his new wife warmed his nether regions. As he ran, his mind filled with the pleasures of the night to come. He dwelled on these happy thoughts as the shouting Russians, and the miles fell away. Once the Sun set, he was forced to slow his pace. As soon as the last of the fading rays of the yellow orb disappeared, the forest was cloaked in a sea of blackness. With no moon on this night, Hale could hardly see his hand if he held it out two feet in front of his eyes. Fortunately for the young sniper, he knew these woods like the back of his hand.

About a mile out, no longer fearing losing his way in the sea of murky darkness, he quickened his pace to a brisk walk. I’ll be home in time for dinner. He smiled at the thought as his stomach voiced its agreement with a dull growl. An owl hooted to his right, startling him back into the present. He caught a hint of wood smoke smell with his nose and smiled, Not long now. I wonder what mom is making tonight?

His reverie was shattered by the sound of gunfire as the sounds from several rifles firing nearly simultaneously broke the silence of the forest. The Russians are here? My God!

Hale, heedless of the darkness, increased his pace. As he ran, branches whacked him across the face, and thorns pulled at his clothes. He ignored both and continued moving as quickly as his weary legs would take him toward the sound of the gun fire and home.

Hale continued to run for home as another salvo of gunfire pierced the darkness. A moment later three more shots boomed out. They returned fire, that means they are still fighting! Who is fighting though? Dad is the only male there, so it should have been one shot not three.

Hale reached the edge of the farm’s clearing. He sighed in relief as his eyes took in the curls of smoke rising from the farmhouse’s chimney and a faint yellow glow in the windows. Otherwise the farm was shrouded in darkness. Thank God, the Soviets haven’t stormed the house yet.

To the north of the house, sat the barn. The large structure was completely dark and showed no signs of life. Between Hale and the barn lay a small pond, it’s smooth surface frozen solid by the bitter cold.

Hale’s eyes saw several flashes of light to his left as rifle fire erupted. He could hear the bullets impacting the wooden siding of the house all save one. The one, smashed through glass, and traveled into the house. The occupants of the house, presumably Hale’s family returned fire.

This time there was only two shots fired. Was someone hit? What happened to the third shooter? Hale’s thought began to race with worry, Dad, Mom, or Nea?

A few moments later, a third shot rang out, followed by a loud scream, They got one! I’ve got to get into this fight, but I need more information or I’ll just get myself killed. Patience Hale, Dad can hang on for a little while longer.

Hale, pulled his rifle off his shoulder, got down on his knees, and began crawling toward the Russian position. To avoid detection, he attempted to use the contours of the terrain as much as possible as he crept forward. The Red Army rifles flashed in the darkness and Hale was momentarily blinded by the spectacle as the enemy squad fired at his home.

Hale’s family, again returned fire this time with three rifles simultaneously. As silence fell, Hale’s ears registered the sound of an approaching truck. He stopped crawling and looked in the direction of the noise. The light from two headlights, mostly covered with tape, blinded him. Shouldn’t have looked right at the lights. Hale inwardly cursed himself for the mistake.

As his eyes adjusted, he spotted the black form of another truck parked behind where he thought the rifleman were positioned. They must have radioed for help. I guess the pathetic bastards couldn’t handle an old farmer and some women without backup.

The brakes from the truck squealed as the vehicle lurched to a stop. Immediately a group of men debarked from the rear and began pulling out objects that Hale couldn’t make out. As the young Finn watched the Soviets work, he caught the Russian word for mortar. A word he was taught to recognize. It came from one of the riflemen. Mortar? Oh fuck! They are going to destroy the house.

Hale, acting quickly pulled his three grenades off his belt, pulled the pins, and heaved two toward the crew unloading the mortar, and one towards the group of riflemen deployed against the house. The three grenades exploded in sequence creating a boom, boom, boom, cycle throwing the Russians into chaos.

The first grenade landed at the feet of the mortar crew as the worked to unload the truck. When it exploded, it slew six of the eight men of the squad instantly and sent shrapnel into the faces of the two men in the back of the truck. The second grenade landed on the canopy of the truck. The explosion from this grenade finished the two survivors of the mortar squad. The force of the explosion pushing them violently onto the deck of the truck. Their backs were torn apart by shrapnel, and flame as they died almost instantly from the explosion.

The third grenade went off roughly in the center of the line of rifleman arrayed against the house. This grenade instantly blew the legs of the nearest riflemen off, and sent shrapnel into the next two closet Russians. A moment after this explosion the original grenade’s blast, ruptured the gas tank of the mortar squad’s truck, creating a large secondary explosion.