Ghost Sniper: A World War II Thriller Page 14

  "Hello mademoiselle," he said in French, bowing politely but keeping his eyes on her. "I do not believe we have met. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

  The young woman hesitated, and her hand drifted to the small of her back, just where she would keep a knife or pistol. His hand edged closer to the hidden Walther. Then the woman dropped her hand.

  "You are Von Stenger? I have information for you."

  "In that case, you are just in time for supper." He told the orderly to drag an empty chair up to the table. He would have done it himself but he did not want to turn his back on this woman. "Please, have a seat."

  "Really, I must—"

  "Join me," he said. "I insist. I hope you have not come to tell me that we have a bastard child together, like these poor wretches in the hall. What will you French do to them once we have gone?"

  "Once you have gone?"

  "Mademoiselle, the Allies have landed thousands of troops and scores of tanks. They control the skies. It is a foregone conclusion that we cannot hold Normandy. The numbers are not in our favor. But we shall make them pay dearly for it. Please, join me."

  The woman sat, and the orderly was back in a minute with an empty plate for her, as well as a knife and fork. She stared, somewhat wide-eyed, at the steak and potatoes. The French had to make do with less wholesome fare, while the best food went to the occupiers.

  "That smells delicious," she said, and slowly, as if against her better judgment, she reached for her knife and fork.

  "The spoils of war," he said. Von Stenger considered a moment, and then asked the orderly to bring him the bottle of Bordeaux that he had been keeping in his rucksack, wrapped carefully in a rag. "I have been saving this for a special occasion. I have the feeling that tonight may be my last opportunity to enjoy it."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Please, let us enjoy this food and a glass of wine, and then we shall discuss whatever it is you have to tell me."

  The orderly produced two dusty water glasses that were none too clean, but Von Stenger supposed the alcohol in the wine would neutralize anything harmful. He then made sure the orderly found a third glass, which Von Stenger filled for the orderly before sending him into the hall.

  "I did not realize that German officers were waited upon in this fashion," she said.

  He chuckled. "Rank has its privileges in the Wehrmacht. We don't always have it so good, you know. I nearly lost my toes in Russia. Of course, you French are no strangers to the finer things. Might I remind you that we are in a chateau that was built in the seventeenth century as home to a baron. We should be grateful to him. Come now, enjoy your meal."

  They ate in silence for several minutes. Von Stenger thought the wine was particularly good with the steak. The orderly had left the bottle on the table, and he poured himself a second glass. They both must have been hungrier than they thought, for soon all that was left on their plates were a few scraps of fat and potato skins.

  Von Stenger pushed his chair back from the table. "Now, what have you come to tell me?"

  "In the morning, you Germans are planning to attack Bienville and take back the village, which is now held by the Americans."

  "Are we?" Von Stenger sipped some wine. "Hmm. That is quite delicious, wouldn't you agree? If only we had some cheese to enjoy with it. Now, I don't wish to be rude, mademoiselle, but usually when one is an informant it is customary to supply information about what the enemy is planning."

  "There is only a small force of Americans holding the town at the moment, but they have been reinforced by several snipers."

  "There are snipers everywhere in the bocage."

  "One of these snipers has a Confederate flag on his helmet. Some of his comrades call him the Johnny Reb Sniper. He is, by far, the best sniper in Normandy. He likes to say that he can shoot the eye out of a flying bird."

  "That would be fine shooting," Von Stenger agreed. "But I have to respectfully take exception to him being the best sniper in Normandy. You see, that would be me."

  “I have heard you are called The Ghost.”

  “It is a name I came by in Russia. The Eastern Front. Compared to Normandy, you might wonder why anyone would fight over that place.”

  “Did you shoot many Russians?” she asked with a disgusted tone.

  “As many as I could. More wine, mademoiselle?”

  The French woman stood, her hand going again to the small of her back. He could see that she was shaking, and Von Stenger had been fighting long enough that he recognized it as the kind of tremor that overcame someone when they were about to do something foolish and brave.

  Von Stenger thought that the time for subtlety had passed, and he tossed the newspaper aside to reveal the pistol. "Please," he said. "Let us not do anything that will give us indigestion."

  The woman's eyes widened, and she let her hand drop. "Now you know," she said. "This Johnny Reb Sniper will be at Bienville in the morning. The question is, will you?"

  "I look forward to seeing him in my crosshairs.” Von Stenger smiled. “And then we shall see who is the best shot."

  With that, the woman turned and left. It took him a moment to realize that he had just been challenged to a duel.

  CHAPTER 21

  Jolie slipped back through the American lines and returned to where the snipers had set up camp in the courtyard of an old house. She wasn't ready yet to face Cole and give him back his knife. She wasn't sure how she would explain to him that she had failed to kill the German sharpshooter.

  Instead, she decided to report to Lieutenant Mulholland. He had dragged an old chair into the garden shed and was using an upended wooden pail as a desk as he went over a map of Normandy.

  His M1 rifle was propped nearby. It was a semi-automatic, which was not as accurate as the 1903 Springfield, but it could send more lead in the enemy's direction, in less time. The higher rate of fire was an advantage if one wasn't such a crack shot, and the lieutenant had no illusions about his abilities with a rifle, despite the fact that he commanded a counter sniper squad.

  Mulholland's face lit up at the sight of Jolie, but his expression soon changed when she explained where she had been and what she had learned. She had expected him to be grateful for the information. Instead, he slapped the top of the makeshift table in anger.

  "I can't believe what I'm hearing," the lieutenant said. "You went to see the Germans? What the hell were you thinking?"

  "We needed information," Jolie explained. "That is how we maquis find out what the Germans are up to. We go talk to them."

  "It was a stupid thing to do," Mulholland said. "You could have been captured."

  Jolie blinked in surprise. The French Resistance had been successful by being daring and taking chances. It was the only real weapon they had against the occupying Germans. "Do not lecture me, Lieutenant. I have been fighting the Germans for four years. You yourself have been fighting them for four days. It stands to reason that I know what I am doing, n'cest pas?"

  "I hate to point this out to you, mademoiselle, but after four years the Germans are still here. Your tactics may take some revision."

  "Are you going to ask me what I found out, or are you more interested in insulting me and my countrymen?"

  "All right then, what did you find out?"

  "I did not go to see just any German," Jolie clarified. "The boy we captured, Fritz, told me where the German sniper was staying. His name is Captain Von Stenger, and he is the best sniper the Germans have in Normandy. He has fought in Russia, and Spain before that. He was even an instructor at the German's sniper school." She recalled Von Stenger's cold blue eyes and good manners. "He is from the upper classes. I would say he likes the finer things. Good food, good wine. I know because I had supper with him in front of the fire at a chateau about five miles from here. We had steak and potatoes and wine, and were waited upon."

  The lieutenant's jaw dropped. "You ate with this sniper? Excuse my French, but holy shit."

  "What is French? I think you me
an merde."

  "Never mind. Did you find out anything useful, or did you just get a good meal out of him?"

  Jolie took her time answering, studying the lieutenant before she spoke. He was not a bad-looking man, and under the stubble and grime and fatigue she could see that he was still a very young man. Command did not seem to come easily to him, and his earlier anger appeared to be out of genuine concern for her safety.

  When she had first laid eyes on him she had thought hmm. In a war, it was dangerous to think about romance or anything but surviving that day and the next. Her love affair with Charles had taught her that much. But someday the war would be over, n’est-ce pas?

  Her thoughts then drifted to Cole. He was a rough, hard man, savage and almost feral, so very different from the lieutenant. He had more in common with the really vicious Resistance fighters—perhaps even with the ruthless SS men—than he did with the other Americans. She thought again—Cole? Hmm—then pushed that thought away and focused on the unhappy lieutenant.

  "I set a trap for him," she said. "I told him that your sniper unit is in Bienville. Here in this town. I told him that Cole is the best sniper in the American Army, and that Cole is here."

  "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 wor
ked 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.”

  She led him into one of the bedrooms upstairs. Neither of them spoke a word. She unbuttoned her blouse, took his hand, and placed it on her breast.

  "You call yourself a lone wolf,” she said. “Show me how a wolf makes love."

  Jolie stepped out of her trousers, revealing milky white legs. Cole had heard rumors that the French girls didn't shave, but her legs were a smooth alabaster. She guided his hand between her legs. Cole's fingers opened her up and Jolie moaned happily at the realization that he had done this before. This was not the night for virgins. She fumbled for his belt and shoved his fatigues down.

  They did not bother to undress all the way. He laid her across the bed and Jolie hooked one leg around him, resting her foot at the small of his back. It was a good thing they were alone in the house because the headboard was soon banging rhythmically against the walls. A framed picture shook loose and fell, but they ignored it.

  Noise carried far in the almost deserted town, so Jolie took his fist and put it in her mouth, biting down as a shudder ran through her. When they had both finished, they lay tangled together for several moments, hearts pounding, breath jagged.

  Cole noticed the broken picture frame on the floor. He figured the French owners would suppose a bomb had shaken it off the wall; he had to smile at what they would think if they knew the real reason—and what had happened on their bed while they were hiding in the bocage.