Ghost Sniper: A World War II Thriller

CHAPTER 18

"The first thing you need is a decent rifle," Cole said.

"What is wrong with this one?"

He studied the ancient hunting rifle in her hands. The stock was scarred and the barrel, though it had been cleaned and oiled, showed signs of once having been pitted with rust. It was a single shot, bolt action rifle with iron sights, and probably none too accurate. The Germans had confiscated all French hunting rifles, so this was the best the Resistance could scrounge up to fight the occupiers. Considering all the weaponry available since the landing, he was a little surprised that no one had provided her with a better rifle.

"C'mon," he said. "I got an idea."

He led her over to the tree that held the dead German sniper. No one had wanted to climb up and cut him down, which in hindsight was a good thing, from Cole's point of view. It meant that no one had gotten his hands on the dead German's scoped Mauser K98. He shimmied up the tree and in no time had claimed the sniper rifle.

"You are good at climbing trees," Jolie said once he was back on the ground.

"I used to do a little coon huntin'," he said. "Sometimes you have to go up after 'em if you can't get a clear shot."

"Coon? What is coon?" Jolie looked perplexed.

"You know, raccoon. Back home we called them mountain bandits."

"Ha! I like that name. We call them raton laveur."

"Raton? Like in rat?"

"Yes, raton. And laveur means wash." Jolie rubbed her hands together in a washing motion. She laughed. "The washing rat!"

Cole shook his head. "I reckon that's French for you. Calling a raccoon a washing rat."

"And where does raccoon come from? Is that an English word?"

"It comes from an Indian word way back."

"Ha! I am going to call you le raton laveur if you are not careful. So come, what is your given name? You already know mine."

"Micajah."

Jolie considered that. "Hmm. Well, it is a better name than raton."

"Thanks, I reckon."

He gave the dead German's rifle a once over, working the bolt, checking the barrel, and then reinserting the magazine. He handed it over to Jolie. "Try that on for size. The Jerries make a decent rifle. It's a whole lot better than grandpa's shootin' iron you got there. You won't never have no shortage of ammunition. All you got to do is pick some off a dead German. Lots of ‘em around, in case you ain’t noticed."

“It is ironic, using the Germans’ own guns to shoot them.”

“You know, back home there’s a famous explorer folks still talk about named Daniel Boone, and he once said that all a man needs to be happy is a good rifle, a good horse, and a good woman.”

“I know you have a good rifle, but what about the horse and the woman?”

“Why?” Cole couldn’t help grinning. “You know where I can get me a good horse?”

Jolie snorted again. “I was thinking more about the woman, but maybe we can find you a horse if that is what you prefer. Perhaps a donkey would suit you best. How do you say it? A jackass.”

Lieutenant Mulholland saw them talking and wandered over. "What have you got there?" he asked.

"A new rifle," Jolie said. "Your hillbilly sniper here is about to give me a shooting lesson."

"Mademoiselle, I would be happy to show you how to shoot."

"Lieutenant, that is very kind. I do not wish to trouble you. Micajah has already said he would teach me."

"Micajah?" The lieutenant blinked in puzzlement. "Who is that?"

"Why, that is your sniper's name. You did not know?"

"I guess I already forgot it. Apparently you two know each other pretty well," the lieutenant said sourly. He struggled to keep from sounding huffy. "I guess Cole — Micajah — is the man for the job."

"He has a very good eye."

"In more ways than one, apparently."

"I am sorry, but I do not understand."

"Oh, never mind. Just make sure you two don't attract unwanted attention from any Jerry patrols.”

The lieutenant moved off to where Fritz was poking at the fire, preparing to boil another pot of coffee.

"I think your lieutenant is jealous. Il est jaloux."

"Jealous of what?"

"Of you teaching me to shoot. What else? I believe he would like that job for himself."

Cole smirked.

"I hope he does not cause trouble for you."

"No, the lieutenant ain't like that. He’s all right."

"What about you? Do you play by the rules?"

"You mean there's rules? I'll be damned. Now come on, let's go teach you to shoot."

They left the shelter of the woods and crossed the field toward the old mill. At the water's edge some farmer had erected a fence years before to keep livestock out of the river. Most of the crosspieces had rotted away from neglect, but the bleached, weathered posts still stood upright. Cole paced off 200 feet from the posts and motioned Jolie over.

"I have only shot a gun a few times," Jolie admitted. "We never had much ammunition and we did not want to give ourselves away. The SS was always on the lookout for the Resistance."

"The first thing you want to do is make friends with your rifle," Cole said. He then showed her how to load and unload the Mauser, and then how to work the bolt action.

"You want I should stand up?"

"That's a good start for our lesson," Cole said. "But it's very hard to hit anything from a standing position. The rifle gets heavy, your aim starts to wobble. The best thing you can do is lay that rifle across anything you can find to steady it so all you have to worry about is your aim. Now, put it to your shoulder, tight, so that you move with the recoil and don't have the rifle butt slamming into you shoulder. Put your eye up near the scope, but not right up against it. Otherwise, when that rifle goes off and kicks back that scope will whack into your eye and you will start to look like one of them raton leveurs. Sometimes you can't avoid it, which is why a lot of snipers have bruises around their eyes."

"Is that how you knew Fritz was not a sniper?"

"That, and the fact that his hands were taped to his rifle.” Cole smirked. “That's generally a sign of someone who don't want to be holding a rifle in the first place."

"You would not let the other soldiers shoot him. Why not?"

"He reminds me of someone," Cole said, thinking of Jimmy, killed that first morning on Omaha Beach. There was someone else who didn't belong in the war. Nobody had taped his hands to a rifle, but Jimmy had been put on a landing craft with a one-way ticket for Omaha Beach, which amounted to the same thing. "Besides, I suppose there's been enough killin' these last fews days, though there's bound to be more."

Jolie nodded. "What is the next step?"

"You find your target. Look through the sight. Do you see that fence over yonder? Aim for one of them posts."

"All right."

"Now, the thing about shooting is that you've got to ease up on your shot. Keep your aim on the post, but you'll see your crosshairs float around. It's hard to hold steady."

"Merde," she muttered. "This is true."

"Keep your finger on the trigger. All you want on there is the pad of your finger. Take a breath. Let it out. Take another breath and hold it in. Let it out and take another one if you got to. Let the crosshairs do their little dance. All the time, your finger is taking up some more tension on the trigger. You get used to a rifle after a while and you know when it's almost goin' to fire. When your crosshairs drift onto that post, let your finger take up that last bit of tension, gentle like you were pulling on a baby's hair."

Jolie breathed, let it out, breathed again. When the rifle fired, it actually surprised her.

"I missed!"

"Well, that fence post ain't crossed the field yet to bayonet us. I reckon you've got time for another shot."

Jolie worked the bolt, ejecting the empty shell and feeding a live round from the magazine into the breech. She pressed the rifle tight to her shoulder. She felt Cole leaning in close, pressing against her. She could feel his breath on her cheek and his voice murmuring in her ear. "All right, I just want to see what you see through the scope. Those crosshairs do dance, don't they? Let me help."

His rough hands slipped over her own, steadying the rifle. There was something intoxicating about having him pressing close against her. None of them had washed much these last few days, living rough, and she could smell him — it wasn't a bad smell, just earthy like trees and grass and mud, undercut by the salty musk of sweat. She struggled to concentrate.

"All right," she said.

"What you want to do is squeeze the last bit out of the trigger just as it drifts across. Just try to relax. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in and hold it."

Listening to his voice in her ear, Jolie did as he instructed. The crosshairs did not move so wildly now, and she let them touch the post as she squeezed off the last fraction of tension in the trigger. The rifle fired and instantaneously through the scope she saw a chunk go flying out of the post.

"Oh!"

"Ain't so hard, is it?" Cole said. "They say women are the best shots anyhow, on account of their center of gravity being lower than a man's. All I know is you just shot the shit out of that fence post. Now, see if you can do it again."

Jolie fired several more shots. The last three hit the post. When she turned to look at Cole, he was standing a few feet away, smiling with satisfaction.

"Not bad?" she asked.

"Not bad."

"I want to be a good shot. That soldier you captured told me where the sniper Von Stenger is staying in the chateau. I know just where it is. I am going there tonight to kill him. He has killed enough Frenchmen and Americans." She didn't know why she had told him.

"All right."

Jolie gave him a look. "You are not going to try and stop me?"

"Darlin', back home in the mountains, revenge is a way of life. People polish up revenge and treasure it like a pretty stone. I reckon you've about had it with being kicked around by these Jerries. Fair enough. I just don't think you've got much of a chance against the likes of him with that rifle and I doubt you can just walk into that chateau carrying a Mauser with a scope on it. You might need something more sneaky like."

“Like what?”

He stooped and pulled a wicked-looking little knife from his boot. "If I was you, I'd get in close and stab that son of a bitch in the belly with this here pigsticker. He might take a while to die, but you'll kill him sure as shit."

She took the knife. "Thank you. And Cole — I like that name— please do not tell the lieutenant. He might not understand. I agree that he is one who plays by the rules."

"Like I said, Jolie, what rules? This here is a war."