Toward nightfall, when it was safer to move, Von Stenger slipped away from the bridge. If he stayed, it would only be a matter of time before the Americans pinpointed his position. As he knew well from Russia, a sniper who kept moving was one who stayed alive.
So he and the boy hiked toward the beach and the sound of fighting. They kept to the smaller paths through the bocage, which reduced their chances of running into any Allied forces. The two of them alone could move silently and slip off the road, into the brush, whenever the need arose.
"Herr Hauptmann, are we going to stop tonight?" the boy sounded so weary, and Von Stenger could hear how he dragged his feet.
"If you stop, I will shoot you."
That shut the boy up. Although Von Stenger was much older, years of hard campaigning had given him lean muscles and inured him to the discomforts of not stopping to sleep or eat. Around midnight they heard voices ahead in the darkness — German voices — and came across a small unit that was setting up a series of defensive fallbacks in the hedgerows. Von Stenger volunteered his services as a sniper, and the captain in charge gladly accepted, teaming him up with another pair of snipers.
"My name is Wulf," said the taller sniper, a Wehrmacht corporal who appeared to be in his early twenties. He nodded at the other man. "That’s Schultz. You look old enough to be my father, Pops. Are you one of the reserve units that was sent in?"
In the darkness, Von Stenger knew the corporal could not see his rank. "No, I have been a sharpshooter for a while now."
"You went through the sniper training school?"
"Yes, I was an instructor there," Von Stenger said. He lit a cigarette and the flickering flame illuminated the Knight’s Cross he wore. "Then I was a sniper in Spain, Poland and Russia. And you?"
“This is my first time in combat… sir."
Von Stenger quickly sized them up. Wulf had a tough, competent look about him. Schultz appeared more nervous and kept checking and rechecking his rifle.
"Remember your training, Corporal, and you will do fine,” Von Stenger said. “There will be many Americans here by morning. The woods and fields will be crawling with them. That I can promise you."
The German plan was simple, yet highly effective, taking full advantage of the Norman terrain. The countryside was laid out like a patchwork quilt, with few roads, so that the dense hedgerows formed the seams of the imaginary quilt. It would be necessary for the Americans to move cross country. To do so, they would have to push from one field to the next. It was all a little like one of those old houses where one had to walk through an adjacent bedroom to get to the bath because the house hadn't been designed with hallways. The Germans intended to make the Allied forces pay dearly for each step and every inch of territory.
The fields ranged in size from five or ten acres to expanses of twenty or even fifty acres. There were generally just one or two gaps in the hedge to allow a farmer access to his crops or livestock in the field. With their valuable head start on the allies, the Germans had placed snipers or machine gunners to cover the entrances to the fields. The only way in or out was through their gun sights. In essence, nearly all of Normandy was now an elaborate trap. This particular field was one of the first in from the beach.
"Wulf, we are going to do some shooting at daybreak tomorrow," Von Stenger said. "The Allies are going to come pouring through here, but they won't know what hit them."
The three German snipers prepared to hide themselves at the far end of the field, which had a crop of tall winter wheat, but made certain they had a clear view of the entrance. There was an exit for themselves, but Von Stenger had Fritz help cut brush so that they could create a camouflage gate. It would only be a matter of time before too many Allied troops had made it into the field, but when that happened, the Germans could escape through the gate… then start the whole process over again in the next field over.
"Are you ready, Corporal Wulf?" Von Stenger asked.
The younger man licked his lips. "Indeed I am."
"Remember, nothing too fancy. Take the body shot rather than the head shot. We are trying for kills here, not misses. We need those bodies to stack up like cordwood."
All that was left to do now was wait for daylight.
Cole's eyes flicked across the landscape, which changed abruptly as they moved away from the beach. Grass replaced the sand, woods superseded the dunes, and where there had been the constant surge of surf and machinery on the beach, there was now the rustle of leaves and birdsong. If it hadn't been for the distant gunfire, they could have been going for a walk through the woods and fields back home.
Cole felt more at ease here than he had in months. He always had been a loner, having grown up in the woods and the mountains. The cramped quarters of Army life were not to his liking. Privacy was nonexistent. There was not so much as a toilet stall to grab a few minutes alone.
These weeks and even months of constantly crowded conditions had grated on Cole’s nerves, though he was the kind of man who built a sort of armor or shell around himself. Other men sensed his solitary nature and left him alone.
In the quiet and solitude of the French countryside, his senses slowly came alive again, tingling awake like a cramped limb that had fallen asleep in the night. He heard birds, the sigh of the wind in the trees and the whisper of it on the grass. The air smelled of rain and wet earth. The country sounds and smells made Cole feel like he was home. A part of himself he had forgotten about stirred and came alive.
"This ain't so bad, is it, Lieutenant," Vaccaro said. He sounded too loud for the hushed countryside. Vaccaro had a city voice. "We could be going up against Panzers. Those are the real bad asses. We just need to find a few stray Jerries with rifles."
"We'll see," Mulholland said. "Just keep your eyes open and pay attention."
"It's spooky quiet here," Chief said.
"Yeah,” Mulholland agreed. “Listen, I want everyone to spread out. Keep twenty paces between you and the man in front of you. If a machine gun opens up on us, we don't want Jerry to take us all out in one burst."
"Does that apply to me as well, mon lieutenant?" asked Jolie, who was walking nearby.
"You bet," he said. "But you know this country. Don't you want to be first and lead the way?"
"Non, I do not," Jolie said. "The first person is more likely to step on a land mine."
"These roads are mined?" Mulholland asked, looking at the muddy road beneath his feet with fresh concern.
"It is hard to know for certain. The Germans did bury thousands of mines. Who knows where? Better not to go first." She nodded at Vaccaro. "Send that one first. He is useless but for a big mouth."
"Hey, sweetheart, I love you too."
"Shut up and pay attention, Vaccaro," Mulholland said. He remained at the head of the squad.
Cole was bringing up the rear, which was fine with him. One by one, he sized up the members of their patrol. Meacham was twenty paces ahead of him, scanning the woods and fields with the eye of a country boy. He seemed all right.
Then came the Chief and Vaccaro. The Chief paid attention and seemed like a quick learner. Cole thought he would be a decent sniper — if he lived long enough.
Vaccaro might get them all killed on account of his loud mouth alone.
The lieutenant was a decent officer — he sure as hell had been brave enough on the beach yesterday, taking chances that Cole himself wouldn't have, if the lieutenant hadn't been leading the way. Mulholland was all right for an officer.
The French girl trailed a few paces behind the lieutenant. Cole was puzzled by the fact that she didn't seem particularly excited or grateful that they had come to liberate her country. She had a hardness to her, like a soup bone with all the meat boiled off. No nonsense. She also didn't talk too much, which was a quality Cole admired in a woman.
He pushed thoughts about his companions aside and kept his eyes moving, looking as far ahead as possible. The hedgerow country was unlike anything he had seen before. These hedgerows were ancient, going back to Roman times. They had begun as simple berms of earth to separate fields in order to corral livestock and define ownership. Over the centuries, brush and trees had grown on top of the earthen berms to form thick, almost impenetrable walls of greenery.
The hedgerows covered most of the Cotentin Peninsula as completely as a quilt across an old double bed. Unpaved lanes and roads passed through the bocage, some of these so thickly overhung with greenery that going down the road was like passing through a tunnel. After dark, the bocage would have been the perfect setting for a werewolf story.
But in this nightmare world, there were no werewolves or vampires. Snipers were far more real and deadly. This living maze was perfect for defensive action such as that now being undertaken by the Germans as they worked to thwart the Allied advance. Worse yet for the Americans was the fact that the few points of high ground scattered around the bocage offered an excellent vantage point. A German sniper on one of these hill tops could look down into the fields and lanes — and pick off anything that moved. In the hours after D-Day, nearly all this high ground had been occupied by German troops moving into defensive positions.
Their squad had orders to engage the enemy. But first, they had to find them. Cole suspected that the French countryside would not be quiet for long.
After the French woman's remark about the Germans mining the roads, most of the others kept looking down at the dirt and grass, expecting to see some hint of a mine, but Cole reminded himself that he needed to look up for the real danger, which happened to be German troops, snipers, and Panzers.
"This is where we leave the road," Jolie said. "The road here will just take us in a circle. It is necessary to have to use a map and compass from this point on."
Lieutenant Mulholland followed Jolie's suggestion and led them toward a gap in a hedgerow into an expanse of field, newly green with spring. They entered the field only after Lieutenant Mulholland and Meacham had advanced some distance into it. The field encompassed perhaps twenty acres and was ringed by the green-walled hedgerow, which managed to give the field the feel of a sprawling football field surrounded by bleachers.
On the opposite side of the field was a similar gap that Cole figured led to the next field over. A squad of American soldiers was crouched on either side of the gap. He could see two bodies sprawled in the grass just inside the neighboring field.
They moved around to the edge of the field, keeping out of any line of fire offered by the gap, then approached the other squad. Mulholland got together with the squad leader. Though their voices were low, Cole was close enough to hear the two officers talking.
"We've got orders to clear this field, but German snipers have got the gap covered,” the captain said. “They've already shot two of my men. I just wish we had a goddamn Sherman tank with us — we could follow along behind it. But we don't have one, so thank God you all came along."
"Us?"
"You're counter snipers, right? You've all got telescope sights on your rifles. Fight fire with fire, I always say. This is your operation now, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir," Mulholland said uncertainly. "How many Germans are there?"
"We're pretty sure there are three because the shots are coming from different directions."
"Where are they located?"
"Damned if I know. Walk into that field and you'll find out, Lieutenant." The captain slumped back against a large stone and lit a cigarette. "Hell, if this is what we have facing us between here and Paris, it's going to make the beach landing yesterday look like a kindergarten birthday party. Where did you all come ashore?"
"Omaha."
The captain dragged on his cigarette. "We were at Utah, thank God. I heard what you went through. Sounds like a goddamn nightmare."
The captain spoke loud enough for them all to hear, and Cole's thoughts went back to poor Jimmy, shot on the beach. It sure was a long way to go from home just to get killed by the Germans. Cole didn't really understand what Hitler or the Germans wanted, but he understood the empty stare in Jimmy’s dead eyes.
"So what's your plan here?" the captain asked.
The lieutenant was taking a while to answer, so Cole spoke up. "I reckon I might have an idea, sir," he said.
"All right, Cole. It's got to be better than the plan I've got right now, which is nothing."
"Let me bring two men through that gap to draw the snipers' fire, and you can locate their position and take them out."
"Sounds like a good way to get three men killed."
"We'll split up and run in different directions. The way I figure it, the Germans will probably miss. It’s hard to hit a running target. Three running targets is confusing. But when they fire, they'll reveal their positions. We'll have our boys at the edges of the gap to take them out."
"Hell, Cole, the only one here who's good enough to do that is you."
"Meacham is a good shot. Chief can at least make them keep their heads down."
The lieutenant thought it over. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was better than nothing. "Take Vaccaro with you," he said quietly. "With any luck, he can run as fast as he can run his mouth. The captain here will have to volunteer one of his men to come with me."
"One more thing," Cole said. "I need me a ball of twine."
It took a couple of minutes to organize the attack. The twine was normally used for marking off landing zones and trenches, but Cole had another idea. Meacham slid along the grass to take up a position so that his rifle just peeked out from the edge of the gap. His field of fire was limited by the tall June grass, but the grass in turn hid him from the enemy snipers already in position. He would just have to be lucky and get a clear shot.
Chief would cross the gap and take up position on the other side once Cole started running. Nobody could pass in front of the gap now because the snipers had it covered.
Cole and Vaccaro stripped off their packs and prepared to run like hell through the gap, into the field, toward the enemy snipers. They were joined by a kid from the other squad who had the build of a rabbit.
"Reb, you are about to get us killed," Vaccaro said.
"When you get in that field, you two run like hell and zigzag to make a poor target. Run at an angle if you can, not right toward them. Whatever you do, don’t bunch up." He tied the end of a piece of twine to a stick that was about two feet long and handed it to the rabbit-looking kid. The rest of the twine was wound lightly in Cole's utility pocket so that it would unwind as they ran.
“What’s the stick for?” the kid asked.
"That there’s our decoy. Now, you look like you can run fast. If I was you, I'd run like there was hornets after you. I want you to drop that stick about halfway across."
On the face of it, running into the field in front of the German snipers seemed crazy and foolish. But the key was to split up. Once, when hunting high up in the hills, Cole had startled a pack of coyotes feeding at a deer kill. He had raised his rifle to shoot one, anticipating that they would flee in one direction, when the coyotes did a curious thing. They split into three or four different directions. He'd been so surprised that he hadn't got off a good shot at any of the coyotes. They all got away.
Also, he knew it was considerably harder to hit a running target than a stationary one. If the Germans had been using a machine gun, he and the other two runners would be killed in a single burst of automatic fire. But a man with a rifle had to pick a target, lead it, and fire.
Not so easy to do.
Cole used to practice on old truck tires that his sister would roll downhill with a paper target strung up in the middle. It was hard enough to hit a rolling tire, let alone a zigzagging, running man.
He was sure the Germans wouldn’t be much better at it than he was. His life was counting on it.
Cole took a deep breath. His heart pounded.
"Go!" he shouted.