Gods & Snipers: A World War II Thriller

Chapter Twelve

"Let's get a move on," Captain Norton said, once they gone another mile without running into trouble. "I want to be at the river by nightfall. We don't need to be wandering around in the dark with the countryside full of Jerries."

Cole muttered, "That's the first thing he's said that makes any sense."

"Don't let him hear you, for God's sake. He'll take away that grease gun and make you lug that stretcher instead." Vaccaro nodded at the two men lugging West’s stretcher. So far, it was two greenhorns who had gotten that task. Norton was keeping Cole and Vaccaro on point.

They walked a couple more miles on what felt like borrowed time, wondering at any moment what they might encounter. The rain had stopped, but the skies hadn't cleared. Low gray clouds clung to the shoulders of the hills like a damp wool sweater. The air smelled cool and crisp, but with a tang of decay from the wet earth and turning leaves. Around the next bend in the road was the village itself, Ville sur Moselle.

Cole and Vacarro, along with Sergeant Woodbine and the new kid, advanced into the village. The rest of Norton's squad took cover along both sides of the road.

"You think there are any Germans?" the kid asked. "I've never done this before."

"Got to learn sometime, kid."

"If there's any Germans, we're gonna find out right quick," Cole said.

The place looked sleepy enough. Unlike many French villages, this one had escaped any bombing. It helped that the village was overhung with trees growing on the surrounding hills. Ville sur Moselle would be difficult to see from the air. A narrow road passed between ancient stone buildings, following the gentle incline toward the river. No people were in sight, but a cat crossed the street, nonchalantly pausing to rub against a pot of flowers growing beside a doorway.

For all that Cole knew, there might be a squad of Jerries set up on the second floor of one of the buildings, ready to open fire. He held up a fist, signaling for the others to halt. Cole stood silently, listening and waiting. If this was a trap here, it was perfectly concealed. The Germans were tricky. Sometimes they let you advance just long enough to let your guard now. However, Cole couldn't sense anything waiting for them.

"What do you reckon?" he whispered to Vaccaro.

"I reckon that we ought to send the kid in first, just in case. Go on, kid.”

"If you say so," the kid said, and started to leave cover.

"Shut up, Vaccaro," Cole said. "Kid, you stay put and cover me."

He took a step forward.

Vaccaro and the greenie kept behind the corner of a building, covering him.

Cole was still making his way forward, wary of a German ambush, when a young woman stepped out of a door and almost ran into him. She gave a cry of dismay and stepped back, clearly shocked and surprised. He could see the puzzled look on her face. This deep into France, there hadn't been many Americans yet.

Cole put a finger to his lips, encouraging her not to scream. They didn't need that kind of attention just yet. Her pretty mouth froze in an O, but no sound emerged. He kept the grease gun raised, not quite pointing at her, but ready all the same just in case this was some kind of German trick.

Right behind the young woman there appeared a young man, wearing what appeared to be part of an American, but with faded blue trousers tucked into the tall rubber boots that French farmers favored. He walked with a pronounced limp. When he saw the soldiers, his face broke into a big smile.

"It's about time somebody else got here," he said.

"You're American?"

"Eleventh Infantry," he said, "At least, I'm what's left of it. We got chewed up by the SS trying to cross the river north of here. I went into the water and washed up at this place."

"You seen any Germans?"

The soldier frowned. "Not yet. But with that bridge here, you can be sure that we'll see some soon. They’ll need to cross somewhere if they want to get back to the Fatherland.”

The soldier then turned and said something to the young woman in French. The upturned tone at the end of his sentence made it sound as if he had asked her a question.

The woman shook her head. "Non," she replied. She added a few more sentences in French.

"You speak French?" Cole asked. “You right sure you're an American?"

"Sure, I'm sure. I know French, is all. They guys in my old unit called me Frenchie."

"Frenchie, huh?” Cole looked dubiously at the windows overlooking the street. For all he knew, they were full of Germans and this was some sort of elaborate trap. “All right then, Frenchie, how about you tell me who delivered the Gettysburg address.”

"Seriously?"

Cole hefted the grease gun. "I done asked you a question."

"Abraham Lincoln."

"All right." Cole lowered the weapon. "What were you jabberin' to that girl about?"

"I said that we didn't have anything to worry about, now that the army was here."

"We ain't exactly an army," Cole said. "Just a squad made up of loose ends. Which means we have plenty to worry about if the Jerries show up in force. Ask her if she has seen any Germans around here."

"Like I said—"

Cole pointed the grease gun at him. “Go on and ask her."

“Hey, take it easy, buddy.”

“I said, ask her about the Germans.”

Frenchie turned to the young woman and posed the question in French. He translated for Cole. "Uh, she said that Germans used to come through here all the time, but that there aren't any around right now."

Cole nodded. Maybe he was just getting paranoid. If the woman or this Frenchie character had been lying, she would have stolen a glance at where the Germans were hidden with their machine gun or sniper. Instead, she had kept her eyes fixed on Cole and Vaccaro.

Feeling more relaxed, Cole took the opportunity to get a better look at her. The woman was about his age or a little younger, tall, and pretty in that dark French way. Her hair was tucked under a kerchief as if she had been in the middle of doing chores or about to run errands. She wore a dress and canary yellow sweater against the chill.

Cole didn't let his guard down entirely. The woman seemed genuinely surprised to find the Americans on her doorstep. At the same time, she did not seem overly apprehensive. Cole doubted that she was any sort of collaborator. They had met their share among the French.

During four years of occupation, some locals had built ties — whether romantic or entrepreneurial — that made them less than enthusiastic about the arrival of Allied forces. The newsreels always made the French seem jubilant, but there were often a few at the back of the crowd who weren't jumping for joy because they had made a bad choice in casting their lot with the Germans. With the arrival of the Allies, they knew there would be a reckoning.

More villagers became apparent. An old man emerged and stared, leaning on his cane. Someone started shouting and other villagers appeared on the street to witness the arrival of the Americans. There didn't seem to be any young men, but more importantly, there didn't seem to be any Germans.

A boy of about twelve with the same dark hair and pale complexion as the woman came out and ran toward her. She was too young to be his mother; Cole decided that they must be brother and sister. The boy hadn't gotten his full growth yet, but it was clear from his big feet and hands that he was going to be tall like his sister.

"Les Américains?" the boy asked, excitement clear on his face.

"Oui," the woman answered. She grabbed the boy around the shoulders and tousled his hair, but he squirmed out of her grasp, clearly embarrassed by this show of affection in front of the soldiers. Finally, the woman's face relaxed. "Les Américains sont arrivés."

Certain now that they faced no danger of a German ambush, Cole signaled for the rest of the patrol to move in. The dry, stone fountain in the village square became the assembly point.

"It's about goddamn time," Captain Norton said. "You'd been gone so long, I was expecting a postcard. I thought the Germans had you running scared."

Beside him, Cole felt Vaccaro tense up, but all that Cole said was, "Just makin' sure, sir. Didn’t want you to walk into an ambush."

The captain stared at Frenchie. "Who the hell are you?"

Frenchie went through his story, while the captain listened, stone-faced. "Why didn't you make any attempt to rejoin your unit?"

"Like I said, sir, my unit was wiped out. And I was wounded."

"Sergeant, place this man under arrest. He's a deserter."

"But sir—

Norton put his hand to his pistol, and Frenchie fell silent, allowing himself to be led away by Sergeant Woodbine.

"Looks like you did find something useful," Norton said, eyeing the French woman up and down. She was looking with concern after Frenchie, seeming to sense that something was wrong. "What's your name, honey? Appelez-vous?"

"Je m'appelle Margot."

"See there?" Norton turned to them with a smug look of satisfaction. "All you've got to do is ask."

The sergeant approached. "What are your orders, sir?"

"Spread out and keep your eyes open!" Captain Norton shouted. He himself didn't seem to plan on moving far from the French woman, whom he was still awkwardly trying to make conversation with, but with little success. He patted the sniper rifle. "I'll pick off any Germans coming up the road."

Norton returned his attention to the young woman, but Sergeant Woodbine wasn’t through yet. He cleared his throat. "Sir, with all due respect, we need to secure this town."

"Duly noted, Sergeant," Captain Norton said dismissively. "First, you and the men see if you can find anything to eat. Or any wine. I'll stay here and see what I can find out from Mademoiselle Margot."

The soldiers spread out through the village, although there wasn't much to see beyond the main street that led toward the bridge.

Cole and Vaccaro walked down to take a look. The Moselle ran swift, deep, and brown after the heavy rain. Cole had once swam a small river to get the drop on a German sniper, but the Moselle looked far more challenging to swim. He didn't much like water, anyhow, having almost drowned once while trapping beaver in a mountain stream running high with snowmelt.

The river here was narrow and the stone bridge was ancient, dating to the reign of Louis IV. In keeping with the needs of the time period in which it was built, the span was scarcely wide enough for a wagon. Something big as a panzer was not getting across. For starters, it wouldn't have fit, and the sheer weight of all that armor might have brought down the entire structure. But the bridge was more than adequate for soldiers on foot, Jeeps or Kübelwagen. A Chrysler truck might just squeeze over.

Considering the fighting that had raged all around it, it seemed almost miraculous that the village had escaped unscathed. The village and the bridge were largely hidden by the hills that ran down to them and the surrounding dense forest, effectively hiding Ville sur Moselle from the air. The Luftwaffe and then Allied planes had taken turns bombing several of the river crossings, but so far, Ville sur Moselle had been spared by the war. With the arrival of American troops, however, the war had finally come to this isolated village.

Cole looked at Vaccaro. "City Boy, how long do you think it will take them Germans to find this bridge right here?" Cole ran the last two words together, pronouncing them rye-cheer.

"They've got the same maps we do," Vaccaro said. "The Jerries are on the run, so they ought to be ahead of us, but maybe they took a wrong turn somewhere and we got a head start on them. It won't be long until they get here. Everybody's got the same idea. Get to the Moselle and find a way across."

"Well, here we are," Cole said.

"Here we are," Vaccaro agreed. He looked back up the road they had just come down. "Now what?"

"We ought to secure the village, that's what. Like the sergeant said. At least he knows what he’s doing. We're gonna have company right soon."

The two men started back toward where Captain Norton stood in the modest village square. He still had Cole's rifle slung over one shoulder. Cole did not feel very reassured holding the grease gun. The weapon had no range, and if Germans suddenly appeared on the road into town, he wouldn't be of much use until the Jerries were on top of them.

By now, many of the villagers had retreated into their homes, most of which had thick stone walls. These soldiers weren't Germans, but young men with guns made civilians nervous. Margot was one of the few villagers left, mostly because she was stuck in the village square being chatted up by Captain Norton. Her brother had wandered off somewhere. As the other villagers drifted away, she was the only civilian in sight.

Looking around at the peaceful village, Cole felt less and less relaxed. He sensed a pervasive feeling in the air that something was about to happen. One did not need to be as attenuated as Cole to sense it. The air felt a lot like things did just before a bad thunderstorm. The air fairly crackled.

That's when they heard the sound of a vehicle approaching.