Gods & Snipers: A World War II Thriller

Chapter Thirteen

Lucky for the GIs in the village, the approaching vehicle turned out to be a Jeep. This one was moving fast. Even so, a Jeep was no race car. With its modest engine, lack of suspension, and the rough roads, a Jeep couldn't do more than forty or fifty miles per hour, but this one managed to be flying like a bat out of hell. Norton’s squad caught a glimpse of United States uniforms and relaxed enough not to start shooting.

The Jeep skidded to a stop in the village square, coming so close to Captain Norton and the French woman that they were forced to jump out of the way.

"What the hell?" Captain Norton demanded. He looked more than a little hot under the collar. He started purposefully toward the Jeep, clearly with an ass-chewing in mind.

The passenger in the Jeep stood up. He wasn't really a tall man, but the extra height provided by the vehicle made him tower over everyone. He put his hands on his hips and scowled at the ragtag soldiers staring at him in surprise. He wore a tailored uniform with a tunic coat that belted at the waist, polished boots, and a new helmet. On the helmet was a single silver star, matching the star on his collar.

Catching a glimpse of those stars, Captain Norton came to a halt as if thunderstruck.

Watching from nearby, Cole's first thought was that he had never seen an actual general up close before. His second thought was that the son of a bitch must be lost. What was a general doing way out here?

Cole didn't think much of officers, and this one looked like he'd stepped right out of headquarters. It stood to reason that a general would be at least three times as useless as a captain. Still, he had to give this general points for reducing Captain Norton to a slack-jawed idiot.

Margot used the opportunity to slip away. She headed back toward the house that she had stepped out of a short while ago, but not before stopping to look around for her brother, who was nowhere in sight.

"Sir," Norton finally stammered, and then he managed to salute.

"Are these your men? What the hell are they doing standing around? We need to get them deployed. And I mean now, goddammit! There's a German unit coming up the road right behind me. Now—"

Before the general could finish berating Captain Norton, the French boy reappeared, shouting as he ran full-tilt down the main street.

The boy's words needed no translation. The Germans had arrived.

Just up the road, a Kübelwagen with a mounted machine gun came into sight. The vehicle moved slowly, followed closely by several dozen Wehrmacht troops.

They were no more than two hundred feet away. Upon spotting one another, the soldiers on both sides seemed to freeze.

Except for Cole, who grabbed the French boy and shoved him down behind the general's Jeep.

It was the Germans, however, who reacted first and opened fire. Someone in the Kübelwagen shouted an order, and seconds later, the soldier standing behind the machine gun started shooting.

Cole stuck the grease gun around a tire of the Jeep and squeezed off a burst, but it was hard to shoot with any accuracy at this range. He wished that he had his rifle in his hands.

He looked up and saw Norton fumbling with the Springfield rifle, finally getting it to his shoulder and shooting back. He seemed to take forever to work the bolt before he got off another shot. The German kept firing that machine gun, further proof that Norton couldn’t hit a damn thing. With the scope on that rifle, Norton ought to have been able to drop that machine gunner.

Another burst from the MP-42 ripped the air apart. Bullets strafed the square, catching Captain Norton and the fresh-faced kid out in the open. Both of them went down and didn’t get back up.

The general had never climbed off the Jeep but now he had the good sense to dive between the seats for cover. An engine block did a tolerable job of stopping gunfire, even when it came from “Hitler’s Buzzsaw.”

Without any defense set up, the sudden German attack caused pandemonium among the Americans. Dodging rounds from the MG-42, GIs scattered, diving for cover. Some went down an did not get back up. A sharp voice could be heard above the shooting, cutting through the din: ”I want superior fire on that car, goddammit! Target that gunner!"

The general had extricated himself from between the seat of the Jeep. Having made himself heard, Tolliver set the example by firing his Browning handgun at the Germans, although he was too far away to do any good.

A couple of shots from the American side struck the front of the German vehicle but didn't do any harm. Unlike a Jeep, the air-cooled Kübelwagen had no radiator, and the engine was in the back. Such a concept was alien to the Americans. They would have been incredulous to learn that in a few years a similar vehicle — the immensely popular Volkswagen Beetle — would reach American shores, built on the chassis of the wartime Kübelwagen.

The general's orders to return fire were easier to hear than to obey, what with the German machine gun still chattering at them. More German troops moved up, working their way into the village and using whatever shelter was offered by the buildings. They moved efficiently, like men who had done this before — and no doubt they had taken more than one French village in similar fashion.

The Germans also appeared to outnumber the American defenders, and at the moment, they had the element of surprise and firepower on their side.

Unless something happened, the Americans would soon be wiped out or forced to surrender, and the crucial bridge over the Moselle River would fall into German hands.

Cole felt the squad falling apart around him. He fired at the Germans, although they were too far away for the grease gun to have a telling effect. He really wished that he had his rifle. With the Springfield, he could have easily picked off the German machine gunner who was chewing them up from the back of that Kübelwagen.

He glanced over at Captain Norton’s body. The dead officer’s body lay splayed out on the paving stones in an unnatural position, surrounded by blood. He had been killed in the first burst from the German attack. Nearby lay the green kid who had been so concerned about being seen as a coward. Maybe that had meant he was a split second too slow in getting behind cover.

Cole felt bad about the dead kid. Given a little more time, he would have made a good soldier. What was his name? Bill something? Didn’t make a damn bit of difference now.

On the other hand, he didn’t feel so bad that Norton was dead. The man had been an incompetent officer and a nuisance. He wasn’t going to thank the Germans for killing him, though. Norton had been a horse’s ass, but at least they'd been on the same team.

He could see his own Springfield rifle still slung across Norton's shoulder.

He needed to get his hands on that rifle if they were going to have a chance to take out the German machine gunner.

The question was, could he get from the Jeep to the dead captain without getting mowed down?

He might have a chance when the German stopped to reload. The MG-42 chewed through belts awfully fast.

He ejected the magazine and inserted another.

"Stay down," Cole told Frenchie, who didn’t even have a weapon, and pushed him down against the stone pavers of the courtyard for emphasis.

Briefly, the machine gun stopped chewing up the square. The German gun crew would need a few moments to either feed in a new belt or put in a new barrel to replace the one that had become superheated.

Now or never. Cole ran from behind the Jeep, keeping low, and fired the grease gun in the general direction of the German Kübelwagen and the advancing Jerries. He doubted that he would hit anything, but if those fat .45 caliber rounds made them keep their heads down, all the better.

Reaching Norton's body, he tossed away the grease gun. Cole tugged at the rifle to free it, but the sling was pinned under the body and soaked through with blood. Cole reached for his knife, a razor-sharp custom Bowie knife forged from Damascus steel, and sliced through the canvas sling.

The rifle was back in his hands. He felt its familiar heft. Damned if it wasn't like a part of him.

But this was no time for a family reunion.

Cole sprawled behind Norton’s body, using it for over. He put the rifle to his shoulder. Through the telescopic sight, the Kübelwagen sprang much closer. The rifle was zeroed in for roughly that distance.

The German soldier behind the machine gun had recharged the weapon and began firing, the muzzle flashes so close that they seemed to be stabbing into Cole's eyes. The muzzle swung in his direction and Cole heard bullets strike the flagstones and walk toward him. Bullets screamed off the flagstones. He heard a round chunk into Norton's body at his feet.

Cole put the crosshairs on the German and squeezed the trigger.

The man went down and the machine gun fell silent.

He worked the bolt. Through the scope, he looked for another target to acquire. One disadvantage of the telescopic sight was that it narrowed his field of view. That was why it helped to have a spotter keep an eye on the big picture and call out targets. Picking them out with the rifle scope took too long.

He saw a pair of Jerries peeking from around the corner of a building and squeezed off a couple of shots. He thought that he hit one, and raised a puff of powdered stone close to the other. The man reappeared, and Cole took two more shots. The second one did the trick, and the German slumped to the street.

The Springfield's clip held five founds. Five shots, but too many damn targets. The spare clips that Captain Norton had taken from him were still in the dead captain's cartridge belt. Cole would have to waste precious seconds retrieving them while the Germans continued to press the attack.

He heard a voice say, "Right hand, soldier."

He held out his hand and felt a fresh clip slapped into it. He pressed the clip into the chamber and reloaded.

"Three o'clock, about three feet up behind that yellow building," the voice instructed.

He swiveled the rifle in that direction and acquired the target, zeroing in on a German who was keeping up a steady fire. Cole squeezed the trigger and the German went down.

His eye left the scope long enough to catch a glimpse of his spotter. To his surprise, it was the general. He had retrieved Cole's discarded grease gun and squeezed off a burst.

"They're trying to get back on the machine gun," the general said.

Cole pivoted until the Kübelwagen was back in sight, then put the crosshairs on a German who had climbed up behind the machine gun. He went down in a spray of blood.

With a buzzing noise like a supercharged wasp, a bullet went by too close for comfort, making his whole body thrum involuntarily, as if he had just touched a live wire. Every soldier hated that sound. More rounds zipped past, underscoring the fact that he and the general were too exposed.

"Go!" the general gave him a shove. "Get to the Jeep. I'll cover you."

Cole ran as the general opened up with the grease gun. He jumped behind the safety of the Jeep with Tolliver on his heels. The French boy was still there and had curled into a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible. At least the boy had some sense.

Using the hood of the Jeep for support, Cole began to pick off the targets that Tolliver acquired for him.

He turned his attention back to the Kübelwagen. The driver was dead or wounded, but he glimpsed an officer getting behind the wheel. Cole put a bullet through the windshield, knocking off the officer's hat and peppering him with glass. Before Cole could fire again, the officer ducked down and hit the gas, slewing the Kübelwagen around.

The retreating vehicle was a sign that the tide had turned. The Americans kept up a withering fire. Although they were outnumbered by the Germans, the Americans had a slight advantage in that they were more spread out, whereas the Germans had to attack down the narrow street. The houses sat right against the other, offering sparse cover other than the doorways and a couple of trees.

Also, it helped that the Americans had Cole. General Tolliver passed him another clip. He put the sights on a soldier who was advancing at a trot and dropped him. Two soldiers edging their weapons around a corner went down next.

"At the far end of the street, there's a guy advancing with a Panzerfaust," Tolliver said. "It's a long way off, but see what you can do."

Cole practically screwed his eye to the rifle scope. He spotted the soldier running forward with a Panzerfaust. Though meant to defeat tanks, it would be just the weapon to clear the square of defenders.

Cole wasn't about to let him get that close. He held high and squeezed the trigger. The German threw up both hands and crumpled, dragged down by the weight of the Panzerfaust.

Beside him, Tolliver whistled.

But the Germans weren't about to give up just yet. They had their own ace up their sleeve. The Kübelwagen had withdrawn to the far end of town. The officer stood and gestured at a soldier, who came forward and rested his rifle across the hood of the vehicle. Through the binoculars, Tolliver caught a glimpse of a German sniper, with a telescopic sight on top of his rifle. It was too far to say where he was aiming, but it was no stretch of the imagination to think that he was targeting his American counterpart.

"Down!" Tolliver grabbed Cole by the shoulder and pulled him behind the front of the Jeep. A split second later, a bullet carved a shiny groove in the hood of the vehicle, just where Cole had been positioning his rifle.

"Sniper," the general said. "He's set up behind that vehicle."

Cole slid behind a tire, hoping to return fire. But by then, the Kübelwagen and the sniper were backing down the road and out of sight. For now, the German attack was over.