Gods & Snipers: A World War II Thriller

Chapter Nineteen

Darkness had fallen without incident, and night brought a respite because it seemed unlikely that the Germans would launch a nighttime attack. An uneasy quiet settled over Ville sur Moselle. The river made its ancient gurgle at their backs, while now and then through the trees they could hear the Germans laughing or talking because some trick of the way that sound carried in the river valley made the enemy seem much closer.

Still, General Tolliver was worried about the Germans trying some funny business under cover of darkness. Short of a full attack, there remained the threat of a commando team infiltrating the town.

Sentries were posted, augmented by villagers with dogs who would start barking if their keen ears or noses detected trouble of the Teutonic kind. Those not keeping watching either slept or found something to eat. The villagers kept their lights off or huddled around dim candles. After their experience with the German sniper earlier, they knew that any light that shone was likely to get someone shot at.

Pierre and two of the villagers who had pitched in to help the Americans sat drinking in his kitchen. They should have gone out to help the sentries, but Pierre had opened a jug of wine, and one glass had led to another. Gustave was a shopkeeper, soft in the middle and with thin, sloped shoulders, but he had a fierce spirit. Short and stout, their friend August resembled an old wooden keg. The three men had known one another all their lives.

"We know this territory better than anyone," Pierre said, waving his glass for emphasis. The glass was squat and thick, missing a tiny chip from the rim. No long-stemmed crystal wine glasses here. The red wine itself was rough and unrefined. French men drank wine the way that Americans drank beer — without much fuss or fanfare. "We should slip into the woods and spy on the Germans."

"Or shoot at them," his friend, Gustave, added.

"Yes, why not!" Pierre said. "The three of us will go at first light, and then return to let the Americans know what we saw."

"The Germans will never see us," August said. He slapped down his glass and snapped his thick fingers. "We shall be silent as smoke!"

"And if we shoot a few Germans along the way, so much the better," Gustave said, and reached for the bottle to refill their glasses. Already, the wine in the jug was quite diminished.

Their boastful plan was just the kind that men hatched after a few glasses of wine late at night, and that was usually quickly forgotten in the morning, or remembered with a laugh and a rueful shake of the head. A trio of middle-aged men drinking late at night and boasting about their heroics was harmless enough, so long as they never left the kitchen.

Had they been fighting the Germans these last few months just like the American soldiers had been, they would not have boasted so lightly. Either that, or they would have guzzled a lot more wine.

Pierre did not pay much attention to his youngest son coming and going in the kitchen. Simon was twelve years old, and very excited about the battle being fought over town. He was too young to understand the real violence taking place, or what was at stake for the villagers. He was amazed and impressed that his father and his friends were now soldiers, helping the Americans. He paused to look at the rifles and the shotgun, leaning in the corner. The weapons smelled strongly of gun oil, which males of any age find to be an intoxicating scent.

Sneaking into the woods to spy on the Germans sounded like a real adventure. He immediately thought of how he and his friend, Marcus, could be heroes if they went along.

"Papa, take me with you! Marcus and I can help! We can crawl through the bushes right up to the Germans and no one will see us.”

His father laughed and ruffled his hair. "I know you and Marcus are brave boys," he said. "But we need you here to help protect the town while we are gone."

"Please, papa!"

"This is not a business for boys," Pierre said with finality, and Simon hung his head, knowing better than to argue with his father in front of his friends. Papa seemed to be in a good mood now, but when he was drinking, Simon knew that his father could quickly lose his temper. Even that wasn't so awful. Despite his boasting about killing Germans, his father was a gentle man. He had never raised a hand to Simon, not even to spank him when he had, from time to time, more than deserved it. However, his father wouldn't think twice about giving him more chores to do.

Leaving the men in the kitchen, Simon slipped out of the house and down the street to where Marcus lived with his sister, Margot. It was a journey he had made hundreds of times day and night, but now the familiar town felt so different and even dangerous. It was a town under siege. Here and there in the darkness, he spotted the hulking figures of the American soldiers. Not until he had nearly run into him did Simon finally see the skinny American sniper standing in the shadows, keeping watch, his cut-glass eyes tracking the boy. Simon shuddered and gave him a wide berth.

It was late, but Marcus was always up for an adventure. The door was open — no one locked their doors in the village, even with strangers lurking in the night. Simon slipped inside the house. The downstairs had been cleared to make way to the wounded, but everything seemed quiet at the moment. Margot must already be asleep. Quickly, Simon went up the stairs and found Marcus at his bedroom window, watching the comings and goings as best he could. With so much excitement, the boy couldn’t sleep.

“I saw you coming,” Marcus said. “You didn’t even see that sniper hiding there by Madame Diver’s house. I saw you jump when you came across him!”

“He’s a good one to stay away from,” Simon said.

Quickly, he told Marcus about what his father and the other men planned to do in the morning.

"We must go with them!"

"Papa said no," Simon said.

"Then we will follow them without them knowing," Marcus said. "Once we are in the woods, we can show ourselves. They won't have any choice but to let us stay with them."

A thought came to Simon. "Where is your sister? We can't let her find out."

"She was downstairs, helping the wounded, but she might be asleep by now. It’s late.”

The boys had no real weapons, but they felt that they couldn't go into the woods without some means of defense. Simon had brought along his slingshot. It was a homemade affair with the bands cut from an old bicycle inner tube. He planned to load his pockets with small, smooth stones.

"If I get close enough to a German and hit them just so—"

"You'll knock him out!" Marcus was enthusiastic about the slingshot. He did not own one himself, or any other likely weapon. He went into the kitchen and debated taking a carving knife, but surely Margot would notice that it was missing. He settled on his pocketknife. The blade wasn’t any longer than his little finger, but it was better than nothing.

As far as the boys were concerned, they were ready to take on the Germany army. Too excited to sleep, they settled down to wait for morning, when they would slip into the woods behind old Pierre and his friends.