Gods & Snipers: A World War II Thriller

Chapter Twenty-One

In the morning, the soldier who had shot the wild pig organized a hunting party to see if they could get another. Hauer volunteered to go along with the soldier, whose name was Schneider, mainly out of curiosity. While he was a good shot with a rifle, he'd never been much of a hunter. He thought that he might learn something that would be useful to him as a sniper.

"Old Unterbrink wants to organize an attack on the village but he's waiting on ammunition," Hauer said. "There are a couple of supply trucks just to the north that he's waiting for."

"Supply trucks?" one of the men asked, incredulous. Most supply vehicles had been destroyed in the battle at the Falaise Gap or its aftermath. “How is that possible?”

"Somebody hid them, and with the Allied planes grounded by this weather, they think they can get them to us."

"Let's find another pig and cook it for lunch, before Unterbrink gets his ammo and we attack the village again."

"Nothing like a good meal before you get killed," said one of the older soldiers, and the group of men laughed.

Even Hauer had to smile. He had to admit that being in the woods, hunting for wild pigs, was a nice interlude from the war. The hilly terrain was isolated and empty. Fog kept the Allied planes away. The odds of them encountering any American troops in these hills was almost nil. They would be down in the village, preparing for the inevitable German attack. Schneider was right; their roasted pig might very well be the last meal for some of the Germans if the Americans put up a good fight

The group of hunters was relaxed, smoking cigarettes, and joking. It probably wasn't the best approach to hunting, but then again, the pigs were only half wild. Maybe they only needed to be half quiet?

After a while, Schneider hushed them. "We are near where I shot the pig yesterday," he said. "Hauer, get your rifle ready, in case I miss. You're the crack shot here."

They moved forward stealthily. The forest pigs, or perhaps deer, had worn a path through the woods and they followed it easily enough. The damp leaves underfoot barely made a sound and the light that filtered down through the tree limbs was pale and wispy, with a bit of fog mixed in. Hauer had the uneasy sense that someone could be hiding in the brush just a few feet away and he would never know. A dank, feral smell clung to the forest floor and Hauer guessed that the pigs were the source of that.

They were being so quiet that the other group moving through the woods never heard the soldiers. The Germans passed around a bend in the trail to a place where it widened and came face to face with a group of French civilians.

There were three of them, and they froze in surprise at the sight of the Germans. The men were armed with old rifles and a shotgun — one slung over a man's shoulder with a length of rope — but they didn't have them at the ready. One of the men started to slip a rifle off his shoulder but stopped when Schneider leveled an MP-40 machine-gun pistol at him and shouted, "Nein!"

The Frenchmen were bunched up, and Schneider could have killed them all with a two-second burst.

Hauer had wondered why Schneider had brought along a Schmeisser to a pig hunt, but now he was glad that he had. His own rifle was slung over his shoulder. He hated to admit it, but the Frenchman might have been quicker to get his weapon into play.

Now, it didn't matter. With the Frenchmen covered by Schneider, Hauer walked up and took their guns away. The weapons were so old that they were practically antiques better suited to being hung over a fireplace for decoration than for actual use.

"They must be French Resistance," Schneider said, glaring at the men. "Let's take them back to Unterbrink and see what they know."

"It's a long way back to camp, and we haven't got our pig yet,” Hauer said. “Let's just find out what they know and then tell the general."

Hauer looked the Frenchmen over doubtfully. Most of the Resistance fighters they had encountered were young men and women in their prime. Young enough to have fight and spirit. Young enough to be dangerous. These men were much older, even a bit gray and grizzled. One of them was quite tall and thin, while the other two were of average height and a little heavyset, breathing heavily from their hike in the woods. Resistance? Hauer didn't think so. By now most of the Resistance was well-armed thanks to the Allies. These men carried antiques.

"Who are you?" Hauer asked.

The tall one took a step forward, seemingly oblivious of Schneider’s machine pistol pointed at him. He shook a fist at Hauer. "We are French patriots!" he shouted. The man spoke German, which wasn't surprising, considering their proximity to the border and the years of occupation.

"What are you doing in these woods?"

"We came to observe your movements,” the man said boldly.

"So, you are with the Machi?" Hauer asked, using the slang term for the Resistance.

"No," the tall man said. "We are from the village."

Then it dawned on Hauer. "You are from Ville sur Moselle?"

“Yes."

“Then you may prove useful to us. How many Americans are in the village?"

The tall man shook his head. "I will tell you nothing! I can see from your rifle that you are one of the soldiers that has been shooting up the village. Why would I talk to you?”

"The Americans sent you to spy on us?"

"We are not spies. We are patriots,” the older man insisted.

"Communists," Hauer said, hissing the word. Most of the French Resistance fighters were communists who didn’t much like German fascism … or American democracy, for that matter. “Backstabbers in the night.”

"Take them back to Unterbrink,” Schneider suggested again. He seemed to be getting anxious about what to do with the Frenchmen. “He will want to talk to them.”

"Yes, you said that before."

"What else would we do with them?"

“Why bother Unterbrink? Let us get this over with and get on with our hunt. Shoot the fat one there and see if the others will talk."

Schneider glanced at him, gauging if he was serious about shooting the Frenchman out of hand. One look at Hauer’s face told him what he needed to know.

Hauer gave his comrade a nod, and the silence of the woods was shattered as Schneider hit the man with a burst from the MP-40. Hauer couldn't be sure, but in the silence that followed, he thought he heard a frightened cry in the bushes to their left. The Frenchman writhed on the ground in his death throes, and then lay still.

Hauer turned to the spokesman, who hadn’t so much as moved an inch. He was staring at his comrade’s body. ”Well?” he asked.

The tall man clamped his lips up tight. Hauer nodded at Schneider, who shot the other man. Smoke and the smell of gunpowder now hung heavily in the stillness of the clearing.

Hauer looked at the Frenchman. “How many Americans in the village?” he asked again.

“I will tell you nothing!” the surviving Frenchman blurted out, raising his arms and closing his eyes. His voice quavered with emotion. “You have killed my friends. Go ahead and shoot me. We die as patriots. Vive la France.”

Schneider fired the machine pistol and the tall villager crumpled to the forest floor.

Hauer turned to Schneider. "Cover me," he said. "I think there may be more of these bastards hiding over there."

Hauer walked toward the bushes where he had heard the noise, his own rifle at the ready. The scoped rifle wasn't a close-quarters weapon, but at this range all that he would need to do was point and shoot. He could have had Schneider hose down the bushes with the machine pistol, but he did not sense a threat.

Still, he approached the tangles of underbrush carefully. Every soldier had a sixth sense about these things, and he could sense that someone was down in those bushes, holding his breath. "Come out of there," he said in German, then ordered in French, "Viens."

He poked the rifle barrel among the branches and pushed them aside.

A boyish face was revealed. Then another. Hauer poked the rifle barrel at the two boys, and they popped up, their hands held high.

Behind him, Schneider laughed. "You have caught a couple of rabbits, Hauer!"

Hauer guessed that, like the men, these boys must have come from the village. He marched the boys into the narrow clearing. Seeing the dead men on the ground, the boys went pale. A choked sob escaped from one of the boys.

The taller of the two boys, who had a shock of dark hair, held a sharpened stick. It wasn't quite a spear, but more like a pointed walking stick. Hauer snatched it from the boy’s hand and tossed it away into the trees. The second boy, the smaller one, had a slingshot in his pocket. Hauer pulled it out, more curious than anything. He used to have one much like it when he was a boy.

Weaponless, the two boys stood there, staring at Hauer. The smaller boy began to sniffle and whimper.

Hauer kept his rifle pointed at the boys.

"Machi?" he asked.

The boys shook their heads vigorously.

Hauer sighed and said in German, "So tell me, how many Americans are down in the village?"

Both boys stared at him, uncomprehending. Leaning down to the boys' level and speaking in a low voice, Hauer tried again in his limited French. "Ami? Un, deux, trois… trente… cent?"

Hauer poked the muzzle of his rifle at the smaller boy.

The taller boy blurted out, "Vingt."

Hauer straightened up and nodded with satisfaction at the boys. They had just confirmed that there were twenty Americans defending the village. Hauer had no reason to think that the boy was lying. The number coincided with the troops he had seen when conducting sniper operations against the village the previous day. This was real intelligence that General Unterbrink could use, no matter that the information about the village’s defenses had come from these mere boys.

“You can shoot them now, Schneider,” Hauer said.

"Hauer?" Schneider asked, a note of disbelief in his voice. “What do you mean? They are boys.”

“Boys grow up to be soldiers,” he said, turning away. He started back toward the dead villagers. “You want to shoot them now or fight them later?”

For his part, Schneider tightened his grip on the machine pistol, but he hesitated before pulling the trigger. The boys stared at him, knowing what was coming next. Both of them started to cry and tremble.

Schneider saw that Hauer was several meters away, his attention focused on going through the pockets of the dead villagers. In a hoarse whisper, Schneider said urgently to the boys: “Run. Aller!” To emphasize his point, he jerked his chin at the forest beyond.

The boys understand at once and ran like the wind. Schneider waited until they had gotten a few meters away, and then fired into the ground behind them. They boys ran even faster and were at the point of being swallowed up by the underbrush.

Then a shot rang out, making Schneider flinch, and then another. Both boys fell into the tangled brush and did not move again.

When Schneider turned back, he saw that Hauer stood there with his rifle, working the bolt action.

“Those damn boys, they almost got away,” Schneider said. He couldn’t bring himself to admit to Hauer that he had let them escape. “They—”

Hauer straightened up. “You let them go,” he said. “I was watching, you know. You are too soft, Schneider. Maybe I ought to shoot you as well.”

Schneider kept his finger on the trigger of the machine pistol. “They were just boys, Hauer.”

“What’s done is done,” the sniper said, turning away. “We may as well go back. If there were any pigs, that shooting scared them off.”

After a moment, when he was sure Hauer wasn’t going to change his mind and shoot him, Schneider took his finger away from the trigger.

Hauer followed the trail back to their encampment, noticing that Schneider would not talk to him or make eye contact. To hell with him, Hauer thought. Some men just didn’t have the stomach to do what was necessary. That had never been Hauer’s problem.

Thanks to the boy, at least now they had an idea of how many American soldiers held the village. He knew from the parlay that he had taken part in with General Unterbrink that one of the defenders was a general. Another was a sniper. If old Unterbrink got his ammo, then with any luck those two would both be dead soon, along with the rest of the Amis. Unterbrink could then lead his force across the Moselle using the bridge in town and they would all be that much closer to Germany.

The only real disappointment, Hauer reflected, was that they hadn't gotten another pig.