Gods & Snipers: A World War II Thriller

Chapter Twenty-Six

Nearly breathless from his dash through the woods, Cole reached the outskirts of the village and then plunged through the backyard vegetable gardens and sheds into the single main street, where a sharp fight was taking place between the defenders and the Germans. The number of men engaged was small, but the fighting was as intense as any that Cole had seen since wading ashore four months before. These men had faced each other previously. The two generals had met face to face. This wasn't just war. This was personal.

He saw that the road into the village had become like a raging torrent of steel and fury as the Germans attacked. Cole ran out from the woods to join the defenders in the village. Nobody paid him any attention because all their focus was on the German attack. Cole could see German soldiers, bent low, advancing toward the village. Some fired from the hip at a run, while others paused to throw their Mauser rifles to their shoulders when a target presented itself. The muddy road precluded any dust, but the damp air stank of gunpowder and was filled with smoke, creating a fog through which the soldiers ran, appearing as shapeless dark silhouettes, their muzzle flashes bright against the gloom.

Would the defenders hold? Flip a coin, Cole thought. They were standing on the edge of a knife blade. This fight could go either way.

Not for the first time, Cole felt that they were lucky to have Tolliver in charge rather than that idiot, Captain Norton. Norton would have lost the fight quicker than a hound sucks an egg.

General Tolliver had made a good effort in erecting barricades at the edge of town, using horse carts and hand carts, dining room tables, and even an upholstered chair or two. In effect, he had turned the whole village into a fort. Several defenders hunkered behind the defenses, shooting back at the Germans. Mixed in with the American GIs were a few civilians. Like most men in rural France, they had a tendency to dress in battered old suit coats, and it was a strange sight to see the village men in these coats running to and fro with rifles and shotguns.

While the makeshift barricades provided some defense against small arms fire, they were no match for the vicious stream of lead from the German MG-42 mounted on the Kübelwagen. Splinters and stuffing from the furniture filled the air like snow. A couple of stick grenades hit the barricade and turned chairs and boxes into kindling. Something in the piled debris caught fire, and flames began to lick at the gloom, sending up a plume of greasy black smoke.

As the flames spread, the defenders began to fall back, running for the sturdy stone houses or to the fallback position that Tolliver had created as a second line of defense. Some didn't make it. As Cole watched, the MG-42 reached out and knocked down two men running away from the crumbling barricade. One wore an Army uniform, and the other man was a civilian. Both lay very still, their bodies twisted at odd angles on the cobblestones, killed instantly by the machine gun.

Cole spotted Vaccaro behind the fountain in the village square, busy with his scoped rifle. He ran for the fountain and slid in next to Vaccaro. Bullets smacked into the decorative stonework, scattering chips of granite, but they were a lot better off behind it than behind one of those makeshift barricades.

"It's about time you showed up, Hillbilly," Vaccaro said, looking up in surprise to see that Cole had returned. "Took you long enough."

"I would have been here sooner, but I ran into some Germans," Cole said.

"Did you find those kids and old Pierre?"

Cole just shook his head. He didn't want to explain about that right now.

“They’re dead? What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know about the boys, but as for the villagers, that German sniper happened to them, that’s what. Let’s just say that German sniper was an ornery son of a bitch," he said. “One of the villagers was still alive and he told me what happened.”

“He killed them?”

Cole nodded. “It was bad, I got to say.”

"But you took him out?"

"He ain't goin' to bother us no more."

"I'm glad to hear that, Hillbilly," Vaccaro replied in his Brooklyn accent, his voice too loud as always. "Truly I am. But there seem to be plenty more Germans where he came from."

"What do you say we even them odds?"

"Sounds like a plan to me."

Vaccaro didn’t seem to have any shortage of cartridges for the Springfield, so Cole filled his pockets.

Cole slid his Springfield over the rim of the fountain. No shortage of targets popped into view, but they came and went too quickly. Sighting them through the scope, with its limited field of view, wasn't the easiest thing in the world. The Germans' gray-blue uniforms blended easily into the fug hanging in the air, making them difficult to see.

He couldn't help but think of it as being a lot like shooting squirrels back home. Maybe it was the color of the German uniforms and the way that they blended into the smoke. Just try picking a squirrel out of a backdrop of gray winter woods. Wasn’t the easiest thing to do. A squirrel moved in herky-jerky motions, in fits and starts — a lot like the Germans scrambling for cover. With a squirrel, you had to wait for the movement to see him, which was just what Cole did now. He fixed his scope on the fog and waited for the figure of a German soldier to appear. One emerged, pausing to fire his rifle, and Cole lined up the reticule on him and fired. The enemy soldier doubled over and fell. Cole ran the bolt and waited for another target. To his left, he heard Vaccaro fire, then grunt with satisfaction. Yep, jest like shootin' squirrels.

Then again, squirrels didn't shoot back. A spray of bullets hit the fountain. The Germans must have spotted them. Cole ducked down, not a moment too soon. A few chips flew up and pattered back down on Cole's helmet as he sheltered below the rim. The twang sound of a ricochet as the slugs hit the stone sent shivers down Cole's spine.

"Son of a bitch!"

Cole glanced over at Vaccaro, who was bleeding from a cut on his cheek where he'd been hit either by a jagged splinter of stone or by a shattered bullet. Vaccaro's fingers searched his own face frantically, trying to determine the damage.

"Jest a scratch," Cole said to reassure him. He didn't add that Vaccaro had been an inch or so from losing an eye. "I seen you cut yourself worse shaving."

"Hurts like a mother fucker," Vaccaro said, grimacing. He wiped at the blood, then ran the bolt of his own Springfield. "Time to return the favor."

Moving in tandem, they both fired over the rim of the fountain. Cole wasn't sure that he'd actually hit anything that time, so he worked the bolt and waited for another target. More Germans slipped through the smoke and fog like ghosts, consternating him. Again, he realized that his rifle was not the ideal weapon for the conditions. He would be better off firing a machine gun into the gloom, in hopes of blindly hitting something. That was just what the other defenders were doing, pouring fire into the haze and smoke.

The German advance wasn't slowing any. Thinking back to how many Germans he had seen preparing to stage the attack, Cole supposed that the defenders were outnumbered two to one. The defensive position gave some advantages, but Cole still didn't like those odds.

He noticed that the fire that had started in the barricade was beginning to spread. Flames and thick smoke billowed from the fire.

"The general had us soak some of the furniture with kerosene," Vaccaro explained, nodding at the leaping flames. "The plan was to set it on fire when he had to fall back. He thought that it would help discourage the Jerries. I've got to say, I think he had the right idea."

Cole had to agree. He could see that as the Germans reached the barricade, which had been abandoned by the defenders, they were not having an easy time of it. The burning barricade prevented them from using it as an anchor point for their own attack. The flames were pushing them back, forcing them to try and find a way around it or push through a section that was not already on fire. This was precious time lost and also left them exposed to the defenders' guns.

Once again, he had to admire the general's strategy. Tolliver knew how to plan a defense.

Looking around, he spotted General Tolliver behind the fallback position, or second line of defense. More furniture and even mattresses had been piled to create a haphazard barrier. Cole could even see what looked like a few bathtubs in the mix. The barrier looked odd, but it did the job.

Tolliver held an M-1 Garand rifle in his left hand, which was an unusual weapon for a general, but this was an unusual situation. Tolliver was shouting orders, waving at the men to spread out along the line. The problem was that the defenders were spread too thin, even with the help from the villagers. Four or five bodies now lay sprawled in the street between the two lines of defense, testament to the Germans' deadly fire. Each casualty meant a soldier or villager who could not be replaced.

Several of the defenders were wounded, with minor injuries like Vaccaro's. The worst of the wounded had been carried to the makeshift aid center in Margot’s house, where they were being tended to by Margot and Frenchie. From time to time, Frenchie raced out of the house to the line of defense, carrying a fresh batch of bandages to patch someone's wounds.

"Dang fool is gonna get hisself killed," Cole muttered. In Cole’s mountain twang, the last word came out as kilt.

"I hate to tell you this, Cole, but we're all gonna get killed if this keeps up."

The City Boy had a point. Cole could see that the Germans weren't going to be stopped by the flaming barrier. Once they got through, the second line of defense couldn't hold for long after that.

Cole wasn't sure what the general's plan was, once the Germans pushed deeper into the town. Would they fight house to house? Would they be forced to make a last stand at the river in hopes of holding the bridge? Neither one sounded like a good option to Cole.

He concentrated on making each shot with the rifle count. He had fired off a couple more shots when he heard the shouting behind him.

Cole looked up to see Margot in the doorway of her stone house across the square, pointing excitedly toward the river. He didn't know what it meant, but it couldn't be good.

Frenchie came running over to the fountain, sliding behind like it he was going for a home run. "Margot says some of the villagers saw Germans on the bridge. The bastards are attacking from two directions!"

Cole looked, but the bridge itself was out of view. This was not good news, especially when Frenchie added that the German troops wore the black uniforms of the SS. If the defenders faced Germans coming at them from two direction, then they were caught between a rock and a hard place.

“I don’t like the sounds of that,” Vaccaro said.

“We had best tell Tolliver,” Cole said. “If the Germans hit us from the rear, then we’re all goners.”