Righteous Sniper

CHAPTER TWENTY

“We’ll bed down here for the night,” Cole announced. He glanced at Rupert. “That is, if it’s all right with you, Lieutenant.”

“Carry on,” Rupert said.

“All right, then,” Cole said. “We’ll keep the fire going, spread out some blankets. I’ll take first watch tonight.”

Vaccaro groaned. “C’mon, Cole. We’re snug as a bug in a rug in this place. We don’t really need to have guard duty.”

“You never know who’s out there,” Cole said with finality.

Lieutenant Rupert weighed in, backing Cole up. “I agree with Private Cole,” he said. “Better safe than sorry. For all we know, these woods could be crawling with Germans.”

The truth was that Cole felt uneasy in these surroundings. It wasn’t the empty old château that put him on edge, but the trappings of wealth. Although the château had seen better days and had an air of abandonment, everything from the soaring ceilings to the antique carved-wood furniture hinted at an opulence that was completely foreign to the likes of someone like Cole.

Vaccaro took pots from the kitchen and used them to heat up their rations, plus brew a pot of hot coffee. They were so tired that the coffee wouldn’t keep anyone awake, but it would warm their bones.

As the food was dished out, Bauer lifted his still-bound hands toward Cole and raised his eyebrows.

“All right, but don’t even think about trying anything,” Cole said. He unsheathed his bowie knife and cut the cords binding Bauer’s wrists. The German sighed with relief and massaged his wrists, into which the tight cords had cut a pattern of red lines.

“Thank you,” he said.

Cole grunted as Vaccaro handed their prisoner a plate and a chipped mug of black coffee.

Bauer seemed right at home in this château. It was a realization that rankled Cole. He sat down near the German to keep an eye on him.

“I suppose you’ll want us to put out a tablecloth for you and maybe a silver spoon,” Cole said.

Bauer had tucked into the food with surprising vigor, showing how hungry he was. He took a long drink of coffee. “Mmm, American coffee. Not bad.” Once he had eaten his fill, he returned his attention to Cole. “You seem to have the wrong impression of me, Private Cole. I do know about manor houses, but not because I lived in one.

“You see, my father’s lungs were damaged by mustard gas during the Great War. The only work he could get was on the estate of an old baron whose son had been my father’s commanding officer. His son did not survive the war, but the baron had a soft spot for army men that had served with his son. He created jobs for three men who had been injured in the war, doing what he could for them, though by then he could scarcely afford it with the inflation that Germany went through. I suppose he saw it as his duty. Our economy was ruined by the war. Even the rich suffered.

“My mother worked in his kitchen. When I was old enough, I helped my father or ran small errands for the baron. So you see, that is how I know about châteaus, from being the hired help.”

“I didn’t think that errand boys could become German officers,” Cole replied.

Bauer smiled ruefully. “The Nazi Party promotes the equality of all good Germans, so that was a path upward, at least to a point. But they say that even Hitler gets stars in his eyes when he’s around the old aristocracy.”

“Too bad for you that you ain’t the baron’s kin.”

“It just so happens that I was able to pass myself off as upper class due to a misunderstanding. There was some confusion about my connection with the baron. When people began introducing me as the baron’s nephew, I did not correct them. That was enough to get me in the door, you see.”

“You lied.”

“Does a man ever lie about how much money he has to get a woman into bed? Does a fisherman use a lure to catch a fish? You might understand how an ambitious young man would not correct the mistaken assumption that he comes from the aristocracy to hide the fact that he was nothing more than an errand boy.”

“If you say so.” Cole understood what the German was saying about the fact that we might not always tell the truth, at least not exactly, when it was to our advantage, but he wasn’t about to admit it.

“Everyone in Germany lies. It is how we have reached this point. We lie about where all the Jews have gone. We tell ourselves lies that we can still win the war. Der Führer is the biggest liar of them all.”

“What about the Jews?” Cole asked with genuine curiosity. There were plenty of dark rumors about the fate of Europe’s Jewish population. However, at this point in the war, the full extent of Nazi Germany’s “Final Solution” still wasn’t known.

Bauer just shook his head without answering Cole’s question. “What I am saying is that there have been too many lies already.”

“All right, now we’re getting somewhere. You’re finally telling the truth. How will I know that you’re not lying to me in the future?”

Bauer sighed. “You won’t, at least not if it means — how do you Americans say it? — saving my bacon. But at least you have been warned.”

“Fair enough. Now answer me another question, Herr Barnstormer. Why did you surrender?”

“I was trying to save my men. The war is coming to an end. They have done enough.” Bauer hesitated before adding, “Also, I surrendered because I am tired of the pointless loss of life. Isn’t that reason enough?”

“Loss of life, huh? What about those American boys you murdered?”

Bauer shook his head. “My subordinate, Messner, took it upon himself to shoot the prisoners. He is a hardliner who would have been better off in the ranks of the SS. Of course, he was under my command, so the responsibility for his actions falls on me, but I did not condone it.”

“Passing the buck, huh?”

“I cannot change what happened. That does not mean I am not sorry for it. Prisoners should be treated with respect.”

“Easy to say when you’re the prisoner.”

“Well, there is that.” Bauer smiled.

At least the Kraut bastard has a sense of humor, Cole thought.

With their meal finished, the men took time to relax before turning in. The only light came from the fireplace and the two candles that Cole had lit — despite the shutters covering the windows, more light than that might be tempting fate, considering that there could be enemy patrols in the woods or even Luftwaffe fighters passing overhead. No point in drawing curiosity to themselves unnecessarily. The warmth from the leaping flames in the fireplace had dispelled the cold and damp so that the room was actually pleasant. In fact, these were the most comfortable surroundings that he and Vaccaro had experienced in days, if not weeks.

Rupert pulled a chair close to the fireplace to take advantage of the warmth and light, then took out a small book and began reading it. Clearly he was instantly engaged by the words on the page. Watching him, Cole realized how envious he was of the ability people had to get lost in a book — pulled out of themselves for a while. To someone without that ability, it seemed like an incredible gift. He vowed that someday, after the war, he would put his pride aside and find someone to teach him how to read.

Vaccaro lounged on a sofa and smoked a cigarette. That city boy always preferred the sound of his own voice to anyone else’s, much less words on a page, but for now he seemed content to smoke and contemplate.

The German was doing the same. Cole debated tying him back up — he didn’t want that Kraut bastard sneaking into the kitchen, finding a knife, and cutting all their throats in the night. But for now he thought it was safe enough to give the man his freedom.

Cole had given up cigarettes because they cut his wind. Instead of smoking, he began cleaning his sniper rifle, although it had not seen much use that day. Still, the winter weather and dampness took their toll. He field-stripped the rifle and ran an oily patch through the bore, noting with satisfaction that it came out clean. He then gave the bolt and action, plus the exterior surfaces of the rifle, a once-over with an oily rag to ward off any rust.

Maybe guns are what I have instead of books, he thought.

Looking up, he noticed the German watching him.

“You look as if you have cleaned that rifle many times,” Bauer remarked.

“You don’t know the half of it, Herr Barnstormer,” Vaccaro said, picking up on Cole’s nickname for the German. “Cole here has got the cleanest rifle in the whole damn army this side of boot camp.”

“The cleanest rifle? Of that I have no doubt,” Bauer said. “It is a good soldier who takes proper care of his weapon.”

Cole ignored them. He swung the barrel toward the firelight and peered through it, admiring the elegant twists of the rifling. The dancing flames reflected on the bright metal. He thought about the power those simple twists gave a rifle. Looking through the barrel was like gazing into a whirlpool — or a tornado.

“Cole is also the best shot in the whole damn army,” Vaccaro said, bragging now. “He’s not just a pretty face.”

“How many Germans have you shot with that rifle?” Bauer asked matter-of-factly.

“He stopped counting at twenty, or was it thirty? I don’t remember exactly,” Vaccaro said. “But it’s a lot more than that.”

“Is that right? You stopped counting? But why? German snipers are expected to report their kills,” Bauer said.

Finally, Cole spoke up. “It ain’t a game,” he said. “There ain’t no score. If I shoot some Kraut bastard before he shoots me, I reckon that’s good enough.”

“So many,” Bauer said. The shadows cast on his face by the firelight made him appear suddenly older, and sad. “So many dead.”

Cole reassembled his rifle, satisfied that it was clean. In the morning, he would put it to work again. He leaned it against a sofa, within easy reach.

He now felt relaxed and not a little sleepy. Since he had volunteered himself to keep the first watch, he looked over toward Rupert, who was closest to the fireplace, and asked, “Lieutenant, you got any coffee left in that pot?”

Rupert put down his book and reached over to give the coffeepot a shake. He had just opened his mouth to respond, but before any words came out, they all heard a distinct creak.

It sounded like there was somebody upstairs.

They all held their breath for the span of several heartbeats.

“Did you hear that?” Vaccaro whispered.

“Yeah, we heard it,” Cole replied, reaching for the rifle that he had just put down.

“Steady on,” Lieutenant Rupert said quietly. “Old houses make noises in the night. They settle and whatnot. Heating and contracting and all that.”

“Perhaps it is a ghost,” Bauer suggested, eyebrows raised, clearly amused that the others were so unnerved.

After a minute went by without another sound, Vaccaro said, “I guess it’s nothin’. Like the lieutenant said, it’s an old house.”

They had all just begun to relax when the sound came again, this time in a different spot.

Creak. Crack.

Maybe Rupert was right and old houses made noise, but this noise reminded Cole of nothing so much as a stealthy footstep.

“Dammit, city boy. I thought you and the lieutenant checked upstairs,” Cole said.

“We did check upstairs,” Vaccaro said. “There wasn’t nobody nohow.”

“There is an attic,” Lieutenant Rupert said, looking as white as a sheet. Out of all of them, Bauer’s comment about ghosts had seemed to unnerve him. “We didn’t go into it.”

“Why the hell not? Sir.”

“We searched upstairs and there was nothing,” he said, suddenly sounding like a flustered schoolboy who was explaining his actions to an irate headmaster. “It seemed pointless to search the attic as well. I stuck my head up the attic stairs, and I’m pretty sure there’s nothing up there but dusty furniture.”

“Well, we’re sure as hell gonna go take a look in the attic right now,” Cole announced.

Vaccaro and Rupert rounded up their weapons. Cole looked over at their prisoner, who was still lounging in an armchair, having made no effort to stir himself.

“You too, Herr Barnstormer.”

“The Geneva Convention states that I do not have to exorcise ghosts.”

“Very funny. But I ain’t leavin’ you here alone, not without tying you up again, and I ain’t got time for that. You’re coming with us.”

Reluctantly, the German did as he was told and joined them as they headed for the stairs.

Without electricity, the house was pitch black away from the firelit room. They navigated by flashlights, which cast odd, elongated shadows on the walls. Cole went up the stairs first, rifle at the ready, with Bauer behind him. Then came Lieutenant Rupert, with Vaccaro bringing up the rear.

“Search the bedrooms again,” Cole whispered.

They went from room to room, cautiously at first, but then with more confidence as it became clear that nobody was there. Then again, there was no doubt that they had heard those creaking noises that had sounded an awful lot like footsteps.

“Nobody here, just like I said,” Vaccaro said with a certain amount of righteous smugness. “Must just be the house settling.”

“But you didn’t go in the attic,” Cole pointed out. “That’s where we’re headed next.”

He nodded at the door in the hallway that led to the attic. He then nodded at Vaccaro, indicating that he should open it. Cole stood to one side and put his rifle to his shoulder, ready for anything.

The door creaked open. The steps were steeper here, bare wood, more utilitarian. He could understand why Rupert had decided that searching the attic wasn’t worth it.

Then again, they had heard something.

“Follow me and hold the flashlight, Lieutenant,” he whispered. “Vaccaro, you stay here with Herr Barnstormer.”

Cole let the muzzle lead the way up the steep attic stairs, the nervous Lieutenant Rupert so close that he was practically stepping on Cole’s heels.

One didn’t grow up in the mountains without developing a healthy respect for haints and ghosts — there were all sorts of things that couldn’t be explained in this world. Maybe the house really was haunted by the ghost of old Baron So-and-So or whoever had lived here. Maybe⁠—

Something moved at the corner of his vision.

He swung his rifle in that direction just as the flashlight beam got there.

Two faces looked back at him. They were pale, all right, but they weren’t spectral.

And they were female.

“Hold it!” he shouted.

Immediately, the older of the two women began spouting angry French at him. He could recognize the language, if not the meaning. She did not seem frightened, but indignant.

She also held an ancient double-barreled shotgun, which she pointed meaningfully in Cole’s direction.

“No fusil!” he shouted at her.

This was about the limits of his French, but the woman seemed to understand. She pointed the shotgun elsewhere, but didn’t let go of it.

The pair had been hiding behind furniture. There was an abundance of it up here, much of it dusty, just as Lieutenant Rupert had predicted. He could also see bedding on the floor, a jug of water, and what appeared to be an old-fashioned chamber pot. Clearly, the two women were sheltering up here.

Cole waggled the rifle at them, indicating that they should come closer. Rupert played the flashlight over their faces, lingering a bit longer on the face of the younger woman.

Cole pegged them instantly as mother and daughter. The resemblance was clear. The mother was probably in her late forties or early fifties, tall and portly, but regal as a middle-aged Queen Victoria. The daughter was in her late teens or maybe early twenties, gently curved in all the places where her mother was rounded. Even in the harsh battery-powered light in the dusty attic, her good looks drew the attention of the men. She wasn’t pin-up pretty but something more elegant. Oddly, her face was covered in dark smudges, as if it had been rubbed with soot, but that was not enough to hide her obvious attractiveness.

Cole decided that these were not the household servants. No, these were the ladies of the manor.

The mother was still cackling French like an angry hen. Cole had no idea what she was saying and didn’t much care. Again, he waggled the muzzle at them, indicating that they should go downstairs.

When they still didn’t move, Lieutenant Rupert surprised everyone by making the request in French. It sounded halting to Cole’s ears, but apparently it was understandable to the two women.

They got the message and started for the stairs. As the mother went past, Cole grabbed the shotgun out of her hands.

This got her started on a fresh tirade. It was clear that having been forced to come out of the shadows, the woman of the house was now as riled as an angry hen by the intruders in her home.

I reckon I would’ve preferred a ghost, Cole decided.