Righteous Sniper

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Cole and Vaccaro went to confront their prisoner, having made sure that the Germans outside weren’t planning an immediate attack, considering that their meeting under a flag of truce had not gone well.

“What did the Germans want?” Lieutenant Rupert asked. “I heard shooting.”

“It turns out they wanted to negotiate,” Cole said. “It didn’t go well.”

The commotion had also roused Madame Jouret and her daughter, who had come down the stairs half-dressed. The sight of the thickset Madame Jouret in her dressing gown, her hair disheveled, was a sight that the young soldiers would gladly have been spared. However, the appearance of her daughter certainly drew the eyes of the young men. Her dressing gown had been worn thin with use, probably a necessity of wartime and reduced circumstances. The worn gown did little to hide the shape of her body and left little to the imagination.

Gallantly, Rupert moved to drape a blanket around the girl’s shoulders to keep off the morning chill in the room — and perhaps to protect her from the other male eyes.

Cole had to give him points for that act of thoughtfulness. Evidently the girl did as well, her sleepy face breaking into a shy, grateful smile.

Vaccaro started to explain what had just taken place during the parlay with the Krauts, keeping his eyes on their German prisoner.

“The funniest thing just happened,” Vaccaro said. “That Kraut officer asked for you by name. He wanted to invite you outside, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t for a picnic. What do you think, Cole?”

“Not unless the picnic involved Herr Barnstormer getting used for target practice.”

Vaccaro nodded. “Definitely not a picnic. In fact, that Kraut officer said something about you being a traitor. He wanted to make a trade. He said that he and the other Krauts would let us go if we handed you over to them.”

“Then they tried to shoot us,” Cole pointed out. “Don’t forget that part.”

Vaccaro nodded. “Oh yeah, they tried to shoot us when we declined his kind offer.”

“Never trust a Kraut,” Cole said.

Cole decided to let Vaccaro ask the questions, since he was the talkative one. Instead, he stood off to one side, looking through the gap in the shutters to keep one eye out for any move by the Krauts who had disappeared into the woods. He kept his other eye on Bauer with his rifle pointed in the German’s direction. He wanted to send a not-very-subtle message.

“We ain’t foolin’ around, so start talking,” he said.

Bauer raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Talking?”

Vaccaro was now focused on Bauer. “You know what? Cole and I are real curious. How the hell would some Krauts out here in the middle of the damn forest know who you were and that you happened to be in this château?”

From his position by the window, Cole commented, “It just gets more tangled than a bag of snakes, don’t it?”

Vaccaro looked meaningfully at the two ladies of the house. “Of course, it’s just possible that not everyone in this room is who they claim to be. Just maybe some people here are friendlier toward the Germans than they pretend to be.”

The girl understood what Vaccaro was hinting at. Her eyes widened. She looked at her mother and translated. The mother then launched into an indignant rant that implied she would never have anything to do with the Germans. She began shaking her finger angrily at Bauer, as if it was all his fault.

Vaccaro held up his hands like a referee. “All right, all right. You know we had to ask. But now that that’s out of the way, I think we can focus on one particular person in this room.”

He looked meaningfully at Bauer. “We’re waiting.”

“Did this officer have a name?” Bauer asked.

“Messerschmitt, or something like that.”

“Ah. You have met Hauptmann Messner.”

“Friend of yours?”

Instead of answering directly, Bauer replied, “You should give me up. Perhaps it is not too late, despite them shooting at you. I will talk to them. Maybe they will agree to leave you alone.”

“Herr Barnstormer, I hate to tell you this, but the whole reason we’re out here is because of you,” Cole said. “We ain’t giving you up. You’re our prisoner, and our orders are to get you to headquarters, which is just what we’re gonna do. Hell, I’d just as soon shoot you myself first than turn you over to your own side.”

Bauer’s amused smile had returned, despite the fact that Cole had just threatened him. “You always seem so eager to shoot people.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Some days I shoot two or three people before breakfast. Then again, maybe I’m just eager to shoot you. Don’t worry, I’d make it quick compared to your friends out there. You won’t feel a thing, I can promise you. I’ve had some practice shooting Krauts like you.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” A look of sadness rather than fear crossed Bauer’s face.

“So what does Messner want with you?” Cole asked.

“He believes that I am a traitor for surrendering my unit outside Bastogne. He would have preferred that we fight to the last man.”

“I take it that he didn’t surrender.”

“No, he and a handful of others managed to escape. I would imagine those men are with him now.”

“How many?”

“Possibly just two or three men if we are lucky. Perhaps more if we are not.”

“They have a sniper,” Cole said. “He damn near took my head off. He’d pick us off if we tried to get away from the château right now.”

“A sniper? That must be Obergefreiter Dietzel. He is a Jaeger. This is what you would call a scout and sniper.”

“Is he any good?”

“One of the best.”

“I was afraid you might say that.”

Lieutenant Rupert spoke up. “Our best course of action may be to wait until dark and then slip away. We’ll be safe enough here. This place is practically a fortress.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” Vaccaro said, then added, “Sir.”

The plan sounded easy enough. Of course, they would have to keep a lookout for any funny business that Hauptmann Messner and his men tried, but they had food, a warm fireplace, and the company of young Mademoiselle Jouret to help them pass the day.

“I say we sit by the fire and let those Krauts shiver their keisters off out in the woods. Lieutenant?”

“I agree.” The confidence of the two GIs was evidently contagious, because Rupert smiled. “Perhaps we can rustle up a spot of breakfast and a pot of tea.”

Vaccaro and Cole exchanged a look. They both thought tea tasted like boiled socks. “If it’s all the same, we’d rather have coffee, Lieutenant.”

Bauer didn’t have anything to say, not that anyone had asked him. He seemed lost in thought, and his hands remained tied.

It sounded like a good plan. They would try to wait out the Germans.

But the Germans had other ideas. Hauptmann Messner did not plan to pass the day quietly. He was disappointed that the Americans had not seen reason by turning Bauer over to them.

He might even have let them live. Now that wasn’t going to happen. If they were so determined to protect their prisoner, then they could die doing it.

“You missed that American, Dietzel,” the Hauptmann complained, referring to the fact that the Jaeger’s bullet had struck the door instead of the soldier.

“He moved,” Dietzel said. He shrugged nonchalantly. “Do not worry. I will not miss again.”

“See that you don’t.”

Climbing aboard the Kübelwagen, Messner turned the machine gun in the direction of the château and fired a short burst. Bullets hammered the heavy front door and tore chunks out of the château’s stone walls. He focused on the windows and fired another short burst, watching with satisfaction as bullets splintered the shutters. Bits of stone and wood rained down and scattered across the snow.

The Americans had made a mistake if they thought they were going to have an easy time of it.

Brock was still watching the house, figuring out what to do next, when he heard a machine gun open fire.

“Get down,” he hissed, although Boot and Vern were already pressed into the snow.

“Who’s doing the shooting?” Vern whispered.

“Got to be Krauts. Who the hell else would be out here?”

No bullets pierced the air over their heads, so they hadn’t been seen. “If they’re not shooting at us, then who the hell are they shooting at?”

“Let’s find out,” Brock said.

He and the others crept forward through the trees, toward the sound of the firing. Soon he spotted a German Kübelwagen. It was Krauts, all right. The Germans appeared to be firing at the château.

Maybe the smart thing to do would have been to crawl way, but that wasn’t in Brock’s nature. Instead, he opened fire. Taken by surprise, the Germans quickly recovered and turned their guns in the direction of the Americans. The Krauts knew their business, that was for sure. Their machine gun chewed up the trees, sending bits of bark flying.

“Take cover!” Brock cried, and he and the two others threw themselves to the snow-covered forest floor.

Brock got down as low as he could, willing himself to sink into the snow. A stray bullet whined inches from his ear, making his spine crawl. He was afraid to move a muscle for fear of making himself even more of a target. He was dimly aware of snow sifting through a gap between his coat and trousers, icy against his belly, as if the winter cold was gnawing at his bare skin.

Frozen in place, he wondered what to do next.

Brock had been trained to fight Krauts, however and wherever he saw them, but he realized that now wasn’t the time or the place for fighting. Besides, they were here to get one particular Kraut — who all signs indicated was in the nearby château.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he whispered to Vern and Boot, forcing himself to move. His coat had pulled up so that the snow worked its way against his skin, but the cold was better than a bullet.

They belly-crawled through the forest, away from the sound of the German guns.

Hunkered down in the château, Cole and the others heard gunfire coming from a different location from where they had last seen the Germans. Hidden in the trees, the Germans continued shooting, seeming to spray bullets in every direction as they defended themselves. For the moment, their fire was not directed at the château, but at wherever the gunfire in the woods was coming from.

“Uh-oh,” Cole said. “Sounds like the applecart done been upset.”

“Must be the cavalry,” Vaccaro said. “Hopefully it’s our guys out there.”

Vaccaro was half-right. There were Americans out there, but they sure as hell weren’t the cavalry.

The brief firefight in the forest ended and the Germans resumed firing at the château.

As Brock and his men retreated, putting more trees between themselves and the enemy, he saw that the Germans had returned their attention to the château, pouring fire at it. By now, there were a few answering shots from the château.

Not to be outdone, Brock opened fire briefly on the château, ordering his men to do the same. If the German prisoner was in that house, he wanted a piece of him.

Inside the château, Cole finally used the muzzle of his rifle to crack a pane of glass, enabling him to shoot through a gap in the heavy wooden shutters. The old glass had wavy distortions and was so brittle from the cold that it shattered readily into jagged shards that pattered to the drifted snow around the château’s foundation.

Behind him, Madame Jouret made a tsk sound of dismay at the broken glass, but Cole ignored her. He had bigger fish to fry. Besides, several German bullets had already blown out the upstairs windows.

Through the rifle scope, he scanned the woods, hoping for a German target to present itself. But the Krauts were staying out of sight.

With his focus on where he thought the Germans were taking cover, he was caught by surprise when several shots peppered the wooden shutter.

Clearly that rifle fire was coming from the direction of what he assumed was the American side of the firefight that had taken place in the woods.

Though the wooden shutters of the old château were heavy enough, they were really no match for .30–06 rounds. Bits and pieces of wood went flying.

Cole ducked.

“Hey, knock it off!” he shouted, hoping that his voice carried on the cold air. “Y’all are shootin’ at the wrong folks!”

To his relief, no more bullets hit the château. Friendly fire wasn’t unheard of in the confusion of war. The firing in the woods where the Germans were hidden also came to a halt, bringing a tense silence to the morning.

Keeping low, Cole slid his rifle into place and waited for a target.

When he heard the shout from the château, Brock ordered his men to stop firing.

Good to know we got their attention.

Brock decided to take a chance and see if the escort detail would be willing to hand over their German prisoner, or maybe exchange him for help fighting the Germans in the woods. If nothing else, they had a common enemy.

Deciding that it was worth a try, he slowly stood up, certain that he was concealed from the Germans somewhere on his flank, but visible to the occupants of the château. He kept plenty of thick trees between himself and the German position.

After showing himself, he shouted to get the attention of the troops holed up inside the massive stone house.

“Anybody home?”

After hearing the shout, Cole watched as a lone GI appeared at the edge of the woods, keeping several large trees between himself and the German position. Cole studied him through the scope, thinking that something about the man looked familiar, and not in a good way, but he couldn’t place his finger on it. What the hell did this guy want, and why had he been shooting at the house?

“Who the hell are you?” Cole hollered.

“If you’ve still got that German prisoner in there with you, send him out,” the GI shouted.

Cole was taken aback. What was it about Bauer? Everybody wanted a piece of him. How did that GI know anything about their German prisoner, anyhow?

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember me? I remember you, hillbilly. The name’s Brock. Corporal Brock. All we want is your prisoner. Send him out. There’s no need for us to shoot at each other. We’re on the same side, after all.”

Then it dawned on Cole where he had seen the GI before. He realized that he was looking at the same man who had confronted him in Bastogne over Bauer.

He took a deep breath and shouted back, “Hell no! That ain’t how it works.”

“It’s your funeral, hillbilly.”

Brock ducked behind the tree, but not before firing a few shots at the house. Bullets pinged off the side of the château; stone chips and more bits of wood flew. Cole had no choice but to duck. Being shot at by his own side was a first.

Over his shoulder, Vaccaro wanted to know what was going on. “What the hell is happening out there? They’re shooting at us. Are they our guys or not?”

“Yes and no,” Cole said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“They want us to turn Herr Barnstormer over to them.”

“What did you say?”

“That’s why they’re shootin’ at us.”

Vaccaro turned to look at Bauer. “You sure are popular.”

Cole shook his head. He couldn’t believe it, but both the Germans and the Americans wanted their prisoner.

As much as he disliked Bauer, Cole didn’t plan on giving him up to anybody. Orders were orders.

If Cole was completely honest with himself, it also came down to the fact that he didn’t like being told what to do. Not by some vigilantes from his own side, and definitely not by a bunch of Krauts.

Meanwhile, the shooting had started up again. Bullets peppered the château from two different directions, apparently from both the German and American forces.

They were stuck in the middle, attacked from two different directions, by two different groups.

Cole had never encountered anything like this yet, but it was a familiar story. Three dogs, one bone.

“Well now, don’t this beat all,” he muttered.