Righteous Sniper

CHAPTER SEVEN

They didn’t have to wait much longer for the Germans to appear. The guttural sound of straining engines announced the approaching panzers and the arrival of the German advance. However, the Germans did not immediately cross the field as expected.

It was as if they smelled the trap that had been set for them.

The panzers stayed within cover of the trees on the opposite side, their engines growling like a pack of mechanical wolves preparing for the hunt. It was clear that the enemy had spotted the US troops dug in on the hillside. They were likely trying to determine the strength of the unit opposing them.

“What the hell are they waiting for?” Vaccaro wondered.

“The Krauts are always smarter than we give them credit for,” Cole replied. “They’re not gonna rush out into the open.”

He had the telescopic sight to his eye, hoping that a target would present itself.

For now, the German troops kept to the cover of the trees and tanks. None of the tanks had its hatch open. These tanks meant business.

Vaccaro seemed content to let Cole do the shooting for now. “See anything?”

“They’re keeping to the trees,” he said. “If there’s infantry with ’em, I can’t see them. Ain’t nothin’ to shoot at yet.”

Like the Americans, the Germans also had a few tricks up their sleeves. Instead of crossing the field, the panzers opened fire from the edge of the forest opposite the US position. Shells from the German guns began pummeling the US line. Due to the angle of the slope, some of the high-explosive rounds hit the frozen ground and ricocheted to explode in the forest behind the men. Even above the detonation of the rounds, they could hear the cracking and splitting of the wood.

Glad we ain’t in them trees, Cole thought.

Plenty of shells found their target. The German gunners had good aim and at this relatively close range were able to zero in on individual foxholes. Shells hit, exploding with such force that whatever had been in that foxhole was obliterated. Clods of earth — and worse — came raining down. Every man on that slope wished he had dug his foxhole deeper. They gripped their helmets tight and pressed their faces into the cold ground, willing themselves to sink deeper. Dirt clogged their nostrils and got into their mouths, but nobody cared. Meanwhile, shrapnel whistled overhead.

Every man had already been reminded not to fasten the strap of his helmet. This was because the concussive force of an explosive shell could get cupped inside a helmet like a pail scooping up water. The sheer force of it could take a man’s head clean off. Cole had seen it happen to more than one greenbean. With the strap left undone, the blast might blow the helmet off but leave his head attached to his shoulders.

More shells struck as the bombardment by the panzers continued. So far their own three tanks hidden nearby had held their fire.

The jeep that had carried Captain Brown out from Bastogne was parked within view near the boundary with the woods. A shell hit the jeep, and it was hurled skyward before its carcass went rolling away, fire pouring from the wreckage. Fortunately, there was nobody aboard, the driver having taken shelter in a foxhole.

“Holy hell!” the captain exclaimed, watching his ride reduced to a burning hulk.

After several minutes, the Germans seemed to determine that they had done enough to soften up the US defenses. The firing stopped, and the panzers came roaring out from the shelter of the trees on the far side of the field.

Cole lifted his head up enough to determine that there were eight panzers. One of them was bigger than the rest — a Tiger tank. No wonder the world had felt like it was coming to an end.

The panzers were not alone. As they churned across the snowy field, lines of infantry emerged. Cole was shocked at the sheer number of enemy troops. Most of the time in combat, he’d seen only small squads of Germans. There must have been close to a hundred soldiers advancing.

Team SNAFU didn’t have nearly that many men, and they had already taken a beating from those panzers. The tanks fired more shots as they advanced across the field.

Still, there was no response from the American side. No artillery shells fell, and the Shermans remained silent, hidden among the trees.

“Hold your fire!” Lieutenant Mulholland shouted, loud enough for them to hear over the ringing in their ears.

Cole did as he was told, although he had already picked out a target. Some damn fool tank commander had finally stuck his head out of the hatch. Cole put his crosshairs on the Kraut and waited for the lieutenant’s command.

He wasn’t the only one. Every rifle and every machine gun were now trained on the Germans.

“Let them get closer,” they heard the captain shout in the distance. “Open up on them at four hundred yards.”

To Cole that seemed foolishly close. The panzers would quickly close that distance and push them off the hill. He kept his rifle on the target, itching to pull the trigger.

“Fire!”

His sights still lined up on the panzer, Cole squeezed off a round and watched with satisfaction as the tank commander slumped over.

He worked the bolt, searching for another target.

All around him, the roar of rifles and machine-gun fire filled his ears.

It was a slaughter. The first burst of fire decimated the German infantry. Caught out in the open field, they had no cover as the hail of bullets clawed at them. The snow began to turn red with German blood.

Then the air itself seemed to shatter as the artillery in Bastogne opened fire, the shells screaming overhead and landing amid the line of panzers. Geysers of earth soared skyward.

The trio of tanks hidden in the woods opened fire as well, targeting their counterparts. Soon at least half the enemy tanks were ablaze. A few members of the tank crews ran from the burning tanks, but for them it was too late. They were on fire, human torches that danced macabrely before collapsing in the field. Watching them, Cole felt a little sick.

The remaining tanks retreated, either reversing or making lumbering turns back toward the cover offered by the trees. Often they ran over their own dead or wounded in the process. Fire from Cobra King chased the enemy tanks and troops the whole way back across the field. As the Germans disappeared into the trees, a few final shells rained down into the forest, shattering the trees and raking the men beneath with deadly splinters.

“Cease fire!” Mulholland shouted.

It turned out that Captain Brown wasn’t content with simply holding the hill and turning back the Germans. He gave the order to advance and follow the enemy into the trees, intending to annihilate them completely.

Cobra King and the other tanks roared out from among the trees, leading the counterattack.

Cole heard the order and thought, Holy hell. If the Germans rallied in those trees, they could easily return the favor if they opened fire on the advancing Americans.

Cole had no choice but to crawl out of the foxhole and start down the hill, Vaccaro and the kid right behind him. They passed the burning carcass of a panzer. Even as a wrecked hulk, it was hard not to be impressed with the sheer size of that behemoth. The burned bodies of the tank crew lay smoldering in the snow, filling the air with the sickly-sweet smell of burned flesh.

He hurried past, running for the trees, hoping against hope that the Germans didn’t wise up and start shooting.

Bauer watched in disbelief as the German troops were cut to pieces.

Not just any German troops, but his troops.

Smashed and broken.

It had seemed like such a small thing to push the Americans off the hill — so far, the disorganized US troops they had encountered in the Ardennes Forest had put up little fight. He recalled that the prisoners they had taken — the same prisoners that Messner killed — had surrendered without so much as a shot fired. These Americans on the hillside had been far different. They had been dug in and equipped with machine guns. Bauer’s men and the other troops hadn’t stood a chance.

Then the world had seemed to end when the artillery shells rained down and the tanks added their deadly fire to the mix. Where had those tanks come from, anyhow? The Americans weren’t supposed to have tanks yet.

He could see that to try to advance any farther would be suicide. He ordered the men around him to retreat.

“Back to the woods!” he shouted.

Nearby, Messner seemed angry about the order, scowling, but even he wasn’t so much of a fool that he wanted to run right toward the machine guns. It was a killing field like something that Bauer had heard described from the Great War. He kept low as tracer fire stitched the air overhead.

Once they were back in the trees, even that proved to be no mercy as the American artillery found them there. Men dove to the ground, scratching at the snow in a futile attempt to dig themselves deeper. Mercifully, the artillery stopped firing.

“Rally to me,” he shouted, trying to organize the tattered troops. He pushed a soldier toward a man who struggled through the snow, dragging a bloody leg. “You there, help that wounded man.”

Bauer had experienced doubts previously about the folly of Operation Watch on the Rhine, as the German offensive was called. What had started out as a promising venture had quickly bogged down due to the bitter weather and the poor supply chain. The Americans had staked their claim on Bastogne, and they meant to keep it, as evidenced by that fierce defense of the hillside overlooking the road into the town.

He felt a sudden sense of hopelessness and the utter futility of it all seemed to wash over him like a storm wave. He looked around at the men. Most wore winter-white camouflage, but so many were wounded now that almost every smock was flecked with blood. Advancing yet again into that killing field, or even trying to go around it, now seemed impossible.

The panzers that had accompanied them had almost all been destroyed in the shelling. Even one of the tanks that had made it out of the field was smoking badly — some sort of engine malfunction — and it had to be abandoned. The tank crew got out and joined the infantry, looking dazed and lost outside the confines of their steel beast.

The sight of these torn and bloody men broke his heart. They were all good men who had done their duty to the fatherland. The best he could hope for was to help as many of his men survive as possible. If he could just get them back the way they had come, dodging the enemy, they might be able to reach the relative safety of the German border.

But his plan fell apart as quickly as it had formed.

“Herr Obersturmbannführer, they are crossing the field!”

“What?”

“The Americans are coming after us.”

Bauer had to see for himself and ran to the edge of the forest. Sure enough, the line of US infantry was advancing. Even three tanks had appeared and were heading for the trees where the Germans sheltered.

It was fight or flight.

With so many wounded and exhausted men, fleeing was out of the question. They would have to turn and fight.

The order was forming on his lips when Bauer realized that he had a third choice.

He drew his knife, the beautiful blade decorated with the swastika and eagle on the hilt, and used it to cut a strip from his white winter camouflage smock. He found a suitable stick and knotted the white strip to one end.

Messner came running up to him.

“Herr Obersturmbannführer, what are you doing?” asked Messner, looking horrified. As usual, he was accompanied by Gettinger and Dietzel, who had managed to survive the bloodbath.

“I am going to surrender and save as many of the men as possible,” Bauer said. He added bitterly, “With any luck, they won’t shoot us all, like you did to those American prisoners.”

“But sir, you cannot surrender!” Messner protested.

“I can and I will. It is our best option,” Bauer said matter-of-factly.

“Herr Obersturmbannführer, I forbid you from doing this!”

“You forbid me?” Bauer wondered. He felt anger, then consternation. “May I remind you that I am the commanding officer here.”

But Messner was so furious that spit flew from his mouth as he shouted, “This is a betrayal of the Reich and of the Führer himself!”

Bauer thought, It is the Führer who has betrayed us.

Many of the men nearby were listening to the exchange, some of the wounded slumped in the snow, so Bauer stopped short of speaking his thoughts out loud. The men had suffered enough.

Finally, he sighed in exhaustion. Messner could obey orders, or he could go to hell. “I am going to surrender, Messner. It is the best way to save some of these men.”

“Herr Obersturmbannführer, you must not do this.”

“Look around you, Messner. Do you see all the wounded? Without supplies, we can do almost nothing for them. The ones who aren’t wounded are nearly dead on their feet with exhaustion and the cold.”

“You are a traitor!”

Messner’s hand drifted to the flap of his holster. Next to Messner, he could see Dietzel grow tense, his grip tight on his sniper rifle. So far the barrel hadn’t swung in his direction, but all it would take was a word from Messner.

Bauer ignored them and began walking through the trees toward the field. He half expected to hear a shot — it would be the last thing he ever heard — as Messner moved to stop him. He kept walking, hoping that shooting his commanding officer in the back would be too much, even for a zealot like Messner.

One of the men saw him with the white flag and stopped him with tears in his eyes. It was one of the enlisted men who had been with him for a long time. The man was bleeding heavily from several wounds suffered in the attack across the field, his makeshift bandages seeping blood. “We can still fight them, Herr Obersturmbannführer!” he said.

Bauer squeezed his shoulder. “You have done enough, old friend. We will get you some help soon.”

Before moving on, Bauer looked behind him, half expecting to see Messner or the sharpshooter taking aim.

But Messner was gone, along with his henchmen and several of the more able-bodied soldiers. He caught sight of the last of them disappearing into the trees. Apparently they were not going to surrender.

It was their choice. Some part of him felt proud of them, but this would not be his own path. He would do what he could to save what remained of his men.

Bauer took off his smock to reveal his officer’s uniform, then squared his shoulders and walked out into the open, waving his white flag.