Sniper's Justice

Chapter Nineteen

Standing in the middle of the WWII museum, surrounded by the opening night crowd, Cole stared in disbelief at the German sniper that he had last seen that January day in 1945.

“I was hoping that I killed you,” Cole said.

The Butcher shook his head and smiled. “Apparently not. Why, are you not glad to see me, Hillbilly?”

“No. And where do you get off calling me Hillbilly?”

“That is your nickname, is it not? This is what the exhibit here says. The famed Hillbilly sniper.”

Cole was embarrassed about it, but he had to admit this was just what the exhibit stated. “I reckon it does say that, but it wasn’t my idea.”

“Come now, Hillbilly. After all these years, surely we can put our differences aside?”

“Sorry, but it’s hard to forget some things,” Cole said.

Hans was looking from man to man, a worried expression on his face. “You two know each other?” he asked.

The Butcher held out a hand and introduced himself to Hans. “I am Karl Hauer. You are German, but you speak English with hardly any accent.”

“Hans Neumann. As for my English, well, I was a POW during the war and was sent to America,” Hans explained. “After the war, I stayed.”

Hauer nodded, smiling as if pleased with his fellow German’s answer. For all the American exceptionalism being celebrated here tonight, this was a club that the Americans could never be part of — two Germans who had fought for their country, rightly or wrongly.

“I will leave it up to your friend here to explain how we know one another,” Hauer said.

“We ran into each other during the war,” Cole explained. “We set our sights on each other, you might say. Why don’t you go ahead and tell him, old buddy. Tell him all about how you got the nickname, Das Schlachter.”

“Of course,” the Butcher said. He seemed pleased by the use of his nickname. “We first encountered one another at Ville sur Moselle. Then again at the second half of what the Americans called The Battle of the Bulge.”

“You left out the part where you murdered those villagers at Ville sur Moselle,” Cole said.

“Murder is a strong word. They had armed themselves. I am sure that they would have done the same to me, given the chance.”

Cole snorted. “Villagers with some old shotguns and rusty hunting rifles? Not likely. What about those kids you killed? Had they armed themselves?”

The Butcher shook his head. “Sometimes, I cannot sleep at night thinking of what I have done. I remind myself that unfortunately, there is always needless killing in any war.”

Cole stared at him in disbelief. The words had been delivered almost by rote, as if Hauer had been practicing them. He sounded so damn phony.

“Hauer, I don’t believe you meant a word of what you just said about needless killing. Give me a damn break.”

Hauer shrugged. “In your Gulf War, it is what you Americans called collateral damage.”

If he’d had a gun in his hand, Cole would have taken The Butcher out then and there. “Collateral damage? That’s when bombs go off target. You shot those villagers and those kids, you son of a bitch. I had to go back and make up some lie for that dead boy’s sister.”

“I am sure you did her a great kindness. Sometimes, a lie is better than the truth. As for what I did during the war, I am sure that I did what was required of me.”

“There’s being a soldier, and then there’s being a murderer. Let’s not forget Wingen sur Moder, where you shot that nun.”

Hauer’s polite mask seemed to slip, and his face darkened. “Do not forget that you yourself killed many Germans.” The Butcher nodded at the exhibit displaying the old photograph of Cole in his sniper pose. “Because your side won, I can see how your actions are celebrated here. Did every soldier you killed deserve death? You and I are not so different in the end. We both have blood on our hands.”

Cole had heard enough. He gave the German sniper one last glare, then turned and walked away. After a moment, Hans followed.

“What was that all about?” Hans asked. “Were those things you said about him true?”

“True, and then some. I need a drink, old buddy.”

Cole approached the bar and ordered a bourbon. He was in luck that they had some on hand for their largely older, American crowd. He had been sticking with club soda, but running into Hauer again after so many years called for something stronger. He knocked it back in one gulp, welcoming the warm burn the liquor made going down.

Like Cole, Hans had been sipping a soft drink. He now ordered a schnapps. “Do you want another?” he asked Cole.

“No thanks. It might make me do something ornery.”

“I am sorry that he upset you,” Hans said.

“I guess it’s to be expected. You can’t open a museum like this without rubbing some salt in somebody’s old wounds. I just wasn’t expecting it to be my old wounds.”

But Hauer wasn’t ready to leave Cole alone just yet. He approached from the other side of the room, a contrite smile on his face, hands raised in a placating gesture.

“I must apologize,” he said. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Cole said nothing. He was glad that he had stopped at one drink, or there was no telling what might happen.

“You know, when the war ended, I found myself in East Germany,” Hauer said. “Behind what you call the Iron Curtain. It is only recently that we have been able to experience any real freedom and I am enjoying every minute of it, believe me. Being trapped in a Communist country for so many years was its own form of punishment.”

“The wall is down now,” Hans said. “Germany has been reunited.”

The Butcher brightened. “Yes, indeed. The wall is down and there is a new future, although it may be too late for me.” He looked around and nodded in Danny’s direction. “Hillbilly, I saw you come in with that young man. He looks like you.”

“That’s my grandson.”

“Ah! I thought so. Is that his girlfriend?”

“My niece,” Hans said.

Hauer smiled pleasantly. “I am glad that their future is more promising than ours when we were their age. Love is better than war, wouldn’t you say?”

“I reckon,” Cole said guardedly. He didn’t trust a word that Hauer said.

“I have been thinking that this is more than a chance meeting,” Hauer said. “Perhaps we have an opportunity to get to know one another better. Let me invite you to come hunting this weekend in the Vosges Mountains. Some old friends have a hunting club that gathers there. The food is excellent, real German food, in a comfortable lodge. No foxholes for us anymore.”

“I don’t think so.”

Hauer smiled, not ready to give up. “Come now, I hope you will consider it. Last time, you almost bested me. This time, let me best you in hunting. It is a matter of honor.”

“Honor? I didn’t know you were familiar with the word.”

Hauer shrugged. “Please, let us put our differences aside. The war is over. You will like these mountains. Fresh air. Boars and stags. We hunt with dogs, you know, and also with beaters who drive the game toward the hunters.” Hauer looked at Hans. “Are you a hunter?”

“No, but I know that the Vosges are beautiful.”

“Yes! Yes! It is so true. You and your niece must come also.”

Hauer sounded so sincere and looked so eager that Hans seemed to waver. “Well—”

Hauer winked conspiratorially. “I knew you were an old hunter at heart. Most true Germans are. You will love this lodge and the fresh mountain air. Ah, the scenery! Hillbilly, what do you say?”

Cole surprised himself by responding not with a definite “no” as he had meant to, but with, “I’m not sure.”

“Come now, what are you going to do, shop for cuckoo clocks and beer steins to take home as souvenirs?”

As much as Cole hated to admit it, Hauer had something of a point. They were scheduled to be in Germany for several more days, and after the museum opening, their calendar was clear to do some exploring. Hunting sounded better to him than shopping or visiting museums.

Hauer’s invitation seemed genuine. Cole began to think that maybe he owed him the benefit of the doubt. The war had been a long time ago. He didn’t think that he would ever come to like Hauer or understand him, but maybe they could agree upon a truce. Besides, Cole wouldn’t mind showing him once and for all that he was the better shot.

“All right then,” Cole said.

“Wonderful! Bring your grandson. He will have a great time. Don’t worry — I have a shotgun that you can use.”

“A shotgun, huh?”

“I’m not sure that I trust you with a rifle, ha!”

They exchanged information, with Hauer collecting the name of Cole’s hotel and Hauer giving Cole a plain business card with just his name, an address in Berlin, and his telephone number.

After Hauer left, Hans studied the plain card that Hauer had also given him as if it contained far more information, perhaps hidden between the lines. “What does a man like that do in East Germany?” Hans wondered out loud. “So many are desperately poor who are coming out of there now, but he looked prosperous enough.”

“I don’t know,” Cole said. “You tell me what he did. He seems like the type who sold used cars.”

“Or maybe he worked for the Stasi. The East German Secret Police.” Hans rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “He has that look about him. You know, you do not have to go on this hunting trip.”

“It’s just two old men having a pissing contest,” Cole said. “He’s right that the war is over. Hell, Hans, it’s been forty years. We’ll hunt some boars and see which one of us can still shoot straight.”

Hans rolled his eyes. “You’re right. Two old snipers with grudges and guns, turned loose in the hills. What could go wrong?”

Hans borrowed a car, a solid and comfortable new Volvo 740 that belonged to Angela’s father, and they all drove down to the lodge together. The old German proved to be a good driver, but he drove the sedan in the steady, plodding way of a farmer — which he was back in Ohio. German drivers tended to be more aggressive, driving zippy Volkswagens and BMWs and Mercedes. These handled more nimbly than the Ford pickup trucks Hans was used to driving back home.

“The world just keeps moving faster and faster,” Hans muttered as yet another sleek sedan zoomed past him.

“Uncle Hans, you need to speed up,” Angela urged. “You are driving too slowly!”

The trip coincided with a fall break in Angela’s school, so the timing was perfect. Ordinarily, Cole suspected, a hunting trip would not be something that the girl would want to go on, especially not with her aged uncle, but spending time with Danny seemed to be the main attraction. The two sat together in the back seat, deep in conversation.

Cole kept quiet and let Hans concentrate on the road.

Hans had turned out to be full of surprises. Not the least of which was that he had agreed to accompany Cole in the first place.

“I would have thought that you would want to spend time with your family, Hans.”

“You know what Benjamin Franklin said about fish and company,” Hans replied. “After three days, they both start to smell. So, I am giving them a break until I smell fresh again. Besides, I have Angela with me and she was excited about taking a trip.”

Before leaving Munich, he had brought Cole around to the trunk of the car and quietly showed him a rifle case, which he opened to reveal a beautiful hunting rifle. Cole realized it was a “sporterized” version of a Model 1903A Springfield. Essentially, someone had customized the military surplus version of the rifle with which Cole was so familiar. Germany’s gun laws allowed hunting rifles and shotguns, but not the private ownership of military weapons. As a result, many surplus rifles from WWI and WWII had been transformed into hunting rifles in order to skirt the law.

This rifle had been designed with more than function or legal loopholes in mind, because it was a pleasure to behold. The stock was made of burled walnut, intricately checkered, with end caps for the nose and grip done in a blond wood to create an interesting contrast. As a craftsman himself, Cole couldn’t resist reaching down and running a finger along the beautiful grain of the stock. As a nod to comfort, the stock was fitted with a ventilated rubber Pachmayr recoil pad. His old battlefield Springfield had lacked any such niceties, and he’d often had the bruised shoulder to prove it.

The action and barrel were of polished bright steel rather than blued, which was a little showy for Cole’s taste. Even the bolt had been upgraded to include a jeweled pattern rather than a plain knob. The rifle’s receiver had been drilled and tapped to accommodate a high-powered Leica scope. Such expensive optics had never been in Cole’s budget, but from his perusal of gun magazines, Cole knew that the scope alone must have cost as much as the down payment on this Volvo.

“She’s a beauty,” Cole said. “Where did you get her?”

“My nephew is a hunter. Angela’s father,” Hans explained. “He is a banker.”

“Ah. Well, your nephew has good taste.”

“I want you to use it for the hunt,” Hans said. “I’m sorry, but I could not get another rifle for your grandson.”

“I don’t think Danny is so keen on hunting,” Cole said. “But what about you? What are you going to hunt with?”

Hans shook his head. “What am I going to do, traipse up and down the hills? I am an old man. I have a bad heart. No, I am going to sit in front of the fire at the lodge, drink warm schnapps, and keep an eye on those two.”

“Then why did you bring me the rifle? Hauer said that he would have a shotgun for me.”

“I suspect that you are a better shot with a rifle,” Hans said. “Which would you rather have in the woods?”

“No argument there.”

“You know, if this was a duel, I suppose that I would be your second.”

“It ain’t a duel.”

Hans shrugged. “If you say so.”

As they left the city behind, Cole was struck by the beauty of the countryside. They passed through the heart of Bavaria with its rolling hills and neatly kept farms. When Cole had first seen Germany, it had been been a war-ravaged, defeated, muddy country in late winter. Now, although they had missed the best of the fall colors, he still spotted the pale fire of aspens in the hills. The autumn sunlight gave the landscape a crisp appearance.

The Vosges Mountains themselves rose to the south of the Ardennes region and straddled the border between Germany and France, in the region known as Alsace-Lorraine. Hans explained that the area had passed back and forth between Germany and France many times over the centuries. They crossed the Rhine into France, drove through the small city of Strasbourg, then continued into the Vosges.

Cole felt some small sense of relief at leaving Germany and entering France, although he knew that was foolishness in this day and age. But deep down, he had always liked the French and found them to be a welcoming people. After all, it was the French who had helped Americans win the Revolutionary War. Americans had returned the favor in 1944. Spending a few days in France was just fine by him.

Slowly, the road gained altitude as they climbed into the mountains. Cole felt right at home because these peaks felt more like the Appalachians, with rounded hilltops rising to elevations of around twelve hundred feet. The road grew narrower, following the valleys, with dense forests creeping closer. The afternoon grew darker. In the back seat, the conversation between Danny and Angela grew softer, then fell quiet. The grim mountains and woods seemed to demand silence.

“Where is this place?” Angela asked her uncle, sounding a bit nervous.

“It’s just—”

At that moment, a stag came bounding out of the woods, directly into the path of the car. Hans stomped on the brakes. It wasn’t the best reaction because the car began to skid on the damp fallen leaves littering the road. He fought for control of the wheel as the car slewed sideways.

From the backseat, Angela gasped. Danny swore.

Hans had braked, but it hadn’t been enough to keep them from hitting the stag, which more or less ran right into the car. The big animal hit them with a solid thud, then bounced off the grill into a roadside ditch.

By some miracle, the car stopped skidding just before following the stag into the ditch.

“Well, I ain’t had a ride like that since my rocking chair fell through the front porch last summer,” Cole remarked. “Everybody all right?”

“All right,” said Hans, whose hands still gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles.

Angela and Danny were fine. Like a good German, she had made them both follow the rules and buckle their seatbelts, even in the backseat.

“What about the poor stag?” she asked.

“You wait here. Let me go see about that,” Cole said.

Cole got out, along with Danny. After a minute, Hans followed, although Angela had to help him — he was still shaky after hitting the stag. Cole had the worrisome thought that Hans had complained of heart trouble before.

The stag lay in the ditch, tangled in the ferns and bracken, still alive, but barely. When it saw Cole, the stag struggled pitifully to rise, but then gave up and lay there, its ribs heaving with labored breathing. Cole studied the animal with interest because he had never seen one up close. He recalled that a stag was more closely related to an elk than to a whitetail deer.

“Maybe there is an animal hospital nearby,” Angela said, close to tears. “We can get help.”

Cole and Hans exchanged a look. Cole was a hunter and Hans was a farmer. They both knew what needed to be done.

“I will get the rifle,” Hans said.

Hans walked back to the trunk and got out the rifle, then returned and fed a single round into the chamber. Hans aimed down at the injured stag, then lowered the rifle. “I cannot do it,” Hans said.

He held the rifle out to Cole, who took it, immediately enjoying the feel of the rifle in his hands. Damn, but he would never be too old for that.

“Danny, why don’t you walk Angela down the road a ways,” Cole said.

Danny did just that, putting an arm around her shoulders, which were shaking a little, and led her away.

Cole gave them a minute, then raised the rifle to his shoulder to put the animal out of its misery. His jaw fit tight against the rifle, with the stock fitting comfortably into his shoulder. He took a moment, just getting the feel of the rifle. Through the expensive scope, the stag’s eye showed bright and clear.

He squeezed the trigger.

The sound of the single rifle shot echoed across the hills.

He ejected the shell and reached down to pocket the soft, warm brass.

“The lodge can’t be far,” Cole said. “When we get there, we’ll let them know in case someone wants to come back here and get the meat.”

“Good idea,” Hans said meekly. He still looked pale after the accident. Cole thought about that weak heart again.

“You doin’ OK?”

“OK.”

“Why don’t I drive the rest of the way,” Cole said. “You can navigate. I thought trying to read German was bad enough, but these damn road signs are in French.”

The car’s hood wasn’t even dented, with only some fur caught in the slats of the grill, and nothing mechanical had been affected. The car started right up. The Volvo seemed to be built like a tank. Cole backed it away from the edge of the ditch, got it pointed in the right direction, and headed for the lodge somewhere in the hills ahead.

Some might have seen the collision with the stag as a bad omen, but Cole wasn’t so sure about that. He’d had the opportunity to fire the rifle and kill with it. He and the rifle were no longer strangers. They had made a bond by blood.

Tonight, he would dismantle the rifle and clean it carefully. He would get to know it that much better, inside and out.

Tomorrow, it would be time to hunt.

Chapter Twenty

Cole drove them the rest of the way to the lodge, which turned out to be built of stone and timber, making it both stately and comfortable. Woodsmoke trailed from the chimneys, mixing with the scent of fallen leaves and fresh pine needles. Yellow lights glowed in the windows.

“Nice place,” said Cole. “Where was this lodge forty years ago? I had to sleep in my foxhole back then. Damn near froze my ass off.”

Hans laughed. After initially being shaken by the Volvo hitting the stag, he seemed to have recovered. “You can be sure some general stayed here, or at least a colonel,” he said. “Meanwhile, you got the foxhole.”

“Sounds about right,” Cole agreed. “That’s the way of the world, ain’t it?”

Hauer greeted them as soon as they walked into the lodge. He looked like an outdoorsman in his thick corduroy trousers, chamois shirt, and sheepskin vest. The clothes looked expensive and new, as if purchased for the occasion. “You are here! I was sure that you would get lost in the dark. The roads are not well-marked.”

“Hate to disappoint you,” Cole said. Briefly, he explained about hitting the stag. The hotel sent two of its kitchen staff to fetch it — no point in letting good venison go to waste.

They found that all of the arrangements had been made, but there were only two rooms available in the lodge itself, with a single room with two beds available in a converted stable.

“The stable will be just fine for me and Danny,” Cole said. It turned out that they were staying as guests of Hauer. Cole thought about insisting on paying, but then decided that if nothing else, he could hit Hauer in the wallet.

“Where did he get the money for this?” Hans muttered. “I am telling you, he was Stasi. Every last one of them lined their pockets at the expense of good Germans while they did the bidding of the Soviets.”

As they gathered in the grand hall of the hunting lodge, Hans explained that he and his grand-niece would be sitting out the hunt. “Someone needs to stay here and keep the fire going,” he said.

Hauer took the news in stride. It was clear that his only real concern was making sure that Cole was equipped for the hunt. Boots had been found, and warm hunting clothes.

“I have a shotgun for you,” Hauer announced. “A very nice 12-gauge. It is a good weapon for boar, especially. At close range, you cannot miss! However, you do need some nerve to let them get that close when they are charging.”

“I brought a rifle,” Cole said. “I guess I won’t need that shotgun, after all.”

A scowl crossed Hauer’s face, then disappeared so quickly that Cole thought he might have imagined it. “As you wish. Perhaps your grandson can use the shotgun.”

“That’s up to him.” Cole turned to his grandson. “Danny?”

“I don’t want to hunt tomorrow,” he said. “I mean, I’ll go, but I don’t want to shoot anything.”

Hauer appeared amused. “If you go into the woods, why would you not wish to join in the hunt?”

“I don’t like killing,” he said.

Hauer laughed. “I have to say, you Americans have gone soft in two generations. The boy doesn’t like to hunt! If there is ever another war, you will be in trouble. Are you sure that he is really related to you?”

“Let the boy be,” Cole said. He felt that Danny didn’t appreciate being belittled in front of Angela, although, to the German girl’s credit, she was glaring at Hauer. If looks could kill. She was clearly in Danny’s camp. “If he don’t like to hunt, so be it. It’s a new world, in case you ain’t noticed. Besides, he can help pack out whatever we shoot.”

Hauer shook his head, still grinning, clearly amused by the thought that the grandson of none other than this famous hillbilly sniper did not like to hunt — or kill. “Suit yourselves,” he said. “Get your rest. In the morning, the hunt begins.”

Crossing to the accommodations, Danny said, “I don’t like that guy Hauer, Pa Cole. It’s not just what he said about me. There’s something about him. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“You don’t like him, huh? Join the club,” Cole said. “I guess that just proves Hauer wrong about us not being related. You’re a Cole, boy. That means you have good instincts.”

“Pa Cole, if you don’t like him, then why are we here?”

“I think Hans said it best,” Cole responded. “I’m here to fight a duel.”

Danny stopped walking. “What?”

“It’s not the kind of duel where you count off twenty paces and shoot each other,” Cole said. “I suppose we’re here to show which one of us is still the best shot.”

“In that case, I feel sorry for the deer and boars.”

In the morning, Cole and Danny were up well before dawn, eating a hearty breakfast with the other hunters in the lodge. Hans and Angela were not there. Having opted out of the hunt itself, they had decided to sleep in.

This European form of hunting was unlike anything that Cole had experienced. He was used to heading off into the woods alone. As a boy, Cole had hunted for subsistence. Anything he shot that had meat on it, they ate — like as not in a stew if it was something like possum.

He still hunted deer to fill the freezer, but the truth of it was, they wouldn’t starve anymore if he came home without a buck.

At most, Americans hunted in pairs or in a trio. Like as not, even then, they would split up to try their luck alone.

The hunt in the Vosges was nothing like that. In fact, it was more of a communal event, a group hunt carried out with help from dogs and drivers. This was the traditional way that hunting had been done for centuries.

An electric current of excitement seemed to fill the morning air and Cole felt caught up in it. The entire operation gathered just past dawn on the forest edge and received direction from the master of the hunt. Their quarry today would be stags and boars. Everyone wished each other luck, and then the “dog men” and drivers started out to get into position, with the hunters to follow. To Cole’s surprise, many of the dogs were dachshunds. He didn’t know how they covered so much ground on their short legs. He never would have considered them proper hounds, but they were eager hunters and he learned that the breed had been bred for just this purpose.

More than a dozen hunters had gathered. Cole had worried that they would all be Nazi fossils like Hauer, but to his surprise, they were a friendly, hale and hearty bunch. Some were French rather than German. Hauer was just the friend of a friend. Cole had been puzzled about how Hauer had landed an invitation, until he realized that the German had provided a case of premium Russian vodka and some bottles of rare schnapps. That alone seemed to be Hauer’s ticket for admission.

The other hunters gladly welcomed Cole as a novelty. They had never hunted with an American.

“Let’s see what Americans are made of, yes?” they kidded him.

“Where are your buckskins and coonskin cap?” another asked with a laugh.

The jibes were friendly and Cole could see that the other hunters were mostly beefy businessmen dressed up in new hunting clothes. “I’ll see if I can keep up.”

He soon saw that the kidding had not been idly spoken. To get into position, there was a great deal of hiking, mostly uphill, as they climbed from the lodge into the higher elevations. Cole wished that he was twenty years younger. Danny didn’t seem to have any trouble, taking to the trails like a mountain goat. He spelled his grandfather by taking the rifle for a while and slinging it over his own shoulder. The rifle couldn’t have weighed more than eight pounds, but after a couple of hours of hiking, Cole felt his shoulder sagging under the weight.

Although the fall morning was chill, Cole soon found himself sweating inside his hunting coat. The autumn woods proved to be a reward in itself for all of this exertion. The trail passed through heavy stands of pine and fir, making the air smell fresh and alive. Their feet scarcely made a sound on the matt of damp, fallen pine needles. A few deciduous trees blazed among the pines in vibrant tones of yellow and orange. With no roads nearby, the only sounds came from the footsteps of the men, occasional guffaws at quiet jokes, the twitter of birds, and the rush of the streams they passed. As Cole fell into the rhythm of the march, his heart and legs pumping, he felt intensely alive. He was in his element.

By the time they were deep into the hills, it was already past noon. Sandwiches were handed out. After a few shy appearances, the sun had hidden itself for good. With the short fall days, they would only have a couple of hours to hunt before having to start back to the lodge.

Once they were in position, the hunters spread out into smaller groups. He and Danny found themselves stuck with Hauer. After all, this was to be an unofficial shooting competition, so it made sense that they were together, although Cole would have preferred the company of just about anyone else.

“Good luck,” Hauer said. He had seemed amused before, but now there was another look evident on his face, as if he was enjoying some private joke.

“Just watch what you’re shooting at today,” Cole reminded him. “Make sure your targets have four legs.”

Hauer just smiled.

After following a narrow trail, they were set up in a pretty little valley, or what Cole would have called a “bowl” back home, a low, open area facing the edge of the forest rising beyond. He, Danny, and Hauer seemed to have the valley to themselves. The baying of dogs came closer.

Through the trees, they caught a blur of movement. Cole felt a thrill of excitement as he realized that it was game. He looked more closely and saw a dark shape rushing through the trees toward them.

It was a boar. Cole had seen wild pigs before, but never anything this size. The boar must have weighed at least a couple of hundred pounds and was the size of a German Shepherd. It burst from the trees and ran right at him, lowered its head, and charged. He could see ivory tusks jutting in front of the boar’s mean, dark eyes.

“Pa Cole, he’s headed right for us,” Danny remarked nervously. His grandson stood just behind him and hadn’t brought along a gun.

“Hold tight,” Cole said.

He raised the rifle to his shoulder and tracked the boar through the scope. That pig could move. The boar had already covered half the distance across the clearing. This morning with the hunting master, they had all agreed on zones of fire. This boar was squarely within Cole’s zone. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Hauer with his own rifle nestled in the crook of his elbow. If Cole missed his shot, that boar was going to plow right through him. It was clear that he wasn’t getting any help from Hauer in stopping the boar.

A running shot from the side was one thing, but a running shot with an animal coming straight at you was far more difficult. First of all, it meant that the animal wasn’t running away but charging at you. Each second that one waited required another instantaneous mental calculation about where to aim to adjust for the trajectory of the bullet. Also, the boar coming at them made a small target from the front.

“Pa Cole!” Danny said nervously.

This was the point where some men might have run for it. Others would have shot blindly in desperation, hoping against hope that one of their bullets would strike true, stopping the tusked nightmare steaming toward them at full speed.

But Cole stood his ground, his crosshairs steady. He waited until the charging boar’s head filled the field the view, then squeezed the trigger.

The boar made a sound that was like a grunt of frustration and rage, then skidded to a stop, not twenty feet from where Cole stood. His ears ringing from the crack of the rifle, he finally allowed himself to take a deep breath. So much of this trip had reminded him of his age, especially the hike up into these hills, but he suddenly felt like a young man again.

“I’ll be damned,” Cole said, inspecting the boar. He felt adrenalin surging through him, making him feel twenty years younger. “He was an ornery critter.”

“I thought for sure he was going to plow you over.”

“Close,” Cole agreed. “If I’d missed him, this would be a different story. Wouldn’t that be a way to go?”

“But you don’t miss.”

“Not if I can help it, boy.”

Cole looked in Hauer’s direction. Hauer saw him and gave him a nod, but his attention was soon claimed by more movement among the trees. The dogs and drivers were still at it, and this time they saw the flash of a stag’s white tail, like a flag in the woods.

The mountain stag was running far ahead of the hounds, right in their direction.

“Here he comes, Pa Cole!” Danny whispered intently. Caught up in the excitement, he seemed to have momentarily forgotten his opposition to hunting.

Danny was right. The stag seemed to be headed right at them.

Cole raised his rifle, lining up the shot. Unlike the boar, the stag had no intention of leaving the cover the woods and charging them, but ran along the treeline, presenting its flank to Cole. Although the stag was farther away, this running shot was easier in some regards. All he had to do was lead the target. The fine optics of the Leica scope made the stag spring closer, gathering all the light of the overcast day.

Then at the last moment, the stag broke to the left and into Hauer’s quadrant. Cole lowered the rifle, leaving the stag to Hauer. Off to his left, Hauer’s rifle cracked. He saw the stag stumble, but it kept right on going. Before Hauer could fire again, the stag disappeared deeper into the forest.

Hauer came walking over to them. “I hit him,” he said. “I am sure there is a blood trail. I will give him a minute to settle, and then I will go into the forest after him. With any luck, he did not get far. It is going to be dark soon, after all.”

“Need help?”

“I can manage,” Hauer said. He looked down at the huge boar that Cole had brought down. Oddly enough, the German did not seem at all bitter that Cole had managed to bag the animal. “Congratulations on your boar. He is a monster!”

“You got that right,” Cole agreed. The tusks were several inches long. They would have ripped him right open if the boar had gotten any closer.

“You stay here,” Hauer said. He held up the walkie talkie. “I will let the others know where we are, and that we will need some help bringing out this game.”

“Sounds good to me,” Cole said.

Hauer nodded and headed off into the forest to track his wounded deer. Finding the animal wouldn’t be easy in the dark, so Cole hoped that it hadn’t gotten far. He was a little surprised that Hauer hadn’t hit the stag harder, with a more accurate shot. Yes, it had been a running shot, but the quarry had been fairly close to Hauer.

Cole smiled to himself, thinking that the old German sniper was finally missing a step — maybe two. Cole had dropped his target while Hauer was having to chase after his stag.

Up on the ridge, the dogs had changed direction and were no longer running toward the valley. The barking faded, then disappeared altogether, as if the dogs were being called back for the day. Was the hunt ending?

Around them, the shadows grew deeper. Through the overcast haze, he watched the sun slip down over a big hill to the west, and it was as if a curtain had been pulled across a window. Dusk arrived instantly. With the last of the daylight fading, the temperature dropped quickly. Cole felt the chill creeping into his old bones.

“Might as well do something with this boar while we wait for Hauer,” Cole said. He took out his hunting knife and with Danny’s help, expertly field dressed the boar. When some of the other hunters and beaters came along, they would be ready to drag the beast out. That alone wouldn’t be an easy task. They were many miles from the lodge, deep in the mountains, and Cole did not look forward to hiking back in the dark, which was how things were shaping up. At least the others would know the way and hopefully, have a flashlight. Cole didn’t have one. They had started out at first light, and now it was growing dark. He hadn’t planned on a full day in the field.

He also had the nagging realization that he didn’t have a map. Maybe Hauer had one? He didn’t know how far these mountains went. He did know that this was a preserved area, essentially the equivalent of a national park, which meant that there were no towns or villages. The setting sun gave him a rough indication of the direction they had come from, but that was about it.

Meanwhile, they kept listening for a rifle shot that would indicate that Hauer had found his wounded stag and dispatched it, but there was nothing.

“That stag must have made a run for Paris,” Cole said. “Either that, or it was already down.”

Night was coming on fast. The valley had become eerily quiet.

“What’s that?” Danny asked, pointing toward the tree line. “I think I see Herr Hauer.”

Cole followed Danny’s finger, saw a shape move among the trees in the last of the light. Definitely two-legged. Definitely making no effort to come toward them. The hair on the back of Cole’s neck raised. They were being watched.

“It’s Hauer, all right,” Cole said.

All at once, realization crashed down on Cole. Hauer had the walkie talkie, which was the only means to let anyone know where they were. Maybe Hauer had a flashlight and a map, too.

What did he have? Nothing. He and Danny were totally unprepared. Hauer had made sure that he held all the cards. Cole wanted to kick himself for being so stupid.

Cole shook his head. A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature ran through him. This whole time he’d been thinking that the game between him and Hauer, which they were playing to settle old scores, had been to see who could shoot the most deer and boar in these mountains. But maybe that hadn’t been the quarry that Hauer had in mind. Perhaps the stakes here were much higher than Cole had suspected. Cursing himself all over again, he realized that Hauer had played him for a fool and that he had walked right into a trap — dragging Danny along with him.

Then full-on darkness arrived, flowing through the valley like a tide, and the silhouette at the forest edge was lost among the shadows.

Chapter Twenty-One

Cole didn’t like the idea of staying put, but he liked the idea of trying to hike back in the dark even less. One wrong turn, or one fall, could spell disaster. They had no flashlight and no way of calling for help.

While he thought it over, Danny was full of questions.

“If nobody is coming back for us, what should we do?” Danny wondered. “What is Herr Hauer up to, anyhow?”

“I wish I knew what Hauer was up to,” Cole said. “I’m beginning to think he has something planned for us, and it’s nothing good.”

“He’s going to kill us, isn’t he?”

“Not if I can help it,” Cole said.

“We could try hiking back.”

“Keep your voice down,” Cole urged. “Let’s not make it any easier for Hauer to keep track of us. As for hiking back, we don’t know the way and we don’t even have a flashlight. There’s no moon and it’s darker than a well-digger’s ass out here.”

“Huh?”

“If we go off the trail or fall into a ravine, we’d just end up in a worse pickle than we’re already in,” Cole said.

“Hans and Angela will wonder where we are,” Danny said. “The other hunters will figure out that we’re missing and come looking for us.”

“Maybe,” Cole said. “For now, we’re on our own, and that’s a fact. Our friends and family help us when they can, but in the end, the only person you can count on is yourself.”

“And you, Pa Cole,”

“And me,” Cole said with a grin. “I’ll tell you another thing. We aren’t going to sit here and wait for Hauer to creep up on us. We can at least move down the valley to a different spot. He’ll never find us in the dark.”

“Whatever you say,” Danny replied, fear evident in his voice.

“Follow me and keep quiet,” Cole whispered.

The cold and damp was like a curtain that he had to push through. Leaving the spot where they had butchered the boar, he followed the slope of the valley down, Danny on his heels. Moving across the open field wasn’t so difficult, but Cole couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead. He stopped when they reached the trees on the bottom half of the valley, moving quietly across a narrow stream that gurgled there. They took time to refill their canteens. He figured the water should be clean enough here in the mountains. As a soldier, he’d drank worse.

Cole felt pleased that Danny barely made a sound crossing the stream.

“Boy, you might not be a hunter, but you picked up a trick or two about the woods, didn’t you? Now, let’s see if we can get into those trees just as quietly.”

Danny didn’t respond, but Cole could almost feel him grinning with pride in the darkness.

They reached the trees and slipped several feet into the forest. He stopped when he felt the ground begin to rise for the forested slope that led up from the valley floor. He wanted some shelter, but at first light, he also wanted to be able to see Hauer moving across the valley.

The Butcher had a rifle, but so did Cole.

He thought about Hauer’s barely concealed disappointment when Cole had announced that he had a rifle and would not need the shotgun that Hauer had planned on him carrying. Now, it all made more sense. If Cole had a shotgun out here and Hauer had a rifle that could pick him off at long range, then Cole would have been as good as defenseless.

That old Nazi bastard was full of tricks, wasn’t he?

If he spotted Hauer first and shot him, maybe Cole could call it a hunting accident. He had a pretty good idea that this was just what Hauer planned to do to him and Danny. It wouldn’t be the first time that a hunting trip had been used as cover for a murder.

Cole took stock, cursing himself for not being better prepared. They had nothing to eat. No blankets. Not even a match to light a campfire — then again, the last thing Cole wanted was a fire with Hauer out there. What he did have were the canteens, a knife, and a damn fine rifle. In the end, what more did he need? Maybe legs that were decades younger, for a start. For that, he might have to depend on his grandson.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this, Danny,” Cole said.

“What’s this all about anyhow, Pa Cole? Why would he be trying to kill us? Is he some sort of madman?”

“He’s a madman, all right, but there’s more to it than that.” Cole had not gone into his background with Hauer, in part to shelter Danny from some ugly stories. It was clear now how well that had worked out. It was time to come clean. “Herr Hauer and I have some history,” he said. “You know that we crossed paths back in the war. Right near here, as a matter of fact, in the closing chapter of the Battle of the Bulge. The Germans were winning at first, and then the tables turned on them. You know how a cornered animal gets.”

“Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“Hauer did some pretty ugly things. To be fair, I reckon I did, too. That’s war for you. What’s happening now is what you might call a reckoning. Hauer wants revenge.”

“What do you want, Pa Cole?”

“First of all, I want you to get out of here in one piece.” Cole thought about it. “And the second thing, now that the gloves are off, is that I want some justice.”

“Aren’t you two a little old for all this?”

Cole grunted. “Tell that to Hauer.”

“If you ask me, this is crazy.”

Cole didn’t disagree, but he had learned a long time ago to accept the reality of any situation rather than deny it.

Without any fire or blankets, it was going to be a long, cold night. Cole put his back against a fallen log, facing the direction from which they had come. He leaned the rifle against the log, within easy reach.

“Sit over here right up against me,” Cole said. “Our body heat will help to keep us warm.”

Danny soon nestled against Cole, almost like he had as a little boy. There was some necessity here because the only part of them that stayed warm was where their bodies touched. Their extremities felt cold and they both shivered. Nonetheless, to Cole’s surprise, Danny’s head sagged against Cole’s shoulder and his grandson drifted off to sleep.

Cole willed his own warmth to flow out of him and into Danny. He’d been a hard man all his life and never one to show much emotion — except anger, maybe. There were times when he regretted that part of himself. But even Cole recognized that it wasn’t just warmth he was letting flow into Danny, it was love.

While his grandson slept, he kept awake, every sense alert. He heard the gentle night wind stir the trees overhead, the hoot of an owl, the bark of a fox. He didn’t hear any stealthy footsteps in the forest, creeping toward them. He stayed awake, keeping watch through the night, until just before what he judged to be dawn, when he drifted off.

Cole couldn’t say what woke him up first. It might have been the smack of a bullet hitting the log next to his head, or the sharp crack of a rifle that followed a split second later. He was half asleep, but instinct took over.

“Danny, keep down! Get on the other side of the log.”

Quickly, Cole shook off the last blurriness of sleep like he was throwing back a blanket. Scanning the woods, he guessed that the shot had come from the direction of the valley.

Hauer had managed to track them, probably following their trail through last night’s frosty grass. Now, he was coming after them and his intentions were all too clear.

Cole crawled over the log, putting it between himself and Hauer. Danny was already crouched behind it.

Through the rifle scope, Cole scanned the forest and looked into the clearing, but there was no sign of Hauer. Through the high-powered scope, mostly what he saw was a confusing tangle of tree branches. He reminded himself that the man had been a sniper, after all. One of the best. He wouldn’t be exposing himself needlessly to Cole’s rifle sights.

“Where is he?” Danny asked.

“Somewhere close.”

Cole had to admit that he was a little troubled. He had been asleep; Hauer could have crept right up on them. He also wondered how Hauer had managed to miss.

It had been like that stag. Hauer had been presented with a clear shot that he shouldn’t have missed. What if Hauer had missed on purpose? Cole suspected that Hauer had taken the more masterful shot of intentionally wounding the stag, thus giving him an excuse to trail it into the forest. What if he had done the same thing just now and missed on purpose? If so, it meant that Hauer was toying with them.

Cole didn’t like the situation at all. Hauer knew where they were, but he couldn’t see Hauer.

“Let’s get out of here,” Cole said. “We’re going to make a run for it, deeper into the trees. Keep low, and juke and weave. Whatever you do, don’t run in a straight line.”

“I can do it.” Danny seemed to be reassuring himself.

“Go!”

They jumped out from behind the log and ran, willing themselves to present as small of a target as possible. Danny ran a lot faster than Cole, who struggled to keep up.

Another shot rang out, passing so close that Cole heard the supersonic crack of the bullet. The sound made his spine quiver.

If Hauer had been toying with them before, he wasn’t anymore. Hauer was shooting to kill.

He glanced over his shoulder, rifle at the ready, hoping for some glimpse of their pursuer. All that Cole saw were trees and more trees.

“Hold up,” he called out to Danny, who was getting too far ahead of him. The last thing they needed was to get separated. In this dense forest, they would never find each other again.

Danny stopped running, getting behind a massive old oak for cover. Cole slid in beside him, breathing hard. Not for the first time, he was glad that he had given up cigarettes back in 1944. So many of the old-timers he knew who smoked now had emphysema or even used oxygen — the ones who hadn’t already died of lung cancer, in any case.

“Now what?” Danny asked. Racing through the trees had burned off some of the boy’s initial fright and he seemed calmer. Cole was glad that the boy was thinking about strategy.

“He did have the upper hand,” Cole said. “He had us dead to rights back there. But now, he’s got to come to us.”

“What do we do?”

“We wait for him.”

The massive tree that they had sheltered behind offered good cover. The tree was old enough that some Gallic archer might have passed here, or more recently, a Wehrmacht soldier. One side of the gnarled trunk was festooned with green moss. North, Cole thought. He filed that information away.

Cole got down on the forest floor to one side of the tree trunk and Danny took the left side.

“You be my eyes,” Cole said. They didn’t have binoculars, but his grandson’s youthful eyes would be almost as good. They were using scout-sniper tactics now. “If you see any movement, you let me know. I’m going to stay on this here scope.”

Again, the scope amplified Cole’s vision, but it limited his field of view. All that he could see was a tangle of trees and underbrush, albeit crystal clear. He would rely on Danny to see the big picture spread out before them.

Their noisy flight through the woods had driven all the forest creatures into hiding. Not so much as a bird flickered through the branches.

Any movement that they did see would be Hauer coming after them.

Time passed slowly, but Cole was patient. Hell, he had spent a lifetime getting to this moment. He could wait. It was Danny that he was worried about.

With autumn, enough litter and leaves covered the forest floor that Cole was confident they would hear Hauer coming. There were quite a few pine trees in places, however, creating essentially a smooth carpet of needles. Nonetheless, Cole was convinced that if they didn’t hear something, then they weren’t being pursued by a man at all, but by a ghost. Then again, a lifetime of shooting meant that Cole’s hearing wasn’t what it used to be. He hoped Danny’s eyes and ears were sharper.

“There!” Danny whispered hoarsely. “I see him!”

Cole scanned the woods but saw only the tangle of branches.

“On a clock face, where would he be?”

Danny thought. “Two o’clock.”

Cole moved the scope in that direction. Sure enough, he saw a flicker of motion. Not enough yet for a clear target, but it was Hauer, all right, and he was on the move toward them.

Hauer was an impressive tracker, but Cole remembered that about him from the war. Grudgingly, Cole had to admire the man’s skill. Then again, they had been plowing through that woods, leaving a trail of broken branches and disturbed leaves. On the plus side, their trail was leading Hauer right into Cole’s rifle sights.

He waited patiently. Hauer was moving cautiously so that he came closer ever so slowly. But as he did so, the screen of tree branches in front of him diminished, giving Cole a clear shot.

“He’s getting closer!” Danny whispered urgently.

“I see him,” Cole said calmly.

Still, he took his time, letting Hauer work his way in. Cole had the rifle balanced in his arms, his elbows locked into the forest floor, his legs spread out behind him. He felt the whole steadiness of the ground beneath him. Other than having the rifle placed across a log, this setup didn’t get any better.

He let a breath out. Took in a deeper breath and held it.

Cole was a hunter through and through. He never missed a day in the woods. Even so, he was out of practice for shooting at two-legged prey. He hesitated for just a moment before pressing the trigger.

It wasn’t any fit of conscience. Cole had to admit that some part of him was enjoying having Hauer in his rifle sights just a little too much. For a marksman, this was the ultimate prey: another sniper. The moment before he fired was like some forbidden, delicious pleasure.

“Pa Cole, what are you waiting for? Shoot!”

Danny’s nervousness made his voice too loud. His voice carried through the quiet woods.

Through the scope, Cole saw Hauer crouch and freeze. He had heard Danny.

Hauer was searching the forest. Cole watched him through the scope as his gaze moved in their general direction. He was so close that Cole could see his face.

Then Hauer did something totally unpredictable. Instead of obliging Cole by holding still, he charged through the forest, closing the distance between them.

Cole did not hesitate any longer. His finger took up the last bit of pressure on the trigger.

However, this was like shooting at the charging boar. The target did not hold steady but danced in the crosshairs, juking right and left in a way that the boar had not. Cole couldn’t get a fix on him.

The rifle fired. Instantly, Cole ran the bolt and kept his eye on the scope, hoping for a second shot. He caught a glimpse of movement and fired again.

Through the scope, Hauer was gone.

“Did you get him?” Danny asked.

“Hush now,” Cole said sharply. Danny had already given them away once.

Seconds later, they had their answer. Cole’s luck must have run out with that boar.

A rifle shot crashed through the trees. In the same instant, Cole felt a burning pain rip down the length of his right arm and shoulder.

That son of a bitch Hauer had just shot him.

Cole had the presence of mind to roll behind the tree before a second bullet passed through the space that he had occupied only an instant before.

He switched the rifle to his left hand. His right arm was just about useless and already going numb. He wouldn’t be able to shoot back now.

Danny saw the blood on his grandfather. He stared at the crimson flow in shock. “Pa Cole, you’ve been shot!”

“Never mind that,” Cole said, struggling to his feet. “We’ve got to run!”

Chapter Twenty-Two

They crashed through the forest, not caring how much noise they made.

“Keep going,” Cole panted, urging Danny on. “We need to put some space between us and him.”

“You think he’s coming after us?” Danny asked.

“I know he is.”

The only way to go was up. Hauer had cut them off from the valley and the only familiar territory they knew, forcing them up the mountain. It was also the only path to help and safety that Cole was aware of. What was beyond this mountain they were climbing? Another mountain. And maybe another beyond that. That was a lot of territory to cover before they had any hope of coming across a village or a road. Hauer had them right where he wanted them.

Cole’s breath grew more ragged. The pain in his arm and shoulder increased as the shock wore off. Hauer’s bullet hadn’t gotten him, but a heart attack might at this rate. Good thing he had kept in shape hiking through the hills back home. He might be old, but he was a tough old bird.

Even so, after a few minutes of pushing it as hard as they could, Cole had to stop. He bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath.

“I’m too old for this shit,” he announced.

Danny managed to grin in spite of everything. “When we get home, don’t let Gran hear you swear like that.”

“Don’t you go telling her.” Cole liked the fact that Danny was making it sound like a given that they would be getting out of this mess. He handed the rifle to Danny. “Here now, take this and shoot down the hill.”

“Do you see him?” There was nothing below them but trees.

“No, but he won’t know that. He’ll slow down and take his time coming after us.”

Danny shouldered the rifle and fired. The rifle boomed and echoed through the hills. He started to hand back the rifle, but Cole stopped him.

“You hang onto that for now. I’ve only got one good arm.”

Expending the shot in hopes of keeping Hauer’s pursuit slow and cautious had been a calculated risk, considering that Cole had a limited supply of ammunition. When Hans had procured the hunting rifle, he had brought along two magazines. Ten rounds total. Although rifles and shotguns were legal in Germany for hunting, ammunition was very limited and expensive. Hans had supplied ammunition adequate for a casual hunting trip, not a firefight. In heading to the woods, Cole had taken just one magazine. That had been all that he had ever needed on a hunting trip. He was now down to a few rounds. He was sure that Hauer had much, much more than that.

He didn’t share his concerns with Danny, but Cole was worried. From here on out, each shot must count. In the end, Cole only needed one bullet — the one that he would use to kill Hauer. Growing up, he’d often gone hunting with one bullet. He would make it count.

They kept climbing. The terrain grew increasingly rocky and rugged as they ascended the mountain slope. The slope increased, slowing their progress.

“If we can get to the top of this hill, we can move along the ridge up there and then try to come back down circle around Hauer,” Cole said. “I’d like to get back to that valley if we can. If we can find that trail out of there, we can hoof it back to the lodge. With any luck, Hauer won’t be any the wiser and he’ll set up here, looking for us.”

“We ought to see if we can make it look like we reached the top and went down the other side,” Danny said. “He’ll go that way, looking for us.”

Cole nodded. “I always knew you were a Cole, through and through,” he said. “I should have thought of that myself.”

With their goal in mind, they pushed harder toward the summit. The trees thinned out and Cole worried about being exposed, but Danny’s plan to make it look as if they had gone down the other side of the ridge was a good one. He just hoped that Hauer would fall for it — so far, the German had proved himself to be a good tracker.

The ground became more treacherous because fallen leaves covered the rocks and small boulders, making their footing slippery and hiding good footing. They hadn’t gone more than another fifty feet when Danny suddenly cried out and fell. He lost his grip on the rifle, which clattered to the rocks.

“It’s my ankle!” he said.

Cole went to help him. Sure enough, his grandson’s foot had caught between two rocks that held it securely as a vise. With his left hand, he helped to work Danny’s boot free.

“Can you put any weight on it?”

Danny stood and hobbled for a few feet, his face wincing in pain. “Wow, that hurts. Is it broken?”

“Let me see it a minute.” Cole felt the ankle, which was already beginning to swell. As best he could, Cole tugged the boot laces tight.

“Ow! What are you doing? Shouldn’t we take that boot off?”

“No, leave it on. Your ankle is sprained, most likely.” Cole thought the ankle might be broken, but he didn’t say that to Danny. Anyhow, a bad sprain was just as serious as a broken ankle. “The boot will give it some support. Sit down a minute and catch your breath.”

Picking his way carefully over the rocks, he made his way to where the rifle had fallen. Thankfully, the costly Leica scope wasn’t cracked. He checked to make sure that the muzzle was free of debris. The beautiful stock was now marred by a big scratch, but otherwise, the rifle seemed fine. This was a fancy customized version, but at its heart the Springfield was a tough nut to crack.

Next, he sat down next to Danny and used the hunting knife to cut some strips of cloth from the tail of his shirt. Some he used to bind up Danny’s ankle. He handed the rest of the cloth strips to Danny and told him to bandage Cole’s wounded arm. They both had a long drink of water from the canteen, and then Cole announced it was time to keep moving.

“I don’t think I can walk on that ankle.”

“You ain’t got any choice,” Cole said. “Here, grab hold of my shoulder.”

The two of them hobbled up the hill, struggling for each step, with Danny keeping weight off his ankle and Cole nursing his arm.

“We’re a fine pair,” Cole said.

“Now what?”

“Let’s get to the top of this ridge and see if we can put Hauer off the trail, then hoof it out of here as best we can.” After that, Cole hated to admit it to Danny, but they were out of options. All that they could do was run and hide.

They made their play to put Hauer on a false trail. By the time the sun was starting to sink below the hills, they had made it back down the mountain, making a wide loop to dodge Hauer.

“Almost there,” Cole said, encouraging Danny.

“Downhill isn’t any easier.” Danny grimaced. “Boy, this ankle hurts. Are you sure it’s not broken? I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

Cole cast about for some way to keep Danny distracted. Their predicament brought to mind the story of Cole’s cousin, Deacon Cole. Like Cole, he had served in the war, but in the Pacific, fighting the Japanese.

“Did I ever tell you about Cousin Deacon?” Cole asked.

“Didn’t I meet him?”

“Sure, once or twice when you were a young ‘un. I’m surprised you remember.”

“I remember him a little.”

“Well now, Cousin Deacon was mauled by a bear when he was just a boy. He was trying to protect his sister and that bear chewed him up good. He had the scars to prove it. It’s a wonder that bear didn’t kill him. It took him months just to get around again.”

“I remember the scars,” Danny said. “They were hard to look at. I remember being scared of him.”

“Cousin Deacon used to say that during the war he went through some hard times, all that fighting in the islands, but he kept going. He said that he figured if the bear hadn’t killed him, then he sure as hell wasn’t going to let the Japanese do it.”

“That’s a good story, Pa Cole, but I twisted my ankle. I didn’t get attacked by a bear.”

“The point is that Deacon Cole was tough. That bear made him that way. Who’s to say this ordeal ain’t your version of the bear?”

Danny fell silent, thinking it over. He didn’t complain again about the pain in his ankle.

Cole thought it was too much to hope that Hauer had taken the bait and followed the false trail down the other side of the mountain. Under different circumstances, the majestic surroundings of the Vosges Mountains and the European forest in autumn would have been stunning in and of themselves. However, Cole and Danny were injured, hungry and cold, and hunted by a deadly opponent. By the time they reached the valley below, they felt exhausted.

For now, they were sheltering at the edge of the forest, keeping to the cover of the trees with the open valley visible. He hadn’t wanted to spend another night in these hills, but here they were. They had not eaten anything in more than twenty-four hours, and with their injuries and the cool autumn weather, it was starting to take its toll.

“How much longer do you think we’ll be out here?” Danny asked. “I’m starving.”

“Me too,” Cole said. “One way or another, I promise you that we won’t be out here another night.”

“What about Herr Hauer?”

“It’s me that he’s after,” Cole said. While coming down the mountain, he had begun to slowly put a plan together that might mean at least one of them would survive this mess. The time had come to share his plan with Danny. “I’ve been thinking that I’ll lead him off into the woods, and he and I will finish this, one way or another. While we’re doing that, you can head down toward the neck of the valley and find the trail out of here. If we cut you a crutch, you should be fine.”

Danny shook his head. “No way! With your arm and shoulder like that, there’s no way you can shoot back at him.”

“I can still shoot,” Cole lied.

His grandson shook his head emphatically. “We are in this together, Pa Cole. There’s no way I’m leaving you here by yourself.”

If Danny was going to be stubborn, then so was Cole. Stubbornness was a family trait. “Boy, I’ve got to be honest with you. I don’t know that I can beat Hauer at this game. At my age, I’ve lost a step or two. Hell, maybe I’ve lost three or four steps. The best that I can hope to do is buy you some time to get to safety. One of us needs to survive this.”

Danny didn’t say anything for a while, and Cole felt relieved. He was sure that Danny was going to agree to the plan. Considering the shape he was in — cold, hungry, and in pain — who wouldn’t opt for a way out?

But Danny surprised him. The light was fading fast, but Cole could see that his grandson’s eyes, which were normally a soft brown, had turned dark and hard. Those eyes reminded Cole of Norma Jean’s when she was feeling determined.

The boy had plenty of fire in him, that was for sure. If their circumstances hadn’t been so dire, Cole would have smiled.

“I’m not leaving,” Danny said. “You’re the one who said this might be my bear. I’ve got to face the bear, not run away from it. And listen to you, Pa Cole — it sounds as if you’ve given up.”

“I managed to get you dragged into this, but it’s not your fight. I should have known better than to walk right into Hauer’s trap. I wanted one last chance to show him who was boss. Like the Bible says, pride goeth before a fall.”

“There’s no point in blaming yourself,” Danny said. “Listen, I know you never talked about the war, but I read that museum exhibit same as everyone else. You killed an awful lot of people.”

“It was war, Danny. It’s nothing to be proud of. I was doing my duty.”

Danny fixed him with that hard stare, the one that showed he was determined to hear the truth. “Are you sure about that? I see how people who knew you then treat you, even Colonel Mulholland — like they’re a little afraid of you. Even now. I don’t care if you’re old. I don’t care if you’re hurt — or that I’m hurt. You need to show that German sniper that you’re the same old Caje Cole. He couldn’t beat you then, and he’s not going to beat you now. You’re a Cole, remember?”

Oddly enough, Cole felt chastised. It was as if the roles had been reversed so that Danny was the old man and Cole was the foolish boy at his feet.

Cole took a deep breath, letting the cold mountain air fill his lungs. Deep within him, he felt the primitive critter start to stir, awakening in the cave where it had hidden away. Danny’s words had been like poking the critter with a pointy stick, which was a dangerous thing to do.

Danny was right that he shouldn’t give up. It was time to turn the tables on The Butcher. It was time to hunt.

“So that’s how you feel, is it?” Cole said. “Your old Pa Cole has let you down?”

“You said it yourself. You’re giving up.”

“Not yet,” Cole said. “If you want to stay and fight, I could use the help.”

Danny nodded.

“But first, what do you say you and me get something to eat?”

“How are we going to do that?”

“I seem to recall that there’s an entire boar not a quarter-mile from here. The one I shot yesterday. In this cold, the meat will still be good.”

“What are we going to do, eat it raw? Won’t Herr Hauer see the fire?”

“Let him,” Cole said. “Let’s show that son of a bitch that we’re not afraid of him. The smell of that roasting meat will drive him crazy.”

His grandson grinned. “Sounds good to me. Do you think there’s any bacon on that boar?”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Hauer scanned the forest ahead. He had the American and his grandson right where he wanted them. On the run. He knew it was only a matter of time now, with Cole wounded and his grandson being nothing more than a weak boy.

He smiled. The time had come for a reckoning. The American sniper would be losing this last fight.

His plan for revenge on Cole had been loosely conceived, and if Hauer had to admit it, it wasn’t much of a plan at all. It was more how a sailor might experience favorable winds and smooth seas. Everything had simply fallen into place.

Back at the museum opening, he had invited Cole on the hunting trip on a whim. But the possibilities presented by getting Cole alone in the woods had soon presented themselves in his mind. Of course, he hadn’t even been sure that they would end up hunting alone. He had taken a few small steps, such as making sure that he had the walkie talkie and flashlight. Hauer was no criminal mastermind, but he was an opportunist. He always had been, all the way back to the day that he had pushed that old witch of a nun down the school stairs. In this case, all the circumstances had been in his favor and had led to this moment.

He had managed to get himself and Cole assigned to the same hunting spot. Then, he had deliberately wounded the stag that had run his way. Hauer used the walkie-talkie to communicate with the larger group of hunters. It had been a simple matter to relay that they were not only heading back early on their own — but that they were returning to Munich.

The other hunters wouldn’t be expecting them back at the lodge.

Hauer had all the time in the world now to stalk his prey.

Eventually, he would emerge from the woods with some story about getting lost and losing track of Cole and the boy. If and when their bodies were ever found, it would be chalked up to a hunting accident.

He had even gotten lucky and wounded Cole during their exchange of fire. That shootout had been just like the old days! For once and for all, Hauer was going to have a chance to settle the score against the American sniper.

He looked up at the slope ahead of him, knowing that Cole was up there somewhere. It was Cole that he was after. The boy posed no threat, having made it clear that he did not care for hunting. The boy did not even carry a weapon. When the time came, Hauer would dispatch him along with his grandfather. Collateral damage. Hauer grinned at the thought. There could be no witnesses.

“Run, little pigs, run,” Hauer muttered, smiling to himself. “The Butcher is coming to find you.”

The Butcher. He had earned this nickname because Hauer really had been a butcher, slaughtering goats and sheep and cattle, before the German invasion of Poland. His previous vocation had proved useful whenever the troops had a windfall of livestock to supplement their rations. The choice cuts of meat he provided to officers ensured their favor. And of course, Hauer’s casual brutality, honed in the slaughterhouse, had served him well as a soldier. His nickname had come to take on a different meaning, a different sort of butchery. Most of Hauer’s fellow soldiers looked the other way. The few who spoke up did not last long — war had a way of quickly winnowing out honorable men, leaving the real business of war to soldiers such as Hauer.

His only regret was that the war hadn’t gone on for a while longer. Hauer had never quite gotten his fill.

He knew that Cole still held those incidents from the war against him, not only killing the villagers at Ville sur Moselle, but also the incident at Wingen sur Moder here in these very mountains at the end of what the Americans called the Battle of the Bulge.

In his mind’s eye, Hauer could still see the nun that he had shot in his crosshairs. He could still hear the satisfying smack of the bullet hitting home. Some memories did not fade over time.

“If she chose to help the Americans, then she was the enemy,” he said aloud to the trees. He shrugged. He had no regrets.

In East Germany, employed by the Stasi, he had managed to continue his share of killing. Even so, that had taken place quietly. It was not at all the same as the battles that had taken place in France and then in these hills.

Now that the wall had come down and the Iron Curtain had been swept aside, those days were over for good. The Butcher was just an ordinary citizen now. Fortunately, like most members of the Stasi, he had managed to line his pockets over the years in a way that enabled him to live in some comfort, if not exactly luxury. Mostly, he found himself bored, sometimes paying for the company of women — there was no shortage of prostitutes from places like Poland and Hungary — and drinking too much vodka. This game with Cole had been a pleasant diversion from the doldrums of retirement.

Hauer kept going up the hillside, moving cautiously. Just because he had gotten lucky so far didn’t mean that his luck would continue. As long as Cole still had a rifle, he was dangerous.

A shot rang out and Hauer ducked. He held himself still for several minutes, worried that he had miscalculated his quarry. Was he in Cole’s sights even now? He hadn’t heard a bullet come anywhere near him. Maybe it had been a random shot intended to slow him down — which it had.

“Nice try,” he admitted. “Very smart. But it is not enough to stop me.”

Satisfied that Cole did not have him in his crosshairs, after all, Hauer continued up the slope. His breathing came heavily — drinking vodka and chasing whores were not exactly the best activities for staying in shape at his age. He took his time, reading the landscape as he went.

He had spent many of the intervening years hunting with other members of the Stasi and had sharpened his tracking skills as a result.

Here and there, the bed of leaves and pine needles was disturbed, indicating that his quarry had passed this way. He spotted broken twigs left in the wake of their passage.

Finally, he saw spots of blood, rich and dark. So, his bullet had found its mark.

He squatted down and touched a spot of blood, wetting his fingertip and then rubbing the blood between his fingers.

“I am coming to put you out of your misery, Hillbilly!” he shouted.

The hills echoed back his words, but there was no answer.

Hauer shrugged and kept moving. Slowly, laboriously, he followed the blood trail and the footsteps on the soft carpet of the forest. Where the ground grew rocky, he saw places where the rocks had been disturbed. A couple of hours passed. Hauer sat down and ate a candy bar, wished for a hot cup of coffee, rested for a few minutes, and then kept going.

Finally, he reached the summit.

The view was stunning. Even someone like The Butcher could admit to the natural beauty of the place. He saw deep forests, tall pines mixed with the fiery colors of autumn leaves. No buildings. No roads. No signs of civilization at all, in fact, except a single column of woodsmoke that appeared to be several miles distant. The days were so short this time of year that the sun was already slipping low in the sky. The mountain winter was just around the corner.

He studied the trail leading down the other side of the summit. What was down there? More rocks, more forest. Had Cole gone that way? Hauer was doubtful. The only real chance Cole had was to get down to the valley again and look for the trail out. That Hillbilly was clever — it would be just like him to have left a false trail, and then doubled back.

“Where have you gone, little pigs?” Hauer wondered aloud.

After another moment of thought, he turned and headed back down the slope, returning toward the valley, confident that Cole was trying to give him the slip.

But not for long.

Back at the lodge, Hans was worried. When his new friend, Cole, and Cole’s grandson had not returned with the other hunters at nightfall, he had expressed concern.

“They have gone back to Munich,” the hunt master explained, holding up a walkie talkie by way of proof. “Hauer radioed me to say that they’d had enough and that he was driving the American and his grandson back to the city.”

“They did not tell me,” Hans said. “I’m the one who drove them here.”

The hunt master shrugged. He looked toward his companions, gathered around a fire and drinking schnapps. He seemed eager to join them, rather than to debate with Hans. “What can I tell you? That is all I know.”

“We should call the authorities.”

The hunt master groaned. “Oh, we don’t need them here! They will just have us answering questions all night, when we should be sitting by the fire drinking schnapps. If your friends were driving back to Munich, they won’t get there until much later tonight. Why don’t you wait until tomorrow morning and give them a call? I am sure that they will explain everything then.”

The hunt master gave Hans a reassuring pat on the shoulder, then moved toward the ring of celebratory hunters. Someone passed him a glass of schnapps.

Angela had been nearby, listening in. “Do you think they really went back to Munich.”

“No, I do not.”

“Neither do I,” she said. “We should go have a look at their room.”

The limited accommodations at the lodge had required that the grandfather and grandson share a room in the converted stable. However, calling it a stable was something of a misnomer because the building had been completely renovated to match the lodge in comforts. The door to the Americans’ guest room was not even locked. Not that there was anything of value in it, other than clothes. Pajama bottoms, two scattered socks, and some underwear lay on the floor near Danny’s unmade bed, evidence that he had dressed in a hurry to go hunting, and a suitcase full of disheveled clothing lay open on top of the covers. Cole’s side of the room had a military precision about it, with the bed neatly made.

“Your boyfriend is a slob,” Hans said, smiling. The situation might be serious, but he could not resist teasing his grand-niece.

“Uncle Hans, he is not my boyfriend!”

“Hmm,” he said. “Are you so sure about that?”

Angela made an exasperated sound in response.

“All their things are here,” Hans said. “It does not make sense that they left. I don’t trust that Hauer one bit. He is up to something.”

“We need to go look for them,” Angela said. “Maybe they need help. Maybe they are hurt. We need to go right now.”

Hans shook his head. “It is dark out. What would you and I do, an old man and a city girl?”

Angela pouted. “We must do something! I am worried about Danny!”

“I already expressed my concerns to the hunt master. Whatever else we do will have to wait for morning.”

“We can’t wait that long!”

Hans thought about it, knowing his grand-niece was right. The question was, what could they do?

Then he remembered the business card in his billfold. He took it out. On it was the telephone number for the retired American officer who had helped to organize the WWII museum.

“Angela, we must find a phone. We will call Colonel Mulholland. He will know what to do.”

Miles away, Cole and Danny were preparing for another night in the forest. It was clear and cold. Through a gap in the treetops, Cole could see the stars overhead, sparkling bright. He had spent a lifetime looking at those stars. They felt like old friends.

Danny surprised him by saying, “Look, there’s Orion.” He pointed up at the three stars that made up The Hunter’s belt.

“Huh, I reckon somebody was paying attention when I taught him the stars, after all.”

“Sure, Pa Cole. I know all the stars.” He pointed. “There’s Pegasus. There’s Taurus. The Bull.”

While their situation remained desperate, they were both in better spirits. They had built a small fire and roasted some of the pork, and both of them had eaten their fill.

While the fire had been a way of thumbing his nose at Hauer, Cole wasn’t foolish enough to sleep right beside it. Instead, they had made their makeshift camp about one hundred feet away. They had left a couple of bundles of branches on the ground near the fire so that from a distance the bundles would resemble sleeping bodies.

Cole was close enough that he would see Hauer if The Butcher entered the circle of firelight. If that was the case, then Cole planned to shoot him. In part, Cole had broken every rule for stealth and built the fire because he now suspected that it wouldn’t be Hauer’s style to ambush them in the night, or even to pick them off from the darkness. That was outside the rules of the strange game that they were playing. No, he suspected that Hauer would want Cole to see what was coming. He would want to savor his final victory. Hauer would want to gloat. With no sign that help was on its way, Hauer wasn’t in any rush to finish them off.

Cole felt confident that Hauer would wait for daylight. When daylight came, Cole had a surprise of his own planned for his old enemy.

With a full belly, Cole felt new energy coursing through him. Whatever came tomorrow, he would be ready to finish this business with Hauer for once and for all. This was going to be the finish to a fight that had started forty years before.

“Get some sleep,” he said to Danny. “I’ll keep watch.”

Danny didn’t argue. They were both exhausted after a day spent trudging up and down the mountain, trying to stay ahead of Hauer. Danny’s injured ankle and Cole’s own wounds had also drained their energy.

His grandson tugged his coat tighter and rolled over in the leaves to get some sleep.

Cole had no plans of his own to sleep. He smiled to himself. What did an old man need sleep for, anyhow? He had an eternity to rest, and that eternity was coming on fast. No, sleep was for the young. He glanced down at the resting young man, wishing that he could walk with him through life and guide him, but knowing that we each have to make our own way. The best that any parent or grandparent could hope for was to set younger folks on the right path.

He wanted Danny to live and have a chance to follow that path, wherever that might take him. For that to happen, Cole was going to have to kill Hauer.

Instead of sleeping, he took out the hunting knife that he had used to butcher the boar and began to sharpen it. He had no proper sharpening stone with him, of course, but he had found a reasonably flat, smooth stone, speckled with flint, that would serve the same purpose. He spat on the stone and got to work. He worked gently and patiently, so that the sound of steel on stone wouldn’t carry through the woods.

The knife itself was a Böker lock-blade, made in Germany. He hadn’t brought any of his own hand-made knives with him on the trip, but he had to admit that the German knife was a quality product. After a while, he tested the edge with his thumb. The steel took an edge well and held it.

When he was finished with the knife, he moved on to the rifle. Back in his military days, it had always been a source of ribbing — as much as anyone kidded with someone as serious as Cole — that he had the cleanest rifle in the army.

Old habits died hard. He didn’t have any proper cleaning tools to speak of out here in the woods, but he made due. Earlier, he had cut yet another strip from his tattered shirt and soaked it in some of the pork fat from supper. He used the rag to rub down every part of the action that he could reach, along with the exterior metal surfaces to protect them from the nighttime dew.

“It ain’t gun oil,” he muttered. “But grease from that boar will have to do.”

He unloaded the magazine and reloaded it. Two rounds left. It would have to be enough.

Cole ran his hands over the bright, smooth steel and the burnished walnut stock, enjoying the feel of the checkering under his fingertips. The sporterized Springfield was indeed a beautiful rifle. He just hoped that he had an opportunity to return it to Hans once this business was finished.

With the knife sharpened and the rifle ready to go, Cole leaned back against the fallen tree and gazed up at the stars. Danny slept, but Cole had Orion to keep him company. Some distance away, the dying flames of their campfire flickered through the empty woods. Hauer might be watching the fire, but he hadn’t shown himself. Cole stayed awake, keeping his own vigil.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dawn arrived slowly, the sun touching the mountaintops first, then creeping into the valleys. Cole stood and stretched, but didn’t feel the least bit cold. It was as if he could sense the heat of the coming action in his blood. One way or another, the final confrontation with Hauer would be this morning.

With any luck, Hauer had been drawn by the firelight and had spent the night watching the dying coals, anticipating his revenge. He would be as cold and exhausted as his quarry this morning.

Cole had spent those wakeful hours planning his trap. His plan was simple, but it was going to rely on Danny. The question was, would the boy be up to the task?

“You awake?” he asked, by way of waking Danny up.

Groggily, Danny opened his eyes. “Darn, I was hoping that all this was going to be a bad dream when I woke up, but I guess it wasn’t.”

“No such luck,” Cole said.

Quickly, he outlined his plan to Danny. Cole would walk out into the open, heading back to where he had butchered the boar yesterday, as if planning to carve off more meat for breakfast. He would leave the rifle with Danny, who would be hidden at the forest edge. Once Hauer showed himself, or if he took a shot at Cole, it would be up to Danny to put Hauer in his crosshairs and finish him.

Just as Cole had feared, Danny didn’t like the idea one bit.

“I can’t do it,” Danny protested. “You want me to shoot him?”

“You’ve got to,” Cole said. “My arm and shoulder are too stiff to shoot that rifle. It’s up to you.”

Danny shook his head emphatically. “I can’t. Pa Cole, you know I couldn’t even shoot a deer when you took me hunting back home. I just couldn’t. I sure can’t shoot a human being.”

“Even if that human being is trying to kill us?” Cole grumped. He had no such compunctions about defending himself from a threat, but he had to remind himself again that Danny was still young enough to trust that people were essentially good. Cole had learned otherwise a long time ago.

“You know what I mean. It’s not right.”

“Danny, Hauer doesn’t have any human decency. Put it out of your head that you’re shooting at a person. He’s just a target. Instead, remember all the basics of shooting that I taught you. You’re a good shot, Danny. You can do this.”

“How am I even going to see Hauer if he’s still in the trees?”

Cole had thought about that. “The thing with Hauer is, he’ll want to gloat. He ain’t gonna shoot me from a distance if he can avoid it. If he does, he’ll wound me and then come closer to finish me off. He’ll want to make sure that he’s the last thing I see.”

“So you’re using yourself for bait?”

Cole didn’t comment on that, but only handed Danny the rifle. “You’ve got two shots,” he said. “Don’t miss.”

“Easy for you to say.”

They crept closer to the edge of the forest, where it opened up to the valley. Cole got Danny set up with the rifle across a log, Cole’s cap stuffed under it to steady his grandson’s aim.

“Are you sure about this, Pa Cole?”

“You just remember everything I’ve taught you,” Cole said. “You may not be a hunter, but you know how to shoot. Just take your time and be sure of your target. You’ll do fine.”

Danny nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.

Hauer had them right where he wanted them. Cole was wounded, and that grandson didn’t pose any threat. They had tried to give him the slip on the ridge by laying the false trail, but Hauer felt confident that they had moved back down the mountain.

His instincts had been correct and he soon found their trail. All that he had to do was follow them. A wounded man and a teenaged boy had no hope of escape from The Butcher.

He made his way back down the mountain, taking his time. It would not do to be overconfident. Cole still had a rifle and could set up an ambush. The American might be wounded, Hauer thought, but he still posed a danger.

He thought back all those years to the war. The Hillbilly sniper acted as if Hauer should feel some remorse, but did the wolf regret the sheep that he had killed?

There had been no real rules, not when the officers felt inclined to look the other way when there was dirty work to be done. If Cole kept a grudge against him, then the feeling was mutual. The American sniper could act as righteous as he liked, but the truth was that he had caused the demise of many German soldiers. His hands were not free of blood.

Hauer grinned, wondering how the final act would play out. He preferred not to shoot Cole from a distance. He wanted the American to see that the end was coming for him. Hauer wanted to savor that moment.

Already, it was starting to get dark. He wanted to make sure that they did not somehow give him the slip during the night. Who knew, but if the opportunity presented itself during the night, he might even finish this business with a knife — up close and personal.

Down below, Hauer spotted something flickering in the deepening shadows of the forest. To his surprise, he realized that he was seeing a campfire. As he crept closer, he even smelled grilling meat. They must have returned to the boar that Cole had killed. Hauer’s belly rumbled. It had been a while since he had eaten any real food.

Reassured that his quarry wasn’t going anywhere, he sat down to eat his rations, which consisted of half a sandwich that he had saved. He took a pull or two from the flask of vodka that he had brought along on the hunt. Most of his fellow Germans preferred schnapps, but the Soviet influence had long ago gotten him into the habit of drinking vodka, which was cheaper and far more plentiful in East Germany. He just hoped that this hunt wrapped up before his flask ran dry.

“Let me see how the hares are doing,” he said.

With the edge taken off his hunger, he continued down the mountain. Near the fire, he moved cautiously, concerned that Cole might have set some sort of trap for him. He crept closer to the circle of firelight.

Already, the Hillbilly and his grandson must have gone to sleep. He could see the dark outlines of their bodies, stretched out on the ground near the fire. The two must be exhausted. Still, building the fire had been a risk and he was surprised that Cole had taken it. It would have been a simple matter to put a bullet into each one of their sleeping forms and be done it it, but that wasn’t Hauer’s way. If anything, he would slip closer during the night and end this business with a knife. However, the thought that Cole still had a rifle held him back.

Hauer watched from the forest, a little envious of the warmth those two must surely have enjoyed from the fire. But something wasn’t right. The sleeping forms didn’t so much as stir.

After another hour of keeping watch, Hauer realized that he had been duped. The shapes that he had thought were sleeping forms were surely no more than bundles of sticks.

Hauer considered approaching the fire, just to make sure, but then decided against it. If Cole had set a trap, then this was it. Once Hauer walked into the ring of firelight, then Cole could pick him off from the shadows. Clever, clever. He had to admire the resourcefulness of the American, who must be hidden nearby.

Hauer did not stir from his vantage point, even once he realized that he had been tricked.

In the morning, when it was light enough to see their trail and possibly spot them in the forest, he would find Cole and the teenager — then finish this business for good.

Cole was more than ready for the day to begin, but he had to wait for the daylight to crystallize. Dark shapes became bushes. Blurs became trees. Now that it was light enough to see his way, it was time to set his plan in motion.

Leaving Danny behind with the rifle, Cole moved out of the cover of the forest and into the open valley. He paused to take a deep breath, letting the mountain air fill his lungs. He was struck again by the beauty of the place. The cold mountaintops stood indifferent against the backdrop of the sky, tinged with pinkish clouds from the rising sun. It had been damp and cold in the lower elevations during the night, resulting in a heavy frost that coated the brown grass, so that the ankle-high grass crackled like glass under his boots. He could see the tracks through the grass that he’d left last night, going out to collect meat from the boar, and then back again. He didn’t see evidence of any other tracks, which meant that Hauer must not have ventured out here during the night. Surely, however, Hauer was watching even now from some vantage point. He would have been waiting for this moment.

The spot between Cole’s shoulder blades itched fiercely as he imagined Hauer’s crosshairs there. He was gambling that The Butcher would not kill him outright, but would want to take some measure of pleasure in drawing out Cole’s death, like a cat toying with a mouse.

Cole was not disappointed. He heard a shout behind him, and turned to see Hauer emerging from the woods, rifle pointed at Cole. He stopped and waiting for Hauer to approach, heart hammering. If Hauer sensed a trap, then all that he had to do was pull the trigger and it was all over.

“There you are!” Hauer called, crossing the grass more confidently now.

“You son of a bitch!” Cole shouted back.

Hauer stopped. “Where is your rifle?”

“Out of ammo.”

Hauer made a tsk, tsk sound. “Too bad for you.”

Cole held up the hunting knife. “Come a little closer and see how you like it.”

Hauer did come closer, but stopped well short of knife range, wary of Cole’s blade. He lowered the rifle but kept it pointed in Cole’s direction, looking him up and down. Cole worried that Hauer sensed a trap.

“I imagine that wound hurts,” Hauer said.

“It’s a mite sore,” Cole allowed.

Hauer cocked his head. “I do not think that you are out of ammunition,” he finally said. “What I think is that your grandson is at the edge of the forest, intending to shoot me, and that you have put yourself out here as bait.”

Cole’s heart sank, but he kept a poker face. Hauer was no fool. But why had he exposed himself out here in the field if he knew better? “Is that what you think?” Cole said.

“I am not concerned about the boy,” Hauer said. “Der Junge ist ein Weichei. He is a soft egg. He would not even bring along a rifle or shotgun on this hunting trip because he doesn’t like to kill animals.”

Hauer raised the rifle, lining up the sights on Cole, and a chill went through him. This was it. It was all up to Danny now. Silently, he urged his grandson to shoot. Do it now.

Smiling at Cole, Hauer suddenly turned and fired two quick shots at the tree line, in two different directions. To Cole’s relief, the bullets were nowhere near where Danny was hidden, but that wasn’t Hauer’s intention. He’d meant to rattle Danny. He turned back to Cole.

“Right about now, your grandson is probably shaking like a leaf and pissing himself,” Hauer said with a laugh. “We both know what it’s like to have someone shoot at you for the first time.”

“You are a piece of work, Hauer,” Cole said, desperate to buy some time. Come on, Danny. You got this.

From the woods, a single shot rang out. They both heard the bullet sing through the crisp air. It might have passed right between them.

Neither man so much as flinched.

Hauer turned his back to the forest, as if dismissing the threat there. “Do you see what I mean? I could stand out here all day without fear of being shot. Like I said, your grandson ist ein Weichei.”

Cole ignored the insult. One bullet left, Danny, Cole was thinking. Breathe, aim, squeeze that trigger. Just like I taught you. Take your time — well, maybe not too much time.

“Get it over with,” Cole said, his voice raised, hoping that his grandson could hear him. It was a message for Danny more than Hauer.

“You should have killed me during the war,” Hauer said. “After I shoot you, I will track down the boy and take care of him as well.”

Hauer raised the rifle again. This time, he put it to his shoulder and aimed carefully at Cole.

“Where would you like me to shoot you?” Hauer asked. “Through the heart? Through the head?”

“Just get it over with.”

Another shot came from the forest.

There was no snap of a bullet going past. Instead, there was the solid whunk of a hollow-point bullet hitting flesh and bone.

Hauer reacted as if someone had just slapped him hard between the shoulder blades. Intended to bring down big game like wild boar and stags by shredding lungs and internal organs, the mushrooming slug was equally effective on human targets.

Hauer stumbled forward a couple of steps, a look of disbelief in his eyes. The rifle drooped in his hands. Slowly, he sank to his knees. Then he slumped over sideways.

But he wasn’t dead yet. Hauer’s hands still grasped the rifle. He struggled to find the strength to point it at Cole.

Cole walked over and took hold of the rifle, wresting it from Hauer’s hands. His right side hurt like fire and his shoulder felt stiff, but not much effort was involved as he aimed the muzzle down at Hauer.

“Hauer, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why the hell did you shoot that nun all those years ago? Hell, she was just trying to help one of your own men.”

“I never liked nuns. Isn’t that reason enough?”

“No.”

“Look at the two of us, all shot to pieces,” Hauer said softly. It was an effort for him to speak. A bubble of pink froth appeared at the corner of his lips. “For us, the war is finally over.”

“I reckon,” Cole said. “I’ve got to say, this has been a long time coming.”

Then he pulled the trigger.

Chapter Twenty-Five

In the aftermath of the final gunshot, a stillness settled over the valley, the forest, and the surrounding mountains. It was a peaceful quiet for a change, rather than a menacing silence. Cole breathed in the crisp morning air, saying a silent prayer of thanks that he and Danny were still alive.

Hauer had been a goner, lung shot by Danny’s bullet, but Cole made sure that he was the one who finished him off. When the authorities asked, he could say with a straight face that he had been the one who killed Hauer.

He turned his attention to the edge of the forest, where Danny was emerging, rifle at his side. Cole stood, smiling, waiting for him.

“Good shooting,” Cole said.

Danny looked shaken. “I shot him,” he said. “I just killed a man.”

“You did what you had to do. It was self-defense — him or us,” Cole said. He reached for the rifle and took it in his good left hand. “Listen up now. We both know you did the right thing. I’m the one who did all the shooting, if anyone asks.”

A thought seemed to occur to Danny. “You mean the police?”

“I reckon someone might wonder how Hauer ended up dead. Considering that he’s shot in the back and all, they ain’t going to buy that it was suicide.”

Danny looked down at the body. Hauer had been an imposing man in life, but in death he seemed to have shrunken.

“He tried to kill us,” Danny stated, as if still trying to convince himself.

“He surely tried, but that didn’t work out so well for him, now did it?” Cole took Danny by the elbow, steering him away from the body. “I’m proud of you, Danny. I know it’s not easy, but you can hold your head high. You did the right thing.”

Danny nodded.

“C’mon, now that Hauer’s not here to stop us anymore, let’s go see if we can find that trail out of this valley. I could use some coffee.”

The thought of food seemed to snap Danny out of his trance. “And pancakes,” Danny said.

“Hmm. Bacon, too.”

“And some orange juice! My stomach is rumbling now, Pa Cole.”

“All right then, let’s get out of here.”

Together, they started toward the western neck of the valley.

They were not alone for long.

The stillness of the morning air was interrupted by the steady thup, thup, thup of an approaching helicopter. Soon enough, the aircraft came into sight, flying low.

"You think they’re looking for us?” Danny asked.

“Only one way to find out. Give ‘em a wave.”

Danny did just that, using a big howdy motion that they called a hillbilly wave back home. Instead of continuing on its route, the helicopter flew lower and circled overhead.

“I reckon they were looking for us, after all,” Cole said.

Further confirmation arrived a few minutes later, when a couple of official-looking off-road vehicles came bouncing up the rough road into the valley. Several men and a couple of women got out, all wearing the bright red jackets of the mountain rescue team, known as le Peloton Gendarmerie de Haute Montagne. They gave Cole and Danny water, put new bandages on Cole’s arm, and much to Cole’s embarrassment, wrapped him in a shiny emergency blanket that looked as if it came off a spaceship.

Another blanket was used to cover Hauer’s remains, which Cole had managed to point out to the team.

But there was no return to the lodge just yet. They waited for an hour until yet another vehicle arrived, this one carrying two uniformed gendarmes and two plainclothes men who appeared to be detectives.

The detectives clearly had not expected to be called into the forest that morning, because both wore dress shoes, overcoats, and suits, one with a tie and one without. It was not gear for the outdoors, and neither one seemed too inclined to venture very far from the vehicle. They lifted the blanket long enough to get a good look at Hauer, then one of them put on some gloves and picked up Hauer’s rifle. Eventually, they came back and asked Cole and Danny some questions. Soon, they left Danny alone and focused their attention on Cole.

Cole had already made up his mind that he wasn’t going to try and explain that Hauer had tried to kill them. How could Cole ever prove that? Who would ever believe him?

“I reckon I got confused,” Cole explained, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to come across as a feeble senior citizen. He hunched his shoulders under the blanket to seem more convincing. Never mind the fact that he resembled a rangy old wolf. “The light wasn’t good and I thought he was a stag. My eyes ain’t what they used to be.”

Cole told the detectives that they had gotten lost after being separated from the group of hunters. Cole kept his explanation short, which was easy for him, being naturally a man of few words.

The French gendarmes spoke English fluently. The two detectives, in addition to fluency in English, also had eyes like sharks. They seemed to see right through him, as if they had heard it all before, which they probably had. It was all an accident. One thing for certain — these men were not fools. They asked a lot of questions.

“Did he shoot himself also?”

Cole shrugged. “Maybe when he fell?”

Leaving Cole, the two detectives moved off to one side and conferred, smoking cigarettes and speaking French in low tones, glancing in Cole’s direction from time to time. One of them had taken Hauer’s ID along with Cole’s, then sat in one of the vehicles, relaying the information.

“Are they going to arrest us?” Danny whispered.

“They seem a little hung up on the fact that he’s shot in the back and in the front with two different rifles,” Cole said. “It’s a mite confusing.”

After a while, the detectives tossed away their cigarettes and marched purposefully toward Cole.

“Did you know this man was former Stasi?” they asked. “The German authorities wanted to ask him some questions, it seems. He was a Nazi, perhaps a war criminal, and then a member of the East German Secret Police. He was not what you Americans would call a Boy Scout.”

“News to me, son.”

“We know about you, too. Some important people are very concerned about you. You were here during the war. You helped fight to free France. A war hero.”

“Long time ago,” Cole said.

“Some of us have long memories.” The one who seemed to be the senior detective pointed at Hauer’s body, then looked Cole right in the eye and announced, “Hunting accident.”

Once that was settled, everybody seemed to relax. The senior detective produced a flask and they all had a nip — even Danny.

“Don’t tell your gran,” Cole muttered, already feeling better as the alcohol and the shiny blanket warmed him.

Then the people in the red jackets loaded up Hauer’s body and everybody bundled into the vehicles and drove slowly out of the valley.

Cole glanced back once at the mountain peaks, oddly saddened to see them go.

An ambulance waited to transport Cole to the hospital to be treated for his wounds. The rescue team had bandaged him up, but his arm and shoulder needed more expert medical attention. First, they had some other business to attend to. They gathered in the lodge lobby, near the big fire in the hearth, which helped to warm their chilled bones.

Danny got a hug from Angela, and even a kiss right there in the middle of the lobby. Judging from the red blush that spread across his grandson’s face, Angela had warmed him up plenty.

Hans was also waiting.

“Hans, I’m sorry your rifle got a little banged up,” Cole said.

“My friend, that is the least of anyone’s worries. I am glad that you are all right.”

Hans explained how he had called Colonel Mulholland, who had pulled some strings so that a search-and-rescue operation was finally set into motion.

“I have to thank you, Hans,” Cole said. “It would have been a long walk back from that valley.”

“What in the world happened?”

Cole told the actual story, which was definitely not what he had related to the French police. Hans listened quietly. When Cole had finished, all that Hans said was, “I never trusted that Hauer.”

“I should have listened to you,” Cole admitted. “But it’s all done now. He ain’t going to cause any more trouble.”

“Now, you need to go to the hospital and see to that arm.”

“Oh, it can wait,” Cole said. “Let’s all have some breakfast first.”

Once Cole was back from the hospital and had recuperated for a couple of days, the two old soldiers had one last mission together. They made it alone, leaving Danny and Angela to their own devices. Cole felt that Danny needed some time just to be a kid and forget about what had happened.

Danny had been quieter than usual as the enormity of what he had done sank in. Taking a life was never easy, even in self-defense. When Danny had retreated to his room to watch MTV and eat pizza, Cole had let him be, not sure what else he could say or do for his grandson. Cole was thankful that the upcoming day with Angela had snapped him out of his brooding.

“Are you sure those two don’t need a chaperone?” Cole asked Hans. “Are you comfortable leaving your niece alone with my grandson? He is a teenage boy, after all.”

Hans shrugged. “They are young,” he said. “Let them do what young people do. Besides, your grandson is a gentleman. The business we are attending to concerns the past. Let them enjoy the present.”

“Amen to that,” Cole agreed.

At the wheel of the Volvo again, Hans drove them down winding mountain roads to the village called Wingen sur Moder. The place was too far off the beaten path to be much of a tourist destination. Cole had been there forty years ago, but none of the modern roads approaching the village looked familiar. Nonetheless, it was a lovely village, set among the hills, with one of every shop that the villagers might need in this remote location. It was also small enough that the arrival of an automobile with German registration plates did not go unnoticed. A couple of old-timers scowled in their direction.

“They noticed the car’s Nummernschilder,” Hans said, using the German slang for vehicle tags. “I do not think they like Germans very much.”

“They’d be a lot less friendly if we had driven up in a Panzer.”

“Good point,” Hans agreed.

The looks that the foreign car received were in part because this village had not been so peaceful back in the winter of 1945. In January, German forces had pushed deep through this countryside as Operation Nordwind drove further into the Allied lines just as the Allies thought that the Battle of the Bulge had been won. Although it had little strategic value, this village had found itself caught in the middle of a battle that raged all around them. The battle had moved from the hills, to the narrow streets, and even into the houses themselves. The roar of tank engines, machine-gun fire, and individual rifle shots had shattered the mountain quiet. In addition to the soldiers on both sides, many villagers had died. Others had lost their homes and shops. It had taken the villagers many years to recover from the war’s devastation.

At the village center, Hans parked the Volvo and got out with Cole. The village itself looked much as Cole remembered it. Several more trees had been planted, however, softening the street. The cobblestones were gone, replaced by modern paving with parking spaces marked in bright paint.

A few of the older villagers noticed them, and now that Cole and Hans had left the car with German tags behind, nodded in grim acknowledgment. They knew well enough why two old strangers were here. These aging villagers still remembered that day many years before.

The smell of woodsmoke transported him to another time and place. Cole stood thoughtfully, remembering the fight that had taken place there. He was lost for a moment in the sounds of battle, rifles firing, the ratatatat of machine guns, even the deep boom of tanks and mortars.

He glanced up at the church steeple, seeing what a clear shot Hauer must have had. It all seemed like yesterday.

With an effort, he shook his head to clear it and return to the present. The flashback had been so intense that he was startled to find the village so quiet and calm. A few people strolled the sidewalks, bundled against the chill autumn air, chatting quietly.

Hans had been watching him, but the old German soldier made no comment. Perhaps he had been lost in his own memories as well. Both men realized that as their generation faded, so would the last living memories of that war vanish.

They made their way to the small stone monument near the church that marked the graves of those who had died during the battle. Years before, a marker had been placed with the names engraved on it of the U.S. soldiers who had given their lives there. Cole didn’t know the name of the young soldier who had died at the side of the nun, but surely his name was included. Cole had brought along a small American flag, which he now placed at the foot of the marker.

Then he moved on to the second marker, on which the names of villagers who had died in the fight were written. He had left his cheaters in the damn car, so he had to get on his knees to read the names. He quickly spotted Sister Anne Marie’s name among the fallen.

Of course, Cole hadn’t known her beyond that brief meeting all those years ago. But she had clearly been a selfless young woman, called to serve a greater good by helping the American prisoners. One more life lost among many. Hauer had murdered her, plain and simple. A few days ago, Cole had finally been able to deliver his final sniper’s justice.

Still kneeling, he placed a single rose into the cold ground. For you, Sister.

Cole got to his feet, feeling the ache in his arm from that last fight. Hans stood a few feet away, his eyes closed, evidently offering a silent prayer. When he was finished, he crossed himself.

“For the nun?” Cole asked.

“For us all, my friend.”

The two old soldiers headed back to the car, their mission done. They drove back without saying much, both lost in thought.

After Hans dropped him at the hotel, Cole was still in the lobby when Danny came through the revolving doors. He was alone but smiling, apple-cheeked from the crisp air. It was hard to believe this was the same young man who, just days before, had been hungry and haggard, fighting for his life. The young were so resilient. Cole felt proud just at the sight of his grandson.

“I thought you’d be out with Angela,” Cole said.

“We had a great time,” he said. “We went ice skating and had the best hot chocolate you ever tasted. Germans make the best hot chocolate. It’s not like that powdered stuff back home, that’s for sure. Angela has to go back home to her family tomorrow. And she’s got school. I might not see her again for a while. Maybe I’ll come back this summer, if I can save up some money.”

“Maybe,” Cole agreed. “Well, what do you want to do next?”

“Pa Cole, this has been a great trip, but I think it’s time to get back.”

Cole gripped Danny’s shoulder with his good hand and grinned. “You know what? I’m thinking the same thing. I reckon we ought to get back home and see how Gran is doing.”