Winter Sniper: A World War II Novel

Chapter 11

The DC-3 took off from London in the late afternoon bound for Scotland, and then flew through the night across the Atlantic, stopping in Nova Scotia to refuel before continuing down the coast. Ty Walker watched the lights of New York glow more brightly, then fade into the night. He felt the nervous butterflies in his stomach grow more pronounced the closer they got to Washington.

He had flown at night before, but only in Europe, where the landscape was considerably darker. The blackout lights in the United States were not nearly as effective. The English had learned the hard way what happened when lights gave German bombers a clear target. So far, the East Coast of the United States had been safe from similar attacks. Thank God. The battle of Britain had left the English badly shaken, thought Ty. Seeing the devastation of war firsthand had convinced him that Americans should have joined the fight earlier.

His stomach did another nervous flip. It wasn’t that he minded flying. The lights so far below weren’t a source of worry as the plane skimmed above them at one hundred fifty miles per hour. Instead, thoughts of a blue-eyed, blond-haired former movie star were making his palms sweat. He wondered what sort of welcome he could expect from Eva. Not that they had parted on bad terms. That had been months ago. Ty wasn’t so naive as to think that a woman like Eva would be alone for long.

“First thing I’m going to do is walk into a decent restaurant and order a steak,” said Smithers, interrupting Ty’s thoughts.

“I’ve got something on my mind besides eating,” replied Henderson, sitting nearby. “My wife is going to be in town. I haven’t seen her in months. Let’s just say the second thing I’m going to do is take off my boots, if you know what I mean.”

The men in the seats around Ty — the few who were still awake — laughed knowingly. The steady drone of the turboprop engines had lulled all of them to sleep at one time or another. Even General Eisenhower had nodded off after spending several hours poring over a stack of paperwork. Ike sat alone — it was an almost unconscious deference to his rank — although Colonel Durham sat just two rows behind, ready to do anything the general asked. Durham may have been the only member of Ike’s staff who hadn’t fallen asleep during the long flight from England. Ty wondered what the middle-aged colonel was looking forward to in Washington. He realized that he didn’t even know if the colonel was married. Durham had an almost single-minded devotion to Ike. Instead of steak or a woman’s arms, the colonel was most likely mentally reviewing the general’s schedule for the next few days.

To be sure, the hours would be filled with endless meetings. George C. Marshall would want to catch up with his leading general in Europe to discuss strategy. There were plans for the invasion of Europe to review. At some point, Ike was also slated to meet with President Roosevelt. However, not all of Ike’s time would be taken up by meetings. Ty knew that the general was planning at least a few days alone with his wife, Mamie. That was when Ty hoped to get a few days to himself with Eva.

Ty had never met Mamie Eisenhower, but he suspected that she was no match for the lovely Kay Summersby. And Mamie would surely have heard the rumors about her husband and his pretty staffer. One would have to be blind not to notice how Ike’s eyes lit up when Kay walked into SHAEF headquarters. Kay was noticeably absent from the contingent that had flown to Washington. Ike had brought along most of his closest staff, even his driver, Crandall, whom the general had taken a liking to. But he had wisely left Kay back in England. Ty thought the general must have decided he had worries enough on the European front without fighting an additional battle on the marriage front.

Henderson got up and disappeared into the cockpit, then returned with an update from the crew. “We’ll be landing in Washington in half an hour, boys,” he said. “That’s when the fun begins.”

Hess sat behind his rifle, waiting. He did not leave to eat or stretch his legs, and yet the day passed swiftly. The long winter shadows seemed to move as surely as the hands of a clock, sweeping across the streets and the faces of the buildings.

Long after the streetlights had flickered on — the city no longer observed blackout conditions — Hess saw three black cars moving in unison up Pennsylvania Avenue. There was nothing all that special about the three dark sedans, except that they were traveling together, creeping through the heavy early evening traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue. He watched the general’s convoy approach the hotel. All three vehicles pulled to the curb in front of the hotel. The men who spilled from the cars all wore uniforms.

From his sniper’s nest high above, Hess watched them get out at an almost leisurely pace. One man paused to light a cigarette. Another stamped his feet against the cold. So careless, like men who had never seen combat. A place like Stalingrad would have taught them to keep their heads down and their eyes open. The men formed a loose cordon on the sidewalk between the center car and the hotel doors. Hess pressed his eye tight against the rifle scope, straining to tell the uniformed men apart. The rifle itself was nestled securely on the table several feet back from the open window. The crosshairs never wavered. He took a deep breath and held it, his hands steady on the rifle. The very tip of his finger caressed the trigger. I am the hunter; he is the prey.

Endless hours in Russia spent staring through a rifle scope had taught him to be patient. At the same time, a sniper must always be ready. In an instant, a shot would present itself — the one careless moment when a target showed himself — and just as quickly the opportunity would be gone. Hess had taught himself never to miss that opportunity. He also never missed a shot.

Just as he was beginning to despair of seeing General Eisenhower, the driver got out of the middle sedan to open the rear door. The man who emerged was wearing a brown camel’s hair coat. Hess guessed that it was Eisenhower, because only a general could get away with wearing a civilian overcoat. Hess let his finger take up some of the tension on the trigger. He strained to see some detail of the man’s face, just to be certain. But at this range and in the streetlights it was difficult to see the man’s features. The man stood for a moment alone, in the open. The crosshairs settled on the back of the officer’s head. Hess eased off the trigger. He had not crossed the Atlantic to shoot the wrong man. Then the crowd engulfed the man, slapping his back, shaking his hand. The moment of opportunity was gone.

Hess let out his breath so gently that there was no telltale fog in the cold air. He breathed deep again, held it. He did not take his eye from the rifle scope. He was oblivious to the cold ring of metal gouging deeper into his eye socket. The cold from the open window seeped into his hands and fingers but Hess did not notice. He waited.

On the sidewalk below, the mass of men moved toward the hotel entrance. Hess could only see what was visible in the narrow field of vision presented by the rifle scope, but his sense was that a crowd had gathered in front of the hotel. This was the homecoming and welcome for an important man. It must be the general. The crosshairs trailed the back of the camel’s hair coat through the crowd.

And then the man turned as if responding to someone shouting his name. He lifted his head. Now Hess saw him clearly. The plain, open face that looked like a farmer’s. A big American grin. Those trademark jug ears. All in all, he was not an unhandsome man. The general took off his hat to reveal a balding head covered by wispy strands of pale hair. There was no doubt now, Hess thought. Eisenhower.

He put the crosshairs just above and to the right of the general’s shoulder, allowing for windage and trajectory. The bullet would explode Eisenhower’s heart. Hess let his finger press almost absently on the trigger as he kept the crosshairs steady. He never rushed pulling the trigger so that when the rifle did fire, it almost seemed to be of its own volition.

Then a young officer stepped in front of Eisenhower, spoiling Hess’s line of fire. Hess followed them with the scope, hoping that the general would step clear, but the staff officer guided Eisenhower inside the hotel doors. The general was gone. Hess let himself breathe.

At that moment, Hess heard the creak of footsteps in the hallway outside his room. He realized that he had been aware of the noise for the last half a minute, somewhere in the back of his mind, but had been too caught up in looking through the rifle scope to pay the sound any attention. He whirled around and pointed the rifle at the door just as someone knocked.

“Mr. Brinker? Are you in there, Mr. Brinker?”

“What is it, Mrs. Gilpatrick?” He made no effort to keep the annoyance out of his voice. His heart, beating so quietly moments before, thundered in his chest. The stress that he had kept under control for so long roiled up in him like a pot that suddenly comes to a boil. “I was asleep.”

“Do you have a window open in there, Mr. Brinker? I swear, I can feel the cold air all the way downstairs.”

“I like to sleep in the cold,” he said. He kept the rifle pointed at the sound of his landlady’s voice, half of a mind to pull the trigger anyway and shoot her through the door.

“Why aren’t you at work today, Mr. Brinker? Aren’t you feeling well?”

“Just a touch of the flu, that is all.”

She was quiet for a moment, as if thinking something over. He could hear her weight making the floorboards creak in the landing. What a nosy old woman. He was suddenly full of loathing for such a weak, pathetic busybody. Hess kept the rifle pointed at the door, imagining the bullet plunging through the wood and into her softy, matronly body. How dare she chastise him. He was a German soldier!

“You know, I don’t allow any drinking under my roof,” she finally stated firmly. “I simply won’t allow it.”

Hess took a deep breath, swallowing his pride and his anger. With an effort, he took his finger off the trigger. He needed this room. There would not be time to find another now that General Eisenhower was in Washington. “I have not been drinking, Mrs. Gilpatrick,” Hess said. “I simply do not feel well. Forgive me, I would come to the door, but I am not dressed.”

On the other side of the door, nosy Mrs. Gilpatrick hesitated once more. However, Mr. Brinker’s answer seemed to satisfy her. “All right,” she said at last. “But please shut the window. I can’t afford to heat the whole city of Washington.”

Hess might have pointed out that his tiny rented room had no heat, but he let himself be satisfied by the sound of her footsteps going down the stairs. When he was certain that she was gone, he returned the rifle to the bench rest and peered through the scope once more. The crowd in front of the hotel had broken up. The staff cars were gone from the curb. General Eisenhower was safe inside the hotel and there was no telling when he would leave. Hess would simply have to wait for another chance. He was good at waiting. He got up and shut the window.

In the morning, Eva summoned Petra to carry a package to the Metropolitan Hotel. The weather had turned cold during the night, sending fingers of ice reaching from the shores of the Potomac and freezing solid the puddles of slush. Sometime before dawn a light snow had fallen, dusting the streets and lawns with what the old-timers called “cake snow” for its resemblance to confectioner’s sugar. Eva thought that her present for Ty was perfect. It was a white, silk aviator’s scarf. She thought he would look quite dashing as he accompanied the general around Washington. Ty had called briefly the night before to let her know that he had arrived. Over the phone, Ty had said he hoped that he would be able to slip away from the general today to see her. Eva certainly hoped so.

“Petra!” Eva called again, a bit impatiently this time. She was not feeling her usual self this morning. That ogre, Colonel Fleischmann, had come to visit yesterday evening and had spent the night, announcing with something like glee that his wife gone to see her sister in New York and would be too busy to telephone him in Washington. That meant his nights were free. Fortunately, there had been no sign of Hess since yesterday, but she had had Petra keep an eye out for him last night to warn him away. She thought it was better if Colonel Fleischmann never met him. He would be instantly suspicious of a young man with a German accent. As unlikable as Fleischmann was, Eva knew that the colonel was no fool. She remained wary of him at all times. If Fleischmann ever got a whiff of what Eva was up to or that she kept equipment in her attic to radio information to German U-boats, she knew that one word from him could send Eva to the gas chamber as a spy.

Fleischmann’s weakness was that he talked too much when he drank — and he loved the sound of his own voice, sharing endless War Department gossip with Eva. She had come to the conclusion that the man must have no friends and that his wife was a poor listener. He came to her house and her bed to unburden himself — with Eva as a captive audience.

“I want you to be my mistress, Eva,” he had said again last night. “I know you see other men. I don’t want to share you. You’ll have enough to live on—”

“I do not want or need your money, darling,” Eva interrupted him. “Do you think that I am a common whore?”

“You’re a whore, all right,” Fleischmann said. He grinned. “But definitely not a common one. You might as well take some money now and then. Hell, it’s not even my money. My wife’s family is loaded. That would be pretty rich, don’t you think? My wife paying for my whore.”

Eva fought the urge to slap the smug look from his face. “I do well enough.”

“From what I’ve seen, you’re not exactly living in splendor.” Fleischmann turned serious. “Then why do you do it, Eva, if not for money?”

Eva considered her answer carefully. She knew Fleischmann would keep badgering her if he wasn’t satisfied with her reply. “I like men,” she finally said. “They interest me. Would it be so unusual for a man to have more than one woman? I think not. I am simply the female version of the typical man.”

The colonel laughed at that. “You are something, Eva. You know, I’ve never even seen one of your movies.”

“Maybe someday, Darling,” Eva said, reaching for him under the sheets and thinking that the colonel had experienced some of her greatest acting, even if he did not know it.

Later, after he fell asleep, Eva had risked going up to the attic for her scheduled radio contact. Luckily for her, Fleischmann was a heavy sleeper. She locked the attic door behind her and put the Walther PPK she had been issued on the old desk beside the radio, just in case. If Fleischmann discovered her broadcasting to the U-boat, she planned to shoot him through the heart. She turned on the radio at the appointed hour, but there was no news from Berlin. Eva, however, had news to send that the Allies were indeed planning an invasion. She provided the information supplied to her by Bill Keller and signed off as soon as the U-boat radio operator acknowledged it. Eva had heard rumors that the Americans had equipment that could detect radio signals. Early in the war, vans filled with detection equipment supposedly roamed the streets, searching for signals. She did not know if anyone had been caught, and did not dare to ask Colonel Fleischmann about it. He might be a fool in some regards, but he had a way of sniffing a lie and she did not want to start him down that path. In any case, she kept her radio time as brief as possible. For all she knew, Eva’s radio might be Berlin’s only link with its spy network in the United States — or else there were a dozen radios hidden in Washington alone.

Her broadcast over, Eva slipped back into bed, with Fleischmann none the wiser. Much to her relief, Fleischmann had announced after his morning coffee that he had to get to his office.

“Petra!” Eva called again. This time, the girl appeared, wiping her hands on a dishrag. “Where have you been? I have been calling you.”

“I did not hear you, Frau Von Stahl.” The girl held up the dishrag by way of explanation. “I had the water running.”

“I want you to take a package for me to the Metropolitan Hotel. It is an early Christmas present for Captain Walker.”

Petra brightened at the mention of Ty’s name. “Captain Walker is in the city?”

“Yes, he is traveling with General Eisenhower.” Eva gave her servant a sidelong glance. Perhaps the girl had eyes for more than the delivery boys. “It is much colder here than in London, so I thought he could use a scarf.”

“That is a very good present, Frau Von Stahl.” Her hands dry, Petra started to take off her apron.

“You are going right now?”

“Yes. Is that all right?”

“Of course.” Eva hesitated, oddly reluctant to let eager Petra run her errand. The girl was starting to blossom here in Washington, so different from the skinny war refuge Eva had taken on partly out of pity but mostly because Polish girls had a reputation for being hard workers and meticulous housekeepers. Eva decided that she was being silly. “One more thing. If you see Herr Hess come around the house, warn him to stay away from Colonel Fleischmann. We want to avoid awkward questions.”

Petra shifted from foot to foot. “I have not seen Herr Hess since yesterday morning. I cannot say that I am sorry. I do not like that man, Fra Von Stahl. He will not bring us anything good.”

Eva was surprised. “Whatever can you mean, Petra?”

“He is a cruel man. I saw SS soldiers in Poland just like him. He has a heart of stone. Worse than stone. He has no heart at all.”

Eva studied Petra carefully, as if seeing the girl with new eyes. It should not have come as a surprise to know Petra thought German soldiers were cruel, but it was shocking to hear her say it. Eva felt herself growing angry. How dare she? A Polish milkmaid! Germany had liberated Poland! She said curtly, “You let me worry about Herr Hess.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Petra said in American fashion. “If that is all, then I will go now.”

Eva watched her leave. She doubted that Petra knew anything about her mistress’s real purpose in Washington. In Petra’s eyes, the former movie star must have seemed nothing more than a dissolute and immoral woman. The girl had certainly never seen the radio under the eaves because Eva kept the attic door locked. Eva had no intention of finding out how well her Polish servant girl kept secrets. But seeing the eagerness in Petra’s eyes when asked to deliver the package for Ty reminded Eva of an American expression. You catch more flies with sugar than with vinegar.

She called the girl back. “Petra, you have been so good to me. Sometimes I am slow to show it. Take a little extra money from the can in the kitchen and buy yourself some magazines or else go see a movie. I can manage dinner myself.”

Petra brightened. “Thank you, Frau Von Stahl.”

The girl left again and Eva felt better, even though the price of a few magazines was unlikely to buy much in the way of loyalty. Unfortunately, Eva could not afford much more. But it was better to have Petra’s head filled with thoughts of Hollywood gossip and movie stars than to have her wondering about Hess.