Winter Sniper: A World War II Novel

Chapter 15

Hess did not move.

He never took his eye from the scope but worked the bolt action and rammed another cartridge home. The empty brass casing spun away and clattered to the floor. For a moment, he dared to hope that the bullet had found its mark a split second ahead of the rescuer who had plowed into the general. He kept the scope trained on the confused knot of men. All he needed was a target. But as far as he could tell the general had scurried indoors on his own two legs, surrounded by a knot of officers.

The one who had tackled Eisenhower wore a white silk scarf like some aviator from the Great War. Hess saw him come back out of the hotel and scan the buildings across the street. He could almost feel the man’s eyes pass over him, though Hess reassured himself that was impossible. Here in the darkness he was invisible.

Unseen in his sniper’s nest, he thought with disdain that he might be able to pick off five or six staff officers, even if he hadn’t killed the general. He fixed the sight on the one in the silk scarf, but did not shoot. With an effort, he took his finger off the trigger. He would only be giving away his position for a moment’s revenge.

If he wanted to live, a sniper never fired twice from the same location. Shoot and relocate was the mantra driven into them during sniper training. To stay in the same place left oneself open to counterattack. Once your position was given away, you were as good as dead. It was not always easy advice to follow, because it took Hess a while to shake off the trance that he fell into when shooting. The numbness took a while to dissipate, and until then his mind worked as if in a fog.

Another reason Hess had lingered was that he hoped for another shot at Eisenhower in the confusion his first bullet had created. But his officers had managed to get him to safety. Now Hess must move. Looking through the scope, however, he realized he might already be too late. They were coming for him, led by the officer in the white scarf. Hess wondered if the same informant who had told them to expect an assassination attempt had also told them where he would be hiding. Either that, or else they had spotted the open window on the third floor, not such a common sight on a January night. Whatever the reason, all that mattered now was that they were coming.

Hess measured his chances as the officer in the white scarf pointed to the third floor. They sprinted toward the house. Already he could hear pounding footsteps far below.

He had counted on having more time to escape. The Americans had found him too quickly. He looked around the room. It was not much of a place to make a last stand. There was a lock on the door, but it would not withstand a kick or two. He had to buy himself time to get away. Downstairs, the Americans moved cautiously, not sure what they would encounter. Good. A minute or two was all he would need.

Ty ran up the stairs, outpacing the two MPs behind him. He wasn't sure if the soldiers were slower — or just smarter. If there were an assassin trapped at the top of the stairs, Ty would be the one running right into his line of fire. He half expected the sniper to come charging at them. He kept the automatic trained up the stairwell.

They stopped at the second floor landing and the MPs did a quick search of the rooms while Ty watched the stairs to prevent the sniper from escaping. The two men returned, shaking their heads. They climbed another flight of stairs and repeated their search on the third floor.

"Nothing," one of the MPs said, then glanced at the stairs. They all knew this was it. Ty went first, going more slowly this time. His heart thundered in his chest. He would have liked to blame his pounding heart on the fact that he had just run up three flights of stairs, but the truth was that he was more than a little afraid of what might be waiting for them on the fourth floor. It was likely that the sniper was up there waiting for them like a cornered animal.

"Where the hell is he?" Ty said in a harsh whisper.

"Maybe we've got the wrong house," one of the MPs answered.

Ty thought the MP suffered from wishful thinking. He reached the fourth-floor landing. There were three doors, all of which were shut. Two doors led to rooms that didn't overlook the street.

"Better check those other rooms, just in case," Ty said.

Ty stood watch at the third door, being careful to stand to one side of the doorframe in case the sniper was still in there and decided to shoot his way out. The MPs searched the other rooms, then joined Ty.

"Nobody there, sir," one of the MPs whispered, even though they had made as much noise as a herd of buffalo coming up the stairs.

"If he's still in the house, he's got to be in this room," Ty whispered back. "At the count of three, we kick this door down." He nodded at the larger of the two MPs. "You hit this door hard, soldier."

The MP nodded. He took a couple of steps back, set his feet, and then waited as Ty counted. "One, two, three —"

Hess started to get up but realized his joints were stiff with cold. He flexed his hands, trying to get some feeling back into them. Until that moment, he had barely noticed the chill in the room.

Forcing his sluggish body into motion, Hess crossed to the corner of the room where a broom and dustpan stood. He used the broom handle to shatter the single light bulb overhead so that the Americans wouldn’t be able to flick on the switch. Then he went to the bed and dragged out the landlady’s body. The corpse was not yet stiff, so Hess was able to get the body into the chair. Hess pressed the broom straws against her right shoulder and positioned her hands on the handle. She slumped forward across the table he had used as a shooting rest, but that was all right; in the darkness it would look as if she was taking aim.

The window frames rattled as the Americans charged up the stairs. He could hear them shouting — these were not men used to the battlefield where silence could keep you alive. That gave Hess reassurance.

His training as a sniper had taught him always to have an escape route. The window in the back wall was the only way out. He still had the length of rope under the bed, but there wasn’t time to tie it off and climb down. Besides, he needed the Americans to spend a few minutes figuring out what had happened and the rope would be too much of a telltale sign. He opened the back window the peered down into the darkness. The roof below was perhaps a twelve-foot drop. If he landed wrong, he might break a leg or twist an ankle. He climbed out and crouched on the steep roof. It was shingled in brittle old slates that felt cold and slippery under his fingertips. Tricky footing.

Hess looked down. The roof of the addition below did not look so wide anymore and it was sharply sloped. If his momentum carried him too far or if he rolled off, he would plunge more than forty feet to the alley below. But it was too late now to try anything else. The dizzy sensation that nearly overwhelmed him convinced Hess that thinking too much about what he was about to do was a bad idea. He could hear them outside the door. Any second now it would come down. He edged out onto the roof, gouging his nails into the slates to keep from sliding off too soon. Hess shut the window behind him and jumped.

With a grunt, the MP threw a powerful kick at the door. He planted his boot near the knob and the door flew open. Even in the darkness, Ty could make out the sniper sighting down his rifle at them from behind a shooting rest. Without thinking, he raised the automatic and fired. The MPs crowded past him into the room and started shooting. The noise in the small room was deafening. The muzzle flashes blinded him. Above it all, Ty could hear bullets thunk into flesh.

"Cease fire!" Ty cried.

The sniper had not moved. Dead, thank God. He took a step toward the figure and kicked away the rifle. He realized immediately that it wasn't a weapon that clattered to the floor. Ty was staring at a broomstick. He took another step toward the body of the sniper and nudged it hard with his foot. The body fell away from the table and sprawled on the floor. He looked down, his ears ringing from the gunshots. The dead eyes that stared upward belonged to an old woman. He and the MPs had riddled her body with bullets.

"Jesus Christ," said the big MP. "We killed an old lady."

"No," Ty said. "She was already dead."

"You mean she's not the sniper?"

"Not unless she used a broom stick to shoot at General Eisenhower."

"Then where the hell did this sniper go … sir?"

Ty tried the light switch, but nothing happened. He looked around the room as best he could in the darkness. There was not much to see aside from a bed, a dresser and now the body on the floor. The table where the dead woman had been sitting had a sack of birdseed on it, which would have made a good rifle rest. Bullets had ripped the bag open, scattering birdseed across the room. Someone had wedged a chair under the door, but the MP's kick had made short work of the flimsy door and makeshift barricade.

He crossed to the open window overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue. Far below, he could see another group of soldiers approaching. He thought he recognized Kit Henderson's familiar gait leading the way. Beyond the advancing soldiers, he had a clear view of the hotel entrance. The distance was such that Ty doubted he could have hit anything with a rifle, but then again, he was not a sniper.

The back wall of the room also had a window, which Ty walked to and threw open. Cautiously, he eased his head out to look. The ground appeared far away, but there were a couple of rooftops below. He thought he detected movement on the roof closest to the ground. What the —

"He went out the window. I'm going after him," he announced, then stuck his gun in his belt. He hooked one leg over the sill. He got a glimpse of the alley far below and felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. Ty fought off the sense of vertigo and swung the other leg out. Then he froze. Come on, this is no time to be afraid of heights. The sniper had done it. So could he.

Ty might have given up if a sudden wave of anger hadn't washed over him. How dare someone try to assassinate Ike. Of all the dirty, lowdown —

Ty got a good grip on the windowsill like he was doing a chin-up. His legs dangled freely in the air. If he missed the rooftop below, he would fall all the way to the concrete floor of the alley and be killed. Don’t think about that. The face of one of the MPs appeared in the window, looking concerned. "Captain, you sure about this?"

Ty tried to say something reassuring, but his voice caught in his throat. He let go and fell through space.

Hess hit the roof and rolled in a maneuver that would have impressed a paratrooper, dispersing the shock of impact. The rifle took a bad knock, but that couldn’t be helped. His momentum carried him right to the edge of the roof and his hands clawed at the slate, trying to stop himself from going over. He dug one foot into the gutter at the last instant and managed to brake himself. His heart, so quiet for hours before, pounded with adrenalin. He never liked heights, but it was something one dealt with, like the cold.

He heard several muffled shots from above but knew they were aimed at him. The sounds came from within the house. He knew they must be killing the old woman all over again. The thought made him smile.

Then he jumped again. The fall was even longer this time and his stomach rushed into his throat. Free of gravity, he felt the rifle strap slip off his shoulder. He tried to grab for it but at that instant his feet came in contact with the roof. The impact knocked the wind out of him. The kitchen roof was smaller but flat, and when he rolled he stopped well short of the edge. Instantly, he was on his feet again. Nothing broken, he thought.

Above him, he heard the window open, followed by a shout. He had been spotted. Scheiss! That was bad luck. He had hoped to get clear of the rooftop before anyone saw him. He looked up and saw the officer with the white scarf climbing out the window and getting ready to jump. Hess scrambled to grab the rifle and then slid over the edge of the kitchen room. He landed too hard on the concrete alley, feeling something give in his ankle. Pain shot through him and he just prayed nothing was broken.

He heard a thud above him. His pursuer was already on the kitchen roof. Crazy bastard.

Hess tested his ankle. The pain was bad, but he could put his full weight on it. He started at a limping gait, favoring his injured ankle. His car was parked just down the alley. Once he was behind the wheel, he would be all right.

A crash behind him signaled that his pursuer had also landed in the alley and tumbled into the trash cans that Hess had missed. Damn. The man chasing him was either very brave or very foolish. With his bad leg, Hess knew he wouldn’t have time to reach the car before the other man caught him. He ducked out of sight behind a section of fence that divided two backyards, unslung the Mosin-Nagant, and held the rifle butt-first like a club in front of him.

The second jump was easier. Ty landed heavily, then went over the edge yet again. This time he landed in the alley among a stack of trash cans, making enough racket to warn a whole legion of assassins.

"Goddamnit!" Nothing broken, but it hurt like hell, and he was now covered in some foul-smelling oily liquid that had been festering in the bottom of one of the cans. He got up and brushed himself off as best he could, discovering in the process that his automatic was nowhere to be found. He heard a noise in the darkness that sounded like shoe leather scuffing on concrete. There was no time now to look for his gun if he hoped to catch the sniper.

He started down the alley in the direction of the noise. There was just enough light to see where he was putting his feet. Ty heard another noise, directly in front of him, and looked up just in time to see a rifle butt swing at his face.

The night exploded in starbursts of color and pain. He turned his face at the last instant so that the blow was more glancing than it might have been. Still, the rifle butt struck him hard along his cheekbone. Blind with pain, Ty swung wildly and felt his fist connect with something. Then the rifle butt slammed down again, and everything went black.

Hess ran, limping, until he came to the car. He stowed the rifle on the back seat and slid behind the wheel. The big V-8 engine came to life with a reassuring sound. Hess hit the gas but did not turn on the lights, navigating as best he could through the alley. He turned onto the side street, then followed it to Pennsylvania Avenue. Here, he switched on his headlights. There was a crowd now in front of the boarding house and in front of the Metropolitan Hotel. He forced himself to drive calmly. Screeching tires or gunning the motor would only give him away. He accelerated gently. No one gave the car a second look as he melted away into the passing traffic.

Ty swam back to consciousness. He stared in disbelief at the blood running between his fingers. He pressed his hand to his side, trying to staunch the flow of blood, but he only seemed to bleed more freely. He struggled to his feet.

“He’s in the alley!” he shouted. “He’s getting away!”

No one else had been reckless enough to follow him out the window. Ty was alone, without any sort of weapon, defenseless if the assassin returned. It was very dark in the alley, but he could hear the assassin’s footsteps going away, and then the sound of a car engine starting.

He hurried toward the noise, forcing his legs to move. Nobody else had come out of the house yet. Where the hell was everyone? Ty staggered forward. He might not be able to stop the car, but he could at least get a look at it.

The wound hadn’t hurt at first, but now pain washed over him in waves. Each step became an agony as he forced himself toward the sound of the car.

“Over here!” he cried, hoping someone would hear him. Up ahead, he could hear the car accelerating but saw nothing but darkness. The bastard must be driving without headlights. Finally, Ty spotted the flash of brake lights, but they were hopelessly far away. The car turned the corner and was gone.

“Hold it right there!” someone shouted.

Ty couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. His whole body ached and he felt lightheaded. He waited as three men materialized out of the darkness, though it was hard to make out their faces.

“Ty, is that you?”

All he managed to do was grunt before he fell to his knees. A lighter flared. Two of the men carried rifles, which they pointed at Ty. The third man was Kit. The last words Ty heard were, “Jesus, what happened to you?” And then he sank into unconsciousness.