Winter Sniper: A World War II Novel

Chapter 18

Snow was starting to fall as the train pulled out of Union Station. Big gossamer flakes the size of dimes drifted down to dust the streets and sidewalks. Ty watched from the train window as pedestrians broke out umbrellas or turned up their collars as the snow fell harder. Having been in Italy and England, he hadn’t seen a good, old-fashioned snowstorm in a while. Secretly, he willed the snow to turn into a blizzard. Wouldn’t that be something!

The train gathered speed, crossed the Potomac River, and steamed south. Wistfully, he thought of home. Ty was born and raised in Virginia — his grandfather had ridden with Confederate General J.E.B. Stuart — but his family was from way out in Orange County. There wouldn’t be any time for a visit and he knew his father wouldn’t think much of a man who set aside his duty even for a day or two. Home would have to wait until the war was over.

There were only a few cars attached to the locomotive, all reserved for use by Ike and his staff. Ike was working as usual, having claimed one of the cars for his own use. He was closeted in there with Joe Durham and a couple higher-ups from Marshall’s staff. Nonetheless, there was still something of a party atmosphere aboard the train due to the snow and the fact that Ike had escaped an assassin’s bullet. Several men, some of whom Ty didn’t even know, clapped him on the shoulder. He had become the hero of the hour for saving the general’s life. He might even have enjoyed the attention if he didn’t still feel like hell.

Ty wondered if their celebrations were premature. He was the only one who had gotten close to the sniper — whatever happened next felt personal now. And Ty wasn’t so sure that they had seen the last of him.

When they stopped at a little station in Virginia, Ty got off with several others to stretch their legs. Most of the men walked up and down the siding, smoking. An impromptu snowball fight broke out and Ty dodged a couple of icy missiles, then ducked inside the station and asked to use the telephone. He needed to make two calls. The first was to a florist in Washington. The second call was to Jeremy Grantham, an old college friend who was now an officer at Fort Detrick, doing something with weapons training. Grantham always had been something of a cowboy type, good with horses, dogs and guns — in that order. They talked for a few minutes, catching up. Grantham sounded surprised that Ty wasn’t in England, but Ty explained that he couldn’t talk about that. Then Ty told him why he was calling. “I need you to send me a man who’s good with a rifle. Very good.”

The silence that followed was filled with the crackling of the long distance telephone connection. “That’s kind of a sore subject around here, pardner.”

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t have any sniper training program in the army,” his friend explained. “Every time there’s a war, about halfway through we figure out that marksmen would be tactically useful and we create a training program and set up a few companies. There were riflemen in the Revolution, sharpshooters in the Civil War, and then snipers in the trenches during the Great War. Soon as the war is over, what does the army in all its wisdom do? Why, it disbands the units. There’s never really any continuous sniper training.”

“I don’t need a company of snipers,” Ty said. “You must have a few country boys who can shoot.”

“There’s shooting and then there’s being a sniper,” Grantham said. “You’re talking skill with a rifle and tactics. The Germans and the Russians are so far ahead of us, you wouldn’t believe it. They’ve got experienced snipers with hundreds of kills to their credit.”

“A few hundred kills. That must take a lot of snipers.”

At the other end of the line, Ty heard something that sounded like a snort. “That’s a few hundred kills each.”

Ty felt sick to his stomach and his head hurt all over again. “I need somebody like that. Put him on a plane and make sure he gets to the resort at White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia.”

His old friend didn’t question the request. He knew who Ty worked for. “Anything else?”

“Send me anything you have about snipers,” Ty said. He thought about the spent brass cartridge they had found. “Who the best Russians and Germans are.”

“You got it. Just one more thing. If you’re dealing with an enemy sniper, keep in mind that most of these guys can reliably take out a target from a thousand yards away. In other words, keep your head down, pardner.”

Eva woke to the sound of steam radiators popping and wheezing against the cold. It was a losing battle in the cold snap. The plaster walls and rattling windows of the old house breathed winter’s chill into every room. Eva forced herself to stir. Her head ached and she felt like it was the middle of the night, even though the pale light of a January morning leaked around the drapes. It had not been a good night for sleeping. Colonel Fleischmann and his men had stayed to guard the house until nearly two o’clock in the morning, and Eva had been forced to play the damsel in distress, never one of her favorite roles.

Fleischmann had helped himself to her liquor cart as he directed his men from an easy chair by the big fireplace in the drawing room. Eva had dreaded that he might want to go upstairs with her, but fortunately, the presence of the soldiers seemed to cramp his style. When Eva finally did go to bed it was alone, leaving Fleischmann in the easy chair where he had nodded off after consuming half a bottle of her black label scotch.

It was a good thing for Fleischmann that Hess had not returned to the house because the man had been in no shape to walk across the room, let alone capture assassins. Not that she had expected Hess to reappear. His assassination attempt on General Eisenhower had the same effect as poking a stick into a nest of hornets — he would have been a fool to come running back to Eva. She would not have been able to help. She was practically under house arrest, even if the soldiers were supposed to be protecting her. In any case, she ordered Petra to make them all breakfast in the middle of the night. The men were far more easygoing once they had full stomachs.

Eva got out of bed, sliding her feet into slippers and pulling on a heavy robe. She went to the window and peered out at the gray landscape. A storm front was moving in as promised on the radio news and she watched as a few snowflakes drifted down. Not so different from Berlin, really. It was the summers that truly set Washington apart, she thought. Hot, steamy, sweltering — she had used some of her precious funds to have ceiling fans installed.

Funny to think about that on a cold winter’s morning — some of that summer heat would have been welcome now.

She heard noises downstairs and thought with a sense of dread that more soldiers had arrived. But these were kitchen noises clattering pans, a spoon rattling in a tea cup, the sound of the oven door.

She felt all the anger that had been bottled up the night before come rushing out. Eva had no doubt that it was Petra who had sent the note to Colonel Fleischmann, warning him about the attempt on Eisenhower. That silly girl had ruined months of planning. The thought that Petra had stolen her personal stationery and even gone so far as to forge her signature enraged Eva. Who did that Polish tart think she was?

Eva paced the room, the cold forgotten. She was working herself up into a rage and she tried to calm down, but it was a bit like trying to hold back a sail caught in a gust of wind.

Worse yet, the girl had discovered what Hess was doing in the city when Eva was still trying to figure it out. How had Petra managed to learn that? It stung Eva’s pride to know that her servant had found out what she herself could not.

What angered Eva most of all was that Fleischmann had given her credit for preventing General Dwight D. Eisenhower from being assassinated. Since coming to the United States it had served Eva’s purposes to appear patriotic and pro-American. Because she had once been famous in a minor way, Washington society welcomed her as a German who had made the right choice and come over to their side. No one would have guessed that she kept a radio in the attic and supplied a constant flow of military gossip to Berlin. To hear Fleischmann actually praise Eva for saving Eisenhower’s life was really too much. It was salt in the wound. She had Petra to thank for all that.

Petra.

Eva did not bother to dress but walked out of the bedroom and downstairs, stopping in the parlor to retrieve a fireplace poker. She hefted the poker in her right hand and smacked it against her left palm, relishing the sting it made. How easy it would be to bash in someone’s skull with it. She paused for a moment in front of the fireplace, amazed that it had only been yesterday evening that she and Ty had made love there. Poor Ty. He would be hiding out with his general today, keeping their heads down.

She whirled on her heels and padded in slippered feet down the hallway to the kitchen. Petra, her back to the doorway, was busy chopping carrots for a stew and did not hear Eva until she spoke.

“Are all the soldiers gone?”

Petra gave a start, bumping the cutting board so that sliced carrots bounced and rolled down the countertop.

“Frau Von Stahl!”

“Do I make you nervous, Petra?”

“It was a long night. I am tired.”

“Did they leave any guards here?” Eva asked.

“There is still one soldier here,” the girl said, lapsing into German. Eva did not bother to warn her against it — by now there was no point in trying to seem as un-German as possible. Besides, unless the soldier left behind happened to speak the language, it was the perfect way to speak privately. “I think he is asleep in a chair by the front door.”

“So much for our protection,” Eva said. She smacked the fire poker into her palm again. Petra’s eyes grew wide.

“Frau Von Stahl —”

“You brought these soldiers here, Petra. Why did you send that note to Colonel Fleischmann?”

“What note?”

“Petra.” Eva let her tone sum up her doubts. “You should not meddle in affairs that do not concern you.”

Petra maneuvered so that the kitchen table stood between them. “I saw what he was going to do. I knew because I had seen such things in Poland when the fighting started there. The snipers, hidden away in an upstairs window, could kill so many. Yesterday I took that message to Captain Walker just as you told me to do, but on my way there I saw Herr Hess come out of a boarding house across the street from the captain’s hotel. I don’t know what made me do it, but I knocked on the door and the landlady brought me up to his room.”

“Why in heaven’s name would she do that?”

“She was under the assumption that I worked with Herr Hess and had gone there to run an errand.”

“Yet you did nothing to dissuade her of that notion,” Eva said, impressed in spite of herself at Petra’s gumption. Perhaps she had underestimated the girl.

“He was going to shoot General Eisenhower,” Petra said. “If that had happened and they knew that we had helped him when he first came to the city, what do you think would happen to us?”

“Maybe we would be sent back to Germany.”

“Yes!” Petra said, clearly alarmed at the idea. “That is why I sent the note. I was protecting us, Frau Von Stahl. You could not have known what that man planned to do. You did not know why he was here. I know you would not have helped him commit such a crime because you are not a true German.”

Eva swung the poker at the girl’s head. The hooked tip made a whistling noise as it cut through the air. Just like Errol Flynn, some part of Eva’s mind thought. Petra made a little oh sound and cowered away so that the poker struck the girl across the back. It made a solid whump like carpets being beaten.

How dare the girl say that to her! She had sacrificed so much for Germany — her home, her acting career, her husband. Not a true German! What did that girl know about it? Petra had no right to say such things. Eva raised the poker again and the girl screamed. She hit Petra a solid blow across the ribs and spine. The jolt as she connected with flesh and bone was oddly satisfying.

“You will not presume to act for me!” Eva raged. “You will not forge my name! You will do only as I say!”

Before she could slash down again with the poker, someone grabbed her arm. She looked up, enraged, to find herself glaring into the face of an utterly terrified young man. The soldier had indeed been asleep, only to be awakened by the sound of women shouting and screaming in German. Eva tried to tug her arm away. He might have been frightened and groggy with sleep, but the soldier had a firm grip. Eva let the poker fall from her grasp. The young soldier seemed to relax then, though he was still holding her by the arm, so Eva chose that moment to drive her knee into his groin. He collapsed onto the floor, red-faced and gasping.

“How dare you touch me!” she practically snarled at him. Petra was on the floor nearby, crying and cowering. Eva would have hit her again if she had still been holding the poker, but she satisfied herself by shouting at the girl. “Stupid Polish cow, now look what you’ve done!”

Eva took a moment to smooth her robe and then walked out of the kitchen. She was Eva Von Stahl and they were … well, they were nothing to her.

The doorbell rang. Eva, still breathing hard and angry, did not want to answer it. More than likely the noise and shouting had brought more soldiers, or perhaps the neighbors. Worse yet, it might even be Colonel Fleischmann. The bell rang again. Eva paused in front of the hallway mirror to tuck loose strands of hair behind her ears. She was not wearing makeup and her cheeks bloomed with angry red splotches, but that could not be helped. She took a deep breath and transformed her face into an unreadable mask before opening the door.

To her great surprise, there were not more soldiers on the front step waiting to arrest her. The lone man standing there held a bouquet of flowers in his hands, wrapped heavily in paper against the winter cold.

“Are you Eva Von Stahl? For you, ma’am.”

She took the flowers and closed the door. The short note said, Enroute to White Sulphur Springs. I don’t know when or if we will see each other again before the war is over. With all my love until then. Ty.

Eva read the note and felt her heart, so hard a moment ago, soften. In another time … under different circumstances … Damn you, Ty, she thought. Damn you for being the enemy.

Hess and Zumwald left the Old Washington Road and followed the Baltimore National Pike for several miles, heading west. From the maps he had studied back in his hotel room, Zumwald knew they were driving in the direction of the Appalachian Mountains. He had, however, thrown away all the maps because if someone did become suspicious of him, the surest way to look like a spy was to be carrying maps.

Zumwald kept his eyes on the horizon, hoping for the first glimpse of the peaks ahead. The sky was beginning to look gray and leaden. Snow, thought Zumwald. The air had that smell he remembered from back home. They rode most of the way in silence, although Zumwald couldn’t wait to hear what Hess was doing out here in the countryside. He told Hess about his plans for seeing the American West, but the run-in back at the crossroads gave him more than a few doubts and he had cooled his enthusiasm. He hadn’t been more than a day’s walk out of Washington; did he really expect to cross thousands of miles without more trouble?

Without explanation, Hess turned off the road at a tiny motel surrounded by farm country. According to the sign, they had reached the Apple Blossom Motel, a one-story roadside establishment that reminded Zumwald somewhat of an army barracks, although it was cheerful enough and new.

“Why are we stopping?”

“I need to make a telephone call.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Something like that.”

Zumwald stayed in the car. The engine ticked as it cooled. A few cars whisked past on the two-lane highway. He watched Hess cross to a pay phone outside the motel office. Hess’s eyes never stopped moving, taking everything in. Zumwald rolled down the window for some fresh air and realized that Hess’s feet did not so much as crunch on the gravel. The man moved quietly as some sort of forest animal, and just as alert. He noticed that as Hess made the phone call, he kept his back to the wall, one hand in his coat pocket. What did he have in there, a pistol?

Although he had been glad at first to see Hess — and grateful for his escape from the local goons — he knew that his fate might now be wrapped up with his comrade’s. He doubted that Hess was interested in sightseeing.

Hess was back in a few minutes. He got behind the steering wheel but did not start up the car right away. He seemed to be collecting himself for some task ahead. A few snowflakes began to drift down.

“You can get out now,” Hess said without looking at him. “Or I can drop you farther down the road if you want.”

“What are you talking about?” Zumwald was surprised.

“You know what I am,” Hess said. “If you get out now you won’t be involved in it. You can go out West and see a buffalo. If you’re lucky and you stay out of trouble, you can wait out the war. No one will care if you’re German once the war is over. I have more money if you need it.”

“Maybe I can help you,” Zumwald said. Hess had spoken the last few words in English with a strong German accent. He wouldn’t get far on his own. “You saved my life twice.”

“I am going to shoot General Eisenhower.”

Zumwald slumped back in the seat, feeling relieved. “You’re in the wrong country for that, my friend. Everyone knows Eisenhower is in England.”

“He is in the United States secretly to meet with the American president and the military chief of staff,” Hess said. “For the next few days he will be at a resort town south of here called White Sulphur Springs.”

Zumwald couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You are talking about an assassination.”

“General Eisenhower is planning the invasion of Europe,” Hess said. “Another name for it might be the assassination of Germany.”

“This is insanity,” Zumwald said.

Hess started the car, the sudden sound of the engine startling Zumwald so that he jumped. “Now you know what you would be in for, Zumwald. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. I don’t know. You want to get out now?”

He wondered if Hess would shoot him if he opened the door. Zumwald looked into the sniper’s glassy eyes, but they were impossible to read. “Drive,” Zumwald said. His throat felt so dry that the word barely croaked out.

Snow was coming down harder now, beginning to cover the road. All the world seemed quiet as the big white flakes fell. He glanced at Hess, who seemed unconcerned about the snow. The sniper looked right at home as they drove through the gathering storm.