Ghost Sniper

The sound brought Cole’s blood to a slow boil. The wounded man had been left out there as bait. These Jerry snipers were real sons of bitches.

Lieutenant Mulholland came back to them, looking worried. “These men need to cross this bridge to reach their objective. If we don’t neutralize these snipers for them, a lot of them are going to die.”

“We can’t shoot the Jerries if we can’t see ’em, sir,” Vaccaro pointed out.

“I know that,” Mulholland snapped.

“Sir, I have an idea,” Cole said. “Put Meacham and Vaccaro up in those woods behind us. It’s good high ground to shoot from and the trees will provide cover. That will give the Jerries something to think about.”

“Yeah, and what are you going to do, Cole?” Vaccaro wanted to know. “I’ll bet while Meacham and I are getting our asses shot at, you’ll be down here playing Tiddlywinks with our French Girl Scout.”

“You got nothin’ to worry about, Vaccaro,” Cole said. “That woods is so far away the Germans won’t be able to hit anything—if you’re lucky, that is. Of course, you won’t be able to hit a damn thing either, but they won’t know that.”

“Like I said, easy for you to say and me to do.”

“Well, once you’re up in the trees givin’ them Nazis something to think about, what I’m goin’ to do is swim that river and get into that old mill on the other side. It’s good cover and when you draw the Jerries’ fire I’ll see where they’re hiding at.”

“Swim that river?” They all looked at the roiling current. The water ran fast here and looked deep. Vaccaro sounded incredulous. “You’re crazy, Reb.”

“All right,” Mulholland said. “Cole has a good plan. Let’s do it.”

Meacham and Vaccaro shed their gear, taking only their rifles, and moved off into the fields, following the hedges to keep out of sight of the German snipers until they worked their way into the trees. Vaccaro was still grumbling as he moved off.

“You’re really going to swim that river, mate?” Neville asked.

“I reckon.”

“Then you are bloody crazy.” Neville smiled. “I like that in a man.”

Cole worked his way across the field toward the water, keeping out of sight of the enemy snipers. Jolie came along with him. She was adept at moving silently through the fields, like a cat after a mouse. They moved upstream, to a point where Cole judged he would land near the mill once he factored in the current. The river wasn’t very wide—you could pitch a stone across. But the current was racing.

The truth was, Cole mistrusted water. He had been around cold, swift creeks a lot as a boy, trapping muskrats and even beaver, and he knew how dangerous water could be. More than one trapper had been drowned by the weight of his winter clothes and the shock of the cold water when he lost his footing and went under. It was Cole’s worst nightmare.

For Cole, the beach landing had been terrifying. He had feared the Nazi machine guns much less than the thought of being pulled under the surf and not coming back up, gasping for breath. As it turned out, it had been a near thing. He stared doubtfully at the swift brown water, and then began to take off his boots.

“I hope you ain’t shy,” he said to Jolie. He handed Jolie his rifle. “Hold this, will you?”

Boots and socks off, he stripped off his jacket and trousers. All he had on were the khaki military-issue boxer shorts. Thinking about the tug of the current in the river, he might have stripped off the underwear if Jolie hadn’t been there. He strapped his utility belt with the ammunition and a sheath knife around his waist.

They had found a board to float the rifle across on. Cole would pull it over with a string. He wished he had plastic or something to wrap the rifle in, like they had done with their M1s during that beach landing, but that couldn’t be helped. He shivered; he tried to tell himself it was just from the morning cold.

“I will take your clothes back to the road,” Jolie said. She looked him over, noticing how lean and pale he was, but well-muscled with tough, corded muscles across his shoulders and a flat belly. “Good luck.”

They waited under cover without saying anything more. Cole started to shiver more intensely, and after a while Jolie spread his jacket across his shoulders to keep off the chill while he waited. Where the hell were Meacham and Vaccaro? They ought to be in position by now. He needed them to start shooting in order to distract the Germans.

Finally, some shots came from the hill at Cole’s back. He doubted that Meacham or Vaccaro had much of a target, but what mattered was that they had the attention of the German snipers. One shot, then another, came from the woods that hid the Germans. Two snipers, then.

Cole slipped out from behind cover and slid down the river bank. He had pictured himself easing into the river without so much as a splash, but the bank was so steep that at the last minute he slipped on the mud and went under.