Ghost Sniper

“Did you shoot many Russians?” she asked with a disgusted tone.

“As many as I could. More wine, mademoiselle?”

The French woman stood, her hand going again to the small of her back. He could see that she was shaking, and Von Stenger had been fighting long enough that he recognized it as the kind of tremor that overcame someone when they were about to do something foolish and brave.

Von Stenger thought that the time for subtlety had passed, and he tossed the newspaper aside to reveal the pistol. “Please,” he said. “Let us not do anything that will give us indigestion.”

The woman’s eyes widened, and she let her hand drop. “Now you know,” she said. “This Johnny Reb Sniper will be at Bienville in the morning. The question is, will you?”

“I look forward to seeing him in my crosshairs.” Von Stenger smiled. “And then we shall see who is the best shot.”

With that, the woman turned and left. It took him a moment to realize that he had just been challenged to a duel.

CHAPTER 21

Jolie slipped back through the American lines and returned to where the snipers had set up camp in the courtyard of an old house. She wasn’t ready yet to face Cole and give him back his knife. She wasn’t sure how she would explain to him that she had failed to kill the German sharpshooter.

Instead, she decided to report to Lieutenant Mulholland. He had dragged an old chair into the garden shed and was using an upended wooden pail as a desk as he went over a map of Normandy.

His M1 rifle was propped nearby. It was a semi-automatic, which was not as accurate as the 1903 Springfield, but it could send more lead in the enemy’s direction, in less time. The higher rate of fire was an advantage if one wasn’t such a crack shot, and the lieutenant had no illusions about his abilities with a rifle, despite the fact that he commanded a counter sniper squad.

Mulholland’s face lit up at the sight of Jolie, but his expression soon changed when she explained where she had been and what she had learned. She had expected him to be grateful for the information. Instead, he slapped the top of the makeshift table in anger.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” the lieutenant said. “You went to see the Germans? What the hell were you thinking?”

“We needed information,” Jolie explained. “That is how we maquis find out what the Germans are up to. We go talk to them.”

“It was a stupid thing to do,” Mulholland said. “You could have been captured.”

Jolie blinked in surprise. The French Resistance had been successful by being daring and taking chances. It was the only real weapon they had against the occupying Germans. “Do not lecture me, Lieutenant. I have been fighting the Germans for four years. You yourself have been fighting them for four days. It stands to reason that I know what I am doing, n’cest pas?”

“I hate to point this out to you, mademoiselle, but after four years the Germans are still here. Your tactics may take some revision.”

“Are you going to ask me what I found out, or are you more interested in insulting me and my countrymen?”

“All right then, what did you find out?”

“I did not go to see just any German,” Jolie clarified. “The boy we captured, Fritz, told me where the German sniper was staying. His name is Captain Von Stenger, and he is the best sniper the Germans have in Normandy. He has fought in Russia, and Spain before that. He was even an instructor at the German’s sniper school.” She recalled Von Stenger’s cold blue eyes and good manners. “He is from the upper classes. I would say he likes the finer things. Good food, good wine. I know because I had supper with him in front of the fire at a chateau about five miles from here. We had steak and potatoes and wine, and were waited upon.”

The lieutenant’s jaw dropped. “You ate with this sniper? Excuse my French, but holy shit.”

“What is French? I think you mean merde.”

“Never mind. Did you find out anything useful, or did you just get a good meal out of him?”

Jolie took her time answering, studying the lieutenant before she spoke. He was not a bad-looking man, and under the stubble and grime and fatigue she could see that he was still a very young man. Command did not seem to come easily to him, and his earlier anger appeared to be out of genuine concern for her safety.

When she had first laid eyes on him she had thought hmm. In a war, it was dangerous to think about romance or anything but surviving that day and the next. Her love affair with Charles had taught her that much. But someday the war would be over, n’est-ce pas?

Her thoughts then drifted to Cole. He was a rough, hard man, savage and almost feral, so very different from the lieutenant. He had more in common with the really vicious Resistance fighters—perhaps even with the ruthless SS men—than he did with the other Americans. She thought again—Cole? Hmm—then pushed that thought away and focused on the unhappy lieutenant.