Sniper's Justice (Caje Cole Book 9) by David Healey (best classic books txt) 📗

“What the hell!”

“You OK?” Barnes asked.

“Got your flashlight? I fell into a hole or something. Banged the hell out of my knee.”

Barnes switched on the light, which was equipped with a red lens to help prevent them from losing their night vision. Briefly, in the strange red glow, they saw a freshly dug foxhole, and then another. Someone had lined the rim of each foxhole with rocks and logs. Nobody in Company B had dug these holes, which could only mean one thing.

The Krauts had already been here and dug in.

But where had they gone?

“Shut it off,” Wojcicki said nervously, worried that the dim red light might give them away. “We’ve seen enough.”

What Wojcicki and Barnes couldn’t know was that the Germans had slipped out of the foxholes and were already sweeping around to flank the company. If it hadn’t been so dark, they might even have seen the Germans moving through the trees. The gently falling snow had muffled the sound of movement through the forest.

“Let’s get out of here,” Wojcicki said, as Barnes finally snapped off the light and helped him out of the foxhole. “This place might be crawling with Krauts.”

They hadn’t even made it back to the company’s position when they heard the indistinct shouts in the woods behind them.

Running faster, they made it back to the company, practically shouting the password so that they wouldn’t get shot by their own guys. Quickly, they found the lieutenant to warn him. Wojcicki’s smock, which had once been a pristine white, was now smudged with dirt from the foxhole that he had fallen into.

Around them, the shouts in the woods grew louder and more distinct.

“Hey, Mueller!”

“Wake up, Schmidt!”

Nearby, Private Schmidt raised his head and shouted back, “What? Who wants me?”

Wojcicki felt his blood run cold. Those shouts were coming from the woods, which could only mean one thing. “It’s not us, dummy! It’s the Germans!”

“Hello, Schmidt!” Laughter drifted from the forest. “Your old friends are here to see you, Schmidt!”

The Germans called a few more names at random. Wojcicki realized they were simply shouting out common German surnames to rattle the defenders. It was weird to think that some of the GIs might be about to fight their distant cousins.

He had to hand it to the Krauts—the tactic had sure worked. The soldiers of Company B were now apprehensive and confused. Judging by the occasional laughter from the woods, the Krauts were having a good time messing with the Americans.

From the woods, they began to hear banging and rattling. It sounded as if the Germans were using their mess kits to make a racket, as if it was New Year’s Eve all over again.

“Hang Roosevelt!”

“Heil Hitler, my friends!”

The Americans gripped their weapons, trying to get a glimpse of anything in the dark forest surrounding them.

So far, nobody had opened fire, but that was about to change.

Leading the rest of the German unit, Hauer moved silently through the dark woods. A few flakes of snow still reached him, and he felt invigorated by the cold and snow. This was proper German weather!

They had dug the foxholes earlier, fully expecting the Americans to attack. However, the Americans didn’t seem to know they were there.

Instead, the Germans had launched an attack of their own.

At first, Hauer was annoyed when his comrades started calling out names. But when the Americans actually answered, clearly confused, he joined in the laughter. Were the Americans such Dummköpfe? It must be an inexperienced unit that they faced.

Now, Hauer took the game to a new level. He found a tree at the edge of the clearing and rested his rifle against it. He looked through the rifle scope, which gathered what light there was, and intensified it. He could see a few vague shapes outlined against the backdrop of the night sky. Incredibly, the Americans weren’t even dug in.

“Go ahead and shoot, Americans! It will make you better targets!”

He picked out one of the vague shapes visible against the backdrop of snow, settled his sights upon it, and squeezed the trigger.

Instantly, firing erupted all around him. From the shelter of the forest, taking cover behind trees, the Germans shot at the Americans caught in the open. The Americans seemed to be shooting back without aiming. The battle-hardened German troops picked their targets carefully. As Hauer had warned, the muzzle flashes of the Americans only provided a better target.

Before the heavy guns could even open fire, a squad rushed from the woods and overwhelmed the crews of the 75 mm guns. Some of the Americans fled down the hill toward the village, while the rest were quickly rounded up and taken prisoner.

With the others, Hauer helped relieve the prisoners of their rations and wristwatches. Already, he had four watches strapped to his left wrist. They were useful to trade for bottles of schnapps with troops who hadn’t seen any fighting yet.

A few bodies lay scattered in the snow, evidence of the Germans’ more accurate fire. One of those bodies was still moving, dragging himself away from the Germans. Unlike the others, this soldier had on a white smock. Badly wounded, the soldier was leaving a dark trail of blood against the white ground as he tried to crawl away.

Hauer rolled the wounded soldier over with his boot, prompting a groan of agony, then looked down at him and asked, “Schmidt?”

The soldier looked up. “No, I’m not Schmidt. The name is Wojcicki. Go to hell, you damn Kraut.”

Hauer put him out of his misery.

Chapter Eight

Having overwhelmed the ill-prepared American defenses, the Germans moved into the village below, the lights like a beacon. The sky above the hills to the east was getting even brighter as the winter dawn approached. A pinkish glow managed to light the underbelly of the low snow clouds. Even in the midst of the attack, a few soldiers still managed to note the surreal beauty of the scene.

It seemed a tragic moment in