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

Joey felt himself swaying. “I better sit down.”

“Let me take a look at that head,” Serra said. “I’m no nurse, that’s for damn sure, but maybe I can bandage it up.”

The guards had taken anything sharp that could be used by the new POWs as a weapon, but Serra managed to use his teeth to get a tear going in a shirttail. Once he had ripped off a rough strip, he wrapped it around Joey’s head. “That’s the best I can do,” he said. “There’s some other wounded guys in here from that first batch of prisoners, some of them shot up pretty bad, but we don’t have any kind of medical supplies. The Germans took everything.”

“Figures,” Joey said. “Anyhow, thanks for putting the bandage on my head. I feel better already.”

“You’re a lousy liar, Joey, you know that? But at least it stopped the bleeding,” Serra said.

“I sure am thirsty. Does anybody have something to drink?”

“Not that I can see. Not so much as a canteen.”

“I’m sure not gonna ask those guards for a drink. It looks like they wouldn’t mind using those Schmeissers.”

“Hang in there, kid. I hate to say it, but from the looks of things we might be in here for a while.”

Chapter Ten

The battle had been swift and one-sided. Caught by surprise, the American force had been quickly overwhelmed. The officers had made the fatal mistake of ignoring the gunfire in the hills, insisting on putting their faith in intelligence reports that there were no substantial enemy units in the sector, rather than believing their own ears.

For the most part, the people of the village had hidden away during the brief fight, cowering in cellars or simply fleeing into the night ahead of the German advance. Worried for the church and the safety of the congregation, Sister Anne Marie had stayed. Where else would she have gone?

The young nun had watched with a growing sense of trepidation as the Germans quickly moved to take over the village. Just a few days before, the war had seemed all but over, with the village safely in American hands. Now, circumstances had changed considerably.

She watched the Americans being marched into the church. At first, she had worried that the Germans would shoot them all. Instead, they had killed just one prisoner, but his death on the church steps had been harsh and brutal.

It had been the German sniper who had done it. They had all seen him eliminate the American soldier in the church steeple as well. The man was a brutal killer.

She had seen another young soldier clubbed in the head for not moving fast enough. However, even she had to admit that for the most part, the majority of German soldiers had not mistreated the POWs. As for the villagers, the Germans seemed content to let them go about their business. Many villagers spoke German and a handful had even welcomed the Nazi troops with open arms.

“This is awful!” said one of the villagers, who had joined the nun near the church steps. “What are we to do?”

“Why don’t you check on some of the older parishioners and see how they are doing?” Sister Anne Marie said. “They may be afraid to go out.”

The other woman nodded. “Yes, that is a good idea. What about you?”

Sister Anne Marie had already made up her mind that while the church might be expected to remain impartial, her focus would be on helping the Americans. In her mind, they fought on the side of righteousness, unlike the troops of the Third Reich. Besides, the Germans had their own medics and medical supplies. What did the Americans locked in the church have? They have me, she thought.

“I am going to tend to the wounded Americans in the church.”

“But the guards—”

“You let me worry about the guards,” she said, sounding more confident than she felt. “Before you go to check on the villagers, come help me make some bandages.”

The two women went to the priest’s small house next door to the church. The rectory was modest, no more than a small kitchen, a study where the priest conducted church business, and a bedroom. The interior felt cold and empty.

“Should we be in here?” the woman asked. “This is Father Jean’s home, after all.”

“If he did not want us in here, then he should not have run off.”

In the bedroom, Sister Anne Marie found a chest with spare sheets and blankets. She fetched scissors from the study, and the two women got to work turning the sheets into strips of bandages. She chided herself for taking a small amount of delight in turning the absentee priest’s sheets into bandages.

She looked at the growing pile of homemade bandages, then compared that in her mind’s eye to the number of soldiers locked in the church, many of whom were wounded. “It’s not enough,” she said, and stripped the sheets off the priest’s bed as well.

“Father Jean is going to get quite a surprise when he returns and finds that all his sheets are gone. We’ll have some explaining to do.”

Sister Anne Marie said in an innocent tone, “What is to explain? The Germans took them, obviously.”

“Sister!” the other woman said, scandalized that the nun would make up a lie. But then she smiled. “Those Germans will stop at nothing!”

“You finish up the bandages and I will see what else I can find that will be useful.”

As the shepherd of a relatively small flock, Father Jean lived modestly. He was not a bad man, but a weak one, having fled rather than staying to guide his flock. His greatest extravagance, besides a shelf filled with beautiful old leather-bound books, was an open bottle of brandy in the study. The books were useless, but Sister Anne Marie took the brandy—if nothing else, the alcohol might serve as an antiseptic. The kitchen provided a block of cheese, some stale bread, and a bowl containing half a dozen of