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

Seeing the fate of the lead tank, the second Sherman immediately began to reverse, getting itself out of the killing zone.

However, it wasn’t quite fast enough. Another pair of shots came from the forest above the town, the flash of the guns again turning the valley into daylight in the way that a lightning bolt does.

The two shells struck with devastating force, obliterating what was left of the first Sherman. Luckily for the second tank, it had reversed just in time. The impact showered the tank with clods of frozen earth and burning debris, but the only casualty was the crew member manning the machine gun, killed instantly by shrapnel.

Rather than advance into certain death, the surviving Sherman took a different tact. Driving right into a roadside ditch to give the tank at least some protection, the Sherman finally brought its .75 millimeter gun into play. There weren’t any American prisoners in the forested hillside above to worry about—but only German targets. The Sherman crew didn’t need as long to aim as the artillery pieces above took to reposition. Less than a minute after running to ground in the ditch, the Sherman opened fire. On the hillside above, splintered trees flew. Direct hit or not, the tank had given the German gunners something to think about.

“Chew on that, Jerry!” Vaccaro shouted.

“Keep your head down, City Boy.”

Now the Germans fired back, but far overshot the tank. Their shells crashed into a field, empty except for a small barn that was destroyed, sending chunks of stone and wood flying through the night.

The duel had begun.

However, the GIs were not sticking around to watch the duel play out. On foot, the American troops headed for the village kept their heads down, listening to shrapnel whistle through the darkness. Nobody could see a damn thing in the dark now that the explosions and muzzle flashes had wrecked their night vision.

The tanks hadn’t succeeded in pushing into the village; now it was up to them.

The real fight for Wingen sur Moder was about to begin.

Chapter Sixteen

Cole and Vaccaro ran to join the assault, latching onto the troops moving toward the underpass. By some minor miracle, they found their squad and Lieutenant Mulholland.

“Cole, is that you? Damn, I thought you were Germans sneaking up on us.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, sir.”

“No disappointment there, believe me. We’ve got plenty of Germans as it is, right in front of us. Did you cut those telephone wires?”

“That we did, for all the good it did. Those Kraut guns are just getting warmed up. They didn’t need anyone to tell them what to do. They already had their guns sighted in.”

“You’ve got that right. They’re tearing us up.” Mulholland shouted orders, “Everyone, spread out and get ready to climb over those railroad tracks. We’re not taking the tunnel. At this point, it would be like trying to run through a sausage grinder.”

It went without saying that with the enemy artillery having targeted the underpass, trying to go through it would have been suicide. Not only that, but the burning hulk of the tank partially blocked the entrance to the tunnel. There was no way past it without being singed. A sickening smell of burning flesh drifted in the pre-dawn air.

Down in the roadside ditch, the surviving Sherman was still firing at the German position on the hilltop. Already, the plan of attack had gone to pieces and the officers were having to improvise.

The soldiers fanned out and began climbing the embankment and crossing the railroad tracks, then rushing pell-mell down the other side.

All the while, the German machine guns kept up their deadly ratatatat. As the tracer fire lit the scene with an eerie glow, Cole could see soldiers falling as the machine-gun took its toll. Some of the wounded or their companions called for a medic. Other crumpled forms lay still and silent.

“Follow me,” Mulholland shouted.

The lieutenant led his men up and over the railroad embankment and they raced toward town. By now, dawn approached, tinging the horizon a deep shade of blood red. It was a warrior’s dawn, if Cole had ever seen one. Despite the red dawn, the morning was cold as ever. The bright colors promised as much warmth as a can of paint.

They cut away from the road, getting out from the machine gun’s line of fire. It was a feeling like stepping out of a downpour or hailstorm. Slowly, as the light grew, houses, outbuildings, even fences began to take shape as the squad advanced. With any luck, they could start to flank the German defenses, which had been set up to cover an attack from the road. That didn’t mean the enemy didn’t have defenses set up elsewhere.

“Keep your eyes open, everybody. If we can see them, they can see us.”

In the murky pre-dawn light, six figures suddenly appeared from a ditch and charged at them, shouting as they ran. Rifle shots crackled.

“Krauts!”

Cole leveled his rifle and dropped one of the enemy, but they were too close to get off another shot. He reached for his Bowie knife, thinking that maybe he could stab one of the bastards.

But there was no need. A burst of machine-gun fire came from their left. The line of Germans went down. Not all of them were hit, however. Some had thrown themselves to the ground instinctively and managed to dodge the deadly burst. They began to get back up.

Cole had a new round loaded and started to aim.

But Mulholland had gotten in the way.

“Not so fast, Hans!” Mulholland grabbed a rifle away from one of the Germans, then dragged the soldier to his feet. Vaccaro grabbed another German. “Hands up! Hände hoch!”

The Germans did as ordered. Soon, they had three prisoners standing before them with their hands up. Three bodies lay inert in the snow. Vaccaro went over and poked at them, but they didn’t move.

Mulholland made the prisoners get on their knees in the snow, hands on their