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

Then came the knock on the workshop door.

“Gran sent me up here,” announced his grandson, Danny, sticking his head cautiously through the door. He had learned the hard way that it was not in his best interest to startle his grandfather. Best to knock first. “She said a letter came special for you.”

“Put it over there,” Cole said, nodding toward the table.

“Aren’t you going to read it?” Danny asked.

Cole gave the boy one of his looks, but he couldn’t make it stick. He had too much fondness for the boy.

At sixteen, Danny looked startlingly like Cole had at that age, all arms and legs and sinew, but better fed. That wasn’t the only place where the similarity ended. Danny had soft brown eyes and was popular with the local girls at school. School. Cole had made damned sure that his grandson learned to read and write, getting a better start than he had himself.

Where Cole possessed a natural-born ornery streak, he recognized kindness in the boy. Cole considered that to be a good trait, but it surely hadn’t come from his side of the family.

Danny wouldn’t even go hunting with his grandfather because he didn’t like killing animals. Then again, Danny wouldn’t starve if he didn’t fill the stewpot as had been Cole’s case at the same age. Times had changed for the better.

The boy could be nervous as a cat around the old man when Cole was in one of his moods, causing Danny to act a little scared of him. Cole was aware of his own rough edges and did his best to handle Danny gently. Cole’s own daddy had whipped hell out of him, so he had promised himself that he would never raise a hand against any child. One glance from his cold, gray eyes was all the correction that was ever needed.

Cole took those eyes off the knife long enough to give the envelope a glance. It was in a square envelope made of fine, ivory paper, with his name written on it in script. Looked like a fancy wedding announcement. Some relative expecting him to put on a department store suit and give them a gift.

“Unless it’s the electric bill, I ain’t interested.”

“Gran said you ought to open it right away because it’s from Germany. C’mon, Pa Cole. See what it is.”

“You open it, boy. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Danny gave a dramatic teenaged sigh. “All right.”

“Here, use this.”

Cole shed his eyeglasses, then handed his grandson the knife blade he was working on, which Danny used to slit open the envelope. Cole frowned when he saw that the knife had struggled a bit against the thick paper, so he took it back and returned it to the grindstone.

“It’s an invitation,” his grandson announced.

“I don’t know nobody in Germany,” Cole said.

“Maybe not, but they know you, evidently.” The boy was always talking like a teacher, which secretly pleased Cole. “They’re opening a WWII museum in Germany, and there’s an exhibit about you and they want you to be there for the dedication. You’re famous, Pa Cole.”

Cole grunted. He didn’t hold with any of that Pee-paw or Mee-maw silliness, or God forbid, Pop Pop. Danny called him Pa Cole and the boy’s grandmother was Gran. As for the invitation, he could not imagine what sort of fool would put him in a museum.

He nodded toward the potbelly woodstove in the corner. “Throw it in the fire,” he said. In Cole’s mountain accent, the word sounded like far.

“No way! Aren’t you even going to look at it?”

“Nope.”

“There’s a note in here from somebody named Colonel Mulholland. It says you ought to come.” The boy’s voice rose an octave with excitement. “All expenses paid!”

Mulholland. Now there was a name from the past. As a young man, Mulholland had been Cole’s sniper squad leader in Normandy and beyond. What the hell did Mulholland want after all these years?

Curiosity finally got the better of Cole. Reluctantly, he put down the knife and held out his gnarled hand. “Give it here.”

Danny hesitated, as if he worried that Cole still planned to toss the thing in the fire. Instead, Cole read the note from Mulholland. Years before, that would have been impossible because Cole had been illiterate. Growing up in the mountains during the Depression era had been about survival, not learning his letters. When he had finally returned from Korea, Cole had set about learning to read and write with a great deal of help from Norma Jean Elwood, who had become Norman Jean Cole in short order.

Grumbling, he shoved his cheaters into place and read:

Dear Cole,

It’s been a long time. Hope you are well. Like me, you are probably feeling the years pile up, but we are a lot luckier than many good men we knew, who never had the chance to live their lives. Recently, an opportunity presented itself to honor their memory with the construction of a large new war museum in Munich. As it turns out, I was asked to be on the advisory committee for this museum. I can’t take any credit for it, but one of the museum exhibits is focused on sniper warfare and you figure prominently.

When the museum board heard that we had served together, they were very excited about the possibility of you coming to Germany for the dedication of this museum. Of course, all of your expenses for you and a guest would be paid. If you are the same old Caje Cole, I know that your first instinct will be to say no. However, let me tell you that the time has come for us to put some things aside so that we can all heal from this war, and more importantly, help future generations remember and understand so that the mistakes of the past are not repeated. Besides, I’ve got to say, I wouldn’t mind seeing you one last time. You and I are just about out of ammo, my friend!

Yours truly,

Jim

Colonel James Mulholland,