Sniper's Justice (Caje Cole Book 9) David Healey (little bear else holmelund minarik .TXT) 📖

Most of the photos of Germany showed the devastation wrought by the Allied bombing.

To his relief, he spotted Hans strolling around the exhibit hall. His pretty grand-niece accompanied him. The old German smiled when he spotted Cole. The girl wore a big smile as well, but it wasn’t for Cole.

“Hello,” she said to Danny.

“Hi!”

The two young people drifted away, leaving Cole and Hans to explore the exhibits together. Cole had seen some of them before, but it was all somewhat overwhelming. Everywhere he looked, there were life-size images of soldiers. Many had been black-and-white photographs originally, but were now colorized. Physical artifacts that ranged from rifles to grenades to helmets were on display.

“It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? Back then, who would have thought that all this would be in a museum. I mean, they’ve got ration cans and old packs of cigarettes on display. Stuff we threw away. Hell, we were mostly just trying not to get shot.”

Hans smiled sadly. “Difficult memories,” he agreed.

They came to the exhibit focused on sniper warfare, and the reason for Cole having come all the way from the United States for the museum opening. The exhibit briefly explained tactics, and a battered rifle with a telescopic sight was on display in a glass case. The worn wooden stock had several notches carved into it, and while just about everything else in the museum was explained in detail, no explanation was needed for what those notches meant. This was not Cole’s actual rifle from the war, but there was no doubt that this sniper rifle had seen use during the war.

A large photograph featured an American GI hunched over a rifle with a telescopic sight. The young man’s face looked gaunt, the single eye that was visible looked startlingly intense.

“You,” Hans said.

“Yep,” Cole said. “That’s me when I was a whole hell of a lot younger.”

“Ha, we were all younger then, my friend,” Hans said, then grew serious. “You must have been an accomplished sniper to be featured here.”

“The truth is, I made the mistake of letting them write a story about me way back then. A famous reporter named Ernie Pyle wrote it. They even took my picture.” Cole pointed to a copy of the news clip, which had been reproduced here.

“He would not have written a story about just anyone,” Hans said. “You must have been a very good sniper to be noticed.”

“I’m not proud of it,” Cole said, although he knew he wasn’t entirely telling the truth. He was proud of what he had done. Hell, he was proud of what every last soldier had done to win the war. “I was just doing what I was supposed to do. Doing my duty.”

“Then you should take pride in that,” Hans said. He straightened. “We all should.”

For a split second, Cole felt an old warning vibrate within him. It was that sixth sense that had kept him alive, warning him of danger. He had not felt that in a long, long time.

Behind them, a deep voice spoke, heavily accented, “I wonder, did you have the father or grandfather of someone here tonight in your crosshairs when that photograph was taken?”

Cole realized that it was a good question.

He turned to find himself staring into the face of someone he had not seen in decades. It didn’t matter how many years had passed—he could still recognize those features and those cold eyes. Back then, the face had been magnified some distance away in his telescopic sight. It was not a face that he had ever wanted to see again, that was for damn sure.

Cole stared. The man smiled back at him, but there was no warmth in his expression. Neither man spoke, both of them tense, waiting to see what the other would do next. It was as if two old rival wolves had suddenly crossed paths in the forest.

Standing in front of Cole was Gefreiter Hauer, the German sniper that Cole had known as Das Schlachter.

The Butcher.

Part II

Chapter Six

January 1945, Vosges Mountains

Gefreiter Hauer scowled at a man who had stepped on a brittle branch buried under the snow, the sharp crack sounding like a gunshot in the stillness.

“Dummkopf,” he muttered. “Do that again and I will cut your throat.”

“Never mind him, Hauer,” whispered the Oberleutnant nearby. The officer had grown more anxious as they approached their objective, a mountain village that they were to capture. “Do we have a clear way forward?”

Acting as the spearpoint of the German advance, Hauer turned his attention to the forest ahead, rifle at the ready.

Nothing moved, so he glanced at the Oberleutnant, who signaled for the company to advance.

Behind Hauer, a great mass of troops moved through the wintry hills, their passage muffled by the freezing mist and snow-laden boughs of the conifer forest. Orders passed quietly from man to man in order to avoid any shouting. Their goal was to advance as far as possible under the very noses of the enemy. Success depended upon surprise.

The road proved to be narrow and winding, forcing the lead Panzers and the convoy of trucks to move slowly. Crowded out of the road, many of the men had taken to the forest, where the footing was better than on the icy, snow-packed road.

Hauer was among those leading the troops through the forest.

He stopped to study the landscape ahead through binoculars.

“What do you see, Hauer?” asked the Oberleutnant, who had come to depend on the sniper as his eyes and ears in the forest. Where other men let their attention wander, distracted by the cold, Hauer was also sharply attuned to their surroundings.

“The village is just ahead,” Hauer said, lowering the binoculars. He pointed. “Do you see the smoke through the trees?”

The Oberleutnant squinted. When he looked closely, he could see smoke gently rising against the patches of sky visible through the trees.

“There it is. Good work, Hauer.”

Hauer nodded and moved out, keeping ahead of the rest of the troops, his rifle with its telescopic