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

to get enough leverage to cut through the wire, anyhow. Now what? Maybe Vaccaro was right. Maybe he’d have to shoot through the wire, after all.

But he had a better idea. Cole drew the big Bowie knife, placed the edge closest to the hilt against the wire, and started sliding the blade. After a moment of initial resistance, the knife cut right through the copper wire. Satisfied that the phone up on that hill had just gone dead, he started back toward Vaccaro.

He hadn’t gone far before the shooting started. Down on the road below, the attack into the village had begun. Tracers flashed across the snow, with fire from the village answering. From the hill above them, a mortar fired, and then another. More flashes lit the night. It was quite a fireworks show.

Cole and Vaccaro found themselves caught out in the open.

“Now what are we supposed to do?” Vaccaro wondered, crouching in the snow, his rifle aimed toward the trees.

“Forget that,” Cole said. “We’re sitting duck out here. Run!”

No sooner had Cole spoken, then a burst of fire stitched across the snow nearby. Cole felt the ice crystals kicked up by the burst sting his face.

They both ran like hell.

On the road, two Sherman tanks raced toward the village. Despite the dark, it was fairly easy for the drivers to follow the road. The lead tank charged ahead, engine roaring, spouting exhaust that was lost in the darkness, while the second tank moved along slightly to the left and behind the other.

Although the tanks didn’t show any lights, their sound and fury were enough to give them away. Tracers from their machine guns lit the night.

Both tanks had crew manning the fifty-caliber machine guns on the turrets. Mounted in the mid-sections of the tanks, the thirty-caliber machine guns blazed away, making the tanks seem like gunfighters shooting from the hip.

However, the tanks were holding back their firepower, avoiding use of their main .75 millimeter guns. A few tank rounds would have gone a long way toward putting a dent in the defenses in the village. But if one of those rounds went astray and hit the church, every last one of the POWs inside might be killed. Consequently, the tanks had been ordered to use only their machine guns in leading the assault into the village.

Even without their main guns, the tanks possessed plenty of firepower. The sight of those tracers sizzling through the cold and dark was dazzling.

Higher on the slope, Cole and Vaccaro skidded to a stop.

“Look at those tanks. Now that’s a beautiful sight,” panted Vaccaro. Both he and Cole paused long enough to watch the attack, using the time to catch their breath and get their bearings. “Give ‘em hell, fellas!”

“Shout that a little louder,” Cole said, breathing hard. “I don’t think the Germans heard you.”

“It doesn’t matter, Hillbilly. Those tanks will put those Jerries on the run.”

“I hope you’re right,” Cole said. “We’ll see.”

The Germans in the village had been expecting the attack, and they were prepared. Soon, the staccato ratatatat of “Hitler’s Zipper” could be heard. The deadly German MG-42 machine guns had an incredible range. Although they were useless against the armored tanks themselves, the exposed gunners on the tanks were being targeted. Sparks flew and tracers bounced as a stream of enemy fire scored a hit on one of the tanks. The big fifty fell silent. It was all too easy to figure out what had happened to the machine gunner on the tank.

Suddenly, a rocket of fire shot from the German position, detonating against the lead tank. An explosion rocked the night, blinding everyone’s night vision. Lying in wait, Kraut soldiers had just hit the lead tank with a Panzerfaust. Time and again, these shoulder-fired weapons had proved more than effective against a Sherman tank.

Cole held his breath, praying that the tank hadn’t already been knocked out. They needed all the help they could get peeling open the village, and the tank made a pretty good can opener.

“They made it!” cried Vaccaro.

“Amen to that,” Cole said.

Sure enough, they could see the tank forging ahead, fragments of burning debris clinging to its armored front. The Panzerfaust had scored only a glancing blow. For now, the nimble Sherman remained in the fight.

The tanks roared ahead, directly toward the underpass where the previous attack had bogged down. In the wake of the tanks, they could see dark shapes just visible against the snow. The infantry was advancing.

“Looks like we’re late to the dance,” Vaccaro said, also noticing the movement on the road.

“Oh, I reckon this party will go on for a while,” Cole replied. “Let’s go see if we can catch up.”

Cole hadn’t taken more than two steps when the guns opened up on the hillside above them. It was the two captured anti-tank guns, being used against the Americans. Although he and Vaccaro had cut the communication lines, it was clear that the Germans on the hillside knew well enough what their role was in this fight.

The muzzle blasts from the two big guns punched holes in the darkness, lighting up the trees on the hillside. In the sudden flash, they could see German troops advancing down the slope. The Jerries were counter-attacking.

Adding to their horror, it was evident to Cole and Vaccaro that the artillery must have been zeroed in ahead of the attack, with their sights set on the entrance to the railroad underpass. Just as the lead tank approached the tunnel, both shots from the German artillery struck in rapid succession.

Hit twice, the Sherman didn’t stand a chance. A fireball engulfed the tank, gouts of flame shooting from the gash ripped into its armor and erupting from the open turret. Nobody could have survived that, Cole thought. The tank crew must have died instantly, the poor bastards.

Beside him, Vaccaro gasped in disbelief.

There was nothing so discouraging to an infantryman as seeing a tank destroyed. If a big can of armored whomp ass bought it, what chance