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

them could hear a damn thing, thanks to the gunfire and grenades.

“I don’t have any holes in me, if that’s what you mean.”

“All right, then. I’m going in.”

Cole slung the rifle, put both hands on the windowsill, and levered himself inside. His boots came down on something soft. A dead Kraut. In the light from the window, he got a good look at the face. The dead German was young—maybe just a teenager—and quite handsome, blond, his blue eyes now staring. Cole felt a twinge of regret, and just as quickly snapped it off like a light switch. Start thinking that way and it will get you killed, he thought. A few minutes ago, this German lad had been trying to shoot him. Hell, not so long before that, Cole had been more than ready to shoot those German prisoners. What the hell had gotten into him? It seemed like sometimes he got in a killing mood and it was hard to shake.

Vaccaro came in through the other window. Cole unslung his rifle. Together, they made their way from room to room, making sure that there weren’t any surprises. The air smelled heavily of cordite and fresh butchering. They found a handful of dead Krauts, killed either by the grenades or their rifle fire. One of the Germans was still moving, but he was badly wounded, barely even conscious. Cole finished him off with a mercy shot, then started upstairs.

Unlike the downstairs, the second floor was thankfully free of any dead Germans. The furniture was a jumble, everything having been dragged toward the windows and piled up—mattresses, bed frames, dressers, linen chests. Basically, anything that had a chance of stopping a bullet.

Cole peeked out one of the windows. Below, spread-eagled in the snow, he could see the body of the German he had shot. Beyond, the house offered a commanding view up the street toward the Catholic church, which wasn’t more than two hundred feet distant.

“Hey, isn’t that where the prisoners are being held?” Vaccaro asked, joining him at the window.

“That’s what the lieutenant said,” Cole replied.

“Do you think the two of us have a prayer of getting to that church?”

Cole thought about the machine-gun nests lining the streets, and the other well-defended houses between here and there. “Hell, no.”

“Then what’s our next move?”

Cole thought about that. “We’re gonna stay right here and do what we do best.”

“Yeah? What is that, by the way?”

Cole put a pillow across the windowsill to create a pad, then set his rifle across it. The window offered a perfect vista not only of the church, but of anything that moved on the street leading to it.

“Shoot Germans, that’s what,” Cole said, pulling the rifle tight against his shoulder. “You call out any targets you see. And keep an eye out for any Germans making a move on us. This is our house now.”

Chapter Seventeen

Like an incoming tide, the U.S. troops worked their way deeper into the village. From the second-floor window of the house that they had captured from the enemy, Cole and Vaccaro watched the soldiers move up the street. It wasn’t an easy task. Other houses were still held by the Germans, who peppered the attackers with fire. The Germans also held the street corner nearest the church, where a machine gun kept up a steady and withering fire. There were few sounds as sure to send a shiver up the spine of a GI as that.

However, it wasn’t just the machine gun that the attackers had to worry about. Occasional rifle shots rang out with deadly accuracy, dropping Americans in their tracks. Cole had wondered what had become of The Butcher, and now he knew. He also had a good idea of where the sniper was located. Like Cole, he had chosen a high place with a good view of the streets below.

“That Kraut sniper is in the church steeple,” Cole said.

“Can you see him?”

“Not yet.”

“He picked a good spot,” Vaccaro said, scanning the church. “He knows we can’t take him out with a tank or a grenade launcher, not with that church full of our guys.”

“He’s also got himself a bird’s eye view up there. He’s higher than we are, anyhow.”

Cole pressed his eye tight against the telescopic sight, focusing every bit of his concentration on the church steeple. He was hoping for a glimpse of movement that would provide him with a target.

It wasn’t the first time that Cole had encountered a sniper in a church. A question occurred to him that he hadn’t asked before.

“Vaccaro, are you Catholic?”

“Sure I am. Well, don’t expect me to be carrying rosary beads or anything, but yeah, I’m Catholic.”

“Huh.”

“What are you?”

“God-fearing.”

“Sounds about right. Just remember what the chaplain says—there’s no such thing as an atheist in a foxhole. Did you want to discuss religion right now?”

“Hell, no. I was just thinking about that nun helping the prisoners in the church.”

“I saw her. The young and pretty one. I’ve got to say, we didn’t have any nuns like that growing up.”

“What would lead a young woman like that to become a nun?”

“Faith.”

Cole snorted, but Vaccaro wasn’t done.

“Don’t knock it. Some people have faith in God, Hillbilly, just the same as you’ve got faith in that rifle. That’s what that nun has. Plenty of faith.”

“I reckon I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“Yeah? Well, there you go. Now, will you think about shooting that sniper, for God’s sake?”

Cole didn’t need to be told twice. The trouble was that he didn’t have a clear target. The German had hidden himself so cleverly that Cole didn’t have the slightest glimpse of him.

He thought about what he would be doing if he were the one in that steeple, instead of Hauer. The entire structure could not have been more than eight feet wide on each side. There was a roof, covering a bell that was no longer there—the last time that the Germans had come through earlier in the war, they had taken the