Free Ardennes Sniper: A World War II Thriller by David Healey

said.
    Cole unsnapped his utility belt and handed Hank his .45 in a holster. "That's better than nothing until we find you a rifle. Just make sure the Germans get nice and close. How far can you throw an ashtray and hit what you're throwing at?"
    "Uh, not that far, I guess. Twenty feet?"
    "That's about the range of this here pistol. Of course, the slug is about as big as an ashtray. Like I said, just make sure you get close."
    "Yeah, don't shoot till you see the whites of their eyes," Vaccaro said.
    "That's the British, Vaccaro. We haven't shot at them since the War of 1812. With the Germans, you don't shoot till you smell the bratwurst on their breath."
    "Hillbilly, you're always full of good advice. If I were you, Kid, I'd listen to him."
    They started down the road. "This is the road to St. Vith," Lieutenant Mulholland said. "From there, the Germans will probably try to get across the Meuse River and then make a dash for Antwerp or maybe even goddamn Paris. Crazy Kraut bastards. Who would have thought they still had it in them? I thought the fight was all out of the Third Reich at this point and we were just mopping up."
    "At least they're easy to follow." The road ahead had been churned up by the passage of tanks and trucks. "What I want to know is, where the hell are our planes?"
    The lieutenant shook his head. "They can't fly. Look at this sky. It's right on top of us, right down to the ground. Nothing but clouds and snow. Lousy weather—unless you're the Germans trying to advance without being attacked from the air, in which case it's beautiful weather."
    "Lieutenant, do you even have a map?"
    "We don't need one, Vaccaro. All we need to do is follow these tracks. Best of all, the Germans are going to be in such a hurry covering ground that they won't even worry about us coming up behind them."
    "Don't be so sure about that," Cole said. "I have a feeling this German unit is going to have eyes in the back of its head."
    "What are you talking about?"
    He nodded toward the field, where the bodies of the massacred Americans lay slowly freezing into twisted poses. "Something I found other there." He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the spent rifle cartridges he had found and held it out to the lieutenant. "Does that look familiar?"
    "It's got those Russian markings on it." The lieutenant’s eyes lit up. He knew all about Das Gespenst. "I’ll be damned. You don't think it's the same guy?"
    "Reckon I do," Cole said. "The Ghost Sniper. He's one of their best snipers, and now he's a goddamn murderer, too. And he's out there somewhere up ahead. Best not let him get the drop on us."
    The lieutenant hefted his rifle. "You heard Cole. Keep your eyes open, everybody. It sounds as if the Germans will be doing the same."

    • • •

    Once the squad was on the move, Cole fell into step alongside Jolie. They had some catching up to do.
    "So, where you been all this time?" he asked Jolie. "I thought—hell, I don't know what I thought."
    "I was mostly in the hospital. The bullet did a great deal of damage. I wrote you."
      Cole didn’t have an answer for that. They walked a bit in silence, glad to be moving again, because that helped them to stay warm. "Jolie, maybe you ought not to be out here with us. Mulholland is a goddamn Boy Scout most of the time, but he’s got a point. For one thing, it's cold as hell, in case you ain’t noticed."
    "Where else would I go now?” Jolie asked, sounding exasperated, then sweeping her arms wide to indicate the barren white landscape. “If I get too cold, maybe you can keep me warm."
    "I take it then that the bullet didn't damage anything important?"
    Jolie did not answer right away. "I get pains now, just thinking about what happened. My body aches all the time."
    "For what it's worth, Jolie, I didn't expect to see you again, but here you are, and I'm damn glad to see you."
    "The lieutenant, he is not so happy."
    "To hell with him. But you know, he is worried about you. You