Hunting the Hunter
I should be used to acting point by now. It has been two weeks since the invasion. We lost our sniper before we hit the beach so I have taken his place. Sergeant Randall says it is because I am the only one with enough experience. I think it is because I am the only one crazy enough to do it.
Sgt. Randall pulled back the tent flap and marched out of the tent, leaving me stunned on my bunk. Another patrol job. I had been on every patrol since the German snipers had arrived. There were at least two, maybe more. Every morning they took pot-shots at the chow line before high-tailing it back to their base. This time we would get them.
'Mack' Rogers and McCauley were coming too. Having a BAR and a Garand beside me provided some measure of comfort. Those two could hold off a whole platoon given the situation. They were hardcore men. Neither had been in my original unit but I knew their stories. They had landed in Sicily and stopped a German counter-attack by themselves after the initial invasion.
But that was in open fields. Everyone's fair game out here. My boots slid on easily. After the two months that I had them they had broken in wonderfully. Not to soft, not to hard. Thank God for the people in the factories back home.
The moon was still high in the sky when I lifted the flap and poked a head out of my tent. Rogers and McCauley were already waiting. They glared at me as I ducked back into my tent to grab my ammo and gear.
"What are you waiting for, an invitation?" Rogers asked as I reached the sentry post, still hooking up my camo-webbing. "Jerry's not giving you one. So haul butt and let's go."
The moon cast ominous shadows in the hedgerows as we slipped silently away from the camp. There would be no lights on this patrol. We wanted to catch the Jerry snipers with their pants down. That made our job a lot easier and harder. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face as I belly-crawled through muddy farmland.
It took us an hour to get in position. Every few feet a twig would snap or a wild animal would upset a bush near us, forcing us to huddle under cover and wait for the noise to die down. Once during the journey a fox poked its head out of a hedge right by my face. I was so scared I almost shot it. Then Rogers tapped my shoulder and we continued on.
Rogers and McCauley were not nearly as bad once they were on a mission. I knew only too well how important the man beside you was once the shooting started and so did they. We covered each other's backs as we made the arduous crawl across the hedgerows. The only signals we needed were by hand, none of us spoke.
We finally reached the other side of the hedgerows. Rogers and McCauley took up flanking positions nearby as I carefully unzipped the black water-proof bag containing my precious sniper rifle. It was brand new from the States. Randall had made a point to specifically order a rifle for me after the first lost its bolt. Unknown to the quartermaster, he had also requested several non-standard upgrades that one of his friends in the factory had secretly put on it. The scope was a 15x instead of the usual 10x, it had a longer barrel for greater accuracy and the weapon was reinforced with a few thin strips of plastic for reduced recoil. I was proud of it.
It was near dawn. The Germans would be appearing anytime now. I checked the scope several times as I waited. Out of habit I found myself rubbing my hands against the stock of the rifle. The smooth cold feeling of the stock felt refreshing in the dreary morning. Rogers noticed what I was doing and tossed a rock at my boot. It struck the rubber sole with just enough force to awaken me from my revere. I scowled at him and returned my attention to the fields ahead.
Sure enough the Germans appeared just before the sunrise. The noise of the engines appeared first as a gentle hum, and then grew steadily until they came into view. There were lots of them. A whole armored column came down the road from the German lines, two Mark IVs and a Puma, plus an assortment of halftracks and troop trucks. Rogers, McCauley and I exchanged bewildered glances. This wasn't a sniper detachment, this was an assault force.
I drew a bead on the lead tank commander and swore under my breath. His insignia read '246th Panzer.' With a nod from Rogers and McCauley I carefully loaded the rifle. The Germans had stopped at an intersection to check their maps. I had one chance to hit them before they hit us. The leaders dismounted from their vehicles and met behind the first tank. There was some kind of disagreement between the tank commander and the infantry leader, for I could hear them arguing from my position almost half a mile away.
My finger was on the trigger when the two commanders broke off and returned to their vehicles. The infantry commander climbed into his jeep and pointed to two halftracks. The fourteen men inside them clambered out and started to take up a skirmish position around the column.
Both Rogers and McCauley cursed out loud. As quickly as I could I shifted my cross hairs over to the tank leader and sucked in a deep breath. The commander looked tired and worn. I had his sleeping pill. My ringer tightened on the trigger and the rifle bucked against my shoulder. The bullet hit the German in the side of his head as the bark of the rifle rang clear across the field. He crumpled to the side and slid into his tank without a sound. I heard Rogers whistle in surprise while I shifted targets. The infantry commander was still recovering from the first round when I spat him on the cross hairs of my scope. His head moved up and down as he struggled to comprehend the meaning of the shot. His mistake. My second shot caught him in the throat. His body pitched backwards off of the jeep. Time seemed to slow down as his head crashed against the truck's windshield behind him and snapped forward. With a thud his body rolled off of the hood and landed in a ditch beside the road.
Rogers and McCauley opened up on the shocked Germans as they milled about uncertainly in the open field. Three fell before the rest dove for the cover of the vehicles. I caught a fourth in the thigh as he pulled his body in behind the Puma. His body landed awkwardly and spun past his horrified comrades before stopping against the wheel of a truck. Chaos broke out in the ranks of the German troops. Twenty Germans piled out of several of the trucks and lined up on the reverse side of the armored column.
Rogers looked down his sights then shook his head in disgust. "That's five down and one wounded. Good shooting Taylor." He shifted over for a better position and whistled. "Let's dust a few more before we… Oh shoot." He turned back to face me, fear on his face. "Get down!"
There was a thunderous explosion as the lead Mark IV discharged its main gun. The 88mm round tore through the hedgerow with an eerie whistle before burying itself in the ground under McCauley's feet. His face turned white and he looked at me helplessly in the split second before it erupted. He knew he was gone.
A wave of heat washed over me as the round detonated. The force of the blast pinned me against a hedge. Agonizing pain shot through my leg and my lungs felt like they had been filled with flames as I watched McCauley's lower body disintegrate before my eyes. His Garand rifle landed on my lap with his detached hand still clinging to it.
The ringing in my ears saved me from the awful sounds emancipating from Rogers. The grizzled veteran melted at the sight of his buddy's death. He rushed over to McCauley's corpse and fell on it with tears streaming down his cheeks. The battle was forgotten as he cradled his dead friend's head in his lap, oblivious to the bullets that began snapping through the air around him.
"Rogers." I shouted louder than I needed to, but I didn't care. McCauley was dead. We could tend to him later. Right now we needed to face the Germans and keep them from reaching the hedgerows.
I peeked over the crater and spied the Germans advancing cautiously. They were strung out in a skirmish line with ten men covering them from the column. The tank had returned to its normal position facing the road. That meant the halftracks and Pumas were…
Four MG34s from the column opened up on my position, sending lines of bullets impacts flashing past my head. Rogers was still hunkered down with McCauley's body. He looked like he was about to seizure from the shock. I was alone.
A second burst from the MG34s kicked up dirt by my feet and I played dead. No sense tempting the fates. At least they might stop shooting. Then I could fire once or twice before running.
Sure enough, the machinegun fire died off as I lay facedown in the ditch. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the Germans advancing more boldly now. A five-man team was edging forward nervously but surely, guns trained on our position. There was a menacing clack as the bolts slid back on their Schmeissers. Crap.
McCauley's Garand rifle still had three rounds in the clip. Slowly, so as not to give away the fact that I was still alive, I shifted the weapon into the gap blown in the hedgerow. The first Germans to pop their heads in would get a nasty surprise. Then it would be over.
Three pairs of steel boots crunched on the dirt close by. I could see the grey uniforms behind the hedgerows; I could hear them whispering back and forth. Two Mauser barrels poked out cautiously from the other side, sweeping the area. Rogers didn't notice them. He was still clinging to McCauley's body in a futile chance that he might not be dead.
The four Germans crossed the hedgerow two at a time. They did not notice me and surrounded Rogers. He still ignored them. I leveled my rifle on the farthest Jerry and prayed for speed. Then I squeezed the trigger.
The round flew straight and true. It slammed into the man's face just below his helmet and blew out his forehead. The body crumpled backwards and landed in a sitting pose against the other hedgerow. I switched targets as they spun around and fired twice at the next one. The first bullet glanced off of his rifle's breech and shattered against his bayonet scabbard. The impact, however, threw him backwards into the path of the second shot. There was a puff of blood as his shoulder splintered at the joint. He fell heavily on his side and did not bother trying to get up.
My last shot took the third German in the thigh. He stumbled forward and landed clumsily on his opposite knee, blood spurting out from his wound. The Garand's clip shot straight up in the air with its distinctive ping noise as I traced the path of his fall. His eyes were full of fear as I jabbed out with the muzzle of the gun. His head snapped to the side as the barrel crashed into his temple. He rolled away from the blow with the intention of coming up ready to fight, but his leg gave out and he collapsed on the ground.
The other two Germans rushed me and pinned me against the hedge. I lashed out at the first and winced in pain as my knuckles broke on his knee. He continued on with a grunt and slammed his rifle butt into my stomach. I gasped as the air left my lungs. The second German brought his rifle butt down against my cheek and stars exploded in my eyes. I thought for sure I was going to die.
One of the Germans pulled out his standard issue bayonet. Before the German could gut me, however, the sound of a BAR spilt the air. His head exploded before my eyes as several high caliber rounds punctured his helmet and punched fist-sized holes in his face. The second German spun to face the threat, but I beat him to the draw. My 1911 .45 pistol was a blur as I drew it and fired point-blank into his knee caps. The man screamed in pain and fell back on top of me, incoherent with pain. I savagely wrenched him off of me and threw his body into the waiting knife of my ally.
Rogers finished the man off with a clean slice across his throat. As blood poured out from his neck, he dropped the blade and unholstered his pistol. With a condemning deliberateness he executed the wounded Germans as they cowered on the ground, whimpering in pain and begging for mercy. I shuddered at the sight and turned to face the other Germans. They had fallen back to the armored column and were preparing for a second assault, this time it would probably be an all-out rush.
Rogers took up his place beside me with a bloody Gewher 43 slung across his back. The fire in his eyes warned me not to talk to him. He coolly picked a target in the huddled mass around the truck and began firing single shots at the German troops. Curses mingled with exclamations of pain greeted our ears as he systematically mowed down four soldiers before they found better cover and began to return fire. The lead Panzer's turret started to swing back towards our position.
"Rogers." He ignored me. His body was shaking with energy, yet he was still snapping off perfect shots at pinned the Germans down. "Rogers. We need to move." The turret stopped moving. I could picture the gunner loading a high explosive round. "Rogers." Still he did not answer. "Don't let McCauley die in vain."
With lightning swiftness Rogers dropped his BAR and spun away from the hedge. The ground shook as the 88mm cannon launched another round. Rogers and I dove for cover behind the second hedge as the round hit. Fire and heat swept over us as we huddled down against the hedge and prayed for protection. Our lungs were sucked dry of air and we could not breathe for the acrid smoke and fumes.
The wave of heat passed and we were alive. Rogers and I coughed up the dirt and slapped each other on the back. We exchanged a look that I knew meant he trusted me with his life. That meant a lot to me. He was a good man.
"You're right." He said. "He did not die in vain. Nor will I let him."
"Spoken like a true friend." I unslung my sniper rifle and checked the sights. "Reckon we've still got some fight left in us?"
"We've got enough." He reached over his shoulder and hefted the Gewher experimentally. "Just pray that this baby shoots straight."
"Straight and true." Through the now-burning hedge I caught a glimpse of the German troops edging apprehensively forward. I dropped my sights on a promising target and asked Rogers "Do you think that the MGs or tank can his us here?"
Rogers looked quizzically at me and replied "No."
"Good." I squeezed the trigger as I exhaled slowly. The bullet shot out and flew across the open field, finding its target before the rifle's report could be heard. The German corporal pitched forward into a puddle and dropped his Mp-44. I mentally noted the location of the rifle before moving to the next target. Those guns were worth their weight in gold. The MP-44 was the first real machinegun-rifle hybrid ever made. It had a full-sized thirty round clip and a burst fire that impressed anyone on the receiving end. I could sell it later or keep it as a souvenir, if I survived.
Rogers seemed to read my thoughts, because he pointed out a German soldier on the far right that was proceeding more stealthily than the others. "I want his MP. Nail the Jerry."
I obliged with alacrity. The soldier threw his hands up in the air as the round pierced his chest. Whether I killed him or not did not matter. He would not be going anywhere anytime soon.
Rogers began calling out targets left and right as the German sergeants sped up the advance. One officer after another fell before my unerring aim as I picked them apart in the open. They finally fell back after losing eight. There were now about a dozen men in the field. Those that were still alive moaned piteously for water and aid. I toyed with the idea of finishing them off, but I just as quickly rejected the notion. Doing that would make me no better than them.
A white flag poked out from behind a truck and I relaxed my trigger finger. I still held it loosely as a handful of Germans trotted out timidly carrying stretchers. None were carrying any ammo or weapons. They gathered up their wounded under my hidden gaze and carried them back to the column. I noted with satisfaction that they left the two MP-44s where they had fallen. Having accomplished their objective, the stretcher-bearers retreated back to the trucks and loaded up the wounded. White flag still raised, the remaining troops piled into the vehicles. The engines roared to life and for a second I thought that they would break the truce and attack. To my relief, the vehicles pulled off and turned around. They all began the short drive back to their camp except for one jeep. The jeep commander took one final look at the hedgerow and waved a salute in our direction. I unconsciously returned the salute and watched the commander turn back, sit down, and order the driver to return to base.
Randall called it a miracle. Division recommended us both for silver stars. Rogers and I just wanted to see McCauley's effects shipped home to his wife. He had three children in school and a fourth on the way at the time. I felt the deepest sympathy for his wife and expressed it in a personal letter that I stuck in with the package. Several of McCauley's buddies also chipped in something. Rogers gave the most though. Packed in the top of the container, cleaned, oiled and wrapped in soft fabric was the MP-44 that he took from the German soldier in the field. Nothing was too much for him to give to the widow of his best friend.