Renneville. The once proud city sat on the sidelines of one of Frances' many rivers. The crumpled corpses of buildings scattered throughout the remnants of the city grounds. Massive golden tongues of fire licked and lapped at the night sky, hurling shadows across the empty roads and streets from the sanctity of their ruin prison. The river bent in an "s" shape alongside the city, two bridges daring to close then gap over it. The town seemed dead; all life was reduced to the simple rustle of trees, old market stalls and the tattered rags of bodies that were left to rot in the streets. These were the unlucky many that had their lives taken from them by the fiendishly accurate German snipers. The wind was gentle, yet sounded shockingly harsh when it caught the cloth of the abandoned market place, the canvas whipping up in the slightest breeze. Near the towns centre knelt the church, the resting place for the remainder of the allied soldiers who had unwittingly ventured into the town without reinforcements. This was the objective for three people, hastily approaching the town. Two were members of the British airborne division, the other a French Resistance operative: their guide.
Donahue stopped beside the road leading over the bridge and into the town, "Right you two, we need to formulate a plan on how to sneak into the city and take out those bloody snipers. Annabelle, what are the snipers positions?" Donahue unfurled a map from his belt and spread it out across the fresh Normandy grass, then folded it again so as only Renneville could be seen. He handed her a bright red marker, "Okay gentlemen," she began, "There are two snipers guarding this main road, one facing each end. On this crescent road next to the town hall, there is another. The last two are situated in the Hotel, both facing in the other directions, so as to cover the other." Donahue rubbed his chin in contemplation, "Blast, it's a classic case of sniper duets, perfect for defensive manoeuvres. There has to be a better way to get inside the city." He stooped and began muttering to himself, "If only I could get into that hotel, I could provide sniper cover so that those two could remove the remaining sniper presence" Williams looked closely at the area map of Renneville and noticed something, "There doesn't happen to be an underground sewer system does there?" he asked Annabelle. The light of realisation clicked on in her head, "Yes, yes there is. And it goes right underneath the hotel too!" the second Donahue heard Annabelle say "hotel" he snapped his head to her in optimism.
After ten minutes of formulating, Donahue explained the plan to them one more time, "Okay; Williams will enter the hotel via the sewers and remove the snipers there. From there, Annabelle and I can then take out the remaining snipers in the vicinity. Are we clear on that?" Williams and Annabelle nodded. "Oh, one thing," he remembered, "Williams, you're going to have to sling your rifle. It makes too much noise to stealthily take out the snipers in the hotel. You're going to have to use this…" Donahue produced what appeared to be a length of dull lead pipe with a trigger and pin. "This," continued Donahue, "Is a Welrod silenced pistol. Its just like the lads at the OSS use, I had a feeling I'd need it for something. Slight catch though, it only fires one round at a time, so you're going to have to reload after each shot. Good point is that it fires German pistol rounds, so there's plenty ammo to be found." Williams accepted Donahue's gift with little praise or gusto, but it was necessary to the mission, so he had to take it.
They crept into the river just several hundred meters west of the town, Williams leading the way. After clambering down a set of rusted ladders, they splashed into the river; it soaked Williams up to his waist. The water was horrid, scum collected around Williams' boots, and whenever his feet brushed past something stiff and unyielding beneath the waters surface, he nearly choked on his own vomit as to what it could be. The light from the burning husks of buildings lit the river up with startling colour and vibrancy, even if it was coated in a crust of weeds. They reached the sewer entrance, a small looking circular metal porthole that leads into the Cities sewer system and they urged Williams in, it wasn't his day. He slipped into the sewer system, the paved floor proving to be slimy and frictionless as the scum on the river. He glanced back to see Donahue and Annabelle still waist deep in the vile river water, waiting for his return, "Remember, once the snipers are taken care of, signal to us, then we can make our approach to the hotel. Okay? Good luck Williams" Donahue waved to his new friend, "Bon Chance mon ami" Annabelle blew Williams a kiss, in a friendly sort of way, and then they closed the sewer hatch. It was up to him now.
Each step he took seemed to need stabilizing before the next one was took. The sewer was so damned unstable. Bits of the walls crumbled to dust when Williams slipped past them, loose stones in the floor also dared to kill his confidence. He kept remembering where Annabelle said the hatch to the hotel was, "second one on the left hand side" his only illumination was from the flames above him that peeked through the grating of the gutters, and that didn't really do him the world of good. He clutched the Welrod tightly in his palm, it was his only weapon, and he did not intend to fail his friends, especially McIntyre.
The hatch to the hotel almost shone out to Williams through the dank sewer gloom. He gently forced it upwards and slid it aside; it was heavier than it looked. Williams heaved himself into the hotel basement and closed the sewer hatch, the smell of the sewers still on him, he felt vomit tickling the back of his throat. He swallowed it and made his way out the basement. According to Annabelle, the snipers were on the top and third floors. Once out the basement, he fumbled in the dark to find the stairs that lead throughout the building. He couldn't really notice the grand sight that the hotel really was by day, as all form of energy had been cut off in the area. He could just make out the sign of the floor on the staircase, by the time he reached what he though was the third floor, Williams sat down to collect himself. He had to kill someone when they weren't looking, just like in the house in S.t. Fredrique du Clamont. And that got him wondering about his wound, he hadn't put his mind to it, but now that he had the retched sting crept back into his arm. He winced and picked himself up. "Just get through this little bit," he told himself, "and then you can have a breather".
Just along the corridor, amongst all the doors leading to suites and bedroom apartments of the hotel, came a chink of light. You wouldn't notice it if you didn't look at it again, but Williams did. The light scraped its way from underneath the doors frame. Williams loaded his pistol, he only had one shot, and it'd better be a good one. He approached the door, taking the time to mop his brow and tighten his grip on the pistol's handle. He ever so carefully prised the door open and took a fleeting look. The German sniper sat on an armchair with assorted furniture covering as much of the window as possible. Only a slither of a gap was visible through the window, and that was the snipers field of view. Williams raised the Welrod and twisted the pin into place. He levelled the sight to the Germans head, closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. The placid click of bolt on round was heard, followed by the lifeless droop of the sniper, bullet in the base of his neck. Not even with a gasp or terminal cry to signal the end of his life. He just died. Williams turned off the gas lamp that had accompanied the sniper in his final hour, then left the room.
Back on the street, Donahue and Annabelle crouched in wait for Williams signal. Annabelle looked unsure of the plans success, "Why did you have to make the plan so risky?" she enquired to Donahue. He flicked his eyes to her and replied, "Once Williams has removed the snipers in the hotel, we make a run for it, if the snipers are feeling lucky, then they will give their positions away for sure, and then we can take them out for good. It's getting two birds with one stone." Annabelle was still bemused by this, "But that's just suicide, I've told you where the snipers are, why take anymore chances?" Donahue seemed to have all the answers but wasn't trying to create an argument, "Look, Williams is a good chap, I have faith in him. If the snipers give their position away, then he can simply put a shot on them and keep their heads down." Annabelle still wasn't convinced. Donahue gave in and admitted his failings, "Fine, fine. I know I have right royally buggered this up, but if it is any consolation, you can make a run first. Both Williams and myself will keep you covered as you reach the hotel. Okay?" She seemed less annoyed by this suggestion and agreed to it.
Williams fitted another round into the Welrod and moved up the stairs. He had to go all the way into the attic of the hotel to reach the final sniper, then he would signal down to Annabelle and Donahue to make their approach. He spied the staircase to the attic and stopped. His wound was acting up again. The sopping red bandage wasn't good to last much longer, and at the rate it was throbbing with pain, he wouldn't be able to hold a rifle steady. He fiercely held the Welrod until his knuckles shot white, then he slinked to the attic to finish what he began. The attic had the vast majority of its roof missing, due to the close radius of the German bombs dropped on the town from several years ago. Huddled in the far corner of the attic squatted the sniper, wrapped in camouflage, glaring down the scope of his rifle, seeking prey. Out of sheer boredom, he squared a round off into a corpse to see it shudder in the wake of the bullet. He chuckled softly to himself at his accomplishment; Williams cursed the German for his sycophantic pleasure. The moon light, coupled with the aura of the fire lit the snipers helmet up to glowing proportions. Williams aimed the pistol once more at the sniper and held his aim firm. The sniper arched his back and yawned tiredly, he had been awake all night and day. He needed a rest. His head rested from his yawn to look directly at Williams on the stairs. Williams fired, the Germans jaw dropped in panic, and he released a squeak of alarm from his throat before the bullet cleaved its way through. Williams emptied the Welrod's chamber and crawled to the snipers corpse, collecting his rifle. The worst was over, now he could relax in the hope his comrades in arms would do their part in this operation.
Donahue noticed Williams signal of waving the final sniper's rifle up high and prepared Annabelle to make a run. She straightened her jacket, readied her rifle, and slung Williams' rifle on her shoulder. Donahue looked down both ends of the street, everything seemed clear, but he still geared up his rifle. Williams was in position overlooking the other side of the street. Donahue looked back to Annabelle and whispered to her, "All ready?" she nodded. Donahue tensed his grip on his rifle. "Go, go, go" Annabelle gathered herself and sprinted across the road to the hotel. Suddenly a sniper opened fire, the bullet skimming along the floor by her feet as she ran, Williams opened fire at the snipers location. Another round went off, this time Donahue took aim and returned fire. Annabelle swung herself inside the hotel lobby and sat down to retake her breath. Donahue cried out to Williams on the hotel roof, "I got one of the bastards!" and indeed he was correct. His shot had connected with another of the German snipers, separating his spine in two. Now only two snipers were left guarding the city from intruders.
Donahue got anxious; he had to make his run now. He loosened his joints up and prepared himself for his dash across the road. Meanwhile, Williams was hastily reloading the German rifle in an apartment on the third floor. Such bloody complicated things, Annabelle had his standard rifle, why hadn't she got up here to give it back to him? The answer was that she had been hit in the leg, that second sniper round had just caught her in her thigh; only now did the dull pain increase in volume. She'd never been shot before. Her vision blurred and the feeling in her fingers began to fuzz. She couldn't find her balance and resorted to crawling up the stairs. No matter how many times she shook her head to steady her vision, it kept blurring and staying out of focus. She reached a window and stuck her rifle out. She had to get Donahue to safety; it was up to her and Williams. Williams had finally loaded the German rifle, when the sniper across the road shot at him. The bullet splintered the glass and sent shards flying in all directions. Williams was showered in minute crystal daggers, some sticking into his back. He cried out in pain and clambered away to another room. That glass was fucking painful. He doctored his back, when he heard the scamper of feet across cobbled road. Williams stuck his head out the window of his new abode and wailed, "Donahue! DON'T!" his words tumbled out too late, and only made things worse. Donahue's head spun to Williams when he heard his plea, when the crack of a sniper rifle catapulted through the midnight streets. The bullet tunnelled a bloody hole through Donahue's chest, and he fell back onto it. His body seemed to spasm, but it was just his arms flailing for his weapon. Donahue aimed his rifle and pelted three rounds into what seemed to be nothing. The thud of a body falling from a second storey building dignified his actions. Williams shook the remaining glass from his back and hurried downstairs to the road where Donahue lay. Annabelle picked herself up from the floor and sluggishly toppled down after him. Williams flung his weapons aside on the street and cradled Donahue, the blood ushering out of an opening in his uniform. There was no hope for him; his face was an ill shade of white and his head lolled on its side. His grip faded and Donahue's rifle clattered to the floor beside him. Annabelle looked on from the door to the hotel, leaning against the doorframe to keep her upright; she saw the distress in Williams eyes. Her stomach turned on itself in guilt and she hobbled back into the hotel, blood squelching in the bottom of her boot.
The final sniper of Renneville perched himself in the most luxurious room of the town hall that overlooked the crescent road. He had no idea what had happened to his comrades, but frankly, he didn't care. He was safe in his nest, and nothing could get to him. Annabelle was inside the hotel, facing the town hall, her rifle unwavering and accurate. The crosshair of her scope targeted in on the snipers forehead. He, unlike the others, refused to wear a helmet. Annabelle just wanted this bastard to die; she needed to find solstice in Donahue's death, to reassure herself that he didn't die for nothing. Her leg quivered, the shock of the bullet still ringing. She glared long and hard at the sniper, so much so that he seemed to notice her, all too late. She fired, the German's head blared open with a splatter of claret. She sat down on the bed and placed her rifle beside her, it was time to rest.
