Ghost Sniper

“Yes, sir.” Mulholland wondered why the colonel was telling him this, which seemed to be something that everyone already knew. The colonel seemed to be leading up to something, which the lieutenant suspected would involve him and the reason he had been summoned to HQ.

“Like I said, the whole goddamn Cotentin Peninsula is lousy with Germans. Our own armored units can handle the Panzers and all the rest. But I have to say that the snipers are tearing us up pretty bad. We hadn’t really counted on that. They’re sneaky, cowardly bastards, but we need to adopt some of the same tactics if we’re going to fight back. And that’s where you come in, Lieutenant.”

“Sir?”

“I understand that you worked with a sniper in the fighting yesterday to eliminate German resistance.”

“We were just kind of thrown together, sir.”

“Be that as it may, son, you are now the 116th Infantry’s resident expert on sniper warfare.” The colonel clapped him on the shoulder, then winced. “Damn, this arm hurts. Got to get it tended to. Listen, you’ve heard of an ad hoc committee? You are now in charge of an ad hoc squad. Your assignment is to eliminate as many of the German snipers as possible. Counter sniper warfare.”

“I understand, sir. But—”

“Is that fellow you teamed up with yesterday still alive?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“Good. Round him up. He’s now part of your squad. I understand he’s quite a shot. That’s just what we need.”

“So it’s just us two, sir?”

“Hell, no, son. I’m way ahead of you there. I talked to the company commanders and got their crack shots. Either that or they were lying to get rid of a pain in their ass. Well, they’re yours now. I even got you a guide. She claims to be with the French Resistance, so I suppose you can trust her. She’s also easy on the eyes, I have to say, so that’s a bonus.”

“Why do I need a guide?”

“Let me paint you a picture, Lieutenant. The country all back beyond here is nothing but fields.” The colonel waved his good arm in the general direction of the countryside beyond the beach. “The French call it le bocage, which means hedgerow country. I’d call it a goddamn nightmare. The Germans have it mined, booby trapped, defended with machine gun nests and snipers. It’s ideal defensive ground, and unfortunately we’ve got to fight our way through it. Your mission, Lieutenant, is to make my job easier by eliminating as many of these German snipers as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You and your men will be equipped with the Springfield sniper rifle. It’s got a scope on it but it’s a bolt action rifle. It’s not as good as what the Jerries have, from what I understand, but it will get the job done. For the most part, the Germans have a lot more firepower than we do. They are very well equipped.”

Mulholland nodded. He’d given his own sniper rifle to Cole yesterday, and it was clear that the man knew how to use it. Mulholland had equipped himself with the rifle because no one else in his unit had been particularly proficient, and being a couple of rifles short, he’d rather have one of the men get the semi-automatic M1 Garand. In Cole’s hands, the bolt-action rifle had proven more than effective.

“Once you step off the beach, you’re on your own. Work your way through the bocage country and reconnect with the 116th at St. Lo. Any questions?”

Mulholland had several, but he knew better than to ask. In the Army, it paid to act as if everything made perfect sense. “No, sir.”

“Good. Then let me introduce you to your guide.” The colonel led him toward a group of civilians. One glance told him they were French—the first French people he’d seen so far. Most of the men seemed to be wearing suit coats and berets, and smoking cigarettes. All of them had weapons slung over their shoulders or within reach. Mostly, they were equipped with hunting rifles, but there were a few deadly looking Sten guns among them. They were a hard-looking bunch and they studied Mulholland with flat grey eyes.

“I’m glad they’re on our side, sir.”

“Resistance fighters,” the colonel muttered to Mulholland. “Maquis. They’ve been fighting the Germans since 1941—wrecking trains, spying on troop movements, cutting throats.”

One of the Resistance fighters stepped forward. Though wearing trousers and a beret like the men, this one was most definitely a woman. She had high cheekbones, dark hair, and soft brown eyes. The colonel had been right about her being a looker.

She stood for a moment, checking him out, smoking a cigarette with one hand while the other hand cupped her elbow, forearm across her belly. “Jolie Molyneux,” she finally said, exhaling smoke. “Je suis heureux d’être votre guide. En d’autres termes, je vais essayer de ne pas vous faire tuer, même pensé que putain douteuse.”