Ghost Sniper

“And where does raccoon come from? Is that an English word?”

“It comes from an Indian word way back.”

“Ha! I am going to call you le raton laveur if you are not careful. So come, what is your given name? You already know mine.”

“Micajah.”

Jolie considered that. “Hmm. Well, it is a better name than raton.”

“Thanks, I reckon.”

He gave the dead German’s rifle a once over, working the bolt, checking the barrel, and then reinserting the magazine. He handed it over to Jolie. “Try that on for size. The Jerries make a decent rifle. It’s a whole lot better than grandpa’s shootin’ iron you got there. You won’t never have no shortage of ammunition. All you got to do is pick some off a dead German. Lots of ’em around, in case you ain’t noticed.”

“It is ironic, using the Germans’ own guns to shoot them.”

“You know, back home there’s a famous explorer folks still talk about named Daniel Boone, and he once said that all a man needs to be happy is a good rifle, a good horse, and a good woman.”

“I know you have a good rifle, but what about the horse and the woman?”

“Why?” Cole couldn’t help grinning. “You know where I can get me a good horse?”

Jolie snorted again. “I was thinking more about the woman, but maybe we can find you a horse if that is what you prefer. Perhaps a donkey would suit you best. How do you say it? A jackass.”

Lieutenant Mulholland saw them talking and wandered over. “What have you got there?” he asked.

“A new rifle,” Jolie said. “Your hillbilly sniper here is about to give me a shooting lesson.”

“Mademoiselle, I would be happy to show you how to shoot.”

“Lieutenant, that is very kind. I do not wish to trouble you. Micajah has already said he would teach me.”

“Micajah?” The lieutenant blinked in puzzlement. “Who is that?”

“Why, that is your sniper’s name. You did not know?”

“I guess I already forgot it. Apparently you two know each other pretty well,” the lieutenant said sourly. He struggled to keep from sounding huffy. “I guess Cole—Micajah—is the man for the job.”

“He has a very good eye.”

“In more ways than one, apparently.”

“I am sorry, but I do not understand.”

“Oh, never mind. Just make sure you two don’t attract unwanted attention from any Jerry patrols.”

The lieutenant moved off to where Fritz was poking at the fire, preparing to boil another pot of coffee.

“I think your lieutenant is jealous. Il est jaloux.”

“Jealous of what?”

“Of you teaching me to shoot. What else? I believe he would like that job for himself.”

Cole smirked.

“I hope he does not cause trouble for you.”

“No, the lieutenant ain’t like that. He’s all right.”

“What about you? Do you play by the rules?”

“You mean there’s rules? I’ll be damned. Now come on, let’s go teach you to shoot.”

They left the shelter of the woods and crossed the field toward the old mill. At the water’s edge some farmer had erected a fence years before to keep livestock out of the river. Most of the crosspieces had rotted away from neglect, but the bleached, weathered posts still stood upright. Cole paced off 200 feet from the posts and motioned Jolie over.

“I have only shot a gun a few times,” Jolie admitted. “We never had much ammunition and we did not want to give ourselves away. The SS was always on the lookout for the Resistance.”

“The first thing you want to do is make friends with your rifle,” Cole said. He then showed her how to load and unload the Mauser, and then how to work the bolt action.

“You want I should stand up?”

“That’s a good start for our lesson,” Cole said. “But it’s very hard to hit anything from a standing position. The rifle gets heavy, your aim starts to wobble. The best thing you can do is lay that rifle across anything you can find to steady it so all you have to worry about is your aim. Now, put it to your shoulder, tight, so that you move with the recoil and don’t have the rifle butt slamming into you shoulder. Put your eye up near the scope, but not right up against it. Otherwise, when that rifle goes off and kicks back that scope will whack into your eye and you will start to look like one of them raton leveurs. Sometimes you can’t avoid it, which is why a lot of snipers have bruises around their eyes.”

“Is that how you knew Fritz was not a sniper?”

“That, and the fact that his hands were taped to his rifle.” Cole smirked. “That’s generally a sign of someone who don’t want to be holding a rifle in the first place.”

“You would not let the other soldiers shoot him. Why not?”

“He reminds me of someone,” Cole said, thinking of Jimmy, killed that first morning on Omaha Beach. There was someone else who didn’t belong in the war. Nobody had taped his hands to a rifle, but Jimmy had been put on a landing craft with a one-way ticket for Omaha Beach, which amounted to the same thing. “Besides, I suppose there’s been enough killin’ these last fews days, though there’s bound to be more.”

Jolie nodded. “What is the next step?”

“You find your target. Look through the sight. Do you see that fence over yonder? Aim for one of them posts.”