Ardennes Sniper: A World War II Thriller (27 page)

Leaving La Gleize by one of the roads radiating from the town was no longer a possibility, either. The Allies had cut off their escape route to Germany.

Slowly, an outrageous plan had begun to form in Friel’s mind. Their best hope was to abandon their equipment and slip through the woods, at night, unseen by Allied planes.

Friel preferred to think of it as a tactical withdrawal, rather than a retreat. Earlier in the day he had radioed a request to do just that—and been denied.
 

Friel did not give up easily, but it was time to face reality. Germany's hopes of turning the tide of war had been dashed.

Surrender was not an option. He knew that he and his men would be treated as criminals after the massacre at Malmedy. Perhaps his men would receive the same treatment—for all their talk of high ideals, the Americans could be vengeful.

His men were loyal to him, but he was just as loyal to them. He owed them a fighting chance of survival.

"I am going to contact headquarters again," he told his staff.
 

"That did not go so well last time," Von Stenger said. He knew that Friel had radioed earlier, requesting permission to withdraw. He also knew that the request had been denied.

"Perhaps the situation has changed," Friel said, and picked up the hand-held radio transmitter.

The conversation was short, and much like the one earlier in the day.

"You must advance at all costs," he was told. Crackling with static, the words bounced around the room like a death sentence. "You must cross the Meuse and make for Antwerp. Heil Hitler!"

He tossed the transmitter on the table and stared at the radio.

One of his officers stepped forward. "Herr Obersturmbannführer, you have done your best. We will make our last stand—"

The officer never finished the sentence. Without warning, Friel unholstered his pistol and shot the radio three times in rapid succession. Sparks flew, and the room filled with the smell of gunpowder and burning electronics.

The officer looked at him in shock, his mouth hanging open.

Friel holstered his pistol. "We are walking out of here just before dawn.” He looked at a hauptmann. “Baumann, at that time, you take a handful of men and set our panzers on fire. Another small detachment will man the machine guns to provide cover while you do this and distract the enemy. Then you must all catch up to us. No one gets left behind."

"But Herr Obersturmbannführer, your orders—"

"From headquarters, the situation is not always as clear as it is in the field. It is twelve miles through the woods to Germany. The trees will give us some cover from the Allied planes. It is true that we will have to destroy our tanks, but we will return with eight hundred SS troops. Not old men and boys, but eight hundred good SS soldiers to defend the Fatherland from the Allies. That fool at headquarters will be glad to see us. Mark my words, he will forget that he gave any order otherwise. In any case, I accept full responsibility. If there are repercussions, you were simply following my orders."

Von Stenger thought it took courage to use common sense. There was so little of that here in the waning days of the war. With more officers like Friel, he thought, Germany might have won the war.

The tank officer who had questioned Friel's decision saluted. And then he smiled. "Herr Obersturmbannführer, we shall do as you command!"

Friel dismissed the officers, but Von Stenger seemed to be the only one who didn’t need to rush off somewhere.

A bottle of wine and some glasses stood on a table. Von Stenger poured himself a glass and cut a slice of bread from the stale hunk that someone had found. He added a slice or two from a sausage. It tasted delicious—he had not eaten all day.

One of Friel's staff was already busy burning papers in the fireplace in preparation for the retreat—various orders and maps, from the looks of it.
 

Suddenly, a feeling of relief washed over him. He had killed the hillbilly sniper. Who cared if they were about to retreat! He lifted the glass. Cheers to me, he thought. He wondered what hillbillies drank. Beer? Moonshine? He took a big drink of wine. The wine tasted a bit flat. Upon reflection, he decided that it was not the wine, but him—deep down in the dregs of his soul, he felt disappointed. As if he had been cheated somehow. Killing the American had just been too easy.
 

Friel came in and Von Stenger poured him a glass as well.

Friel raised the glass. "Just think of it, Kurt. By tomorrow at this time we shall be back in Germany—or in hell."

They drank to that.

CHAPTER 29

As darkness fell, Cole thought about his next move. In many ways, that depended on what the Germans were going to do. He wasn't a general who had to think about how to position an entire division, or worry about how to capture a German column to keep Ike happy. He only had himself to order around, and he was focused on just one German: Von Stenger.
 

The thought of the Ghost Sniper gnawed at him. Even if Von Stenger believed that Cole was dead, it didn’t mean that Cole was through with the German. This was like some blood feud between mountain families. It ended when the last drop of the other man’s blood was spilled.

So what were Das Gespenst and the Germans planning? They had their backs to the river and the roads out of La Gleize were blocked by American artillery. They would not be able to fight their way out. It didn't take a brilliant military strategist to know that the Germans couldn't hold out much longer. They had to be low on food, fuel, medical supplies, and maybe even ammunition. For Kampfgruppe Friel, it was only a matter of time.

He doubted the Germans would surrender. Killing the Americans at Malmedy meant that they were all war criminals, so surrendering was the same as putting their necks in a noose. At the same time, fighting to the last man sounded good in the movies, but it wasn't really how battles ended.
 

No, Cole wasn’t a general, but he saw the possibility exactly because of that—the Germans were planning to escape.

Observing them through the scope of his rifle, he had a closer view of La Gleize than most of the other Americans. He could see that they were up to something.
 

While most of the Germans were engaged in hurling shells at the American lines, as dusk fell a handful were rounding up Jerry cans of gasoline. The clincher was when he saw them knocking together several sets of travois. You didn't do that unless you planned on hauling wounded or possibly supplies on foot—sure as hell not with a tank.

It dawned on Cole that the Germans were planning to abandon La Gleize.

But how did they plan to escape?

At first glance, the Germans seemed to be corralled. But the Americans had focused on blocking the roads out of La Gleize. To the northwest of town the forest marched down out of the Ardennes toward La Gleize. The Americans hadn't bothered to guard the forest because the trees were too thick for tanks and trucks to pass through. It was like a fence. So why bother protecting it when the American forces were already spread so thin?

On foot, at night, the Germans could pass among the trees and right through the American lines.

Acting on his hunch, Cole slipped into the woods to explore them. He took with him a map borrowed from Lieutenant Mulholland. He did not have to go far before he found a forgotten sunken road, more of a cart track really, worn down below the surface of the forest floor from centuries of use. The sunken road was too insignificant to appear on the map. Not so much as a footprint showed in the thin snow covering the road bed. It was much too narrow for tanks, but the road would take the Germans right through the woods to what the map showed was a clearing on the other side.

Leaving the woods, Cole debated about whether or not to share his hunch with anyone. Who would believe him, anyway? But if the Germans did slip away, after what they had done to those poor bastards at Malmedy, it just wouldn’t be right.
 

He went to tell Lieutenant Mulholland.

• • •

Half an hour later, Cole and Mulholland were waiting to see Colonel Akers, who was commanding the assault on La Gleize.

“Cole, I hope you’re sure about this,” Mulholland said.
 

“Sure I am,” Cole said. “If we get some troops on the other side of those woods, we can bag the Germans neat as a rabbit in a sack.”

Mulholland gave him a look. “When we get to see the colonel, you better let me do the talking.”

They watched other officers and couriers hurrying in and out of the house that the colonel had taken over on a hillside overlooking La Gleize. Within a stone’s throw was the main road into town. Within sight at one end of the road was the town itself. To the west was Germany. The road was the obvious route of retreat through the rugged Ardennes territory. It was not heavily defended by Sherman tanks, Wolverine tank destroyers, and machine gun emplacements.
 

Cole and Mulholland had not even been invited inside the house. They stood outside in the cold, shivering.

“You reckon he forgot we were out here?” Cole asked.

“Maybe.”

Finally, an officer came out and beckoned impatiently to them. “You still here? The colonel will see you now.”

They found Colonel Akers pacing in front of a stone fireplace, chewing on an unlit cigar, with a mug of coffee in hand. Well over six feet tall, in his late forties, he looked like a tough son of a bitch—and exactly the kind of officer who was sure of his opinions.

He didn’t mince words. He also didn’t seem to remember Mulholland from the briefing before the initial attack on La Gleize. Looking at Mulholland, all he said was: “What?”

“Sir, we think the Germans are going to retreat through the woods just west of town.” Quickly, Mulholland explained Cole’s theory.

The colonel listened impatiently, taking long pulls from his mug of coffee, then throwing the dregs into the fire. The wood sizzled and steamed. He held up a hand, interrupting Mulholland.

“Lieutenant, I’ve heard enough. The Germans are going to try to fight their way out. They will try to come down this road and skedaddle back to Germany. If they went through the woods, they would have to walk out, and that’s not going to happen. An SS panzer group is not going to abandon its armor.”

“But sir, Cole here—”

“Lieutenant, what’s your name?”

“Mulholland, sir.”

“Mulholland, I hope to hell that you are not in charge of anything important. What unit are you with?”

“We’re snipers, sir.”

The colonel narrowed his eyes at Mulholland. “Right, now I remember you from the briefing. Snipers, huh? Sneaky bastards. Well, go shoot a few Krauts in the back, and leave the strategy to me. Meanwhile, I am putting every gun I can on the roads out of town for when these Krauts bastards do try to break out.”

Another officer came in, and the colonel turned his attention away from them. Mulholland put his helmet back on and stamped out of the house, with Cole following him. After the warmth of the house, the cold hit them like a hammer.

“We tried, Cole,” the lieutenant said. “If what you say is true, the Germans are going to walk out of La Gleize by the back door while we’re guarding the front door.”

“At least one of them Germans won’t get very far, if I can help it,” Cole said. “Thank you for going to the colonel with this, sir. With any luck, he won’t hold it against you when he wakes up tomorrow and the Germans are gone.”

“It’s all right, Cole. Who said I ever wanted to make captain?”

• • •

"You’re comin’ with me, Kid. I need some help," Cole said.

"Why me? You know I can't shoot worth a darn."

"This isn't about shooting. I need me an assistant."

"An assistant what?"

Cole thought about that. "Assistant ass kicker. How does that sound?"

Cole had already scouted the buildings in and around the hamlet. In an old barn, Cole had spotted just what he needed. Hung up on a nail high up on an old beam. Steel traps. The massive jaws measured nearly a foot across when opened. Cole had done his share of trapping, but he had never used traps so big. Mostly likely because he had never gone after wolves or bears. He guessed that the traps were very old. Antiques even. After all, when was the last time a beast of that size had prowled the Ardennes Forest?

Cole took them down and inspected the traps. Rusted shut. Getting one to function would require some work, which is why he had brought along the Kid.

"Got to be some oil around here. See what you can find."

The Kid returned with an old-fashioned oil can that might be used for a bicycle chain. Cole knocked off most of the loose rust. He soaked the trap in oil.

"All right, now I want you to stand on the springs. Whatever you do, don't take your weight off. I want to keep all my fingers."

The trap itself was a simple mechanism. The "jaws" of the traps were shaped like the curved portion of a capital letter D. Powerful springs were shaped like “greater than” and “less than” signs < > slid along the curved part of the D. When the Kid stepped on the springs, compressing them, the jaws of the D opened, revealing rusty serrated teeth.