Sniper's Justice (Caje Cole Book 9)

by David Healey

  “Sure, Pa Cole. I know all the stars.” He pointed. “There’s Pegasus. There’s Taurus. The Bull.”

  While their situation remained desperate, they were both in better spirits. They had built a small fire and roasted some of the pork, and both of them had eaten their fill.

  While the fire had been a way of thumbing his nose at Hauer, Cole wasn’t foolish enough to sleep right beside it. Instead, they had made their makeshift camp about one hundred feet away. They had left a couple of bundles of branches on the ground near the fire so that from a distance the bundles would resemble sleeping bodies.

  Cole was close enough that he would see Hauer if The Butcher entered the circle of firelight. If that was the case, then Cole planned to shoot him. In part, Cole had broken every rule for stealth and built the fire because he now suspected that it wouldn’t be Hauer’s style to ambush them in the night, or even to pick them off from the darkness. That was outside the rules of the strange game that they were playing. No, he suspected that Hauer would want Cole to see what was coming. He would want to savor his final victory. Hauer would want to gloat. With no sign that help was on its way, Hauer wasn’t in any rush to finish them off.

  Cole felt confident that Hauer would wait for daylight. When daylight came, Cole had a surprise of his own planned for his old enemy.

  With a full belly, Cole felt new energy coursing through him. Whatever came tomorrow, he would be ready to finish this business with Hauer for once and for all. This was going to be the finish to a fight that had started forty years before.

  “Get some sleep,” he said to Danny. “I’ll keep watch.”

  Danny didn’t argue. They were both exhausted after a day spent trudging up and down the mountain, trying to stay ahead of Hauer. Danny’s injured ankle and Cole’s own wounds had also drained their energy.

  His grandson tugged his coat tighter and rolled over in the leaves to get some sleep.

  Cole had no plans of his own to sleep. He smiled to himself. What did an old man need sleep for, anyhow? He had an eternity to rest, and that eternity was coming on fast. No, sleep was for the young. He glanced down at the resting young man, wishing that he could walk with him through life and guide him, but knowing that we each have to make our own way. The best that any parent or grandparent could hope for was to set younger folks on the right path.

  He wanted Danny to live and have a chance to follow that path, wherever that might take him. For that to happen, Cole was going to have to kill Hauer.

  Instead of sleeping, he took out the hunting knife that he had used to butcher the boar and began to sharpen it. He had no proper sharpening stone with him, of course, but he had found a reasonably flat, smooth stone, speckled with flint, that would serve the same purpose. He spat on the stone and got to work. He worked gently and patiently, so that the sound of steel on stone wouldn’t carry through the woods.

  The knife itself was a Böker lock-blade, made in Germany. He hadn’t brought any of his own hand-made knives with him on the trip, but he had to admit that the German knife was a quality product. After a while, he tested the edge with his thumb. The steel took an edge well and held it.

  When he was finished with the knife, he moved on to the rifle. Back in his military days, it had always been a source of ribbing—as much as anyone kidded with someone as serious as Cole—that he had the cleanest rifle in the army.

  Old habits died hard. He didn’t have any proper cleaning tools to speak of out here in the woods, but he made due. Earlier, he had cut yet another strip from his tattered shirt and soaked it in some of the pork fat from supper. He used the rag to rub down every part of the action that he could reach, along with the exterior metal surfaces to protect them from the nighttime dew.

  “It ain’t gun oil,” he muttered. “But grease from that boar will have to do.”

  He unloaded the magazine and reloaded it. Two rounds left. It would have to be enough.

  Cole ran his hands over the bright, smooth steel and the burnished walnut stock, enjoying the feel of the checkering under his fingertips. The sporterized Springfield was indeed a beautiful rifle. He just hoped that he had an opportunity to return it to Hans once this business was finished.

  With the knife sharpened and the rifle ready to go, Cole leaned back against the fallen tree and gazed up at the stars. Danny slept, but Cole had Orion to keep him company. Some distance away, the dying flames of their campfire flickered through the empty woods. Hauer might be watching the fire, but he hadn’t shown himself. Cole stayed awake, keeping his own vigil.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Dawn arrived slowly, the sun touching the mountaintops first, then creeping into the valleys. Cole stood and stretched, but didn’t feel the least bit cold. It was as if he could sense the heat of the coming action in his blood. One way or another, the final confrontation with Hauer would be this morning.

  With any luck, Hauer had been drawn by the firelight and had spent the night watching the dying coals, anticipating his revenge. He would be as cold and exhausted as his quarry this morning.

  Cole had spent those wakeful hours planning his trap. His plan was simple, but it was going to rely on Danny. The question was, would the boy be up to the task?

  “You awake?” he asked, by way of waking Danny up.

  Groggily, Danny opened his eyes. “Darn, I was hoping that all this was going to be a bad dream when I woke up, but I guess it wasn’t.”

  “No such luck,” Cole said.

  Quickly, he outlined his plan to Danny. Cole would walk out into the open, heading back to where he had butchered the boar yesterday, as if planning to carve off more meat for breakfast. He would leave the rifle with Danny, who would be hidden at the forest edge. Once Hauer showed himself, or if he took a shot at Cole, it would be up to Danny to put Hauer in his crosshairs and finish him.

  Just as Cole had feared, Danny didn’t like the idea one bit.

  “I can’t do it,” Danny protested. “You want me to shoot him?”

  “You’ve got to,” Cole said. “My arm and shoulder are too stiff to shoot that rifle. It’s up to you.”

  Danny shook his head emphatically. “I can’t. Pa Cole, you know I couldn’t even shoot a deer when you took me hunting back home. I just couldn’t. I sure can’t shoot a human being.”

  “Even if that human being is trying to kill us?” Cole grumped. He had no such compunctions about defending himself from a threat, but he had to remind himself again that Danny was still young enough to trust that people were essentially good. Cole had learned otherwise a long time ago.

  “You know what I mean. It’s not right.”

  “Danny, Hauer doesn’t have any human decency. Put it out of your head that you’re shooting at a person. He’s just a target. Instead, remember all the basics of shooting that I taught you. You’re a good shot, Danny. You can do this.”

  “How am I even going to see Hauer if he’s still in the trees?”

  Cole had thought about that. “The thing with Hauer is, he’ll want to gloat. He ain’t gonna shoot me from a distance if he can avoid it. If he does, he’ll wound me and then come closer to finish me off. He’ll want to make sure that he’s the last thing I see.”

  “So you’re using yourself for bait?”

  Cole didn’t comment on that, but only handed Danny the rifle. “You’ve got two shots,” he said. “Don’t miss.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  They crept closer to the edge of the forest, where it opened up to the valley. Cole got Danny set up with the rifle across a log, Cole’s cap stuffed under it to steady his grandson’s aim.

  “Are you sure about this, Pa Cole?”

  “You just remember everything I’ve taught you,” Cole said. “You may not be a hunter, but you know how to shoot. Just take your time and be sure of your target. You’ll do fine.”

  Danny nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.

  Hauer had them right where he wanted them. Cole was wounded, and that grandson did
n’t pose any threat. They had tried to give him the slip on the ridge by laying the false trail, but Hauer felt confident that they had moved back down the mountain.

  His instincts had been correct and he soon found their trail. All that he had to do was follow them. A wounded man and a teenaged boy had no hope of escape from The Butcher.

  He made his way back down the mountain, taking his time. It would not do to be overconfident. Cole still had a rifle and could set up an ambush. The American might be wounded, Hauer thought, but he still posed a danger.

  He thought back all those years to the war. The Hillbilly sniper acted as if Hauer should feel some remorse, but did the wolf regret the sheep that he had killed?

  There had been no real rules, not when the officers felt inclined to look the other way when there was dirty work to be done. If Cole kept a grudge against him, then the feeling was mutual. The American sniper could act as righteous as he liked, but the truth was that he had caused the demise of many German soldiers. His hands were not free of blood.

  Hauer grinned, wondering how the final act would play out. He preferred not to shoot Cole from a distance. He wanted the American to see that the end was coming for him. Hauer wanted to savor that moment.

  Already, it was starting to get dark. He wanted to make sure that they did not somehow give him the slip during the night. Who knew, but if the opportunity presented itself during the night, he might even finish this business with a knife—up close and personal.

  Down below, Hauer spotted something flickering in the deepening shadows of the forest. To his surprise, he realized that he was seeing a campfire. As he crept closer, he even smelled grilling meat. They must have returned to the boar that Cole had killed. Hauer’s belly rumbled. It had been a while since he had eaten any real food.

  Reassured that his quarry wasn’t going anywhere, he sat down to eat his rations, which consisted of half a sandwich that he had saved. He took a pull or two from the flask of vodka that he had brought along on the hunt. Most of his fellow Germans preferred schnapps, but the Soviet influence had long ago gotten him into the habit of drinking vodka, which was cheaper and far more plentiful in East Germany. He just hoped that this hunt wrapped up before his flask ran dry.

  “Let me see how the hares are doing,” he said.

  With the edge taken off his hunger, he continued down the mountain. Near the fire, he moved cautiously, concerned that Cole might have set some sort of trap for him. He crept closer to the circle of firelight.

  Already, the Hillbilly and his grandson must have gone to sleep. He could see the dark outlines of their bodies, stretched out on the ground near the fire. The two must be exhausted. Still, building the fire had been a risk and he was surprised that Cole had taken it. It would have been a simple matter to put a bullet into each one of their sleeping forms and be done it it, but that wasn’t Hauer’s way. If anything, he would slip closer during the night and end this business with a knife. However, the thought that Cole still had a rifle held him back.

  Hauer watched from the forest, a little envious of the warmth those two must surely have enjoyed from the fire. But something wasn’t right. The sleeping forms didn’t so much as stir.

  After another hour of keeping watch, Hauer realized that he had been duped. The shapes that he had thought were sleeping forms were surely no more than bundles of sticks.

  Hauer considered approaching the fire, just to make sure, but then decided against it. If Cole had set a trap, then this was it. Once Hauer walked into the ring of firelight, then Cole could pick him off from the shadows. Clever, clever. He had to admire the resourcefulness of the American, who must be hidden nearby.

  Hauer did not stir from his vantage point, even once he realized that he had been tricked.

  In the morning, when it was light enough to see their trail and possibly spot them in the forest, he would find Cole and the teenager—then finish this business for good.

  Cole was more than ready for the day to begin, but he had to wait for the daylight to crystallize. Dark shapes became bushes. Blurs became trees. Now that it was light enough to see his way, it was time to set his plan in motion.

  Leaving Danny behind with the rifle, Cole moved out of the cover of the forest and into the open valley. He paused to take a deep breath, letting the mountain air fill his lungs. He was struck again by the beauty of the place. The cold mountaintops stood indifferent against the backdrop of the sky, tinged with pinkish clouds from the rising sun. It had been damp and cold in the lower elevations during the night, resulting in a heavy frost that coated the brown grass, so that the ankle-high grass crackled like glass under his boots. He could see the tracks through the grass that he’d left last night, going out to collect meat from the boar, and then back again. He didn’t see evidence of any other tracks, which meant that Hauer must not have ventured out here during the night. Surely, however, Hauer was watching even now from some vantage point. He would have been waiting for this moment.

  The spot between Cole’s shoulder blades itched fiercely as he imagined Hauer’s crosshairs there. He was gambling that The Butcher would not kill him outright, but would want to take some measure of pleasure in drawing out Cole’s death, like a cat toying with a mouse.

  Cole was not disappointed. He heard a shout behind him, and turned to see Hauer emerging from the woods, rifle pointed at Cole. He stopped and waiting for Hauer to approach, heart hammering. If Hauer sensed a trap, then all that he had to do was pull the trigger and it was all over.

  “There you are!” Hauer called, crossing the grass more confidently now.

  “You son of a bitch!” Cole shouted back.

  Hauer stopped. “Where is your rifle?”

  “Out of ammo.”

  Hauer made a tsk, tsk sound. “Too bad for you.”

  Cole held up the hunting knife. “Come a little closer and see how you like it.”

  Hauer did come closer, but stopped well short of knife range, wary of Cole’s blade. He lowered the rifle but kept it pointed in Cole’s direction, looking him up and down. Cole worried that Hauer sensed a trap.

  “I imagine that wound hurts,” Hauer said.

  “It’s a mite sore,” Cole allowed.

  Hauer cocked his head. “I do not think that you are out of ammunition,” he finally said. “What I think is that your grandson is at the edge of the forest, intending to shoot me, and that you have put yourself out here as bait.”

  Cole’s heart sank, but he kept a poker face. Hauer was no fool. But why had he exposed himself out here in the field if he knew better? “Is that what you think?” Cole said.

  “I am not concerned about the boy,” Hauer said. “Der Junge ist ein Weichei. He is a soft egg. He would not even bring along a rifle or shotgun on this hunting trip because he doesn’t like to kill animals.”

  Hauer raised the rifle, lining up the sights on Cole, and a chill went through him. This was it. It was all up to Danny now. Silently, he urged his grandson to shoot. Do it now.

  Smiling at Cole, Hauer suddenly turned and fired two quick shots at the tree line, in two different directions. To Cole’s relief, the bullets were nowhere near where Danny was hidden, but that wasn’t Hauer’s intention. He’d meant to rattle Danny. He turned back to Cole.

  “Right about now, your grandson is probably shaking like a leaf and pissing himself,” Hauer said with a laugh. “We both know what it’s like to have someone shoot at you for the first time.”

  “You are a piece of work, Hauer,” Cole said, desperate to buy some time. Come on, Danny. You got this.

  From the woods, a single shot rang out. They both heard the bullet sing through the crisp air. It might have passed right between them.

  Neither man so much as flinched.

  Hauer turned his back to the forest, as if dismissing the threat there. “Do you see what I mean? I could stand out here all day without fear of being shot. Like I said, your grandson ist ein Weichei.”

  Cole ignored the insult. One bullet left,
Danny, Cole was thinking. Breathe, aim, squeeze that trigger. Just like I taught you. Take your time—well, maybe not too much time.

  “Get it over with,” Cole said, his voice raised, hoping that his grandson could hear him. It was a message for Danny more than Hauer.

  “You should have killed me during the war,” Hauer said. “After I shoot you, I will track down the boy and take care of him as well.”

  Hauer raised the rifle again. This time, he put it to his shoulder and aimed carefully at Cole.

  “Where would you like me to shoot you?” Hauer asked. “Through the heart? Through the head?”

  “Just get it over with.”

  Another shot came from the forest.

  There was no snap of a bullet going past. Instead, there was the solid whunk of a hollow-point bullet hitting flesh and bone.

  Hauer reacted as if someone had just slapped him hard between the shoulder blades. Intended to bring down big game like wild boar and stags by shredding lungs and internal organs, the mushrooming slug was equally effective on human targets.

  Hauer stumbled forward a couple of steps, a look of disbelief in his eyes. The rifle drooped in his hands. Slowly, he sank to his knees. Then he slumped over sideways.

  But he wasn’t dead yet. Hauer’s hands still grasped the rifle. He struggled to find the strength to point it at Cole.

  Cole walked over and took hold of the rifle, wresting it from Hauer’s hands. His right side hurt like fire and his shoulder felt stiff, but not much effort was involved as he aimed the muzzle down at Hauer.

  “Hauer, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why the hell did you shoot that nun all those years ago? Hell, she was just trying to help one of your own men.”

  “I never liked nuns. Isn’t that reason enough?”

  “No.”

  “Look at the two of us, all shot to pieces,” Hauer said softly. It was an effort for him to speak. A bubble of pink froth appeared at the corner of his lips. “For us, the war is finally over.”