The Winter Sniper
By James Mullins
©2019 James Mullins
All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Chapter 1
Karelia Isthmus, Finland November 30th 1939
Hale took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The steam from his warm exhaled air, slowly dissipated in front of him as his ears registered a sound. Is that them? He thought. His thumb unconsciously fingered the safety on his SK Nagant M/28-30 bolt action rifle. He could feel a hint of the cold metal through the thick fabric of his gloves.
He looked around at his immediate surroundings. The land was shrouded in a velvety blanket of whiteness broken by a seemingly endless number of trees. The trees, mostly birch, had lost their leaves to fall’s chill several months prior. The branches of the trees were all tinged with the white of last night’s snow fall. The tree’s branches, intertwined to form an endless canopy as far as the eye could see. It was a breathtaking sight to behold.
Hale exhaled once more and watched the steam from his breath slowly dissipate in front of him. He felt a dull pain in his posterior, so he shifted his position on the large branch he sat on to relieve it. He sighed in relief as the pain ebbed. The faint sound continued to buzz in his ear. He asked himself again. Are they coming?
He sat in near silence for several more minutes as the faint noise transformed itself into a dull rumble. This is it. They’re coming. He closed his eyes and imagined where he would be right now if it wasn’t for them. Certainly not perched in a tree in the miserable cold of this late November morning, awaiting the invaders.
Reality fell away, and an image began to form in his mind of a blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he sat on the floor in front of a warm fire. He was sipping a cup of hot cocoa. As he let his imagination take over, he could almost feel the hot liquid slide down his throat and fill his insides with its sweet tasting warmth.
He looked around the room. In front of him was a fire place. Within the fire place was a pair of logs. A warm flame crackled and occasionally snapped as he absorbed the warm glow. The heat created a ruddy red glow on the pale skin of his face.
From behind, he felt two arms wrap around him. He smiled and turned to see his little sister grinning at him. She was missing one of her front teeth. The tooth had recently fallen out. “Good morning.” His sister Aina said.
Hale returned the smile and with a, “Good morning.” Of his own. The smell of sizzling meat wafted over them. Turning toward the kitchen Hale added, “Smells like breakfast is almost ready. Would you like some of my hot cocoa?”
Aina’s grin broadened into a full smile and she nodded vigorously, “Yes please!”
Hale turned to hand her the cup when a dull clanking noise pulled him back into reality. He opened his eyes and looked to his right at the lonely ribbon of mud and gravel that broke the seemingly endless rows of trees that surrounded him. Yes, that has to be them.
Hale removed the mask that kept his face warm and slipped it into his pack. He then set his rifle down gently in his lap and removed his left glove. Stowing it in the pocket of his thick overcoat he flicked off the safety with his left thumb. Despite the frigid cold, the well-oiled switch clicked into place without resistance. Remembering the day the rifle was given to him, he thought, Thanks Dad. He pulled the glove back onto his left hand and craned his head so that he could see as far up the road to his right as possible.
The dull clanking noise continued to grow in volume. A pair of stags bounded by below him heading away from the noise. He took another deep breath, looked up, and saw several squirrels dashing amongst the branches above him. They too headed away from the noise, North. Away from the invaders and toward safety.
Hale began to feel the ground shake as the large Soviet column came into view. A Russian T-28 tank, painted white to blend into the terrain and emblazoned with a large red star on its turret, slowly clanked and groaned as the metal monster made its way up the road. The steel beast belched black smoke out of its hindquarters and spat mud and gravel from its tracks as it chewed up the soil of his homeland, Finland.
The vehicle had tracks on the left and right side with two large wheels at either end, eleven small wheels on the lower half of the track, and three small wheels that touched the upper track. The two large wheels worked to drive the vehicle forward and the smaller wheels aided in holding the tracks in place.
Atop the tank, sticking out of a hatch in the turret was a man. He wore a green fur cap and a heavy green coat. The coat, also a dark green in color, disappeared below his chest into the hatch. His black gloved hands held a pair of binoculars which he used to scan the forest around him as the tank slowly lumbered forward.
As Hale watched, the next vehicle in the column slid into view it was a GAZ-MM. The GAZ-MM was a truck. The truck, had a cab in the front that could hold two people, and a canopy covered rear deck, where soldiers or supplies could be carried. He could see the faint outline of the driver’s head through the glass in the door as the vehicle slowly made its way forward behind the T-28. The truck was painted a dark green and had a red star of its own emblazoned on the driver’s door.
The canopy of the GAZ-MM was the same dark green color as the tank commander’s coat. Hale took another deep breath and let it out slowly as he raised his rifle to his shoulder. This time he held his breath as he looked down the length of his rifle and drew a bead on the head of the tank commander with the iron sights.
Hale peered through the first sight which was a half square that stuck up out of the rifle at the base of the barrel just beyond the bolt mechanism. He did this with his right eye as he closed his left. The square had a small notch in it that he lined up with the pip on the end of the rifle. He moved the rifle until both the notch and the pip lined up with the tank commander’s head. The head appeared as a small green dot within his gun sight.
He then shifted the rifle slightly forward, so that the head barely showed in the hole of the square on the right side and slowly applied pressure to the trigger of his gun. The rifle belched acrid smoke and flame as it roared to life. The sound of the single shot echoed off the thousands of nearby trees as the bullet traveled nearly instantaneously to the head of the tank commander and hit it.
The bullet carved through the man’s fur lined cap, then his skull, next into the fleshy brain beneath, and finally out the other side as it continued on its course. Before the bullet ended its journey by striking the trunk of a tree situated somewhere behind the tank commander his lifeless body hunched forward, and the man’s chin struck the edge of the turret ring he stood in and blood began to pool on the top of the T-28 contrasting sharply with the white paint. I have just taken a life. God please forgive me. Hale thought.
Before the column could react to Hale’s shot, he pulled the bolt on his rifle and ejected the first bullet. As he slid the bolt back, the second bullet in his five-bullet magazine clicked into place. He then swiveled his rifle to the right, lined up the first truck driver’s head in his sights, and squeezed the trigger again. This time his bullet shattered glass the moment before it struck its target. As the driver slumped forward, the bullet, now misshapen from its impact with both the truck’s window and the driver’s skull, began to tumble as it slammed into the body of the Russian sitting to the right of the truck driver.
The bullet penetrated the man’s arm, just above the bone in his left bicep, and entered his chest. As it continued along its path the bullet cleaved the man’s heart in two and exited out his right side before coming t
o rest in the passenger side door of the truck. The column lurched to a stop, as Hale pulled the bolt on his rifle again. A small puff of smoke emerged from the rifle as he did so. Like the first time he pulled the bolt action on his rifle, the spent cartridge was ejected. Hale’s eyes followed the steaming brass metal for a moment as it began its journey to the forest floor below. Stay focused. He mentally chastised himself as he looked back up at the now halted column.
Several Soviet soldiers emerged from the rear of the canopy covered first truck in line. He drew a bead on the first man to emerge and squeezed the trigger. An instant later the soldier dropped to the snow-covered road. Hale quickly worked the bolt of his rifle twice more dropping the first man’s two companions within the space of two heartbeats. Other Soviets who had emerged from the trucks behind the first one followed the sound of his rifle and began running toward him. He quickly tabulated the number of soldiers in his head, Three squads of eight men each. A full platoon. Too many.
Hale hit the tab on the bottom of his rifle that ejected the magazine. He caught the metal clip as it began to fall toward the earth and quickly slipped it into the left pocket of his white great coat. He reached into his right coat pocket and grabbed his next magazine. With a grunt he slammed it into place and pulled the bolt on his rifle to bring the first bullet into the chamber.
Hale took another deep breath as he drew a bead on the first man running toward him in his iron sights. He squeezed the trigger and his rifle roared to life as it bucked against his right shoulder and tried to leap out of his hands. With practice ease he held the rifle in place.
An instant later the lead soldier dropped to the ground. He operated the bolt quickly and expended the four remaining bullets in his clip. Each shot found its way into the head of one of the oncoming invaders. As more of the invaders emerged from their trucks the guilt he had been experiencing fell away and his heart hardened, Good riddance. He thought to himself.
As Hale coldly slapped his third magazine into place, the turret of the T-28 began traversing in his direction. He took a deep breath and held it, as he quickly took aim, and dropped four more of the Soviet invaders with his rifle. The barrel of the T-28 made him nervous as it slowly swung in his direction which caused him to miss a shot.
Dammit, he chastised himself mentally. He hit the tab releasing the magazine from his gun. Like before, he deftly caught the metal clip and quickly dropped it into his left pocket. He reached into his right pocket, grabbed his last magazine and slapped it into place. A faint click told him that the magazine had slipped into position and locked. As he raised his rifle to shoot again, his eyes focused on the black maw of the tank gun now pointed at him.
Time to go, he thought to himself. He slung his rifle onto his left shoulder and leapt onto the trunk of the tree from the branch that he had been perched upon. With his arms wrapped around the trunk he quickly slid to the ground. The moment his feet touched the frigid snow the place where he had been sitting a moment earlier exploded into a ball of flames. The wood of the tree groaned as it shattered into a million splinters and caught fire.
The shock wave from the blast knocked him to the ground face first. The snow helped to soften the blow from the concrete like surface of the frozen ground beneath. As he sat up, he blinked for several moments as stars danced in front of his eyes and his hearing became muted. The crackling flames of the tree branches above him sounded dull, as if he were underneath the surface of a lake.
Hale’s mind shifted out of reality back to another time. He stood shivering in the early morning air as he leaned up against a tree trunk. It was snowing. He glanced to his right in the direction that he knew his father stood. Like unmoving statues, they both waited for a moose or a deer to happen by.
Hale heard movement to his left, the sound of several paws striking the snow. He turned to face the sound and shivered as he met the steely gaze of a wolf running toward him. The beast’s coat was a dappled mixture of white and gray. As it drew near, the creature curled its lips into a snarl revealing two sharp fangs and dozens of smaller pointy white teeth.
Hale raise his single shot rifle up to fire, it had been his grandfather’s. Frightened, he closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. As his Grandfather’s gun spat fire, the memory faded, and he snapped back into reality. Hale shook the cobwebs out of his head and slowly made his way to his feet.
Nearby he heard the sound of a branch snap. He pulled his rifle off his shoulder as he whirled around toward the sound. He caught sight of an enemy solider topping the ridge a hundred feet from him. Like the wolf, as he caught site of Hale, the man curled his lips to reveal his not so white teeth. The soldier’s fur cap had a large red star emblazoned on it. As he saw Hale a hundred paces in front of him, he raised his rifle and squeezed off a quick shot.
The poorly aimed gunshot slammed into the trunk of the burning tree to Hale’s left. Hale raised his own rifle and returned fire. He didn’t miss. The next four Soviets to top the ridge quickly suffered the same fate as the first.
Hale slung his rifle over his shoulder again and glanced at the ground. He instantly spotted what he was looking for. My skis. He placed his booted feet into the skis and hurriedly strapped them in. As he drove his ski poles into the snow and started moving forward the crack from three rifles washed over him. A moment later three bullets impacted into the snow around his feet. The impact caused the snow to leap from the ground for a moment before falling back to earth.
As Hale built up speed, a group of Soviet’s standing atop the same ridge where he dropped several of their companions moments before, fired their rifles at Hale’s retreating zigzagging form. As Hale made his way up the opposite ridgeline bullets flew past him, some near enough that he could hear a faint buzzing sound and felt a wisp of wind as they passed.
As soon as Hale topped the ridge and disappeared from the sight of the oncoming soldiers, he changed direction to the south. He continued in this direction for several minutes. He fell into a familiar rhythm as he made his way across the countryside. Right pole, right leg forward, left leg pushing, then left leg forward, and left pole to pull him forward.
Hale had gone several hundred feet before he heard the voices of several Soviet soldiers behind them. Unable to understand what they were saying; he imagined their confusion as he wasn’t in sight. It won’t be long before they see my tracks and figure it out. He thought.
He slipped back over the ridge in the direction of the road. Finding a large oak tree amongst the birch. He came to a stop and placed the trunk of the tree between him and his trail. He then knelt and opened his overcoat. Underneath, over his shirt he wore two belts that held dozens of 7.62 x 54R rounds for his SK Nagant.
Hale took his gloves off, dropped them into his lap, and then reached into his left pocket to grab one of the empty magazine clips. He wore his ammo belts inside his coat to keep the bullets warm. This enabled him to do this barehanded reload quickly. He slipped the end of the first bullet into the clip he held, then the second, the third, fourth and finally the fifth.
Task complete, he hit the tab on his rifle that ejected the magazine. He let that one drop into his lap, where it landed on top of his gloves, and slapped the loaded magazine into place. He quickly reloaded each of the clips until his right pocket was again filled with three full magazines of bullets.
As Hale completed loading his last magazine, the sounds of footsteps crunching in the snow on the other side of the ridge behind him could be heard. He slipped his gloves on, and then pulled the bolt on his rifle, so that a bullet dropped into place in the chamber. Preparation complete he quietly stood up.
Hale heard the voice of the first soldier on top the ridge line. The man said, “Syuda.” The voice sounded young like his own. Such a waste. We should all be inside by a warm fire, not trying to kill each other. He thought to himself.
He peeked around the tree trunk he hid behind and quickly stole a quick glance at the enemy. The young Soviet soldier, who missed Hale’s quick gl
ance, looked much like the rest of the soldiers he had killed. Green fur cap, with a red star emblazoned on it, black leather boots and gloves, with a dark green overcoat that stretched down to the man’s knees. A small lock of blond hair was visible hanging down from the hat, Same color as mine. Hale thought.
As Hale stepped out from the protection of the oak tree, the Russian soldier was looking back at his companions on the other side of the ridge. Hale quickly raised his rifle, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet slammed into the back young man’s head with a dull smack and he fell backwards. His green cap and body fell separately, as they disappeared and tumbled down the hill. As the corpse came to rest at the bottom of the gorge, another senseless and nameless victim of Stalin’s aggression, the lose lock of blond hair became matted in the young man’s blood.
Hale quickly retreated behind the trunk of the tree to wait. He heard the voices of the man’s companions as they talked hurriedly in Russian. After chattering excitedly for several moments, they came to a consensus on what to do next. Silent now, they began to creep forward toward the top of the ridgeline that separated them from Hale.
Hale heard the men crawling forward and then stop, What are they doing? Do they know where I’m at? He thought.
Before he could decide on his next course of action, the men rose up with a roar and began charging down the hill toward Hale’s oak tree. Not knowing what else to do, Hale sat down so that he would blend in with the snow, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and pulled out his Lahti pistol. Next, he removed his gloves and checked the clip to ensure all was in order. The metal of the gun felt cold against his skin. Task complete, he held it with the barrel pointed skyward and his right index finger on the trigger.
Without warning, the squad of Russians barreled past him as they ran down the hill. As they rushed past, they seemed heedless of him as his white overcoat helped him blend in with the snow on the ground. Hale stood and stole a glance around his oak, back in the direction the Russians had just come from. There were two more of them standing on the ridgeline, I’m surrounded. He thought in dismay.
The Winter Sniper Page 1
