Müller laughed, but it died quickly, for the throat ache he felt was the absence of the Knight’s Cross, which most in his old machine-gun unit felt he had earned a score of times on the Russian steppes.
“Just make sure that you and Irma do the job first time clear?”
Placing his ST-44 assault rifle carefully in the corner of the room, Schultz pulled the secret weapon off his back and removed the blanket in which he always lovingly wrapped it.
The light playing on glistening wood and metal, Schultz unveiled an object of deadly beauty. ‘Irma’ had formerly been part of a Soviet Guards infantry unit that Grossdeutschland destroyed in 1942. Having been ripped from the frozen hands of its former owner, ‘she’ became the personal weapon of choice for Feldwebel Schultz. Indeed, Müller had provided him with a signed document confirming his permission to bear the weapon and preventing any overzealous officer from taking it away.
Over time, Schultz had acquired and hoarded ammunition for the Mosin-Nagant sniper’s rifle. He doted on it, oiling metal and wood, keeping the weapon in pristine shape and prime killing condition.
When the rifle had been produced in a Russian factory it was firing-tested like all rifles, and the Soviets always set aside the best of them for further conversion to snipers rifles. The weapon Schultz had liberated was the very best of the best, its 4xPEM sight perfect, and not a blemish to be seen on the whole length of the weapon.
Conservative estimates credited Schultz with killing over one hundred and fifty enemy troops with the weapon but his speciality was in killing snipers themselves, and up to sustaining his amputation, he had been officially been accredited with twenty-two such executions, high value kills that meant that many German boys still breathed.
“So, where are they hiding?”
Müller grabbed his chin, half contemplating the stirrup pump, half preparing his answer.
“The other side of the river. Other than that, I don’t really have a clue, Erwin.”
“Fuck.”
“I agree entirely, Feldwebel,” grinning from ear to ear as his plan took shape, “But we’ll kill the bastards, just the same.”
Muller showed Schultz a hole in the wall. It was covered with a large pillow, and an old blanket sat next to it, ready for use.
The former officer knew how Schultz liked to operate and had made the necessary extras available.
“I thought that would be suitable for you?”
Schultz liked the height. He could comfortably lie down and the pillow would be handy to prevent the brickwork scratching Irma. He checked the area behind the hole. It was dark enough to be safe, and he settled himself down, ready to adjust Irma’s sights.
“Range to the target? Best guess?”
Muller drew in the dust on the floor, sketching each item in turn until dramatically marking his final position with a cross.
“Roughly two hundred metres to the bridge. They’re not there. I think eight hundred metres to the tree line, but they’re not there. I think they’re in the middle ground, Erwin. My gut says on the road line. You know there’s a ditch either side. Probably about… here”
Schultz considered the matter and resolved it immediately.
“I will set for five hundred metres then.”
“I see no advantage in firing from elsewhere, especially as I’ve found such a perfect spot for you here, Erwin.”
Schultz mumbled a reply, his mind already coming into focus for the job in hand.
“Excellent. Now you have a few minutes while I get set up. You’ll like this.”
The officer grinned with unconcealed glee as he picked up the old stirrup pump and worked at separating it from the perished hose.
His own preparations done for now, Schultz held the rifle between his knees and reached for his cigarettes.
“Time for a smoke, Herr Hauptmann?”
“You are way ahead of me, aren’t you? Carry on, Feldwebel.”
The puzzled man sat more upright and eased his false limb into the right position, lit a cigarette, and watched his commander and friend set his trap.
Schultz had finished his cigarette at the same time as the trap had been prepared. When Müller had finished, he stood back and admired his handiwork.
“You are a fucking sneaky bastard, Herr Hauptmann, if you don’t mind me saying so!”
Muller half-bowed in mock appreciation.
Schultz stretched himself out on the floor, again checking the area behind him, and brought ‘Irma’ into position.
Taking hold of the blanket he pulled it up over his head to prevent any light showing through when he extracted the pillow.
Before committing himself Schultz stuck his head out and looked up at his leader for the command.
With an unlit cigarette in his mouth, Muller checked everything was ready.
“Let’s do it. Alles klar, Herr Feldwebel?”
“Alles klar, Herr Hauptmann,” said Schultz, as he and Irma retreated into their personal darkness.
“What a fool. Olga, an easy kill for you, sweetheart.”
Maleeva had slid down into the ditch where she was enjoying a few sips of water before resuming her work. The whispered summons brought her slowly sliding back into position.
“Stop calling me sweetheart, you uncultured ass wipe,” the words were hissed with mock venom, for she and Erinov were more of a team than was militarily permitted. Soon she would have to declare that she was pregnant, but not who the father was, or the two would not serve together again.
“Where?”
“The building nearest the bridge. The man hides but yet he reveals himself. Can’t you see?”
He waited as the sniper swept the zone.
“The smoke, Olga. First floor balcony, yellow door to the left of centre. Slightly open. You can see him breathing out his smoke and the very tip of his helmet.”
Maleeva settled and concentrated on the yellow door. There. A breath of smoke blossomed at an average man’s head height from behind the slightly open door, and as Sergei had said, the very tip of a helmet was in view.
“Fool indeed, Comrade.”
“Four-seven-five metres I think.”
Maleeva just hummed ‘uh-ha’, her rifle already set to four hundred and her ability to make the adjustment herself not in question.
Carefully, she assessed the point at which the smoke made itself known around the door, using the helmet tip to make a judgement as to where to place the shot.
One more puff to make sure.
The rifle kicked into her shoulder and Sergei saw a hole appear in the door at precisely the spot he would have fired, had it been his turn to rifle this day.
Another stream of smoke escaped, and the helmet remained.
Ego is often a dangerous thing, especially if you are a sniper.
For a sniper, ego can be a terminal affliction.
Shocked that she had got her calculations wrong, Maleeva adjusted without sparing a thought for any other possibility.
She breathed out and fired, Sergei immediately marking the disappearance of the helmet tip and noted Olga’s grunt of satisfaction.
Ignoring the familiar ‘zip’ sound of a passing bullet, Erinov turned to congratulate his lover, to be greeted by the vision of her lifeless eyes as she slid back down towards the bottom of the ditch.
Within seconds he joined her, a Mosin-Nagant round taking him just in front of his left ear and blowing off the larger portion of the right side of his skull.
“Done.”
The rifle was withdrawn from the hole, and the pillow put back to stop up the gap. Immediately Schultz emerged from under the blanket, he started to run a rag over Irma’s body, removing any dust.
Müller let the end of the fire hose drop to the ground and, having spat and wiped away the dirt that had accumulated on his lips from blowing smoke down it, he concentrated on enjoying a second cigarette, free from the taste of soot and rubber.