Sniper's Justice (Caje Cole Book 9) by David Healey (great books for teens TXT) 📕

stick his weapon out the window. Come to think of it, neither did anybody else.

Another shot fired from the steeple hit the vehicle sheltering the two Germans. The officer ducked again, but the sniper did not so much as flinch, his eye never leaving his rifle scope.

A moment later, he fired.

The steeple went silent.

Whoever that sniper was, he knew his business, that was for sure. None of the other Germans had been able to take out the American in the steeple, no matter how many shots they fired at him.

Now, the Germans moved freely about the street. The final resistance in Wingen sur Moder had fallen. All that Joey and the others were able to do was peer out the cellar windows and watch it happen, wondering what their fate would be.

Chapter Nine

For the service company men hiding in the cellar, the waiting game finally became too much.

“I’ve had enough of this,” a soldier said. “I’m making a break for it.”

“Me too.”

“You’ll get us all killed!” Serra complained. “This place is crawling with Krauts. Think about it.”

An argument broke out in hushed tones. Some were all for getting out now. Others wanted to follow the original plan and wait for nightfall. The sergeant tried to order them to sit tight, but the sergeant’s orders didn’t hold a lot of weight.

“Do what you want, Sarge, but we’re making a break for it.”

“You’ll never make it. You can’t get past all those Krauts.”

“We’ll sneak out the back door of this place. From what we’ve seen, the Krauts are all out front.”

After checking their weapons, the two men headed up the cellar stairs. Briefly, their footsteps sounded on the floorboards above as they made their way to the back of the house. The men below held their breath. They heard a slight clunk as the back door opened.

With no windows in the back cellar wall, they couldn’t see what was happening.

Seconds later, they heard a shout, then two quick bursts of gunfire.

So much for trying to escape.

“I told those dumb bastards to wait,” Serra said. “The sarge was right. We’ve got to wait for dark.”

However, they didn’t get the chance. Several pairs of boots appeared at the window grating, followed by the muzzle of a submachine gun.

Inches away, Joey felt his insides turn to liquid.

“Come out, Amerikaner,” shouted one of the Germans. It sounded like the same officer who had tried to negotiate with the sniper in the church steeple. “Come out or we will toss in a few hand grenades and see how you like that.”

The men in the cellar looked at one another in desperation, but it was clear that they didn’t have much choice.

“You saw what happened to the guy up in the steeple,” Serra said. “I think we’d better give up.”

The sergeant moved closer to the window and yelled, “OK, we surrender. You can’t shoot prisoners.”

“We will see,” the officer shouted back. “You are only prisoners if you come out with your hands up. You have one minute.”

Quickly, the men dropped their weapons. Most of the men were empty-handed, but a few grabbed blankets or spare clothes. Joey followed their example and grabbed his blanket.

They filed up the stairs and out the back door. Nearby lay the bodies of the two soldiers who had tried to escape, sprawled in the street with blood flowing from them. Joey felt sick to his stomach, but he kept moving, hands held high.

All around them stood German soldiers, submachine guns at the ready. Joey studied their faces, trying to determine if the Germans were about to shoot. Some of the Germans wore self-satisfied smiles, pleased that they had captured yet more American POWs, while others looked grim. Up close, the Germans had several days of stubble on their faces. The camouflage smocks that looked so white from a distance were actually flecked with mud and even blood.

The officer approached, the German sniper they had seen earlier trailing a few feet behind him.

“Smart Amerikaner! Very smart.”

Some of the soldiers stepped forward and quickly searched their new prisoners. Joey had expected them to be on the lookout for weapons, but aside from a small pocketknife or two—which the Germans kept—the Americans were unarmed. To Joey’s surprise, they took their wallets and money, chocolate bars, and wristwatches. Joey hadn’t known quite what to expect as a prisoner, but he sure hadn’t expected to be robbed.

A soldier looked at Joey’s wrist and nodded, so Joe had no choice but to unbuckle the strap of his watch and hand it over. He felt a pang of resentment because his parents had given him that watch as a high school graduation present, right before he had signed up.

The German sniper who had eliminated the man in the steeple was among the soldiers looking on. He stepped forward and grabbed Serra’s hand, then shucked his Timex off his wrist with such force that it seemed like he might take Serra’s hand along with it. He then started to pull off Serra’s gold wedding band, but Serra jerked his hand away. The soldier raised his rifle.

“Enough!” the officer said. “You have his watch, Hauer. Leave the man his wedding ring.”

The soldier looked as if he might shoot Serra anyway, but then he lowered the weapon. With a smug grin, without taking his eyes off Serra, he slipped the watch onto his own wrist.

Serra glanced at the officer and said quietly, “Thank you.”

If the officer heard Sera, he didn’t show any sign of it. Instead, he turned and shouted orders to the soldiers.

Joey didn’t understand a word of German, so he still wasn’t sure whether or not the Germans were going to shoot them.

Having been searched—and looted—the prisoners were marched toward the church a short distance away.

It all felt so unreal, like a bad dream. Never in a million years had Joey expected to be taken prisoner. Killed, maybe, but not taken as a POW. Their training hadn’t focused on being taken prisoner—maybe it wasn’t something the Army wanted to encourage