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

around Cole held their fire, awaiting an order from the lieutenant. The Germans on the road below came closer. Now, the roar and clank of the Panzer sounded even louder. The stink of exhaust reached them like an affront to the clear mountain air. The tank took up most of the road. Despite its size and weight, the Panzer was having some trouble on the icy incline, lurching sideways on the road before straightening itself out.

Cole set his sights on the man in the turret of the Panzer.

“Fire!” Mulholland shouted.

The first burst of gunfire dropped three of the enemy soldiers. The others scattered into the ditches and trees. They knew better than to throw themselves flat on the road, right in the path of the Panzer, where they would be turned into German pancakes.

Through the scope, Cole could see the tank commander in the Panzer turret, pointing in the squad’s direction. It was all too clear that the Unteroffizer was ordering the Panzer to target them. The barrel of the tank’s gun swiveled toward them, the muzzle looking big and black as a pit into hell. Any second now, the Panzer was going to blow them all to Kingdom Come.

Not so fast, Cole thought. He squeezed the trigger. The tank commander slumped in the turret. Cole’s squad had a temporary reprieve from the threat of the Panzer’s main gun. That didn’t prevent the tank’s heavy machine gun from buzzing like a metallic hornet’s nest.

More soldiers poured in from the sides of the tank, setting up an assault on the squad’s position. Cole had seen it all before. You could count on the Germans to be efficient. After years of battle, they knew their business.

Then again, so did the squad. The soldiers around Cole poured a withering fire down the road. The squad had the advantage of being behind cover, while the Germans on the road mostly remained exposed.

Down on the Panzer, someone from below pushed the body out of the turret and the dead Unteroffizer rolled down the side of the tank and fell to the snow like a sack of grain. He noticed that unlike the infantrymen, the tank crew didn’t wear camouflage.

Another man appeared in the turret, this one armed with a Schmeisser. He let off a burst in the direction of Cole’s squad, then shouted something down into the tank. Once again, the big gun began to swivel in their direction.

“Ain’t gonna happen,” Cole muttered. He put his crosshairs on the soldier in the turret, and fired. The tanker slid back down into the hatch.

But this time, there was no stopping the Panzer from sending a round in their direction. The tank fired. The muzzle blast lit up the forest canopy with an orange glow, the shock wave from its big gun making the branches all around dance as if hit by a gust of wind. Snow showered down.

Traveling at nearly four thousand feet per second, the tank round whooshed over their heads and struck the road behind the squad, punching a hole in the icy road. They had dodged a bullet—a damned big bullet, at that—but the squad might not be so lucky again. Already, the Panzer’s gun was angling lower.

“Fall back!” Mulholland shouted.

Nobody needed to be told twice. Their orders were to delay the German advance, not stop it. For that, they would have needed a lot more firepower.

Besides, the Americans up the road had a surprise in store for the Germans.

Cole slipped from behind the fallen log that he had been using for cover, even as a burst of fire from the Panzer’s 7.92 mm MG 34 machine gun chewed up the bark. Time to go.

The squad began a running battle back to the rest of the unit. They stopped now and then to fire at the Germans who had outpaced the tank.

Cole threw himself down flat on the road, locked his arms into a prone position, and waited for the tank to come back into sight. He was disappointed that the tank crew had figured out not to put anybody back in the turret—either that, or they had run out of crew to sacrifice. Instead, a couple of soldiers had climbed onto the tank to serve as its eyes and ears as it navigated the road. While the Panzer had viewing slits and periscopes like any tank, it was easier to drive when somebody had eyes on the road. One of the soldiers leaned over the hatch to shout instructions down into the tank.

Cole picked him off.

Then he and the others were up and running again, back toward the main position.

“I hope they know we’re coming,” Vaccaro panted, laboring to run in the awkward pac boots. Though the rubberized boots kept their feet more or less dry, it was like trying to run with canoes strapped to your feet. It didn’t help that the rubber soles slipped and slid on the hard-packed road.

“They’d have to be deaf not to have heard that Panzer,” Cole said, chancing a look back over his shoulder. So far, the road was empty, but they could hear the enemy tank approaching with its steady clank, clank and straining engine.

Around another bend in the road, they found the rest of the unit. The truck had been pulled out of the ditch, and already the convoy was rolling on. But they had left behind an insurance policy in the form of a Jeep with a recoilless rifle mounted on it. The Jeep sat in the middle of the road, its weapon pointing toward the oncoming Germans. The gun had been sighted in on a crest in the road. All they needed was a target. From the shouts of the approaching Germans and the sound of the Panzer echoing through the forest, they wouldn’t have to wait for long.

“You guys are a sight for sore eyes,” Vaccaro panted.

“You know how to sweet-talk a guy,” said the GI set up behind the recoilless rifle. The weapon fired a HEAT round that could