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

Cole’s breath grew more ragged. The pain in his arm and shoulder increased as the shock wore off. Hauer’s bullet hadn’t gotten him, but a heart attack might at this rate. Good thing he had kept in shape hiking through the hills back home. He might be old, but he was a tough old bird.

Even so, after a few minutes of pushing it as hard as they could, Cole had to stop. He bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath.

“I’m too old for this shit,” he announced.

Danny managed to grin in spite of everything. “When we get home, don’t let Gran hear you swear like that.”

“Don’t you go telling her.” Cole liked the fact that Danny was making it sound like a given that they would be getting out of this mess. He handed the rifle to Danny. “Here now, take this and shoot down the hill.”

“Do you see him?” There was nothing below them but trees.

“No, but he won’t know that. He’ll slow down and take his time coming after us.”

Danny shouldered the rifle and fired. The rifle boomed and echoed through the hills. He started to hand back the rifle, but Cole stopped him.

“You hang onto that for now. I’ve only got one good arm.”

Expending the shot in hopes of keeping Hauer’s pursuit slow and cautious had been a calculated risk, considering that Cole had a limited supply of ammunition. When Hans had procured the hunting rifle, he had brought along two magazines. Ten rounds total. Although rifles and shotguns were legal in Germany for hunting, ammunition was very limited and expensive. Hans had supplied ammunition adequate for a casual hunting trip, not a firefight. In heading to the woods, Cole had taken just one magazine. That had been all that he had ever needed on a hunting trip. He was now down to a few rounds. He was sure that Hauer had much, much more than that.

He didn’t share his concerns with Danny, but Cole was worried. From here on out, each shot must count. In the end, Cole only needed one bullet—the one that he would use to kill Hauer. Growing up, he’d often gone hunting with one bullet. He would make it count.

They kept climbing. The terrain grew increasingly rocky and rugged as they ascended the mountain slope. The slope increased, slowing their progress.

“If we can get to the top of this hill, we can move along the ridge up there and then try to come back down circle around Hauer,” Cole said. “I’d like to get back to that valley if we can. If we can find that trail out of there, we can hoof it back to the lodge. With any luck, Hauer won’t be any the wiser and he’ll set up here, looking for us.”

“We ought to see if we can make it look like we reached the top and went down the other side,” Danny said. “He’ll go that way, looking for us.”

Cole nodded. “I always knew you were a Cole, through and through,” he said. “I should have thought of that myself.”

With their goal in mind, they pushed harder toward the summit. The trees thinned out and Cole worried about being exposed, but Danny’s plan to make it look as if they had gone down the other side of the ridge was a good one. He just hoped that Hauer would fall for it—so far, the German had proved himself to be a good tracker.

The ground became more treacherous because fallen leaves covered the rocks and small boulders, making their footing slippery and hiding good footing. They hadn’t gone more than another fifty feet when Danny suddenly cried out and fell. He lost his grip on the rifle, which clattered to the rocks.

“It’s my ankle!” he said.

Cole went to help him. Sure enough, his grandson’s foot had caught between two rocks that held it securely as a vise. With his left hand, he helped to work Danny’s boot free.

“Can you put any weight on it?”

Danny stood and hobbled for a few feet, his face wincing in pain. “Wow, that hurts. Is it broken?”

“Let me see it a minute.” Cole felt the ankle, which was already beginning to swell. As best he could, Cole tugged the boot laces tight.

“Ow! What are you doing? Shouldn’t we take that boot off?”

“No, leave it on. Your ankle is sprained, most likely.” Cole thought the ankle might be broken, but he didn’t say that to Danny. Anyhow, a bad sprain was just as serious as a broken ankle. “The boot will give it some support. Sit down a minute and catch your breath.”

Picking his way carefully over the rocks, he made his way to where the rifle had fallen. Thankfully, the costly Leica scope wasn’t cracked. He checked to make sure that the muzzle was free of debris. The beautiful stock was now marred by a big scratch, but otherwise, the rifle seemed fine. This was a fancy customized version, but at its heart the Springfield was a tough nut to crack.

Next, he sat down next to Danny and used the hunting knife to cut some strips of cloth from the tail of his shirt. Some he used to bind up Danny’s ankle. He handed the rest of the cloth strips to Danny and told him to bandage Cole’s wounded arm. They both had a long drink of water from the canteen, and then Cole announced it was time to keep moving.

“I don’t think I can walk on that ankle.”

“You ain’t got any choice,” Cole said. “Here, grab hold of my shoulder.”

The two of them hobbled up the hill, struggling for each step, with Danny keeping weight off his ankle and Cole nursing his arm.

“We’re a fine pair,” Cole said.

“Now what?”

“Let’s get to the top of this ridge and see if we can put Hauer off the trail, then hoof it out of here as best we can.” After that, Cole hated to admit it to Danny,