Cole’s trap was a simple one. He suspected that the enemy sniper would be back in position by first light, moving under the cover of darkness. That was,
However, Cole felt confident that the sniper would be back and might not be overly cautious. The German would be thinking that he wasn’t facing a Russian sniper well versed in the cat-and-mouse game of sniper warfare. No, he’d think these Americans wouldn’t know
The sniper’s nest in the church steeple was simply too good for him to pass up.
Cole had puzzled out how to get at the sniper. He knew well enough that there was more than one way to skin a cat. One option would have been to enter the church and go after him or even ambush him inside the church.
He had told the sergeant that he’d trap the German sniper like a coon up a tree. But the more Cole thought about it, he decided to give something else a try.
After sending Vaccaro back to town, he looked through the outlying sheds and barns until he found what he needed. He used quick bursts from his flashlight to search the buildings. He lucked out and found both items after looking through just a few outbuildings.
Next, he returned to the path that the enemy sniper had taken, following the German’s tracks through the snow. Although it was dark by now, he avoided the flashlight as much as possible for fear that the light might bring unwelcome attention — from both sides.
When he reached the gap in the stone wall that the sniper had passed through, Cole paused. He looked around, taking his bearings. Just to one side of the gap stood a stone barn, creating a backdrop that would silhouette the sniper when the time came. There was cover where Cole could set up nearby. This would do nicely.
Working quickly, he strung twine across the gap, about a foot above the snow. He anchored one end of the twine by tying it around a stone in the wall. The other end ran under the legs of a milking stool that he’d found in a barn. He put a rock on top of the stool to weigh it down, enabling the stool to serve as a fulcrum of sorts. The final leg of twine ran to the wire handle of a milking pail that Cole set atop the wall. The bucket contained a few empty milk bottles and a pair of cowbells.
He was counting on the fact that, in the dark, the enemy sniper wouldn’t see the twine. Its light color helped it blend into the snowy background, especially at night.
He’d been worried that the sniper might slip right past him when the German returned in the dark, enabling the sniper to turn the tables on Cole. Once the sniper hit that string, the resulting racket would let Cole know when the man was crossing through the gap in the fence.
All that he needed now was some luck.
Plus, he’d need a little help from Vaccaro.
“You’re sure this will work?” Vaccaro wondered.
“Hell no,” Cole said. “But if it doesn’t, the way I figure it, you’ll be the one who gets shot.”
“Gee, thanks.”
It was near midnight and the temperature was below freezing. They were in the no-man’s-land on the outskirts of Bastogne between the American and German lines. There were a few scattered houses, outbuildings, and small fields — all appeared to be deserted at this hour.
The snow that had melted slightly during the day was now a frozen crust that crunched under their feet as they moved into position. A freezing fog had rolled in, through which sleet and a little fresh snow still managed to fall. Miserable though it was, the weather served their purposes well, the cold and darkness discouraging soldiers on both sides from doing anything but staying bundled in their foxholes.
They retraced their steps until they came to the spot where the sniper had shot at them yesterday. Cole could see where the bullet had struck, leaving a brighter mark against the drab stone. That had been a little too close for comfort.
Cole led the way to the hiding place he had picked out. He wormed his way beneath an old hay wagon with a shattered wheel, which caused one side of the wagon to nearly touch the ground. Once Cole got under there, no one could see him. He rested his rifle across one of the broken spokes. Wrapped in a white rag, the muzzle was all but invisible. From where he lay, he would have had a perfect view of the gap in the stone wall, no more than one hundred feet away. Would have had — if it hadn’t been dark.
