Boys by Roger Newman

Author:Roger Newman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Koehler Books
Published: 2024-12-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

Pete

I arose at daybreak to find that the ground fog had returned, but things were otherwise quiet. The only sound was the occasional crack of a sniper rifle. I checked on the injured, but without medical supplies there was little to do. They were long past lectures on the importance of foot hygiene or the wisdom of keeping a spare pair of clean, dry socks. I had stopped promising relief or resupply.

I found Hubert from North Wilkesboro and changed the dressing on his jaw. Two severely wounded men had died during the night. We moved them to the far eastern edge of Hill 314 knowing that the bodies would swell and deteriorate under the warm August sun. The stench of the dead, both ours and the Germans, was already stomach turning.

Tony Staats walked up to the medical area, and I redressed the hole in his arm. He had been lucky. The bullet hadn’t broken either bone in his forearm. Even though the wound was considered clean, bullets passing through clothing can deposit a lot of grime along its track. I sprinkled some antiseptic powder on it before sewing it up with a figure-of-eight stitch at the entrance and exit while Tony bit down on a stick.

“I’d give you two fingers of scotch if I had any. Stay still and no whining, you big baby.”

When I was done Tony spit out the stick and swore, “Fuck you, Barnes.”

“You’re welcome. Stay down in your hole next time. Keep an eye on that too. Infection is more deadly than bullets.”

Jamie wasn’t in the foxhole when I awoke. That was unusual, and I thought I better find him. I followed the sound of sniper fire to the far western edge of Hill 314. From a defensive perspective we had ignored the western slope. It really wasn’t a slope at all. The Cliffs of Montjoie was a sheer, rocky drop that was unassailable except to possibly a team of mountain climbers. The one thing the west side offered was the best view of Mortain, which was directly beneath it.

Jamie had found a level spot to lie down between two large boulders. He had attached a bipod to his rifle and settled it against some stones on the ground. It was a perfect sniper’s nest. Jamie could shoot from this spot for the rest of the war and the Germans would never be able to stop him. As I crouched behind him, Jamie fired again and ejected his spent cartridge. I couldn’t tell if Jamie was aware of my presence. After a moment, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at me. “Spot for me, Pete.” Jamie pointed to a farmhouse at the edge of town. “The kick keeps me from being able to spot my own shots.”

“I can’t see anything,” I replied.

“Use the binoculars.”

Through the binoculars, the farmhouse came alive with movement. “Okay, I see them now.”

“I’m waiting for the Krauts to come outside,” Jamie explained. “If I take a target out through the window, they’ll know where the shot came from.

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