"Does that soldier look familiar?" the officer asked.
"I don't know that I would recognize the face, sir," Rohde said carefully. "However, his helmet had the same insignia."
The captain and major exchanged a knowing glance.
"It is not unit insignia," the captain said, turning back to his sniper. "At least, not from this war! It is a flag. I would not expect you to know American history, Rohde, so let me enlighten you. This is what is known as a Confederate flag, the symbol of rebellious forces during the American Civil War. Some Americans from the South still favor this symbol, known as 'the Stars and Bars,' as a nod to their heritage."
"Yes, sir," Rohde said when the captain looked at him expectantly. Rohde still had no clue what this was about.
"The sniper in the newspaper article has such a flag painted on his helmet," the SS major added helpfully. "This is the sniper that you shot yesterday."
"I wounded him, sir. That is correct."
Rohde peered intently at the article, but could puzzle out nothing else. His English was marginal at best. Like most German soldiers, he could understand and speak a smattering of English words. The spoken languages were similar in some ways. Reading anything written in English was another matter.
The SS major saw him looking. "Do you know English, Rohde?"
"No sir."
"No matter," the SS major said in a dismissive tone that made Rohde dislike him immediately. "I will summarize it for you. This sniper is called Micajah Cole, and he is from the Appalachian Mountains. These are much like our own Hartz Mountains. He is what the Americans call a hillbilly. He was quite the hunter growing up, according to the article."
"What does this have to do with me, sir?"
"I am getting there, Rohde! Let me finish. This article was written by a famous American journalist named Ernie Pyle. He likes to go among the troops and write about their struggles to encourage the people back home. You might call him something of a pastoralist, like Goethe. His epic poem Hermann and Dorothea comes to mind."
Here the major paused and looked at Fischer, as if Rohde would have no idea what he was talking about. Truth be told, he did not know the poem. One could not be German and not have heard of Goethe, but that was the limit of Rohde's knowledge. The smug officer had a pale, fat forehead and Rohde could not resist imagining the satisfaction it would give him to put a bullet hole in the center of it.
"Ah, Goethe," Fischer said, putting a vague but fond look on his face. The SS major seemed satisfied with Fischer's show of literary appreciation, but Rohde was not convinced. The only thing that Rohde had ever seen the captain read intently were pornographic French magazines.
Rohde was not as dim as the major seemed to think. He could see where this was going. "That is the sniper I wounded. I shot their hero."
The major's face lit up. "You did, indeed. Well done, Rohde! It is my role to exploit opportunities such as this. You see, we publish a newspaper in English that is dropped by the Luftwaffe over the American forces, in order to share our viewpoint with them. We even put it in artillery shells for special delivery, ha, ha, so that copies are scattered behind enemy lines. We call it Lightning News: Condensed News for Service Men. Nothing over the top, you know, but enough to plant a seed of doubt in their minds. Subtle but effective, you see. It has been a very successful campaign."
The major showed him a copy of a newspaper with a front-page photograph that showed an American GI kissing a girl, with the famous Big Ben clock tower in the background. The prettiness of the girl got Rohde's attention. "This was our most recent issue. Very popular! I've been told that some of the English troops we captured last week were carrying copies, ha, ha! The article here is about Americans in England stealing all the local girls while the English boys are off doing the fighting."
"Is it true?" Rohde blurted out.
The very idea of GIs stealing the local girls made him indignant, even if he wasn't English.
The major laughed, clearly pleased with himself. "See, that is exactly the result I am going for! The English troops will now be jealous of the Americans and mistrust them. Two weeks ago, the front page article was about blacks and Jews making love to all the lonely girls back home in America. The article simply nurtures what some GIs already suspected, you see. Where there is a seed of doubt, we water it. We confirm their nagging fears. My next issue is going to be about you shooting their heroic sniper."
The major invited him to sit, and for the next thirty minutes he peppered Rohde with questions about everything from his boyhood upbringing to his tactics. Rohde answered carefully, not wanting to seem anything less than a loyal German. The major seemed a little disappointed that Rohde did not have a sweetheart back home.
"No one writes you letters? What is wrong with our young girls?" he demanded, then sighed. "They are not doing their part. Not to worry, I will give you a nice girl back home named Heidi, or maybe Greta.”
Rohde did not tell him about the French girl, of course.
When the interview ended, the major called in a photographer. He had Rohde pose with his rifle, and also with an American combat helmet on which was painted a Confederate flag.
"How did you get this from him?" Rohde asked in wonder.
"Do you think that this is actually the American's helmet? Wonderful! Keep thinking that! There, hold it up like a trophy!"
The camera flash popped again and again, until Rohde's eyes danced with spots.
When the photo session was finished, the major gathered his notes and patted Rohde on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Rohde. You are going to be famous!"
“Sir, will this be in the Luftpost and the Vőlkischer Beobachter?" Rohde asked. The second newspaper was the official publication of the Nazi party, distributed nationwide.
"We will start by informing the enemy so that they fear you," Major Dorfmann said. "This story will be distributed to the Allies in my Lightning News. That is the priority."
"May I add something to the interview, Herr Major?"
The major seemed puzzled at first, but then flipped to a blank page in his notebook and looked indulgently at Rohde. "Of course."
"You did not ask me why I want to be the best sniper possible."
"Maybe you should be the journalist, ha, ha," the major said. "But I think I know your answer. Why, you wish to serve the Fatherland, of course! And to make your parents proud."
Rohde stiffened. "My parents are already proud of both their sons."
The major looked knowingly at Fischer, and then back at Rohde. It was clear that he knew all about Rohde's older brother. Had Fischer told him, or did the whole goddamn SS know? "This article is for the Allies. They know nothing about your brother. Besides, your brother may have deserted, but you are a hero for the Fatherland."
"My brother was not a deserter,” Rohde said coldly.
The SS major blinked, at a loss for words for the first time. Captain Fisher spoke up, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He sounded annoyed that his star sniper had been impertinent with the SS major. "The major here is writing about you, Rohde, not your brother. Come now, have some sense. You are doing this for the Fatherland and your parents, and leave it at that."
"And for one more thing, sir," Rohde said.
"What's that?" the major asked, his perpetual smile growing thin.
"I want to win the Iron Cross."
Relieved, the major grinned widely at that answer. "That's the spirit, Rohde! Ha, ha! Kill this American sniper and I shall put a story about you on the front page of Vőlkischer Beobachter that will be read in Berlin by the leader himself!"
Chapter Fifteen