Once he had left the road, Cole approached cautiously. The church looked deserted, but with the territory surrounding them in flux, he didn't want to walk up on any German patrols. That would ruin his day in a hurry.
He pressed himself against the right front corner of the church and listened. Didn't hear anything inside.
Cole looked behind him and gave the hand signal for the others to approach. They did so, running toward the church in a crouch. He noticed that Vaccaro kept his eyes on the steeple, with his rifle pointed in that direction. The city boy was learning.
Vaccaro ran up, panting, an exasperated expression on his face. Harper ran up next. The other soldier had returned to his squad.
"You don't have to fight the war alone, you know," Vaccaro said. "You could tell me what the hell you're up to."
"I'm gonna tell you now," Cole said. "What I want to do is get up in that steeple, and see if I can get a look at where this sniper is dug in."
Vaccaro turned to Harper. "Kid, you stay down here and keep watch. Keep a sharp eye out. I sure as hell don't want to get trapped in that church if a German patrol comes along."
Harper nodded, and instantly turned his eyes toward the landscape surrounding the church.
The church was not locked. Cole pushed the massive wooden door open with his shoulder, did a quick check inside, and then stepped all the way in with Vaccaro behind him.
Inside, the church smelled of dampness and incense. This was an old peasant church so there were no pews, but only bare flagstones and a simply carved altar flanked by simple stained glass windows whose light barely penetrated the gloom.
Nor were there any steps leading to the steeple. Instead, there was only a ladder.
Briefly, Cole thought about Von Stenger, who had used a tunnel to get into a church inside Bienville and then began shooting up the town's defenders like a fox inside a henhouse. That Von Stenger had been a slippery son of a bitch.
Cole went up the ladder first, followed by Vaccaro.
"Do you think Harper is going to be OK watching our six?"
"Once we get up in that steeple, we ought to see anyone coming at us from a long ways off."
They emerged through a trapdoor into the church steeple itself. It was no more than six feet on a side, hemmed in by low stone walls topped by a wooden rail so rotten that it would be hazardous to lean against, all covered by a slate-shingled hip roof. The floor was chalky white with pigeon droppings. There was a bell rope, but no bell. Cole suspected that the Germans had taken it away and melted it down, which was a common practice of the occupiers.
From the steeple, there was a good view of the surrounding countryside. The old church had been built at a kind of crossroads, and four dirt roads led away from the chapel. In the distance, they could see the field where the fight was taking place.
Hidden in the field, Rohde had to wait longer than expected for the Americans to get up their nerve again. The sun climbed higher and began to beat down mercilessly on the wounded.
The boy had mostly fallen silent and was sitting down now, but the wounded GI was still calling out, this time for water.
He saw a flicker of movement through the trees. The Americans were trying once more to break through and get across the field. This time they tried a simple diversion. Two men ran forward, firing from the hip, while another man far to their left ran in a crouch toward the boy.
Their ploy was simple enough. They hoped to keep the sniper's attention focused on the two men who were firing while the third man reached the boy undetected in order to free him.
But Rohde was having none of that.
"Look at them, Carl," he spoke aloud to his dead brother. "They must think that I am a fool."
The new rifle made it easy. He fixed the sight on the man trying to rescue Leo and took him out. Then he swung the rifle toward the two men and put them down with two quick shots.
Finally, one of the other Americans couldn't stand the pitiful cries any longer and broke cover, carrying a canteen.
This soldier zigzagged as he ran, which made him a difficult target. He was carrying only a canteen, and had stripped off his gear and even his helmet in an effort to be more fleet of foot.
And could this one run like a rabbit! Rohde fired, his bullet singing through the air where the GI had been only a moment before. Rohde fired two more rapid shots, pulling the trigger, tap, tap. The runner went down.
After that flurry of activity, all was quiet for several minutes. The only sound came from the boy still tied up in the field. Leo was whimpering like a frightened puppy.
Cole watched it all through the scope. It was a goddamn slaughter. He itched to get a shot at the German sniper. If nothing else, maybe he could rattle him enough to lay off the trigger.
With that thought in mind, he tugged the Confederate flag from a pocket. It was the same flag that old man Hollis had wrapped his knife in. Not knowing what else to do with it at the time, Cole had stuffed it in a pocket. Now he knew.
He took the knife and used it to secure the flag to the wooden rail in the steeple so that it hung down, clearly visible from a long way off. He reckoned it would be like waving a red flag at a bull. Just fine with him. Although marking his location with a bright Confederate flag went against any lick of sense, he thought that maybe he could goad that sniper into doing something stupid.
He set the rifle across the low stone wall of the steeple, then put his eye to the scope.
Still nothing.
Cole took the binoculars from Vaccaro and glassed the field. He could see bodies in the grass, and a child doubled over in the middle of the field, covering his head with his arms. Poor kid, Cole thought. Bullets must be flying around him, and yet he hadn't moved.
Then, through the binoculars, Cole saw the reason why. With a shock, he realized that a rope ran from the boy's waist to a stake in the ground.
Staked out like a goat.
What sort of sick son of a bitch would do that to a kid? The German sniper. Rohde. Cole felt his blood begin to boil.
"Any idea where the sniper's at?" Vaccaro asked in a whisper, as if the German might hear him.
"Not yet," Cole said. He handed back the binoculars. "You take a look."
Cole judged the distance to be nearly 1,000 yards. More than half a mile. A long way to shoot. One hell of a long way, as a matter of fact.
Some things were in his favor. There wasn't so much as a breath of wind. He knew his rifle intimately and could coax every last yard out of it.
The distance seemed even farther in the reduced amplification of the rifle scope.
"Vaccaro, I want you to keep those binoculars glued to that field. You see so much as a whisker of that son of a bitch, you let me know."
"Got it."
The fact that Vaccaro had not said anything previously spoke volumes. His silence indicated that he thought Cole must have gone crazy to think that he could hit anything that far away.
Cole agreed, but short of picking up the church and moving it, this was the best vantage point he was going to find.
Cole could see the boy in the field. The binoculars were stronger, so through the scope he could no longer see the rope, but he could imagine where it was, stretched taught about a foot above the ground.
Keeping that picture in his mind, he aimed and fired.
Rohde watched and waited. The situation in the field had fallen into a silent stalemate that was broken by a distant rifle report.
Moving at supersonic speed, the bullet cracked across the open expanse of the field somewhere in Leo's vicinity.