"Yes, sir," Vaccaro said, answering for all three of them. As soon as Mulholland was out of earshot, he grinned and mimicked the lieutenant's self-important tone. " 'I'll see to it that the mademoiselle is comfortable.' You bet your ass he will!”
Frustrated, Rohde pressed his luck and crept within range of the American command post. Through his binoculars, he could see Lisette, and Leo — and the hillbilly sniper, all talking together.
He was too far for an effective shot, and thought about moving closer. To his disappointment, however, he saw the American sniper move back out into the woods and fields, most likely to do some hunting of his own.
Rohde could have wreaked havoc on the command post, picking off an officer or two, but he felt too exposed. Besides, without any confirmation, they would not be counted toward his official record. Why take the risk? The area was swarming with Allied troops, not to mention the fact that the American sniper was out there somewhere, surely eager to get Rohde in his sights.
Planes kept appearing overhead, making it difficult to move undetected across the roads and fields. The American planes were not above strafing a lone German soldier, especially if they had any inkling that he was a sniper.
In the relative safety of the falling dusk, Rohde worked his way back toward Lisette's farm. He did not know why, nor did he have any particular reason, other than that it was on the route toward the German base. He could see that the farm was going to be in the path of the battle to come.
Rohde approached the farmhouse stealthily. No one seemed to be around.
The old dog came out to greet him, not even bothering to bark because he knew Rohde by now; he had been laying in the cool dirt. Rohde scratched his ears.
He approached the house and peeked in a window, rifle at the ready. No sign of Lisette's brother, the Resistance fighter, at least. No sign of Lisette, either. He did see an old woman at the table, and the little girl, Elsa.
Rohde opened the door without bothering to knock. The old woman looked up, clearly startled. Elsa shouted his name happily, apparently unaware of the fact that he was responsible for her brother's disappearance. The old woman looked at her in surprise.
"Lisette?" he asked. There was no point in trying to communicate at any length with the old woman, but she could surely understand that much.
"Demain matin," the old lady blurted, with a glance at the telephone in the kitchen. "Elle a dit que un sniper va marcher ici."
"Un sniper? Ici?"
"Oui. Demain matin." The old woman nodded emphatically, almost fiercely. He realized that she had emphasized the sniper's arrival to scare him off.
Tomorrow morning. That was all Rohde needed to know. He turned and left.
He had glimpsed Lisette and the hillbilly sniper together at a distance at the American command post. What other sniper could the old woman possibly mean? On the walk back to headquarters, he wondered at his good fortune.
Come tomorrow morning, he was going to end this duel, once and for all.
Chapter Thirty
When Rohde returned to the base that evening, he learned that Hauptmann Fischer had sent for him. Having missed his chance at the American sniper, Rohde already felt frustrated by the day’s events. He hoped for better luck tomorrow in ambushing the American at Lisette’s farmhouse. Meanwhile, he was not eager to make his report to the Hauptmann.
With some trepidation, he waited outside Fischer's makeshift office, listening to him shouting at a sergeant over some infraction. Fischer's tendency to shout had become more frequent; it was easy to see that the stress of the war was getting to him.
Fortunately, Fischer seemed to have calmed down by the time Rohde was standing at attention before him. The Hauptmann was pleased when Rohde explained that he had set out early that morning and ambushed a squad of Americans nearby. Of course, Rohde left out the bit about using the French boy as bait, or about his encounter with the American sniper. With the Hauptmann being so touchy, the less said, the better.
But Fischer had not summoned him for small talk. The Hauptmann was clearly distracted and only half listening to Rohde’s report. After a few moments, the Hauptmann came around to what was on his mind.
"It was a strange thing, what happened with old Hohenfeldt," Fischer said.
Rohde stiffened. He thought it best to pretend that he knew nothing about it. "What do you mean?"
"He was found in the latrine area early this morning. Apparently, he shot himself."
"Suicide?" Rohde asked carefully, trying to put a note of surprise in his voice.
"Who would have thought it? Our old Staber was as solid as they come. All he cared about were guns and bullets."
"And requisition forms," Rohde muttered, then added more loudly, "War changes people."
"It does, doesn't it?" The Hauptmann looked more intently at Rohde. "War changes a boy from Mannheim into a killer, for example."
"If you say so, sir." Rohde was a little taken aback that the Hauptmann knew where he had grown up, but of course, that had been one of the questions answered by Major Dorfmann's propaganda article.
"The curious thing about Hohenfeldt was that he apparently shot himself, but was found with the pistol in his right hand. He was left-handed, you see."
"That is strange, sir." Rohde felt a trickle of sweat begin under his armpits, suddenly aware of how stifling Fischer's office was in the summer heat. "Maybe the Resistance had something to do with it."
"You think so? How curious that the French would sneak into the latrine and target Hohenfeldt, of all people." Fischer looked intently at him. "I was told that you were seen with him last night at the armory, and that you were seen again at the armory this morning when Hohenfeldt was not there."
"Yes, sir."
Fischer frowned when Rohde did not elaborate. "Well, what were you doing there?"
Rohde did not like the way that Fischer seemed ready to pounce upon his answer, like a cat on a mouse. Who had seen him with Hohenfeldt and then told the story to the Hauptmann? It had to be one of the young Soldaten that he had seen working there. "He was issuing me the new Gewehr 43. This morning, I realized that I needed more ammunition, but the Staber was not there."
"Really? He finally gave you that rifle? He was guarding that thing like it was his mistress." Rohde could not help but wince at the choice of words. Fischer went on, "What did Hohenfeldt say to you when he gave you the rifle last night? Did he give any indication that he was suicidal?"
"No, sir. He simply said that he wanted to see me put it to good use." Rohde kept his voice carefully neutral. He did not like the direction this conversation was taking. It was beginning to feel too much like an interrogation.
"I see," Fischer said doubtfully. "I have to say, Rohde, how curious it is that you ended up with that rifle, and Hohenfeldt ended up dead."
Rohde felt as if he was getting boxed into a corner. An idea came to him. "He did say one thing, sir. Something about how, now that I had a new rifle, that perhaps you would like to have the other sniper rifle for your personal use."
"He said that?"
"Yes, sir."
The Hauptmann studied him thoughtfully, taking a moment to think that over. "You are a slippery one, aren't you, Rohde? It's as if there is always a chess game going on in that head of yours. If you give up a pawn, can you capture a rook? Perhaps that is what makes you a good sniper."