No, Rohde did not like where this was going at all. He thought desperately for a way to get Fischer off his back. "Come with me tomorrow, sir. I am setting up an ambush for the American sniper."
"You mean the one that Dorfmann claimed you already shot?” Fischer gave a wry smile.
“That was Major Dorfmann’s article, sir. Not mine.”
“That is true, Rohde. Unfortunately, you and I both know that words don't kill. Only bullets do that. Do you know where this American sniper will be?"
Rohde leaped right into it, knowing that any hesitation would come off as false to the Hauptmann, with whom he had already pushed his luck. "There was a boy who got lost, and the Americans found him. They're bringing the boy back home in the morning."
"How would you know about that?"
"I know the boy's aunt." Rohde let slip a knowing smile.
"You would, wouldn't you?" Fischer knew that Rohde wouldn't have been the first soldier in his unit to consort with a French girl.
"Help me ambush him, sir. Together, we can get him."
Rohde saw from the way that the Hauptmann hesitated, that Fischer thought he should refuse. He was an officer, not a sniper. And he did not seem quite convinced about the business with Hohenfeldt. But Fischer always had expressed some fascination with sniping. The temptation was too much.
"In the morning?"
"Yes, sir. With your permission, I will stop by the armory and get my old rifle. Of course, it is your choice which rifle you should use."
"The Mauser is fine. You use the new one. You are a much better shot than I am, anyway."
Rohde smiled and laid it on as thick as he dared. "I don't know about that, sir. I have seen you shoot. In the morning, you and I will teach the Americans a lesson. Maybe they will put us both in for an Iron Cross."
Fischer's mood had been improving at the thought of doing something as simple as going into the field. He scowled at the mention of the medal. "Don't you ever give up, Rohde? You and your damn medal!"
Rohde drew himself up straighter. He struggled, without much success, to keep his voice calm. That medal meant everything to him. "I have already earned that medal ten times over, sir. There are snipers who have not killed nearly as many enemies as I have who have the Iron Cross."
Ordinarily, a mere enlisted man such as Rohde would never dare to address an officer in that tone or to express such thoughts. But he and Fischer had a history together. The Hauptmann's patience, however, had its limits.
"Do not lecture me, Rohde! It is up to your commanding officer when and if you should be nominated for the Iron Cross. Many men have done much here. There are more than snipers under my command."
"Major Dorfmann said that he would nominate me."
Rohde's petulant tone caused Fischer's face to turn red, and a vein pulsed just above the tight collar of the Hauptmann's tunic. He drew in a breath as if to shout, then gulped it back, and instead said in a low voice that was far more menacing, "Let me tell you something, Rohde. Dorfmann wanted to put you in for the Iron Cross. He would do it in a heartbeat, for the sake of publicity. But I told him not to. How do you like that? If I were not here, you could go to Dorfmann and he could get you your piece of tin. Until then, you must still prove yourself to me. I still believe in a thing called a soldier's honor. Do you have honor, Rohde?"
Rohde took a deep breath and struggled to control the rage that must be showing on his face. How could Fischer deny him that medal?! "Of course I have honor, sir."
"Do you? I wonder." Fisher sighed. "Meet me here tomorrow morning with that sniper rifle, and we will do our duty without concerning ourselves about glory and medals. You are dismissed, Rohde."
Ten minutes later, Rohde was back at the armory to retrieve his old Mauser K98 for the Hauptmann's use. His conversation with Hauptmann Fischer had left him both angry and nervous. The thought that Fischer was denying him the Iron Cross left him stunned. If it had not been for the Hauptmann, his medal might already be on its way from Berlin.
As if that wasn't bad enough, Fischer seemed to suspect that he'd had something to do with old Hohenfeldt's death. If there had been anything more than mere suspicions, Rohde was sure that he would already be under arrest. Still, Fischer's doubts weren't going to help Rohde get his medal any sooner.
His one chance at redemption seemed to be bagging that American sniper tomorrow. Rohde hated to put all of his eggs in that basket. Anything might happen.
No one seemed to have been put in charge of the armory yet, but a young Soldat was on duty, loading bullets into clips. Rohde recognized him from that morning.
He looked up as Rohde came in, a frisson of fear showing in his eyes. Rohde glared at him, and the soldier looked away.
Rohde found his old rifle just where he had left it in the Staber's office. The darkened armory smelled reassuringly of gun oil and cool metal. No wonder old Hohenfeldt had liked being armorer so much.
With one item of business taken care of, Rohde moved on to take care of the next. He walked over to where the Soldat was working and picked up one of the clips as if to inspect it, and then loaded the K98 he had just retrieved. He put the muzzle against the boy's forehead. The soldier’s eyes grew big as Hundermarken discs. One twitch of Rohde's finger and his brains would be scattered across the armory.
"Next time, mind your own business and keep your mouth shut, if you know what's good for you," Rohde said. "Understand?"
The frightened Soldat managed to nod, even with Rohde grinding the muzzle into his skull. When he lowered the rifle, there remained an indentation in the young soldier's forehead.
"Good," Rohde said. "Now, tell me where old Hohenfeldt kept his supply of explosive bullets."
Strictly speaking, explosive bullets were not used by snipers working to halt the Allied advance. But on the Eastern Front, where the fighting between Germans and Russians took on a hateful aspect, the explosive B-Patrone 7.92×57mm Mauser ammunition was used by snipers. Technically, explosive rounds were banned by the Geneva Convention, which specified the use of jacketed, non-explosive bullets. In any case, regular bullets were effective enough. Just ask any of the hundreds of thousands slain by them. When it came to the war in the East, however, there were no rules. German and Russian snipers alike used explosive ammunition when they could get their hands on it.
The hollow bullets were filled with an explosive mixture and designed to detonate on impact. For maximum effect, snipers on the Eastern Front often aimed at bony areas to ensure that detonation. Like a compact bomb, the explosion within the body was enough to shatter bone or hollow out a chest cavity. There was no walking away from a hit by an explosive round. But more than anything else, the exploding bullets created fear in the enemy.
Such ammo made snipers even more terrifying and deadly.
The explosive bullets were hard to come by. But even here in France, Rohde didn't doubt that the Staber had gotten his hands on at least a few rounds.
Sure enough, the Soldat went to a shelf and took down a box.
Rohde shoved the box into his haversack and nodded at the Soldat, who seemed to relax. That's when Rohde smashed the butt of the rifle into the young soldier's belly.
He grabbed a few handfuls of regular 7.92 mm rounds, and then stalked out of the armory, leaving the Soldat gasping on the floor, doubled up in pain.
Rohde had ammo, and he had a rifle for Hauptmann Fischer. Before dawn, the two of them would set an ambush for the American sniper at Lisette's farmhouse.
Chapter Thirty-One
Lieutenant Mulholland must not have gotten anywhere with the mademoiselle, because just after first light, it was Cole and Harper who escorted her back to her farmhouse near Argentan. Vaccaro was to stay behind with the rest of the squad.