"Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann." Vaclav made his voice as sarcastic as he could. "The last I looked, there was a war on."
"Yes, yes," the French captain said impatiently. "But the damned Nazis have imported a sniper of their own."
"I know that. I potted the stinking pigdog, by God!" Now Jezek sounded proud of himself. And well he might have. The German could have killed him, too. The bastard had been too goddamn good at what he did.
"Another one," the Frenchman said. Vaclav hadn't thought of that. When you'd gone and killed the dragon, you could live happily ever after, couldn't you? At least for a little while? Maybe not. Evidently not-the captain went on, "Another one, without a doubt. He put one through Colonel Laplace's head more than half a kilometer behind the line."
"Did he?" Vaclav said tonelessly. That was a good shot, all right. A very good shot, if he was using a Mauser. It was a good rifle-a very good infantry rifle, as far as accuracy went. But it was only an infantry rifle, not an elephant gun like the one Vaclav lugged around.
"He did," the captain said, in the how dare you question me? tone French officers were so good at using. "And he bagged a captain and two lieutenants as well, these past three days. He likes officers, you see." He raised an eyebrow at Vaclav. "I daresay he would like you, too. I believe he is here because you have annoyed the Boches to such a degree." Boches stuck out in the middle of his slow, pause-filled German, but Vaclav couldn't very well pretend he didn't get it. The captain's eyebrow lifted again. "Since you have caused the problem, so to speak, it is up to you to solve it."
"Danke sehr, Herr Hauptmann." Thanks a bunch.
"Bitte schon." You're very welcome. God scorch him black as a potato forgotten in the oven, the captain could be sarcastic, too. "I expect you to deal with the problem… one way or another." What that meant was unmistakable, too. If Vaclav punctured the new Nazi sniper, that would be all right. And if the German put one through his head at better than half a kilometer, the shitheel would likely be satisfied and go torment some different stretch of the front for a while. That would also content the captain and the people who were telling him what to do. If it was hard luck for one Vaclav Jezek… well, who cared about a lousy Czech corporal who insisted on hanging on to an obsolete rifle?
With a last nod, the captain loped away. Benjamin Halevy chose that moment to show up. Vaclav unleashed a torrent of the nastiest Czech he knew. Halevy heard him out. (Later, Vaclav wondered whether he would have shown so much patience for the Jew.) When he finally ran down, Halevy said, "Be careful. If they did send a second man after you, he'll be better than the first one was."
"Yes, I worked that out for myself, thanks," Vaclav said bitterly. "I could do without the honor, you know."
"I didn't do it," Halevy said. "I didn't even ask the Frenchman if he spoke German."
"Oh, fuck off," Vaclav snarled. "How was I supposed to know the cocksucker really would?"
"Chance you take," the Jewish noncom said. "Maybe he was going to be a scientist or a historian before the army got him." The trade Vaclav proposed for the captain would not have required any knowledge of German. Benjamin Halevy only laughed.
Vaclav started hunting again. He didn't poke his head up at any place he'd used lately. He didn't know just when this new German hotshot had got here. If the German had any brains, he would have scouted the area before he started sniping. And, while Germans had all kinds of noxious deficiencies, you'd regret it in a hurry if you figured them for stupid.
He carried an ordinary piece when he did his scouting, not the antitank rifle. He also wore a French Adrian helmet instead of his Czech model. The Czech helmet was of better, thicker steel, but neither mark would keep out a bullet. And not looking like a Czech sniper counted, in case the Nazi with the scope-sighted Mauser happened to notice him.
The Nazi was doing his job. The French captain came back, complaining in uvular German about two more officers struck down. "Why have you not shot him?" the captain demanded.
"Because I haven't seen him yet." Vaclav made as if to thrust the antitank rifle at the Frenchman. "If you are so hot to kill him, Herr Hauptmann, here is the weapon to do it with."
"You are the specialist. It is for you to take care of." The captain walked away. He might have been an apartment dweller complaining that a plumber hadn't made his sink quit backing up. Vaclav said something in Czech the captain assuredly wouldn't understand. He was a military plumber, dammit. Unless the Germans swarmed forward again with tanks, which didn't look likely, he had to find some other use for his big, ugly gun.
"Can I do something to help?" Benjamin Halevy asked.
"Sure. Put on a French major's uniform and walk around where the asshole can see you," Vaclav answered. "Only trouble is, you won't be able to keep at it very long. He knows what he's doing, damn him."
"He's a German," Halevy said morosely. "Well, if you get any bright ideas, let me know, all right?"
"Brightest idea I've got is to shack up with a French broad with big jugs and about ten liters of cognac," Vaclav said. The Jew snorted. After a moment, so did Vaclav. "Well, you asked," he pointed out.
"Tell you what," Halevy said. "Nail that German, and I'll see that the Frenchmen give you a free one at an officers' brothel and all you can drink. How's that?"
"Better than anything else I'm likely to get," Jezek answered. Halevy snorted again and clapped him on the back.
The next morning, still wearing the Adrian helmet, Vaclav put his Czech pot on the end of a stick and held it up above the edge of the trench he was traveling. A shot rang out from the German lines. The helmet rang and spun. Two neat 7.92mm holes pierced it, six or eight centimeters from the top. "Holy Jesus!" Vaclav said. He'd wear the crested French helmet from now on.
Now-exactly where had that shot come from? And was the German sniper enough of a creature of habit to visit that place again? The last fellow had been, and it cost him. This guy? Time would tell. Vaclav resolved not to check from right here, though.
One other question crossed his mind. If he'd get himself a throw with a fancy whore and all he could drink for punching the enemy sniper's ticket, what did the Nazi bastard stand to win by eliminating him? HEINZ NAUMANN GRUNTED in what might as easily have been satisfaction or annoyance. His bare arms were greasy to the elbow; Theo Hossbach would have rolled up the sleeves on his coveralls to mess around inside the engine compartment, too. The panzer commander held up a wrench in triumph. "There," he said. "Goddamn carb won't give us any more trouble."
"Till the next time," Adi Stoss put in.
Naumann glared. Oh, Lord, they're going to bite pieces off each other again, Theo thought. Sure as hell, Naumann said, "Yeah, well, I didn't see you fix it, Herr Doktor Professor Mechanical Genius."
"It's a piece of crap," Stoss answered. "Nobody's going to fix it so it stays fixed. We just have to keep the valves clean, and to clean 'em out when they clog up in spite of us."
He was right, which made Naumann no happier. Theo wished he could get between them and stop them from rubbing on each other so roughly. But that wasn't his way. When people locked horns, he didn't try to separate them. He backed away and watched them in something not far from horror.
"Well, anyway, the old beast will keep running a while longer," Heinz said. To Theo's relief, Adi seemed willing to leave that alone.