Latest News «
Submit News «


Articles «
Comics «
Journal Entries «
Squad Reviews «
Rat Profiles «


Infantry Bootcamp «
Creating A Squad «
Maps & Radio «
FAQ «
Dictionary «


Official Forums «
Chat Room «


Previews «
Screenshots «
Book Listing «
Equipment Specs «
Links «


Feedback «
Site Info «
Link to Us «

The Sniper
by Dryfear

"How are your parents?"

"Good", I said, folding up the tattered letter. "They say that all is going well back at home. Papa is still catching fish...I know he won't let himself rest until the day he dies."

"But that is good, you know about my father...mine was never good for anything", said Gunther.

Gunther took one long, last pull from his cigarette, and flicked it down onto the ground. Smoke curled up from around his black boots as he crushed it underneath. He looked away, as if to hide his feelings...he was never one to talk about his past, but he was a good friend. One of the very few I had for long in those days.

"What about your mother, Wolf," Gunther asked, "how is she?"

"She says that she is doing well, but that she can't sleep much. She says not to worry...that she just wishes I was home."

"Mother's are like that you know...it's their job to worry," laughed Gunther.

"Very true, very true indeed," I said.

"Look who is coming to have a chat, Wolfgang...I wonder what chore he has for us today," said Gunther.

Turning around, I saw Sturmbannfuhrer Holt walking down the small dirt road toward us. Again, today, he had a scowl on his face...as if he couldn't understand why he had to deal with troops like us. He was SS, all the way, fanatical to the core, but he was a good panzer commander, and everyone at least respected him for that...if nothing else. He had on his black field uniform, and officers hat. It was clean, I'll never understand how he managed to keep it clean. His Knights Cross swung from his neck like a spotlight as he plodded toward the two of us, and the clomping of his boots got louder and louder.

"Do you two think that you can just sit around all day drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes while the rest of us prepare to move out of here," Holt asked loudly, "We are only here for a brief reorganization before we move out again to the front. Do you think that the Bolsheviks will just sit around like you two? We must fight, and win this war...and we won't do it with men like you."

Holt didn't like Gunther, or me for that matter...for one thing he didn't respect us, because we weren't SS. I found out later, that he thought even less of the Fallshcirmjager...some say that he despised the Luftwaffe...I figure one day he didn't get some air support, and after that he would never forgive anyone with wings on their chest.

"As you two know, the front is very close to us...the rear, the front...its all the same here. But, I am sending 2 of my men out with you to do some reconnaissance this morning so that we make sure no forward elements of the Soviets have slid through our defenses."
"We shall do our best, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer Holt," I said.

Gunther only smiled and nodded.

This infuriated Holt, as it always did, but he said, "Excellent, I expect you back this evening with some good news." As he raised his arm to give the salute to the Fuhrer, I saw his brains explode out of the side of his head. Blood splattered all over the ground, and small pieces of fleshy brain tissue dribbled to the ground. Holt stood there stunned, as not but a second after I heard the shot ring out from somewhere far away.

Time slowed as I saw Holt's life pass out of his body, and he began to slacken and fall to the ground. Blood still poured from his head, and onto his uniform, staining it an even darker black. His body slumped to the ground...knees first, then he fell completely to the ground face first, at my feet...blood everywhere. I don't know why I stared at his body...I should have known better...somewhere off in the distance I heard someone yelling.

"Get down Wolf, you crazy bastard!"

Gunther slammed into me as I stood there motionless, shocked by what I had just saw. "Dammit Wolf, there's a sniper out there...what's wrong with you?!"

Slowly I came out of my reverie to take in my surroundings. Gunther had knocked me backwards from where we were standing, behind a couple of crates holding food supplies. About 30 yards away was the nearest building behind us...where the rest of the Fallschirmjager had been staying, as per Holt's orders. Gunther and I were from the Herman Goring Division, but most of the others besides Joncke, were from different divisions.
As I peeked around the crates, I saw Holt's dead body a few yards away, blood still pouring out of the large hole in the side of his head...his cap had been knocked off, and lay in the pool of blood around him. Off in the distance there was a stand of trees, about a thousand yards away. The sniper was there, and he was well hid.

Behind me Gunther was milling around, neither of us had a weapon. All that we wore were our spring field uniforms, camouflaged green and brown. Neither of us had helmets, ammo, guns, or anything...we hadn't expected to get attacked here!

"I'm going for Holt's pistol," said Gunther.

Behind me I saw the door to the barracks open up as men came running out with rifles. They were shouting and yelling trying to figure out where the shot had come from when the first man who came out got hit. A bullet pierced his chest and lodged itself right in his heart. The sound, again, came after the bullet had already arrived. Grabbing at his chest, the man fell down, and would never get up again. The next two men out started running toward us, as we screamed and pointed to where we thought the sniper fire was coming from.

Joncke was the next one out, carrying his FG42. He came out guns blazing, shooting off a whole clip as he ran away to us and towards a parked truck about 50 yards down the road. Fire leaped from his gun, and tracers zipped towards the trees in a vain effort to locate the elusive Soviet who was killing our men. Sometimes I wondered how Joncke ever stayed alive, he always wore his uniform, always had ammo, never took off his helmet, and never ever put his gun down. He was always ready to fight...sometimes I thought he wanted to die, the way he acted...other times I just thought that he must be the bravest and luckiest bastard I had ever met.

A few more men were coming out of the barracks carrying rifles and MP40's, but all I saw was the two Fallschirmjager men running toward us for the protection of the crates. One never made it; he doubled over and fell to the ground screaming about 5 yards away. The sound rang out again, as he lay there screaming and yelling, grabbing at his stomach and intestines...blood poured out over his hands as he writhed on the ground in pain. The other one made it safely, jumping the last few yards, and smacking the ground, he curled up and rolled behind the crates with us.
"Nice, real nice, you guys not have anything better to do that attract snipers," the man asked with a slight smirk on his face.

I just shook my head, as I saw Gunther get on his knees as he prepared to sprint to get Holt's pistol. "You get that guy on the ground's rifle, Wolfgang," Gunther yelled as he ran over to Holt's body to grab the pistol from his holster.

I got up and ran to the dying man's side, as he lay there yelling nonsense as his life slowly faded away. There was nothing we could do for him...our barracks was so far away from the repair yard for the panzers, that no one probably even heard, what with all the racket that those guys made repairing and refueling those metal beasts. Another shot hit him as I heard the third shot ring out...ending the man's life. I grabbed his rifle, a Mauser 98k, and ran back to the safety of the crates.

Gunther was there, holding Holt's Walther P38, along with our new friend. Looking back down the road where Joncke had fled, I saw him squatting down behind the truck, changing out his magazine, and slapping in another. Three men were running to the protection of the truck, and yelling to the others in the barracks to stay inside. Counting the men outside there were probably only 2 or 3 more men inside the building...staying inside was probably the best thing they could do at this point. Before they could reach the salvation of the Opel Blitz, another man fell to the ground grunting as a bullet cut him down. Its sound rang out behind it, announcing the man's death.

"Damn communist son of a bitch, how the hell are we gonna get him," Gunther growled.

Joncke had things under control, he sent the 2 men scurrying down the road towards the repair yard to get help, and sprayed covering fire at the trees from his fully automatic FG42.

"Joncke's got those two going to get help, lets cover for them."

All three of us peeked out from behind the crates and fired vainly searching for the sniper who had us pinned, like a bug, ready to be squashed. Tracers zipped into the small batch of trees, as gunfire rang into my ears. I quickly shot off all of my ammo, and realized I didn't grab any extra off of my dead compatriot. Luckily our acquaintance had some extra, and gave me a few.

The men only had about 100 yards to run before the road dipped down a sloping hill, effectively covering them from the snipers vision, but one of the young men never made it. A shot to the neck tore through his throat he came out of the other side. The poor man dropped his MP40, grabbing with both hands at his throat as blood seeped from the wound. He fell to the ground and slowly died, choking on his own blood. Luckily, the other man was a fast runner, as I saw his fast moving form take off down the hill and away from my, and the snipers, sight.

I quickly reloaded my rifle, waiting to hear another shot from the Bolshevik who had us all scared to the point of breaking. Looking over at Joncke, I saw that something had caught his attention inside the back of the truck. He slid onto the back and crawled in slightly, grabbed something, and came back out of the rear entrance. Smiling over at me, he held up a pair of binoculars. He acted as if his action had just won the war from us. Slipping the FG42 strap over his head he got down onto his belly, and began to crawl underneath the truck. I personally began to wonder just how much gas was in the old beat up Opel Blitz and just how lucky that sniper would be if he happened to hit the fuel tank.

"Joncke found some binoculars, Gunther," I said,"maybe he can spot the sniper."

"Don't know what good spotting him will do, we still can't see him."

"I just wish Joncke still had that telescopic sight of his...it would kind of come in handy right now."

Joncke had been a dead shot with that sight, it was true, but our last engagement with the Russians had been a disaster. We were forward elements of a counterattack against a supposed weak point in their defensive line. This may have been true, but we never found out. Riding along in trucks made us nice targets on the ground for a flight of Sturmoviks who had, unluckily for us, happened to be flying above us heading for our lines. In the ensuing commotion and explosions, as the zoomed by only at treetop level, Joncke was injured, and his gun was torn to shreds by shrapnel, destroying his sight. He somewhow procured another FG42 in the retreat, but had lost his sight forever.

"Lets draw some attention away from him, in case that sniper is guessing our next move," Gunther said as he got ready to peek over the crates and fire in vain with his pistol.

All three of us rose slightly and took aim at the forest, still not knowing just where to fire. As I squeezed the trigger to my rifle, I heard Gunther grunt, as he pushed against my left side.

"Gunther what are you doing, I cant aim with you all over me," I exclaimed.

Our new friend, whom I never learned the name of, continued firing as I looked over at Gunther. He slid backwards onto his back, grunting as he came to rest with a thud on the hard Russian soil. I saw on his young face a grimace of pain mixed with confusion as he continued to squirm on the ground.

"Gunther, how bad is it," I said as I got down on the ground next to him. Fumbling, I grabbed at my equipment for some bandages, and cursed as I realized I had nothing at all on me.

"Dammit, Gunther, talk to me, let me try to help!"

"Wolf...its bad. I can't feel my legs...oh my God...I can feel 'em Wolf. I think I got hit in the chest, I don't know, God it hurts."

Blood was pouring out onto the ground, but not heavily, looking back to my friend I saw him firing at the woods. A small hole where Gunther had been squatting showed me all I needed to know. The sniper had aimed through the crates, hoping his bullet would find his target. It had...

"Why can't I move Wolf," Gunther asked as he moaned and tried to move.

"I think it hit your spine, Gunther, hold on."

I grabbed his uniform and began to rip it off. Blood soaked his shirt underneath. Pulling it up I saw blood seeping from one small bullet wound.
"Hold on Gunther, let me see how bad it is from the back."

Grimacing, he let me pull him up partly on his side so that I could feel for the exit wound. There wasn't one...and I closed my eyes at that point and realized how bad this was. Laying him back down gently, I told Gunther the truth, "It went in under your heart Gun...probably missed everything but your spine...didn't come out...still lodged in more than likely."

"God damn, Wolf," Gunther wheezed out. He was visibly becoming pale, and was probably bleeding inside more than out. Sweat poured down his face as his eyes began to glaze over.

"I don't wanna die Wolfgang, I don't wanna die. I want to go back home, I want to see my family...oh Emille...I...I..."

As he sat there looking at me with those scared and sad eyes, I held onto him, and told him everything was going to be ok. I was strong for him then, so he wouldn't see my fear. His voice slowly died off, and his eyes lost their color. His head tilted back in my hands as the last breath slowly came from his lungs in a bloody cough. He was dead.

At that moment a thunderous cannon shot boomed from somewhere in the distance, and as I came out of my own shock, I heard panzer tracks churning the ground. Looking over the crates, I saw my fellow fallschirmjager troops along with SS fanning out into the woods, followed closely behind by Panthers.

It was over. And, along with that day, went my youth. Up until that moment Gun and I had been around each other since we were young boys. We had grown up together, joined the Luftwaffe together, trained together, and fought together. I never thought that either one of us would die. At that point I cursed Hitler, and I screamed at the top of my lungs an unintelligible yell to the sky above. I began to cry, something I don't like to admit...Joncke found me there sobbing like a child over Gunthers dead body.

"They got him Wolf...one of the panzer shells must have hit him...found his bloody parts all over the woods. Apparently just one of 'em...," Joncke said, his words tapering off as he realized Gunther was dead.

"You know Wolf, I always liked Gunther," was all he said. That was something I understood, each man dealt with the pain of a loss a different way.

I was never the same after that, and luckily the war, for me would soon be over. But that is another day, and another story.