Not knowing what else to do, Hale raised his pistol and took aim at the Russian that was furthest away from him as the man charged down the hill and squeezed the trigger of his pistol. The Lahti bucked in Hale’s hand as the bullet found the back of the Soviet’s neck. The unfortunate, fell face forward into the snow and slid for several feet before coming to a stop.
The seven other members of the squad dropped to the ground in reaction, as the single shot rang out. Hale managed to put a bullet into another of the green clad soldiers as they dove for the earth. The forest became silent save for the injured man’s cries of pain.
The two Russian’s behind him on the ridgeline conversed hurriedly in their native tongue, Trying to figure out where the shot came from. Hale thought.
Coming to a consensus, the two enemy soldiers started slowly creeping forward toward Hale. Panic ensued as the reality of the situation set in. What do I do now? I’m trapped between two groups and it won’t be long before they figure out exactly where I’m at. Hale thought.
Hale’s thoughts slipped away from reality as he remembered back to a time when he was in a similar situation. He glanced down at the cold water he stood in and shivered, Must stay quiet or they will find me.
He had sat in the cold creek for what had seemed like hours as two older boys, hunted him. Hale had made them look the fool in front of the other children at recess earlier that day in school and now they aimed to even the score. The sound of the trickling water from the creek reminded him that his bladder was full. The gurgling, bubbly, frothing water tormented him as he continued to try and out wait the boys that hunted him. He gritted his teeth as he resisted the urge to let it go. I’d never hear the end of it, if they found me, beat me up, and I pissed myself.
As one of the larger boys drew near, Hale crouched down further into the creek bed trying to make himself invisible. It didn’t work. Without warning, two large hands painfully grasped his shoulders and jerked him to his feet as the voice behind those hands said, “I’ve found the little worm!”
Hale shuddered as his thoughts snapped back into reality. A Russian, another young man like himself, stood over him and yelled, “Bot Oh!”
As the Soviet’s rifle swung upward, Hale took aim with his Lahti, and put a bullet in the man’s head. The soldier, slain, fell backward as his rifle tumbled to the ground. Hale, hearing movement directly behind him, swung his pistol toward the noise and fired.
Another man, his eyes wide as his faced filled with a look that was one-part horror and one-part shock, was a mere three feet from his own. The man’s stunned look and wispy hints of his first beard would forever be emblazoned in Hale’s memory. As a scarlet spray exploded from the Soviet’s neck. He stumbled back a step and tried to place his left hand over the wound to staunch the bleeding. It didn’t work. Must have hit an artery. Hale thought.
Without warning a pair of arms grasped him from behind forcing him to drop his pistol. Oh God not again! The thought exploded into Hale’s mind as anxiety took over.
At the same time, the dying enemy soldier in front of him staggered forward and raised his right hand to grasp him. Hale grabbed the knife from the bleeding man’s belt with his left hand and thrust it over his right shoulder. The arms around him slackened and fell away without a sound. He then kicked the dying man in front of him in the stomach. The breath knocked out of him, the man Hale had shot tumbled down the hill. As he rolled, he tried to warn his comrades but all that came out of his mouth were red bubbles and a hiss as his lungs filled with blood.
Hale dropped to the ground to retrieve his pistol. He glanced to the right to confirm that the man he had stabbed wouldn’t be a threat. The man would never be a threat to anyone ever again, as Hale’s desperate thrust had put the knife right through the man’s left eye. Hale glanced around and shuddered at the gruesome sight. The snow around him had turned red from the blood of his enemies.
He felt a pang of guilt before his heart hardened and his thoughts shifted to rage. The soil of my homeland will feast upon the blood of every last one of you filthy invaders.
A few shots rang out from the group that had ran past Hale in his general direction. He heard a few of the bullets slam into the trunks of nearby birch trees. Hale crouched down, careful not to get any of the blood on his white pants and great coat. He searched the body of the soldier he had slain with the knife. As he searched his hand wrapped around the cool metal cylinder he was hoping to find, a grenade. The word Bingo, flashed through his mind.
Hale took the grenade and twisted the cap, so that it was armed. He wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the wooden shaft and threw it down the hill toward the origin of the poorly aimed gunfire. Moments later an explosion erupted and the gunfire ceased. The grenade, created a large fireball that expanded and reached up toward the heavens.
Using the grenade explosion as a distraction, Hale immediately stood up and began using his ski poles to pull himself toward the top of the hill. Moments before he reached the ridge a shot rang out. Hale felt a huge crushing weight slam into his back which caused him to topple over the top of the ridge just in front of him. He lost his balance and tumbled down the hillside. Just before he reached the bottom of the gully, he crashed into a tree. Pain now wracked both the front and back of his body.
He took a few moments to take stock of the situation through his pain addled mind. I’m hit! He thought, his inner voice laced with panic as fear exploded in his mind.
Hale took a deep breath and removed his rifle from his shoulder. The pain in his back shifted to a dull throb. I thought being shot would feel worse than this.
He reached around with his left hand and felt the place on his back that throbbed. He brought his hand back around and stared at it for a moment, No blood?
Surprised, Hale then looked at his rifle. Just below the bolt, and right where the metal section joined with the wooden stock, was a faint indention on the metal. He breathed in silent relief and looked up at the sky, Thank you God.
His moment of reverie was abruptly ended by the voices of several Russians. They had returned to the top of the ridgeline that he had just tumbled from. The Soviets were hunting for him. As they gazed down the hillside, they saw his movement, raised their rifles, and simultaneously snapped off three shots in his direction. The bullets impacted the ground around him and kicked up snow. Hale, stayed low, and quickly checked his rifle to ensure it was in working order.
When Hale was done with his rifle, he looked up at the source of the gunfire. He saw three enemy soldiers. Their green forms were silhouetted by the gray sky behind them. He raised his rifle in the direction of the middle one and took aim. He pulled the trigger and felt his Nagant kick against his shoulder as it roared and sent death on its way. Nearly an instant later all three men dropped to the ground seeking cover. One of them would never rise again.
Hale pulled the bolt on his rifle ejecting the spent bullet. Two more shots rang out. This time the bullets were nowhere near him, Just trying to keep me down. They can’t see me now that they are on the ground. He thought.
Hale released his boots from his skis and crawled around to the other side of the tree to put it between himself and the enemy. As he did so several more shots rang out. They were all too high, The cowards are scared to rise and take aim. Hale thought in amusement.
Without warning his mind slipped back to that day he hid in the creek bed. The two larger boys, one with red hair, the other with black, had pushed him up against a large elm tree. The largest, a boy of perhaps fourteen who had been far too fond of sweets, grinned at Hale and said, “Did you think you were going to get away with that little worm?”
Hale’s eyes narrowed as he glared back at the fat boy and struggled against the arms that grasped him from behind before smiling and saying, “Of course, everyone knows you’re the dumbest boy in the school.”
The larger boy’s plump cheeks flushed until they matched the color of his hair. Enraged, he let out a scream and slammed his fi
st into Hale’s abdomen. Hale gasped as pain exploded in his stomach. The red hair boy’s freckled face contorted into a menacing grin as he said, “I hope you enjoyed that you little shit. There is more to come. Much more.”
The fat boy’s voice trailed off as Hale looked down at the bully’s shoes. He could see his reflection in their black well-polished leather. The reflection of his face taunted him. He looked back up at the red headed boy, smiled, and spat in his face.
Enraged at Hale’s defiance, the overweight bully screamed, and threw punch after punch at Hale. Hale’s mind exploded in anguish at the pain of that day as the memory faded and his thoughts returned to reality as another volley of bullets zipped by overhead.
Hale stood up and took a quick glance around the tree trunk. The attempt was awarded with a shot and a bullet that whistled by where his head had been a moment before. They’ve figured out my exact location. Hale looked at the forest around him. He sighed as he saw no avenue of escape, that left one option, I’ve got to take them down before they get me.
Hale pondered the situation for a moment. As he did so, another bullet slammed into the tree he was using as a shield between himself and the Soviet soldiers. I need a distraction. Hale took stock of everything he had with him, his rifle, pistol, magazines, clothing and coat. Everything he wore, save his pants, was the color of snow. Then his eyes shifted to the fur lined cap on his head and he grinned. Worth a shot I guess. Maybe two. He silently chuckled at his own pun.
Hale raised his rifle up with his left hand and rested the stock on his shoulder. With his right, he removed his hat, and then reached around the tree and threw it toward the two soldiers on the top of the hill. Two shots immediately reverberated through the trees as Hale dropped his own rifle into place and took aim at one of the figures sitting on the ridgeline. He took a deep breath and held it. Both men operated the bolts on their own rifles as they glanced nervously down at Hale’s form taking aim at them.
As they started to raise their rifles, Hale fired his rifle. His target’s green cap flew off his head as his bullet found its mark and he crumpled to the ground. The other man quickly returned fire at Hale. He missed. Unphased by the return fire, Hale quickly operated the bolt on his rifle as the hastily fired shot sailed past him. He took aim on the second man as he frantically operated the bolt on his rifle to drop another bullet into the chamber.
The rifle jammed, and the man’s resolve broke. He stood to flee down the hillside behind him. He didn’t make it. Hale crouched back down behind the tree he used to hide from the slain soldiers and listened. The only sounds that filled his ears was those of the woodland. Snowflakes striking the earth, and the sounds tree branches creaking in the wind. Gone was the sound of voices, footsteps, and gunfire. He was alone.
He sat there for several minutes just listening to the frantic beat of his heart as it thundered in his ears. When it finally slowed, he gathered up his skis and slowly made his way toward the corpses of his enemies. The first one he found nearby at the bottom of the hill in front of him. He searched it and found two things of interest to him, a bottle of vodka, and a grenade.
Hale slipped the grenade into his belt and stood. He unscrewed the cap off the vodka, and took a sip. As the vodka burned its way down his throat, he heard a shot ring out off to his north. He smiled and thought, The day was young and there were many more invaders that needed killing.
Chapter 2
Karelia Isthmus, Finland November 30th 1939
Hale’s knuckles turned white as he clenched the steering wheel in front of him. Beads of sweat slid down his forehead as he drove the truck along the gravel road. As he glanced to his left, trees whipped by in a blur as his foot kept the accelerator pressed the to the floor.
As the sweat started dripping into his eyes, he released his left hand from its death grip upon the steering wheel. He glanced at his hand as he raised it up to his forehead to wipe away the beads of sweat, it was shaking. Sighing deeply, he glanced to his right at the empty cab. The other seat in the cab was empty except for the hand grenade that rolled around upon it.
How much longer? Hale wondered nervously. Despite his anxiety, the tree speckled white lands outside the truck’s windows dulled his senses and his thoughts began to drift into the past.
“Hale! Press the clutch down to shift gears!” Sergeant Kivi barked into his ear gruffly.
As Hale attempted to shift into second gear the engine began to stall, “See-saw dammit!” Roared Kivi.
Hale nodded as he attempted to push down on the accelerator. At the same time, he kept his left foot on the clutch. Despite his best efforts, the truck, a Sisu sputtered and stalled, “Goddam it!” Roared Sergeant Kivi, “I told you to see-saw!”
Hale visibility shrank in his seat and said, “I’m sorry Sergeant.”
“You goddammed right you’ll be sorry! Screw this up again, and I’ll bury my boot so far up your ass, you’ll have to open your mouth, so I can scratch my toe!” Sergeant Kivi bellowed. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly and added, “Start the motor and try again.”
Hale nodded, shifted the gear back to neutral, pressed in the clutch, and turned the key on the ignition. Starting with a string of sputters, and coughs, the truck roared to life, “Now try again. Shift it into first gear, gently release the clutch, and slowly press down on the accelerator.”
Hale nodded as he said, “Yes sir.”
Hale reached out and grabbed the knob on the end of the shifter and tugged it downward and to the left, “Now give it some gas and start letting up on the clutch.” Sergeant Kivi advised.
Hale let up off the clutch while simultaneously pressing down on the accelerator. With a lurch the Sisu began moving forward. Sergeant Kivi smiled, “That’s it, you’re doing it!”
Hale continued to slowly press down on the truck’s accelerator as he let up off the clutch. He watched as the speed odometer on the dashboard in front of him slowly ticked up to 15 kph. As the truck passed 15 kph the engine began to roar, “It’s time to shift to second.” Sergeant Kivi advised.
Hale swallowed hard, as he nervously nodded in acknowledgement to the order. Holding his breath, he pushed down on the clutch with his left foot, grabbed the shifter, and moved it toward the dashboard in a straight line. With a lurch, the truck shifted into second gear, and the loud roar of the engine, immediately died down to a dull hum.
He gave the truck some gas and started letting up off the clutch. Sergeant Kivi slapped him on the back, smiled and said, “You got it. Take us up to 30 kph and level off. You need to practice keeping the truck on the road. Once you get the hang of that, we’ll let you practice on a gravel road. If you ever have to drive, it will likely be on a gravel or dirt road.”
Hale’s thoughts faded back into the present, off in the distance, on the road ahead, he saw a blurry black dot. That has to be the column. Gritting his teeth and clenching the wheel, he kept the accelerator mashed to the floor as he quickly closed the distance between himself and the vehicle ahead. The engine of his Gaz-MM truck roared in his ears as the trees whizzed by.
The vehicle slowly morphed from a black shadow on the horizon into an olive drab green twin of the Gaz-MM truck he drove. Underneath the canopy that covered the truck’s bed, he could see a squad of Russian soldiers huddling together for warmth. One of them glanced in his direction. After a moment, the Soviet man, smiled and waved. The truck bed and the men along with it, would occasionally bounce upward as the wheels struck a pothole in the gravel road.
Hale returned the smiled and saluted in the Russian fashion. He continued to close the distance to the last truck in the column. As he brought his vehicle within twenty feet of the canopied rear of the truck ahead of him, he reached over with his left hand and started rolling down the window. Finishing, he raised his right knee up to hold the steering wheel in place as he reached over and grabbed the cast iron RGD 33 hand grenade rolling and bouncing around on the bench next to him.
As his fingers clutched around i
t, he reached over with his left hand and twisted the top to arm it. The Soviet soldier that had smiled at him only a few moments ago forehead creased in worry, as he frowned at Hale’s continuing approach. Switching the grenade to his left hand, Hale reached out of the window and tossed it toward the opening in the rear of the Soviet truck. Which was now only a few feet ahead of the front bumper on his own vehicle.
Hale’s eyes followed the grenade as it lazily arced into the canopy covered rear of the truck in front of him. The man who had been watching him carefully eyes widened in shock. Reacting quickly, the man dropped to his knees. He frantically tried to grasp the grenade as precious seconds ticked by. Stubbornly the metal cylinder rolled around on the floor just out of his reach.
Mission accomplished, Hale, slammed on the breaks of his Gaz-MM. As the metal discs of the breaks screamed in protest, his wheels began to skid on the loose gravel. Trying to maintain control, he clutched the steering wheel as hard as he could. The truck fought him as it attempted to turn the steering wheel of its own accord and wrench it out of his hands.
As the rear wheels of his own truck began to skid to the side, and the front of his truck started to turn to the left, the Soviet truck, now some hundred feet or so in front of him, exploded in a hail of shrapnel. A moment later, a piece of smoldering metal penetrated the gas tank of the burning truck. The rear of the truck lifted off of the ground as the gas tank exploded into a reddish orange fireball.
The shockwave from the explosion caused Hale to lose what little control of his own truck he had, and the vehicle turned completely sideways as it skidded down the roadway. The Gaz-MM’s center of gravity was hopelessly compromised as the vehicle rolled onto its side and began sliding down the road. This continued for nearly a hundred feet as Hale’s truck came to rest just a few short feet from the smoldering remains of the enemy truck he had destroyed.
The Winter Sniper Page 2