The Winter Sniper

by James Mullins

  “Then we must bring him.” Hale’s mother snapped.

  Hale held up a hand, “There is another possibility. There might be a crater in the ground, from the truck explosion. Let me go check, we may be able to bury him there, and then come back for him later.”

  Jeanna nodded, “You go do that, I’ll wrap him in a blanket. You’re right of course. We must flee so that Aina, and your baby can have a future.” She paused for a moment and tearfully added, “Oh Hale, he was so proud of you. So happy that he was going to be a Grandfather. He would have been a great one you know.”

  Hale nodded, “The best.”

  Hale held her hand and gently squeezed it before breaking the contact and turning to leave. He looked over at Nea who was watching them through dull eyes. She held the kitchen towel Hale had given her against her wound, “Love will you be ok for a short time? I need to go find a place to put father to rest.”

  Nea nodded dully, “Good.” Hale wrapped his arms around her, looked into her eyes, and said, “Can you help Mom and Aina get ready for the journey? Everyone needs to dress warmly.” He paused a moment and looked down at her nakedness. If you don’t have anything warm enough for the journey, I’m sure my mom can find something for you to wear.”

  Nea gave Hale a faint smiled and said, “Tramping through the woods, after nearly being raped and butchered is not how I envisioned our wedding night together.”

  Hale managed a faint laugh in response to Nea’s levity, “Nor I.”

  Epilogue

  Early Morning, Karelia Finland, Karhonen Farm, North of the Village of Perkjarvi,

  December 7th, 1939

  An olive drab green truck screeched to a halt. A man opened the passenger side door from the inside and lowered himself to the ground. Taking a deep breath, he put his hand on his hips and looked around at the scene. Behind him, a squad of soldiers disembarked from the rear of the truck and fanned out to secure the area.

  The man, pulled a cigarette out from a silver chrome plated case he kept in his pocket and lit it with a match. The light from the match revealed three red squares on his collar. The Commissar took a deep drag off the cigarette. He savored the taste of the tobacco and slowly exhaled into the frigid cold. Turning to the driver who had just joined him he said, “He was here.”

  “The sniper?” The driver asked.

  The Commissar slowly nodded, “Yes the sniper. Who else could have lured two of our men to their deaths, stripped them of their gear, and made his way through the country side to kill two more squads of our men?”

  A Sergeant ran to the Commissar and saluted, “Report.”

  The Sergeant swallowed nervously, “Sir, it looks like some kind of fight took place here.”

  “Wow, you’re a genius. Care to elaborate?” The Commissar snapped back.

  The Sergeant’s eyes narrowed, “Sir, there are two squads of our soldiers here dead. It appears that a squad of rifleman mainly died facing the house, so the Finn’s must have been holed up there.”

  “What about the mortar squad?” The Commissar asked.

  “That’s a separate matter.” The Sergeant replied.

  “How so?” The Commissar asked.

  “It looks like they were engaged by a separate force. Whatever that force had, caused the truck, and the mortar rounds they had with them to explode. I’m afraid there isn’t much left of the squad. One thing was curious.”

  “Curious? How?” The Commissar demanded.

  It appears that the spot of the initial explosion has been filled back in. Why would the Finns do that?” The Sergeant asked.

  The Commissar shrugged his shoulders, “Who knows why these people do what they fucking do. Maybe they had someone to bury. With the soil frozen solid, it would have been the only way. At least we killed one of the fuckers.”

  “In exchange for sixteen of ours.” The Sergeant replied.

  The Commissar glared at the Sergeant for a moment and then asked, “What about the house?”

  “We found the two riflemen that didn’t die with the rest of their squad inside. One had been shot; the other had been stabbed dozens of times.” The Sergeant stifled a shiver as he said the last few words and then continued, “One of them had his pants down around his ankles.”

  “Which one?” Inquired the Commissar.

  “The one that had been stabbed.” The Sergeant replied.

  “Interesting. Anything else?” The Commissar asked.

  The Sergeant nodded, “There was a pool of blood on the kitchen floor that didn’t appear to belong to either of our slain soldiers.”

  “So they got one of the Finnish fucks in the house.” The Commissar paused and looked around at the chaotic scene, “I bet he was the one out here. The one that destroyed the mortar squad and killed most of the riflemen.”

  “Who, Sir?” The Sergeant inquired.

  “Hale Karhonen!” The Commissar snapped. Turning to face the Sergeant, his eyes narrowed as he barked, “Anything else?”

  The Sergeant’s shoulders slumped and he involuntarily took a step back from this enraged officer, “Yes, Sir. We found a set of tracks at the edge of the cleaning over there. They lead into the forest. One of my men followed them for a short time. He said that they turn north about three hundred feet into the woods.”

  “They’re making for the Mannerheim line. Call headquarters, we need a dog team to track the bastard, and at least three more squads. He paused for a moment, put his hands on his hips, took a long look around him at the carnage and added, “Clearly two squads isn’t enough.”

  “Clearly not.” The Sergeant agreed.

  “Prioritize the dogs so we can run the son of a bitch down.” The Sergeant turned to leave when the Commissar added, “Oh, and one more thing, cancel Pekka’s execution. He may be of further use to us.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Afterword

  I hope you enjoyed The Winter Sniper. Getting to know Hale over the last year has been a great experience. I hope you have enjoyed the journey as much as I have and I look forward to seeing you again for the continuation of the tale. The Winter War as the conflict between Finland and the Soviet Union came to be called lasted four months from November 30th 1939 to March 13th of 1940. This leaves plenty of war to write about!

  The idea for the story, first occurred to me over a year ago when I was in Barnes and Noble waiting for my better half to pick out some books. Being an avid book reader myself, and a writer one would think that having to wait in Barnes and Noble wasn’t such a bad thing, right? Well yeah, but who actually buys physical books these days? It was like being surrounded by candy you didn’t want to sample, because you were on a diet.

  I found myself wandering, as I always do, to the section on military history. I let my eyes scan the rows of books trying to stifle a yawn, medieval books, done that, Ancient Rome, I could probably write my own book on that subject, World War II, yawn. What history nerd hasn’t read eight million books about biggest conflict in history? Then it happened, my eyes landed on Osprey’s Finland at War and my mind said, Hello this is new!

  I picked the book up found a seat and started reading it. I got about twenty pages in before I was collected by my wife as it was time to go. Fast forward to November of 2018, I found myself in Barnes and Nobles once again, this time waiting on my parents who I was visiting for the Thanksgiving Holiday. Rinse and repeat, guess where I ended up and continued where I left off? You got it, Finland at War.

  At the time I had just finished writing Book 3 in the Byzantium Infected Series Emperor’s Errand. I was on a writing break, while my editor did his thing to make it a better book. By the time my parents collected me to leave, I was hooked, during my break from hungry zombies bent on making a meal out of the Medieval Roman Empire, I was going to write a short story about Finland’s Winter War.

  I wrote my short story and put it up on a popular E-Book seller for free. This story became chapter 1 of this book. The results were pretty astonishing. I received more likes
and emails for that one short story than I had on all of the short stories combines published on that site set in the Byzantium Infected Universe.

  Since I had so much fun doing the research and writing the book, the choice became clear. It was time to write a full-length novel! That result of that thought is the story you just completed.

  If you enjoyed the story, I would very much appreciate it, if you would return to Amazon and write or stop by Good Reads and leave an honest review. It is the word of mouth testimony from readers like you, that is the life blood of independent authors such as myself. Let me extend a personal thank you in advance. I appreciate it!

  If you enjoyed my style of writing and have an interest in the 7th Century Zombie Apocalypse check on my Byzantium Infected Series. This series follows the adventures of three Roman Infantrymen Athos, Baltazar, and Constan as they navigate their changed world through four novels Scourge of Byzantium, Damascus of the Damned, Emperor’s Errand Part I, and Emperor’s Errand Part II. Following the About the Author section I have included two chapters from the first novel in the series Scourge of Byzantium. All four of these novels are available for Amazon Kindle, and Print.

  If you want to keep abreast of the latest developments in the Winter Sniper Universe and my other projects follow me on Facebook and Twitter.

  You can find me on facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/James-Mullins-174236536279317/

  And Twitter at: https://twitter.com/JMullinsAuthor

  If you want to drop me a direct line, I’d love to hear what you think about the story, or whatever else is on your mind. Feedback is greatly appreciated. You can email me directly at jamesmullinsauthor@yahoo.com

  Thanks for reading!

  About the Author

  James Mullins holds three college degrees, a Masters and Bachelors in Business Administration and an Associates Acquisition and Contract Management. He lives with his beautifully intelligent Wife Anna and ten pounds of tenaciousness and fury Catalina the Cat (she keeps us in line) and the newest addition to the family TBD the kitten. Hopefully when you return for book two in the series he will have a name!

  James has had a diverse employment history. He got his start as an Avionics Attack System Specialist for the United States Air Force’s 71st Fighter Squadron, known as the Ironmen. During several tours of duty in the Middle East, James came to appreciate the beauty and harshness of the desert. Next, he built upon his problem-solving skills as a Pest Control Department Manager for Patriot Pest Control. During this time, he happily slew millions of bugs for the betterment of humankind, or at least making the lives of many a little less gross.

  Today, he works for a major defense contractor in the United States. He spends his days helping to keep the purchasing community on the straight and narrow, so that his co-workers can continue to build good ships. All his life he has had a passion for history with diverse interests in Rome, Byzantium, the Middle Ages, and the American Civil War. The Winter Sniper is his fifth novel.

  Scourge of Byzantium Bonus Chapters

  August 1st 636 Damascus, Syria Province, Byzantium

  The sweat on Athos’ brow dripped into his eyes. Annoyed, he wiped it from his forehead for what seemed like the thousandth time. He looked up at the merciless yellow orb above. The skin on his face felt like it was boiling. Like the other members of the 5th Parthica, there was no escaping their tormentor, the Sun, on this August day.

  “Why do we have to drill every day in this heat?” Athos asked.

  Constan laughed at him, “Lad, you will understand one day.”

  Athos shook his head fervently in disagreement. The young recruit tried to adjust the shield attached to his back but it was no use, “I’d like to understand today. I’ve asked around, and the officers have never made us march in August with all of this gear on.”

  Constan chortled at Athos’ ignorance, but he too was feeling the effects of the march. He smiled back at Athos. The scar on the left side of his face gave him a somewhat goofy appearance. Especially with the eye patch, “Think of the bright side. We aren’t marching up the side of a mountain with this gear on.”

  Athos shot back, “Let me guess you and the rest of the veterans won the war with Persia by marching uphill both ways.”

  Constan removed his helmet and ran his fingers through his thick salt and pepper colored hair, “Aye and under fire the entire time! Those clever bastards built their fortresses on top of mountains. I swear it was nigh on impossible getting to those infernal places much less breaching the walls.”

  Athos pointed at his chain mail, his Spatha, and the ax strapped to his back, “Let me guess everyone was wearing all this gear plus an eighty-pound pack.”

  Constan replied, “No, we also had to carry a spear. Is there a point to this whining or you just trying to get me to kill you, so you don’t have to sweat anymore?”

  Athos ignored the barb and thought to himself, Surely that heat couldn’t have been worse than today. I feel like my skin is boiling off my bones.

  The silence was interrupted by Baltazar, Athos’ best friend, “Come on Athos ease up a little on the old man. You’re still smarting from getting your arse handed to you in shield and sword practice earlier today.”

  Athos rolled his eyes and snorted, “Spinning more tales Baltazar? Everyone here knows you spent most of the drill on your back looking up at me!” Constan and a few others laughed at the jibe.

  Baltazar frowning replied, “Yeah, but at least I didn’t drop my shield on my foot in the middle of shield wall practice!”

  Athos grimaced at the memory. His foot throbbed in sympathy just thinking about it, “I’m not sure why we even practice that outdated formation.”

  Constan replied, “You young pups aren’t getting any smarter. You’ll appreciate the lesson when some Persian is trying to put an arrow into your arse!”

  Athos nodded in understanding, “Testudo is one of the few Latin terms I’ve ever heard. I

  don’t know much about history though. I’ve heard our unit is named after a real person. Do you

  know much about the original Ironman? People have said that he was a great warrior and that is why we are named for him.”

  Constan’s face broke into a grin; he loved telling stories, “Aye, he was born into the Empire long ago. In his day the Empire stretched from the Pillars of Hercules to the Tigris River in Mesopotamia.”

  Athos interrupted, “I can’t imagine a day where barbarians were a far-off problem.”

  “Indeed, back in those times outside of the frontier area, barbarians were mainly tales of hairy savages parents told to frighten their naughty children. Not like today.” Constan’s eyes fell as he added, “A day in which the damned Goths occupy our sacred capital in Rome.” Constan spat on the ground to emphasize his displeasure at the current state of affairs in the world.

  Athos asked, “How did the Ironman become so famous that Emperor Heraclius named the 5th Parthica after him?”

  Constan replied, “You see it happened like this. Many centuries ago the 5th Parthica was

  charged with guarding a bridge across the mighty Tigris River in Mesopotamia.”

  Athos interjected, “Which bridge?”

  Constan, became annoyed, “How the hell am I supposed to know which bridge exactly? That’s not part of the story, lad.”

  Finishing their march around the walls of Damascus. Nikas shouted, “Right face!” The lead men of the 2nd Kentarchia of which both Athos and Constan were a part, turned right and began marching down the Roman road to Palmyra. The road very quickly led them away from the lush green lands surrounding the Barada River into the open desert.

  After each Kentarches finished commanding the right turn onto the Palmyra road. Constan continued his story, “A conflict long ago broke out between the Roman Empire and the Parthians.”

  Athos jumped in again, “Who were the Parthians?”

  Constan’s cheeks turned crimson, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it is extremely rude to interr
upt your elders when they are trying to weave a good yarn?”

  Athos answered innocently, “No.”

  Constan sighed, “It was a rhetorical question. Apparently, they don’t make them too smart in Armenia, eh? The Parthians were the predecessors of those dastardly Persian bastards that cost us so much blood during the war. “

  This time Athos managed to remain silent, so Constan continued the story, “The treacherous Parthians were responsible for the complete destruction of the legion known as the 5th Parthica. They were butchered to a man by those sons of whores. Legend has it that the final legionnaire standing was a man of pure iron. This Ironman stood in the middle of the bridge over the Tigris and held the entire Parthian army off for twenty minutes. It was an amazing feat. Whenever the enemy swung a sword, he was not there to receive the blow. In contrast, his sword drank deeply of Parthian blood.”

  Athos interrupted again, “He had a gladius, right? Shorter than the Spathas we use now.”

  Constan smiled at Athos’ knowledge, “Indeed, the gladius was a twenty-two inch blade used for thrusting attacks. Our Spatha is thirty-nine inches in length and is used primarily for cutting attacks.”

  Constan spent a moment clearing his throat and continued the story, “The Parthian commander tired of watching his men get butchered, so he came forward and offered the man of iron a deal.” Constan paused, pondered for a moment, and then voiced his opinion, “The Parthians were slippery, treacherous bastards so this was a risk for the Ironman, but it offered him a chance to survive the day.”

  Constan paused and took a swig of water from his canteen and continued the story, “The Parthian commander told him that if he could defeat in single combat, every man sent forth onto the bridge until the sun touched the western horizon, the General would take his army and go back to Parthia in peace. The Ironman accepted the challenge.”

  Baltazar who had also been listening jumped in at this point, “Fighting all day like that is impossible. Doesn’t sound like he had much choice though.”