Wolfgang tried to ignore the Swiss sergeant who showed up unannounced at the firing range, who stood too close to him and inspected everything he did. Wolfgang knew he was hitting the target; he didn’t know why the man checked him over so closely. He began to worry he’d done something wrong, or was doing something wrong, but the stubborn side of him insisted he was hitting the target and he shouldn’t change a thing.
He kept firing the old rifle he held.
The man stepped away and Wolfgang finished the rounds that had been provided. He waited for the range instructor, but no one said anything to him. He and Leah exchanged looks and her eyes were filled with just as much confusion as he felt.
The sergeant returned and Wolfgang pushed himself up to stand, but the man instructed him in German to remain prone. He handed Wolfgang a meticulously clean, modern rifle with an extended barrel, a tripod, and a stock that appeared custom made. The scope was something Wolfgang had never seen before.
The sergeant handed Leah a box with a handle and began explaining something in Italian. Wolfgang couldn’t understand, so he focused instead on the weapon in his hands, inspecting the magazine and feed, the strange scope, and trying to get a feel of the custom stock. He retracted and extended the tripod.
“Be careful with that,” the sergeant growled.
Wolfgang set the tripod on the ground and got comfortable, looking down the sight. He had no ammunition, wouldn’t have even known what sort of ammunition the rifle used, so he just sighted and familiarized himself with the grip and the trigger. He breathed in, released a little, then squeezed the trigger while the rest of his body remained perfectly still. Just like he’d been trained. The trigger moved smoothly and the action clicked.
He heard a growl.
The sergeant clearly prized this weapon. Wolfgang knew some about rifles, mostly from studying history, but had never owned his own and had never shot much, usually only at scout camp. However, he knew he had been shooting well, much better than the other recruits, and much better than Leah. She flinched every time she shot, sending her bullets in all directions, sometimes not even hitting the target.
And he knew the rifle he’d been given was special. He even suspected the nature of it.
“We are ready,” the sergeant said and Wolfgang nodded. One round was handed to him and Leah began providing instructions about distance and wind speed.
“Excuse me?” Wolfgang asked in German when she told him the target was a thousand meters away.
The sergeant instructed him to keep his comments to himself and to provide the input into the scope. Wolfgang spoke in German and the scope made adjustments automatically. It impressed him and he desperately wanted to prove himself with this weapon. He checked the safety, checked that the round was properly chambered, read numbers from the scope to Leah, who confirmed them, then Wolfgang fired like he’d been trained.
The gun hardly recoiled, a tiny wisp of smoke coming out of the chamber and none out of the barrel. The sergeant pulled out a monocular, which looked like a short telescope, and grunted.
He handed Wolfgang a magazine.
“It’s not auto fire,” the sergeant said, disdain in his voice that anyone might think his rifle could be fired on automatic. “You engage the action to chamber each round. Do not move the rifle when you do so.”
Wolfgang replaced the empty magazine that had been in the rifle with the one provided, checking it first. He moved the action, chambered a round, and prepared to fire.
“Five shots, as quickly as you can, but accuracy is more important than speed.”
“I understand,” Wolfgang replied in German.
It took him a minute to fire five times. He reconfirmed the numbers on the scope with Leah when he moved the rifle a little after the second shot. He heard the sergeant shift his weight on his feet next to him when he did so, but the next three rounds still found their mark.
“You missed the target completely,” the sergeant said.
“No, I didn’t.”
The sergeant stared through the monocular.
“I only count three holes.”
“Two of the shots went through the same spot as the others.”
“We’ll see,” the sergeant grunted, reaching down and grabbing the rifle. Wolfgang let go of it, rolling partially on his side. The sergeant inspected it carefully, then strode away.
“You hit the bullseye five times. I saw it,” Leah protested quietly, her voice soft so only Wolfgang could hear.
“I know I did. He knows it, too. He’s trying to rattle me.”
Leah didn’t understand the last phrase in German, so Wolfgang did his best to explain it in English. She nodded understanding finally and put her hand gently on Wolfgang’s arm.
The range instructor came over and told them they were finished and needed to head to a work detail. They spent the rest of the afternoon digging a trench for a new latrine.
The next morning, after breakfast, they were brought to a tent. The sergeant from the previous day sat inside with several others, including a captain and a major. Wolfgang saluted, feeling foolish doing so. He wasn’t military.
Leah followed his example next to him.
The sergeant returned the salute.
“Sit,” the sergeant commanded.
Wolfgang and Leah found stools and sat. Sitting made Wolfgang feel more nervous.
“What makes you think you can be a sniper?” the sergeant growled at him.
Confusion replaced nervousness.
“I don’t understand,” Wolfgang replied.
“Where did you train?”
“I...I didn’t train. I’m not a sniper.”
Leah spoke hesitatingly, asking, “What’s a sniper?” She didn’t understand the word in German. The sergeant translated it into Italian. Leah sucked in a breath and sat back on her stool.
“You were not German army?” the sergeant asked.
“No, sir. I never served in the military. I served a mission for my church in Russia instead.”
“Russia?” barked one of the officers behind the sergeant. “I don’t believe you.”
Wolfgang began speaking Russian. “I served for two years, first in Podolsk, then in Moscow proper. I also served in Kaluga, Dubna, then again in Moscow, in a different part of the city.”
“Enough,” the officer, a captain, said in German. “I suppose you did,” he added in flawless Russian.
“So how come you shoot so well?” the sergeant asked and Wolfgang turned back to him.
“I don’t know,” he replied and shrugged for emphasis.
“You begin training today. If you fail, you will go back to digging latrines like the rest of the recruits until you have finished your term of duty.”
“My wife?” Wolfgang asked. He felt like he was lying, calling Leah his wife, and he was, but he hoped he concealed it. At least anyone who noticed his discomfort might simply assume he was nervous. That assumption would also be correct.
“She will be your spotter.”
Wolfgang didn’t want to dig trenches anymore, didn’t want to go through the mindless drills the other recruits had to perform, nor did he want Leah to have to do those things either.
“I accept.”
“Good.”
The sergeant stood. Wolfgang and Leah stood also. The sergeant extended his hand and Wolfgang took it. The man’s flesh was like steel, his grip like a vise, and he stared directly at Wolfgang.
“I let you fire my rifle yesterday, but you will never touch it again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Good. I am Sergeant Goetze and I will be your commander for the remainder of your sniper training.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Wolfgang said again.
Goetze shook Leah’s hand and she also said, “Yes, Sergeant,” in German.
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