Scharfschutze - A German Love Story Chapter 1: Ambush

The rain poured down in sheets, dropping visibility to miniscule levels. Klaus shifted in his position, kicking his leg out in front of him and resting the barrel of the rifle on his knee. The gunmetal seemed to burn the exposed parts of his hand, chilled by the freezing rain. He had been concealed in his favorite tree for well over two hours, watching the road below, surveying the targets. The Soviets were up to something, what he didn't know, but their convoys had been back and forth all morning.

He leant back and rested his back against the tree, opening and closing his eyes a few times before squinting through the scope once again. Finally after all the waiting the perfect opportunity presented itself. Klaus went through his good-luck ritual, clicking the safety on and off a few times as he gripped his rifle tightly, pulling it into his shoulder. He took aim, waiting as the target came directly into his sights. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, waiting a moment before gently squeezing the trigger back. The shot rang out, startling a few of the soldiers below, some perhaps knowing what was to come. The windshield of the heavy supply truck shattered, the round crashing through it and the driver's temple. His head whipped to the side, carried along with the round through the side window. Glass and blood sprayed onto the road as the truck banked sharply and crashed through the railing of the bridge it was traveling over. The driver's lifeless body dropped onto the wheel, the vehicle's horn continuously sounding as everyone began to panic.

They shouted in Russian, running back and forth as the entire convoy was halted, the truck and its spilt cargo blocking the way. Groups of infantrymen jumped from the back of their trucks and took up positions along the side of the road, weapons at the ready, pointing in every direction. Commissars and officers shouted orders back and forth, almost in hysterics. Klaus didn't understand any of it, he never bothered learning the language, he considered it beneath him. He waited a moment, allowed everyone to catch their breath, allowed the thoughts to start rushing through their heads. Maybe it was just a lone soldier, a shot fired off at random, that is what he wanted them to think, this was the part he loved best. He waited for someone to make their move, to think it was all over. He waited patiently; taking note of the different positions each soldier was hidden behind. After what seemed like an eternity, one of the officers stood up, taking a few cautious steps out from behind his staff car. He raised his arms and waved to the rear of the column, perhaps motioning that the coast was clear. Klaus quickly ejected the empty shell and re-aimed. The shot was a little low this time, striking the officer in the throat. Klaus cursed at himself for his un-professionalism. The officer dropped his weapon and reached up to his wound, falling to his knees as the blood streamed down through his fingers.

Without their leadership the Soviet soldiers showed themselves for what they really were, breaking and panicking as they each attempted to flee. Several soldiers threw themselves over the bridge, as others ran towards the back of the column. Klaus couldn't help but smile as he reloaded his rifle and took aim at one of the Commissars, shouting obscenities and firing his pistol into the air in an attempt to rally his troops. Klaus fired, separating the top of his head from the rest of his body. He had achieved what he had sought out to do, halting the column and forcing the troops to retreat, sowing even more confusion and panic into their ranks. Klaus fired off a few more rounds, killing anyone who foolishly stopped for more than a moment. He slung his rifle and dropped down from the tree, making a break for the cover of the forest. He heard small arms fire from the direction of the road, someone finally deciding to fight back. Klaus pulled himself into a hollowed out log and wrapped his poncho up around him, trying his best to fight off the cold. He would have to stay hidden until nightfall when he could return to the village without fear of being captured and bringing the wrath of the Soviets down on the people there. In the meantime he would attempt to sleep, knowing full well what dreams would play themselves out in his head if he did.