Legal Gibberish: All characters and happenings in this story are entirely fictional and based only loosely on facts. All similarities between this story and others are entirely coincidental and unintended. Only the title was ripped from something else, and thus I must stress that the Medal of Honor series and all its related merchandise is a trademark of Electronic Arts, and we must all bow to their genius.

Author's Pre-note: I got the idea for this story due to a combination of factors. A discussion about urban warfare on a forum, the movie Enemy at the Gates, my own experiences in Medal of Honor: Allied Assault, and a fair share of books. I hope I'm being original here, and I hope you like it as much as me. Comparing this to some of my earlier work I can clearly see how far I've progressed, and I hope my development as an author does not stop here. Please provide some proper feedback after reading. If any errors slipped past my scrutiny, point them out now so I won't make them in the future. Also I'd like to apologize in advance for the crude make up, but the Quick Edit thing won't allow anything better. Now enjoy.

A Sniper's Last Stand

By WeirdDutchGuy

The December cold of 1944 blew through my skimpy uniform as if it wasn't there, chilling me to the bone and sending more shivers across my whole body. My arms were shaking, I could deduce that much from the rocking of my sight as I continued to gaze through my scope. Nothing but endless white and countless trees slowly moved by as I swayed my rifle from left to right, trying to spot anything that could be linked to human beings. Helmets poking out, smoke from a cigarette carelessly blown skywards, even the glowing tip of such a cigarette could give a man away in these white surroundings. But I saw nothing, as it had been for the last two hours. No puff of smoke, no cloud of freezing breath, nothing. I brought my rifle down and rubbed my hands together firmly in a futile effort to keep them warm while I shivered some more. High command hadn't expected our armies to advance this far so quickly, and due to the overstretched supply lines no winter uniforms had been delivered yet. As a result, my mates and I were freezing our butts off in summer uniforms, guarding way more ground than our division was meant to, and with nothing better to do than counting the stupid trees. How different things had been when we first got to mainland Europe. Summer just kicked in and the sun was shining high in the sky, and trying to spot krauts wasn't hard since they were abundant. It wasn't even all that long ago either, just over six months in fact.
It was June the sixth, and our landing beach was codenamed Utah. I found it funny, that was where I was from. I joked it would be just like coming home, and how we would be received with open arms.

"Prepare for landing!" We braced ourselves as the captain tried to shout his instructions over the noise of our fleet shelling the coast, our planes passing overhead, and the damned German artillery taking potshots at us. "When that thing comes down, leg it to the beach! Adams, Tucker, you're with me! Sergeant, you'll take Graham and-"

"Incoming!" The desperate cry, combined with the whistle of an incoming shell, came from the front of the landing craft. Before I fully realized what was happening, I felt myself being lifted into the air by a hot rush of air that burned the hair right off my arms and face while the loud bang completely knocked out my hearing. With utmost difficulty I managed to hold onto my rifle, but my backpack was long lost before I hit the water. It turned out I was lucky to lose the heavy equipment as I landed in water that was much deeper than I expected. The backpack would no doubt have dragged me down if it was still strapped to me. Kicking my feet in the water I propelled myself upwards while I regained my senses.

One of the potshots got lucky, quite a miserable start of the day. I was one of the lucky few that got out with nothing but a few minor bruises. There were other survivors, but most got dragged down by their backpacks and drowned before we could reach them. Not that even half of them would live with their injuries, but watching them drown just seemed… With a sigh I grabbed my Springfield rifle, ignored the biting cold, and brought it back up to my shoulder. Another sway of the barrel, another waste of time. But I still had to check every now and then, just in case. Guard duty sucked. How different things had been…
Several minutes after being hit the survivors, myself included, had gathered on the beach. We were on the frontline, in the heat of battle, a sharp contrast with where we'd be in a few months. Not that we had time to think of that, because any moment now we'd be running for our lives.

"We need to get the hell off this beach, we're sitting ducks here!" Miraculously, the captain was one of the handful that got out unscathed. Now he was yelling his orders even louder, probably because he was just as shaken by the surprising hit as I was. I gathered what little courage was left in me after my unscheduled flight and casually walked over to the obstacle he was hiding behind.

"But Sir, they're not even shooting at us." I said to him after leaning over the obstacle. It was true, the beach was massive and the dunes must've been several hundred yards away, but the only things shattering the peace were the random sprays from a single machinegun and the occasional mortar rounds dropping down every now and then. And even those were scarce and far apart. There was hardly a trace of Hitler's vaunted Atlantic Wall, as if the thing had never been completed. We came here expecting to have to fight our asses off trying to conquer Fortress Europe, but so far the German guns – if there were any – remained silent. Not that I minded of course, I wasn't getting shot at.

"Right… well then, let's get going!" Putting his words into action, the captain lifted himself and started running across the beach. The beach itself was starting to fill up, as more and more landing craft started to dump their payload while the earlier shipment was too surprised by the lack of opposition to move. It didn't take long for everyone to recover from their initial shock though, and soon a wave of men started to make its way across the beach.

The sudden crunching of snow near me tore me from my thoughts as I spun around, trigger already halfway pulled, only to sigh in relief as I recognized Adams, who had by now raised his arms and pleaded me not to shoot. He was fairly tall and quite strong, but not overly muscular. He was usually more talk than action, but he would pull through when it really mattered. He grew up in a town not far from my own, but as far as my memory went I never once saw him before joining the army.

"Hey man, I'm on your side! How come you let me sneak up on you like that?" Did I mention he always pointed out the painful mistakes? It seemed I had been so deep into my own thoughts I completely overlooked his presence. Not a good thing when you're supposed to be on guard. I grunted as I turned back around and took another good look at the horizon. As far as that was possible, with all the trees being in the way. He chuckled at the manner I held my rifle during the sweep. "Be careful with that thing, you could poke an eye out with … what is it?"

I had stopped in mid-swing, doubting what my eyes were telling me. Or rather, my right eye. I traced back my motions to where I saw it and started searching while my breath accelerated and the cold, numb feeling disappeared. I was sure I saw something move back there, but for some reason I couldn't see it now and that knowledge angered me. "Show yourself you cowards!" I yelled in my mind. It didn't work. Keeping my eye glued to the scope, I slowly lowered myself into a crouched position and then went prone, trying to rest my rifle on the ground for extra stability. I had learned first hand that hands could not be trusted when it came to long ranged shots. They always swayed ever so slightly.

All of us immediately dropped on the ground after the gunshot rang out. For one of us it was too late, and I watched in shock at the soldier who just stood there staring forward. Time seemed to slow down as his eyes glazed over and he finally fell backwards, mouth agape and blood flowing from underneath his helmet which now sported a hole right in the middle. Several men cursed loudly, others, like me, just lay there and watched.

"Graham, get your ass over here!" It was a shouted whisper from the captain, whose attention was directed, via binoculars and from underneath a car, at a building across the street. Using the rubble of a wrecked house as cover I crawled over to the car and waited. "The sniper's in that house over there, top window, now go get him!"

Easy for him to say, but I complied nonetheless as I slowly rose a bit so I could shoot through the car's broken windows while still maintaining some cover. I quickly found the window in my sight and spotted the sniper. He was looking at the rubble I had been behind not long ago and hadn't seen me yet. I took aim, careful not to poke my gun out through the window, and squeezed the trigger. As I squeezed I realized my left arm was shaking slightly due to the strain of holding up the Springfield, enough to throw off my aim, and I knew before the bang even sounded that I would miss. I didn't miss completely though, and the bullet grazed the German's helmet enough to redirect his attention to me and possibly give him a headache later on. I swore harshly as I dropped back down and went through the motion of bolting my rifle. I knew I could not use the car again, so I crawled back to the rubble and searched for a gap in the wall of debris. It felt like the eyes of my companions burned holes right through me as I punched a brick out of a damaged wall and created the gap I desired. I nearly swore again after I noticed the bastard had moved, but I controlled myself. The top window was empty, and he could show up anywhere now. Just then I noticed movement behind the small bathroom window, and I couldn't help but grin. Resting the rifle on the wall, I took careful aim yet again and pulled the trigger. I could just see the German's head shoot back sharply before he disappeared from view altogether.

Movement… Squinting my eye slightly as if it would actually improve my vision, I leered at the trees through my scope. There it was again, a glimpse of more white where there shouldn't be any. And since we didn't have winter uniforms it could only be German. As I prepared to fire at the next thing that moved, I gasped at what unfolded before me. Suddenly dozens of soldiers appeared throughout the forest, all wearing white winter gear and moving slowly and methodically forward. Adams had dropped down beside me after I hit the floor, and I thought he would probably be quite surprised at my actions by now.

"Shit, there's krauts all over the damned forest! Run back to the checkpoint and raise the alarm, I'll stay here and try to slow them down as much as I can!" I told him, and he complied without questions. As he started to run back I realized I wouldn't have nearly enough ammunition. There were hundreds of Germans in front of me, probably all around me actually, and I had twenty rounds at most. I turned back to Adams' retreating form and shouted at him. I wasn't sure if he could hear me, but I had to try. "And bring me more ammo!"

Now it was back to the matter at hand. I'd probably get overrun, but I'd be damned if I didn't take a couple of dozen with me. Pressing my eye against the scope, I lined up the rifle with one of the soldiers. If I made it through this one I doubted my trusty Springfield would have a hold left after all the notches I'd have to carve out. "Bang." I thought as I fired. The recoil was absorbed by my shoulder and the barrel quickly fell back into its original position, as did the scope, so I could observe my handy work. That was one German less to worry about. I pulled back the lever and bolted my rifle, then took aim again. Another shot, another kill. By now the companions of the guy I just shot were dropping to the ground and dashing behind trees. Not that it would save them; they'd have to move at one point. And until then they had plenty of friends that didn't realize I was out here yet. I smiled as I caught sight of another target and quickly adjusted my hold before pulling the trigger. I quickly bolted my rifle again and picked off another one.

"One round left until I need to reload." I noted mentally as I searched for my next victim. I froze as I reached it, because it was holding a scoped Mauser and it was looking at me. Pulling the trigger as fast as I could ensured I was the first to fire, but in my haste I had shifted slightly and I watched as my bullet took off a bunch of bark from the tree the enemy sniper was using for cover, missing his head by mere millimeters. I swore inwardly and started a frantic roll to dodge the returned fire that would follow while I ejected the spent casing, only to remember I was flat out and needed to reload. My hand dove into my pocket as a bunch of snow was shot to pieces beside me, and I quickly started inserting new rounds one by one into the magazine. It was the only drawback to the whole rifle; the scope was mounted above the magazine holder, meaning the sniper edition couldn't take clips simply because you couldn't fit them through the small opening that was left. After I got in three – and dropped two – I decided those would do and slammed the lever back forward and down. I was ready.

Taking a deep breath, I rose to my knees and shouldered my sniper rifle. Time slowed as I caught his head in my crosshair and started to pull on the trigger. He spotted me and quickly swung his rifle in my direction, and I knew that if my shot didn't get him, I was a goner. Neither of us was using anything to support our rifles, but despite being caught by surprise he seemed totally calm. He wouldn't miss. I couldn't miss. My heart skipped a beat as the hammer released and hit the cartridge, and my arms froze in place as adrenaline soared through my system. My crosshair remained locked onto his head until the recoil made it jump up. Normally I'd watch the result of my shot, but this time I let myself fall right, just in case he could get a shot off before being hit. He did. I felt it tug at my clothes as it tore through my left sleeve and grazed my arm. Fighting the pain, and not sure if I hit him, I stayed down for a good twenty seconds without moving. Then finally I forced myself to move, bolting my rifle once more with a bit more difficulty, and ever so slowly poking my head up.

I could see a helmet lying there on the snow, so I assumed I got him. With a sigh of relief I shakily brought my rifle back up to scan for other threats. It felt heavier, and I couldn't keep it steady with that left arm, never mind the fact that I was seriously high on adrenaline by now. Sure, it eased the pain, but I was too tense now. With a grunt I dropped back down and opened the magazine, trying to slow my heart rate a bit. I started to insert new rounds slowly and methodically, hoping it would slow me too as it had always done. As I sat there I doubted if I had ever been this close to death. Fact was that I had been, but not in such a personal situation, not in a one-on-one. I had always believed enemy snipers to be the biggest threat I would face - other than artillery and other long-ranged weaponry - but this had been the first time one had actually seen me and fired at me. And to be honest, it was a bit too close for my comfort. I was jerked back to reality when the round I was trying to force in wouldn't fit, so I pocketed it and slammed the chamber shut. Wincing when I tried to lift the rifle with my left arm, I realized that I had calmed down as usual, but that it had given the pain a chance to come back. After trying to ignore it several times I finally gave up and checked the wound through the torn hole in my sleeve.

My eyes widened at the seriousness of the injury. I thought it had grazed me, but it hadn't. It had gone a lot deeper and taken a good chunk of skin with it. I gritted my teeth and grasped my arm as the pain that came with the view hit me. In this condition I couldn't use my rifle properly, so I'd be a sitting duck for any German passing by. Running back to my mates was out of the question; I would be spotted and shot for sure. It seemed all I could do was just sit here and die, but I refused to just do nothing. If I was going out, it would be with a bang. I crawled to the nearest tree and rested my rifle on one of the roots, a much more solid underground than the snow. So what if I couldn't use my left arm, just the right one would do fine like this. It was one of the benefits of this snow-bogged forest; it had plenty of cover. But it was as good a downside as it was a plus; they had plenty of cover too. Even so, I had better visibility with my scope. It was far from a sniper's dream, but it would do.

A sniper's dream. I'd been there once, and the memory would last me a lifetime. If I could last a lifetime, that is. The view had been great, my cover superb, and my enemy unsuspecting. A brilliant mix for a solid two hours of sharp shooting. I didn't think I'd ever, or ever would, spend that many bullets again.

"Jackson, get that machinegun set up in that house over there! Graham, get your ass up in that tower! Shoot anything that isn't American, don't worry about civilians; they've been evacuated days ago!" I took off to the church while the captain continued to bark orders at the others. Of course, I dragged plenty of ammo with me because odds were nobody would be able to re-supply me once this got started. After I positioned myself in the top of the tower I checked out my view. I could see for miles in all directions through the large windows, and I felt like I could defend this town by my lonesome if I had infinite ammunition. The Germans would be easy picking from up here, and I almost felt sorry for the buggers. Almost. But that was their fault for being on the wrong side. Nothing against them personally, as they were all good and well trained, and a challenge on any day, but their leaders just didn't know when to quit.

Then they came, flooding the countryside with men and tanks. I was shocked at their numbers, already regretting my earlier optimism. It would take only a single tank to blast down the tower, and me with it, but there were dozens. They weren't my problem though; my focus was on the infantry. Still, I poked my head out the window to shout a warning at my friends below. "Hey Cap! We've got krauts coming in from all over the place! Looks like a whole frigging division from up here!" I was exaggerating, and I knew it, but at least it would get the point across. I counted the tanks with another glance around. "They got panzers too! About two dozen!" My friends scattered and took up positions all over the town. And I got to work, lining up for the first of many notches in my Springfield.

It had been a sniper's dream. I thought I would run out of ammo at one point, but the flow stopped just in time. We had only been a distraction anyway, just to slow them down while our main force made a pincer movement along their flanks. Now though, I was the one getting pinched. I knew that if I stayed where I was, I would get surrounded and killed. But if I moved I would get killed too. I frowned as I put my eye to my scope once more, knowing that firing would likely get me killed. But hey, I was as good as dead anyway. I had come to terms with that a while ago, but that didn't mean I was going without a fight. Suddenly a head popped into my view and I pulled the trigger instinctively, then watched it blow apart as the high caliber round hit it faster than the speed of sound. He was dead before he heard the bang. Releasing my grip, I struggled with the lever as I tried to bolt my rifle one-handed. I could hear them closing in, the hurried shouts in a language I couldn't understand sounding closer every time. Finally the spent casing jumped from my rifle as I pulled back the lever, then I heard the satisfying click when I pushed it back forward. Using only my right arm, I lifted the Springfield and repositioned it on the other side of the tree, then got a firm grip on it again. It didn't take long for another soldier to run into my sight, and again my reactions kicked in.

"Fuck." I swore as the echoing bang died away. The German ran another few meters before dropping down, clutching his shoulder. I hit him, but not where I intended. More shouts, no doubt betraying my position. "Er ist da, hinten den dritte Baum! Töt Ihn!" I heard coming from the downed German. Suddenly another one shouted several meters to my left. "Ich habe ein Granate, bleib zurück!" 'Granate' sounded awfully like 'grenade', and a feeling of dread washed over me. Sure enough, an object landed in the snow next to me not long after. It looked like a potato masher, which was coincidentally what we used to refer to the odd looking German stick grenades. My eyes widened and I cried out in fear as the murderous tool ticked down its seconds. It was just out of my arm's reach and moving closer to it would equal a death wish, yet staying where I was wouldn't save me either. My shout was soon drowned out by the explosion that followed. My whole world shook violently before it went black altogether, and my body felt like it was on fire, as if I was getting stabbed by a million needles all at once. Then I lost all senses.

Funny how your whole world can just disappear like that. I was lucky enough to get mine back. I woke up in a field hospital several days later looking like a mummy and feeling like… well crappy enough to desire death. Looks like it wasn't my last stand after all, eh? Well it was in a way, they're letting me go home now. I've been wounded in action and lived to tell the tale. They're even going to give me a medal, so I'll be a decorated war hero soon. Not that getting a Purple Heart is something to strive for, seeing as you only get it when you take a hit. The guy in the bunk next to me was completely ecstatic when he got his, he obviously doesn't have a clue why he got it. Well, it took them a while to patch me up enough to move me but I'm in Antwerp now, waiting for a transport. So I'm coming home soon, if those blasted U-boats don't sink me at the last minute. No more fighting, no more death, no more constant worries, just you, me, and the kids. I look forward to it, I've missed you. See you soon.

Yours forever,

Jack.

The End

Author's Endnote: And how was it? Don't be a stranger, drop in a review. It's appreciated. Personally I liked writing this, it was a welcome break from all the tension of the past few months. Sorting out all the University stuff, setting dates for examinations and all, the general pressures of everyday life really. I may or may not get back into the swing of things after this, but I have to say I've drilled into a new well of inspiration. Though it would be sad to let it slip away, I'm not sure if I have the time to use it.

Anyway, for those asking themselves what the heck that German up there means, I'll translate it for you here:

"Er ist da, hinten den dritte Baum! Töt Ihn!" means "He's there, behind the third tree! Kill him!"

"Ich habe ein Granate, bleib zurück!" means "I have a grenade, stay back!"

Yeah, if any German speakers out there read this; I formulated those myself with my middle school German, which I haven't actually used in over 3 years. If you have any suggestions on how I can put it in better, provide me with them and I'll change it.

So that's the German covered, I hope you liked the story, and I hope you share with me the opinion that I'm getting better. I'd like to think I am improving. -smiles- Anyway this thing, according to Word, now counts 4600 words. Be happy with the knowledge that this is the longest piece of uninterrupted prose I've ever written, and tell me what you thought of it. And be brutally honest! Now press the 'Go' thing next to 'Submit Review', I demand it!

WeirdDutchGuy