The Bullet

It was nearly 10 a.m. when a loud rumbling noise was heard in the distance and Henry saw the hurried movement of town’s people in the street below. Everyone was scurrying into their homes and shutting the doors and bolting the windows; the platoon members were running to buildings and pointing to the north end of town. In the distance he saw the first of 25 Panzer tanks along with jeeps, trucks and enough soldiers to capture Chicago heading into the little town of Reims. Henry checked his weapons one more time, making sure his .45 was loaded and ready; his sniper rifle was scoped in. Now he would play the waiting game as the battalion of men and machines began rolling into the town square. There was no noise, an eerie quietness, no one moved. In front of the parade of soldiers and tanks, riding in the lead car was Henry’s target, General Major Velten sitting like a king on his throne. He looked into the scope to get his bearing but he knew he couldn’t fire off a round until he was given the signal. There needed to be gunfire from within the town square to create the chaos he needed to get a bead on his target and catch him by surprise. His eyes were glued to Velten, his breathing was uneasy and he knew he had to calm it. The lead car circled the square and came to a stop; one of the German soldiers ran to the passenger side to open the door for Velten. Stepping out of the car he began immediately barking out orders. The German soldiers were scrambling out of the trucks and cars as the tanks began to slowly roll into the town square. Suddenly as if scripted, a shot was fired which was the signal Henry needed to accomplish his mission. He took a deep breath, he could feel his heart racing so fast he thought it would jump out of his chest; he lined up his target. Henry thought about his mission. He was about to kill a man, a human being. What did he know about this man? Did he have children? All he knew was this man named Velten was a cold-blooded killer and needed to be stopped. He had ruthlessly ordered the deaths of countless innocent people. He took a deep breath and steadied his rifle. The cross lines in the scope was set dead on Velten’s head and he knew if his shot was accurate the top of the man’s skull would come completely off on impact. He thought of the deer he had once shot in lower Alabama on one of the hunting trips he had taken with his dad and uncle. He remembered he had spotted a ten point buck in an opening. He steadied his rifle and began taking short shallow breaths preparing for the execution. As he readied himself to pull the trigger, his aim on the right shoulder of the animal, he flinched, sending the bullet upward instead of straight. The 30-06 shell hit the deer in the side of the head taking the top of the skull off, sending the cartilage and blood everywhere. Now he was in the middle of a war with the mission of doing the same thing except to a man, a living human being. Henry quickly came out of his day dream as he heard the sound of men beginning to run in all directions. Everyone was yelling because they were caught completely off guard by the first shot. Henry couldn’t worry about the other men, he had one target and that was Velten. Velten did not try to run he stood in one spot barking out commands like he was invulnerable. Henry stayed right with him; he had to make the first shot count for he might not get another. He told himself that Velten was a squirrel in a tree back home and he had to hit his mark with the first shot. Sweat was rolling down his face as he tried to stay focused on Velten. He steadied his hand, took a deep breath and slowly squeezed the trigger. As in slow motion, it was as though Henry could follow the bullet from the time it left the rifle until it made its impact on the target. Velten fell not knowing what hit him. The bullet entered his temple and exited through the upper part of his skull, killing him instantly. With no time to tarry and his mission complete, Henry had to get out of the belfry tower before they spotted him and began firing the big guns on the Panzers in his direction. He disassembled his rifle, grabbed his back pack and turned toward the stairwell. He could hear voices on the first floor but was unable to distinguish if they were German or American because of the loud sounds of gunfire and screaming, so he drew his .45 from his holster and pulled back the hammer. He began to slowly make his way down the stairwell as the voices were getting closer. He stopped crouching down to take position and waited. He knew if it was a German soldier he might only get one shot before he got a bullet to the chest. Perspiration once again was dripping down Henry’s face as he waited his fate. His .45 was ready and he took aim at the opening in the stairwell where the voice was approaching. Henry prayed, “Lord, please get me out of this mess I’m in,” when suddenly a face appeared and it was not that of an American soldier. Henry gasped and squeezed the trigger of his ACP and nothing happened. He squeezed again and no sound, nothing happened. Horrified Henry knew he was a sitting duck. The German had a shocked look on his face as he raised his luger to kill Henry. As the German soldier readied his weapon and pointed it directly at Henry’s chest a shot was fired from nowhere into the back of the German soldier’s head. As the soldier fell backward Henry felt a burning sensation in his leg around the knee, it felt as if something had taken his leg off. The luger had fired at the same time the American soldier had shot him, hitting Henry in the knee. He lunged for his leg as the soldier in front of him was free falling down the stairwell. From the bottom of the stairs appeared an American GI, rifle drawn looking at his kill. Henry was about to pass out from the pain and blood loss as the GI asked if he was ok. The only thing Henry could say was “my gun jammed.”