Southwest of Leningrad, September 18, 1943
The scratchy wool blanket trapped the heat the sniper's body generated. She and her spotter were on a mandatory twelve hour rest period after a three day patrol and stalk that had been a fiasco in the first twenty four hours. A dozen German counter-sniper teams were deployed in front of the regiment that they were supposed to scout. Three companion teams had lost a member, and another patrol had not returned. The Germans had walked mortars into a hide that they had abandoned just minutes before the barrage started because her spotter had a bad feeling about being watched that she could not place a finger on. By now, the survivors of the summer of 1941 and the two year siege of the city always listened to the whispers of the ghosts who had not been as lucky as they had been. The ghosts knew.
13,000 yards away, a German artillery battery received a slight adjustment to correct for a slightly stiffer breeze than anticipated. They were firing at a grid location that intelligence had suggested was where a Red division kept its reserves. Two minutes later, a dozen heavy shells were in the air. Seconds after the last shell had been fired, the first shell exploded forty meters from the sleeping sniper.
Three hours later, the surgeon had completed his task. The patient, a pretty, young woman, would some day be able to walk again. He washed his hands, and quickly sipped some tea before moving onto the next patient who was being brought into the surgery.