In 1975, I was vacationing in Winter, Wisconsin. I had my tent pitched in the backyard of my best friend’s grandmother’s yard. Fishing by day and
chumming with the townsfolk at night, John and I met a fellow named Martin, a Chippewa Indian, who’d served as a sniper in WWII. One story that he told bears repeating:
He was perched in a high spot midday where he could survey a mountain trail. A small group of German soldiers soon appeared. As Martin watched them
through his scope to determine which one to target, he quickly realized that this was an unhappy troop. Their leader was swaggering and openly berating his underlings. It was this dolt that Martin felled with his one shot – but instead of scooting behind impervious cover after he took the shot as he would
normally do, he paused to watch the reaction of the German soldiers. Instead of firing in his direction (which would be normal behavior), they furtively and discretely retreated --- apparently relieved to be rid of their unillustrious leader.
