He’d been lucky to leave in one piece. With his back turned, he had not seen the German officer’s hand go to the snap on the holster of his pistol. In Messner’s mind, a rat was a rat, even one that had provided him with information. For all he knew, this rat would be turning around and providing the Americans with information about the Germans. A rat could not be trusted.
One less rat would be doing the world a favor. After all, what was the life of a rat even worth?
But he let his hand fall, thinking that the man might yet prove useful.
Messner debated what to do with the information. He had disliked Obersturmbannführer Bauer, whom he considered to be an officer who had lost his nerve to the point that he was actively undermining the German advance — at least the portion of the advance that he commanded.
The memory of how he had been in constant conflict with Bauer brought a fresh wave of bitterness to his mind. In Messner’s imagination, Bauer had seemed to go out of his way to thwart Messner whenever he could, seeming to think that the younger officer was too bold. The shooting of the prisoners outside Bastogne had been one occasion when Messner had been a step ahead of the Obersturmbannführer.
Recalling the look of shock on Bauer’s face at the sight of the dead prisoners, Messner smiled.
To hear that Bauer was still alive and being held by the Americans was quite surprising. He’d been sure that the Obersturmbannführer had died in the confusing last moments of the battle as he attempted to surrender. Then again, wasn’t it enough that Bauer was now a prisoner of the Americans?
Perhaps not, Messner thought. Maybe it was what Bauer had wanted all along. He had seemed ready and willing to surrender the entire unit. It was nothing short of betrayal.
Messner might simply have passed along this intelligence about Bauer now being a prisoner, but he was sure that it would scarcely be noticed. What his superiors really wanted to know was how many US troops were in Bastogne, their readiness to fight, how many tanks had reached the city, how many more were expected — the rat had provided no useful information about that.
At most, the information that Bauer had been captured might be included in an official report. With American reinforcements beginning to reach Bastogne, there were bigger concerns than a single captured German officer. The fight was widening, and the German advance was in peril.
For all that anyone would care, Bauer might as well have been dead.
Who was to say that couldn’t still happen?
A plan began to hatch in Messner’s mind. He smiled again at the thought.
In the end he decided that he would go after Bauer himself. With any luck, this could be accomplished in a few hours. Messner wouldn’t even be missed.
There was more than one way this could go. It remained possible that Bauer could be taken from the Americans and returned to Germany for proper treatment at the hands of the SS or Gestapo. In Messner’s mind, there was no doubt that Bauer was nothing but a traitor.
But recapturing Bauer might prove difficult, and he might be able to talk his way out of any accusations that he had given up the fight too soon.
Better yet, Bauer would never make it anywhere but would simply become another body by the roadside.
Either way, Bauer would be quite surprised to see him again. It would be the last thing he would expect. Messner smiled coldly at the thought.
He could have lied to himself and called his plan one of military importance, an effort to prevent strategic information from falling into Allied hands. But if he was being honest with himself, the simple truth of the matter was that Messner wanted revenge.
Looking around, he spotted Obergefreiter Dietzel and Gettinger, and waved them over. Both men were never far away. After explaining what he wanted to do, he was pleased to see that both men seemed game. In fact, Dietzel wore a slight smile that suggested he was also imagining the look on Bauer’s face when they caught up to him. If their Hauptmann believed that Bauer was a traitor, then they believed it too.
It was likely that Bauer and his escort would take the road toward where the Germans knew the Allied command to be located. This road was not far from Messner’s current position. With any luck, Messner and his men would find them on that road and return within a few hours.
If his informant was correct, the Americans were being quite foolhardy. Much of the city remained surrounded. The patrol escorting Bauer would likely have to fight its way out.
The Americans must be desperate to spirit Bauer away, taking a huge chance in doing so.
Timing was everything, but if they could only get in position ahead of Bauer and his escorts, their odds would improve.
In fact, Messner planned to bring those odds closer to zero. To do so, they would need to hurry if they hoped to intercept Bauer and his escort.
Hauptmann Messner wasted no time commandeering a Kübelwagen for their use. “We need to get into position right away,” he said, getting in the back with Dietzel, who kept his sniper rifle propped between his knees, the butt resting on the toe of his right boot to cushion it from the bumps in the road.
Gettinger took the wheel. The scent of gasoline lingered in the air as the Kübelwagen’s engine roared to life, contrasting sharply with the fresh winter air. Along with the gasoline smell was the sharp, metallic scent of weapons and other gear, ready to be used at a moment’s notice.
Messner clapped Gettinger on the shoulder and urged, “Schnell, schnell.”
The tires of the Kübelwagen spun in the frozen slush, showering some nearby Soldaten with icy mud and evoking a few curses. But then the sturdy vehicle gained traction and shot down the road, carrying the soldiers on their mission of revenge.
Messner had chosen two of his most loyal and dependable men to accompany him. There were others he could have taken, but this might be the kind of mission that could not be talked about later. These two knew to keep their mouths shut.
He was glad to have Obergefreiter Gerhard Dietzel with him in particular. The man was a highly capable sniper, the unit’s designated Jaeger — a word that translated as hunter. In Dietzel’s case, it was a very apt description.
He had seen Dietzel at work — the way that he had managed to pick off the escaping POW before he got into the trees was just an example of his skill with a rifle. Messner had seen the man drop targets at distances that did not seem possible. One thing for certain, he was glad he had never been in the Jaeger’s rifle sights.
Not for the first time, Messner could feel Dietzel’s gaze on him, evaluating his every move, his every decision. That was Dietzel for you, always watching, always the observer. He had been trained well by the Wehrmacht’s sniper school. Those skills had been put to use more times than Messner could count.
The sniper’s reputation was well known among the soldiers, to the point that he had become something of a legend among the men, and his presence gave Messner confidence that their mission would be successful.
Dietzel never asked for much, but Messner thought it wise to throw his dog a bone now and then. He turned to Dietzel and said, “Obergefreiter, your precision and accuracy are unparalleled. You are a force to be reckoned with.”
“I am only doing my duty, sir,” Dietzel replied.
“With your help, we will make short work of this traitor and the Americans escorting him.”
“You can count on me, Herr Hauptmann.”
The man spoke with such simple certainty that it did not sound like bragging or boasting.
Messner glanced ahead at the driver’s seat, where Gettinger had a tense grip on the wheel, his knuckles white. Driving in these conditions was far from easy. The road itself was bad enough, of course, without the added threat of attack at any moment. For all they knew, the woods ahead might be filled with Americans waiting to ambush them.