Cole grunted in agreement, then rolled over and promptly fell asleep.
It felt like just minutes later that Lieutenant Mulholland was kicking their boots to wake them up.
“For pity’s sake, Lieutenant,” Vaccaro complained groggily. “We just went to sleep.”
“No rest for the weary,” Mulholland said. “We’re wanted at HQ. Be sure to grab your gear because you won’t be coming back here.”
Hank heard them and asked, “What about me?”
“Not you, kid. Go back to sleep. Colonel Roberts specifically requested these two knuckleheads. Apparently they have some kind of reputation.”
Leaving Hank behind, the three of them made their way to HQ, where they found Colonel Roberts waiting for them. His mood had not improved since receiving the communiqué earlier.
But he was not alone. In addition to the clerk who was busy typing away, there was also a young British officer. However, their attention was mainly drawn to a tall German officer standing by the fireplace, which continued its struggle to heat the room. Cole, Vaccaro, and Mulholland looked at the German with open curiosity.
At that moment an officer barged in with an urgent message for the colonel, who read the piece of paper thrust into his hands and swore.
Cole took that time to size up the German. The man stood tall and proud, his gaze fixed on the three soldiers before him. His uniform looked impeccable, the brass buttons of his jacket shining brightly in the dim light. The officer’s cap was perched perfectly on his head, a stark contrast to the disheveled clerk, hunched over his typewriter in the corner.
His hands were bound together, a testament to the fact that he was clearly a prisoner. His winter coat was open, revealing a thick white scarf draped around his neck, the only touch of color in the drab room. The scarf gave the officer a dashing, stylish air compared to the Americans.
But the German clearly wasn’t some aloof, cold fish. An amused smile played over his lips. For some reason the smile set Cole’s teeth on edge more than the sight of the officer’s uniform.
To his surprise, the German appeared to be sizing him up as well. He could almost feel the man’s eyes moving over him. He was appraising Cole from his boots to the helmet emblazoned with the Confederate flag. His eyes lingered on the Springfield sniper rifle before coming to rest on Cole’s face. The German’s look of amusement was gone, replaced by hostility, as if the sight of the rifle led him to the realization of how many Soldaten that rifle had claimed.
Cole glared back, not about to be cowed by some Kraut officer, no matter how fancy he seemed. Neither man appeared ready to be the first to look away.
It was the German who finally shifted his gaze, mainly because the colonel had launched into another fit of swearing after reading this latest communication.
“Get on the horn and tell them to hold at all costs, dammit!” the colonel finally exclaimed. He swore a few more times with such vehemence that it was like a car emitting a series of loud backfires, finally stopping to glare at the German, as if this were all this enemy officer’s fault.
Then again, it sort of was his fault — or, at least, it was definitely the fault of his fellow Germans that Americans were fighting and dying on this wintry battlefield.
The tension in the room was as palpable as the hissing of a gas leak, and it seemed as if the sparks popping from the fireplace like gunshots threatened to ignite the tense atmosphere into an inferno.
Cole and Vaccaro exchanged a look. What the hell had they found themselves in the middle of?
Mulholland chose that moment to clear his throat and announced, “Sir, here are the snipers I was telling you about.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” The colonel’s eyes flicked from Vaccaro to Cole and stayed there. “You must be Cole.”
Cole spoke up. “I reckon that’s me, sir.”
“You reckon?” The colonel gave him a hard look as he chewed on the stub of a cigar, his eyes finally coming to rest on the Confederate flag painted on Cole’s helmet. “Last time I checked, soldier, this was the United States Army, not the Confederate States Army.”
The colonel seemed to be expecting a reply, but Cole let it hang for a long moment before he responded, “Yes, sir.”
“I’ve heard about you, Cole,” the colonel continued, with a tone that indicated what he’d heard wasn’t all good. “There’s a rumor going around that you’re a crack shot and some kind of modern Daniel Boone.”
Cole didn’t say anything.
The colonel grunted. “So you’re a man of few words, huh? I like that in a soldier. Here’s the thing. I need a couple of men who know their way around the woods well enough that they won’t walk right into the Germans’ arms. Rumors aside, Mulholland here says that you’re both up to the task.”
“If the lieutenant says so, sir.”
“The German officer you see over there is Obersturmbannführer Bauer. What you need to do is get our guest here over to VIII Corps HQ at Neufchâteau. That’s about seventeen miles southwest of Bastogne. They want to know what he knows. Just so you know who you’re dealing with, this German piece-of-shit Obersturmbannführer is also a war criminal, having gunned down several of our boys in cold blood on the outskirts of Bastogne. Be that as it may, you will get him there in one piece. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You will also be taking Lieutenant Rupert with you.” The colonel nodded in the direction of the British officer, who had been standing quietly nearby, looking like the student in class who was hoping that nobody called on him. “I’m sure the lieutenant can fill you in later on his interest in Colonel Blitzkrieg here. He is our official deputy liaison with Montgomery’s boys, so don’t lose him along the way. That prickly bastard Montgomery might stop talking to us if that happened.”
Both Cole and Vaccaro couldn’t avoid looking doubtfully in the British officer’s direction. From his apple-cheeked complexion, he appeared to be embarrassed just to be standing there.
At this point, the colonel added, “Lieutenant Rupert, you’ll be the ranking officer, but you would do well to listen to what these men have to say. My advice is that when they tell you to jump, then jump. They might not look like much, but I have it on good authority that they’re your best chance of staying alive out there. Never forget that this is a war zone.”
Rupert managed to turn even redder with embarrassment, until his face resembled a ripe strawberry, or possibly a beet.
For his own part, the German simply looked bemused by it all.
“When do we move out, sir?” Cole asked.
“The sooner, the better. Right now would be good.”
“Right now?”
“I hope to hell your eyes work better than your ears, son. What part of ‘right now’ don’t you understand? Dismissed!”
The colonel then issued curt orders to the German to go with them. The German gave a single nod, showing that he understood. Apparently the Kraut spoke English well enough.
Moments later Cole, Vaccaro, and Mulholland found themselves standing outside HQ in the slush and cold, their numbers having been increased by one German prisoner and a British officer. The presence of the German caused several stares, not to mention a few hard looks. Many of the men on this street held a grudge against the Germans. They had lost friends to the enemy, after all. Others felt that the German attack through the Ardennes had been a dirty trick. The attitude seemed to be that the only good German was a dead German.
But they were supposed to keep this German alive.
Cole shook his head. How the hell had they ended up with this assignment?
Lieutenant Rupert was called away by one of the HQ clerks, who was trying to find him a warm hat and something more suitable to the winter conditions than his kidskin dress gloves. Cole and Vaccaro would just have to make do with what they already had.