Bauer shrugged and offered what appeared to be an apologetic smile. “That makes two of us. There are some things you would prefer that I do on my own.”
Cole thought about it. As much as he didn’t want to cut the German’s bonds, he wanted to help him take a leak even less. “All right, hold out your hands.”
Cole drew his big bowie knife, the razor-sharp edge flashing even in the dull winter light. Bauer’s eyes widened at the sight of it.
“I have never seen such a knife,” he said.
“An old friend of mine from back home made it,” Cole said, surprising himself by the proud tone he heard in his own voice. Most GIs carried the combat knives that they had been issued. While the standard-issue blade was an excellent knife, the blade that Hollis Bailey had forged for him was in a class by itself.
Bauer grunted in approval, although he eyed the blade warily. He did as he was told and held out his hands.
Cole started toward him, then stopped. He pointed the blade at Bauer as he spoke. “Listen up, Herr Barnstormer. If this is some trick and you try to run, or you try to fight us, I’ll use this blade to cut your heart out.”
The German nodded. “Fair enough.”
Cole cut him free. The blade was so sharp that it sliced through the strands as soon as it touched the rope.
Bauer stood rubbing his wrists. The tightly wound rope had left deep red gouges. Whoever had tied him up back at HQ hadn’t been taking any chances. Cole stood tensely, waiting to see if Bauer tried anything.
“Thank you,” the German said. “What was your name again?”
“Never mind that,” Cole snapped. “Let’s get one thing clear. I ain’t your friend, Herr Barnstormer. I just didn’t want to hold your dick while you took a piss. Now go on and take a leak.”
Bauer moved beside Vaccaro and was soon sending his own stream into the snow. He even uttered a sigh of relief.
At least he hadn’t lied about having to take a leak, Cole thought.
He returned the knife to its sheath and slid the rifle off his shoulder, watching up and down the road. It was only a matter of time before they ran into someone else. The question was, Would they be friendly or not? Cole stayed alert, hoping that if they encountered Germans, they would have time to get off the road before being seen.
They were taking a big chance by staying on the road. But they didn’t have much choice, other than striking out through the woods, where the snow lay heavily among the trees. He didn’t like that prospect, not if they wanted to make good time. They would just have to stay on the road and keep alert.
Bauer had buttoned himself back up and rejoined the group on the road. He still wore the heavy mittens, which Cole took to be a good sign. If Bauer planned on making a grab for one of their weapons, or otherwise make a run for it, he probably wouldn’t have the clumsy mittens on.
“I won’t tie you back up,” Cole said. “But like I said, if you make a run for it, you’re a dead man. Now let’s all get moving. We need to cover as much ground as possible while there’s still daylight.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cole led the way up the road, all his senses tense as a fiddle string, rifle at the ready. Even his nose sniffed the air for any whiff of German. They hadn’t gone far before he heard the steady whine of an approaching engine, undercut by the clanking of steel treads.
Tanks.
More than one, and moving fast.
“Get off the road!” he said urgently, waving the others toward the trees. He pointed his rifle squarely at the German. He didn’t want the prisoner getting any ideas about using that moment to escape. “Don’t get any ideas, Herr Barnstormer. If you try to make a run for it, I’ll put a big fat slug right through your back.”
The look on the German’s face indicated that he’d processed that mental image. He nodded curtly at Cole and followed Vaccaro and Rupert into the trees with the rifle aimed squarely at him.
It was hard to say whether the tanks were German or American and Cole, wasn’t going to wait around to find out. The area was still hotly contested, with both sides probing and fighting in the countryside beyond Bastogne. It came down to the fact that the Americans were trying to send reinforcements and the Germans were trying to stop them. Cole didn’t want to get caught in the middle of that meat grinder. He just wanted to deliver the Kraut like he’d been ordered and get back in one piece.
There was also the possibility that a tank patrol from either side would shoot first and ask questions later if they spotted men on the road. The tank commander would be worried about an ambush — a handful of men on the road more than likely meant snipers, mines, bazookas, or Panzerfaust. Mighty as a tank was, a lucky grenade throw could mean a tank tread getting knocked out. Out here on the front lines, repair was impossible, and the tank would need to be abandoned.
Whether the tanks were German or American, it wouldn’t matter to Cole and his squad — the tankers wouldn’t be taking any chances, which meant they would get machine-gunned all the same.
Vaccaro and Rupert took cover behind a fallen tree, their rifles over the log, trained on the road. The Kraut was down in the hole where the tree roots had ripped out of the ground. Cole slid in next to him. The snow was several inches deep here, kept from melting in this shady spot, the cold amplified by the shadows.
He kept his rifle ready but drew his knife. Silently, he cursed himself for not tying the German up again. If the tanks proved to be German, there was nothing to stop him from shouting a warning to his comrades or making a run for it.
“Make one peep and I’ll slide my bowie knife between your ribs, easy like,” Cole warned.
“Those tanks will be expecting an ambush,” Bauer said. “It does not matter if they are German or American. The smartest thing to do is to be quiet and let them pass.”
Cole nodded, glad that he and Bauer were on the same page regarding self-preservation.
Time stretched on and Cole had the nagging thought that they were once again falling behind schedule. What the hell was taking those tanks so long to go by? It sounded as if they had stopped. They seemed to be moving cautiously. The sound of engines grew louder before the tanks finally came into sight up the road. He was trying to tell from the engine noises whose tanks they were, but the echo off the hills distorted the sound.
Cole and Bauer were out of sight in the depression left by the windfall, gazing out from between the twisted tree roots at the rim of the hole. Wisely, Vaccaro and Rupert had their heads down behind the tree trunk. He was counting on Vaccaro to prevent the young British officer from doing something stupid, like deciding to take on the tanks and enemy soldiers single-handedly. Rupert didn’t seem like the heroic type, but now would be a terrible time for him to get any notions that he was Prince Valiant.
Cole’s heart sank when he saw that the approaching tanks were German panzers. This close, the things looked massive. Their 88 mm guns appeared big as tree trunks. The tanks carried machine guns as well, looking beastly and sinister.
There were three tanks, surrounded by a knot of supporting infantry. The soldiers were busy scanning the woods along the road for any sign of trouble. Wearing their white winter camouflage, some with white scarves over their faces, the German soldiers appeared inhuman or almost otherworldly, like wraiths moving through the woods. The businesslike dark stocks of their weapons stood out in sharp contrast. A few carried Panzerfaust to help the tanks deal with any US armor they encountered.
The name “stormtrooper” seemed apt as the wind blew and snow swirled around the foot soldiers. In this world of white, they were no longer men; it was as if they had been reduced to killing machines.