Vaccaro took pots from the kitchen and used them to heat up their rations, plus brew a pot of hot coffee. They were so tired that the coffee wouldn’t keep anyone awake, but it would warm their bones.
As the food was dished out, Bauer lifted his still-bound hands toward Cole and raised his eyebrows.
“All right, but don’t even think about trying anything,” Cole said. He unsheathed his bowie knife and cut the cords binding Bauer’s wrists. The German sighed with relief and massaged his wrists, into which the tight cords had cut a pattern of red lines.
“Thank you,” he said.
Cole grunted as Vaccaro handed their prisoner a plate and a chipped mug of black coffee.
Bauer seemed right at home in this château. It was a realization that rankled Cole. He sat down near the German to keep an eye on him.
“I suppose you’ll want us to put out a tablecloth for you and maybe a silver spoon,” Cole said.
Bauer had tucked into the food with surprising vigor, showing how hungry he was. He took a long drink of coffee. “Mmm, American coffee. Not bad.” Once he had eaten his fill, he returned his attention to Cole. “You seem to have the wrong impression of me, Private Cole. I do know about manor houses, but not because I lived in one.
“You see, my father’s lungs were damaged by mustard gas during the Great War. The only work he could get was on the estate of an old baron whose son had been my father’s commanding officer. His son did not survive the war, but the baron had a soft spot for army men that had served with his son. He created jobs for three men who had been injured in the war, doing what he could for them, though by then he could scarcely afford it with the inflation that Germany went through. I suppose he saw it as his duty. Our economy was ruined by the war. Even the rich suffered.
“My mother worked in his kitchen. When I was old enough, I helped my father or ran small errands for the baron. So you see, that is how I know about châteaus, from being the hired help.”
“I didn’t think that errand boys could become German officers,” Cole replied.
Bauer smiled ruefully. “The Nazi Party promotes the equality of all good Germans, so that was a path upward, at least to a point. But they say that even Hitler gets stars in his eyes when he’s around the old aristocracy.”
“Too bad for you that you ain’t the baron’s kin.”
“It just so happens that I was able to pass myself off as upper class due to a misunderstanding. There was some confusion about my connection with the baron. When people began introducing me as the baron’s nephew, I did not correct them. That was enough to get me in the door, you see.”
“You lied.”
“Does a man ever lie about how much money he has to get a woman into bed? Does a fisherman use a lure to catch a fish? You might understand how an ambitious young man would not correct the mistaken assumption that he comes from the aristocracy to hide the fact that he was nothing more than an errand boy.”
“If you say so.” Cole understood what the German was saying about the fact that we might not always tell the truth, at least not exactly, when it was to our advantage, but he wasn’t about to admit it.
“Everyone in Germany lies. It is how we have reached this point. We lie about where all the Jews have gone. We tell ourselves lies that we can still win the war. Der Führer is the biggest liar of them all.”
“What about the Jews?” Cole asked with genuine curiosity. There were plenty of dark rumors about the fate of Europe’s Jewish population. However, at this point in the war, the full extent of Nazi Germany’s “Final Solution” still wasn’t known.
Bauer just shook his head without answering Cole’s question. “What I am saying is that there have been too many lies already.”
“All right, now we’re getting somewhere. You’re finally telling the truth. How will I know that you’re not lying to me in the future?”
Bauer sighed. “You won’t, at least not if it means — how do you Americans say it? — saving my bacon. But at least you have been warned.”
“Fair enough. Now answer me another question, Herr Barnstormer. Why did you surrender?”
“I was trying to save my men. The war is coming to an end. They have done enough.” Bauer hesitated before adding, “Also, I surrendered because I am tired of the pointless loss of life. Isn’t that reason enough?”
“Loss of life, huh? What about those American boys you murdered?”
Bauer shook his head. “My subordinate, Messner, took it upon himself to shoot the prisoners. He is a hardliner who would have been better off in the ranks of the SS. Of course, he was under my command, so the responsibility for his actions falls on me, but I did not condone it.”
“Passing the buck, huh?”
“I cannot change what happened. That does not mean I am not sorry for it. Prisoners should be treated with respect.”
“Easy to say when you’re the prisoner.”
“Well, there is that.” Bauer smiled.
At least the Kraut bastard has a sense of humor, Cole thought.
With their meal finished, the men took time to relax before turning in. The only light came from the fireplace and the two candles that Cole had lit — despite the shutters covering the windows, more light than that might be tempting fate, considering that there could be enemy patrols in the woods or even Luftwaffe fighters passing overhead. No point in drawing curiosity to themselves unnecessarily. The warmth from the leaping flames in the fireplace had dispelled the cold and damp so that the room was actually pleasant. In fact, these were the most comfortable surroundings that he and Vaccaro had experienced in days, if not weeks.
Rupert pulled a chair close to the fireplace to take advantage of the warmth and light, then took out a small book and began reading it. Clearly he was instantly engaged by the words on the page. Watching him, Cole realized how envious he was of the ability people had to get lost in a book — pulled out of themselves for a while. To someone without that ability, it seemed like an incredible gift. He vowed that someday, after the war, he would put his pride aside and find someone to teach him how to read.
Vaccaro lounged on a sofa and smoked a cigarette. That city boy always preferred the sound of his own voice to anyone else’s, much less words on a page, but for now he seemed content to smoke and contemplate.
The German was doing the same. Cole debated tying him back up — he didn’t want that Kraut bastard sneaking into the kitchen, finding a knife, and cutting all their throats in the night. But for now he thought it was safe enough to give the man his freedom.
Cole had given up cigarettes because they cut his wind. Instead of smoking, he began cleaning his sniper rifle, although it had not seen much use that day. Still, the winter weather and dampness took their toll. He field-stripped the rifle and ran an oily patch through the bore, noting with satisfaction that it came out clean. He then gave the bolt and action, plus the exterior surfaces of the rifle, a once-over with an oily rag to ward off any rust.
Maybe guns are what I have instead of books, he thought.
Looking up, he noticed the German watching him.
“You look as if you have cleaned that rifle many times,” Bauer remarked.
“You don’t know the half of it, Herr Barnstormer,” Vaccaro said, picking up on Cole’s nickname for the German. “Cole here has got the cleanest rifle in the whole damn army this side of boot camp.”
“The cleanest rifle? Of that I have no doubt,” Bauer said. “It is a good soldier who takes proper care of his weapon.”