“We ain’t foolin’ around, so start talking,” he said.
Bauer raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Talking?”
Vaccaro was now focused on Bauer. “You know what? Cole and I are real curious. How the hell would some Krauts out here in the middle of the damn forest know who you were and that you happened to be in this château?”
From his position by the window, Cole commented, “It just gets more tangled than a bag of snakes, don’t it?”
Vaccaro looked meaningfully at the two ladies of the house. “Of course, it’s just possible that not everyone in this room is who they claim to be. Just maybe some people here are friendlier toward the Germans than they pretend to be.”
The girl understood what Vaccaro was hinting at. Her eyes widened. She looked at her mother and translated. The mother then launched into an indignant rant that implied she would never have anything to do with the Germans. She began shaking her finger angrily at Bauer, as if it was all his fault.
Vaccaro held up his hands like a referee. “All right, all right. You know we had to ask. But now that that’s out of the way, I think we can focus on one particular person in this room.”
He looked meaningfully at Bauer. “We’re waiting.”
“Did this officer have a name?” Bauer asked.
“Messerschmitt, or something like that.”
“Ah. You have met Hauptmann Messner.”
“Friend of yours?”
Instead of answering directly, Bauer replied, “You should give me up. Perhaps it is not too late, despite them shooting at you. I will talk to them. Maybe they will agree to leave you alone.”
“Herr Barnstormer, I hate to tell you this, but the whole reason we’re out here is because of you,” Cole said. “We ain’t giving you up. You’re our prisoner, and our orders are to get you to headquarters, which is just what we’re gonna do. Hell, I’d just as soon shoot you myself first than turn you over to your own side.”
Bauer’s amused smile had returned, despite the fact that Cole had just threatened him. “You always seem so eager to shoot people.”
“You don’t know the half of it. Some days I shoot two or three people before breakfast. Then again, maybe I’m just eager to shoot you. Don’t worry, I’d make it quick compared to your friends out there. You won’t feel a thing, I can promise you. I’ve had some practice shooting Krauts like you.”
“Of that I have no doubt.” A look of sadness rather than fear crossed Bauer’s face.
“So what does Messner want with you?” Cole asked.
“He believes that I am a traitor for surrendering my unit outside Bastogne. He would have preferred that we fight to the last man.”
“I take it that he didn’t surrender.”
“No, he and a handful of others managed to escape. I would imagine those men are with him now.”
“How many?”
“Possibly just two or three men if we are lucky. Perhaps more if we are not.”
“They have a sniper,” Cole said. “He damn near took my head off. He’d pick us off if we tried to get away from the château right now.”
“A sniper? That must be Obergefreiter Dietzel. He is a Jaeger. This is what you would call a scout and sniper.”
“Is he any good?”
“One of the best.”
“I was afraid you might say that.”
Lieutenant Rupert spoke up. “Our best course of action may be to wait until dark and then slip away. We’ll be safe enough here. This place is practically a fortress.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Vaccaro said, then added, “Sir.”
The plan sounded easy enough. Of course, they would have to keep a lookout for any funny business that Hauptmann Messner and his men tried, but they had food, a warm fireplace, and the company of young Mademoiselle Jouret to help them pass the day.
“I say we sit by the fire and let those Krauts shiver their keisters off out in the woods. Lieutenant?”
“I agree.” The confidence of the two GIs was evidently contagious, because Rupert smiled. “Perhaps we can rustle up a spot of breakfast and a pot of tea.”
Vaccaro and Cole exchanged a look. They both thought tea tasted like boiled socks. “If it’s all the same, we’d rather have coffee, Lieutenant.”
Bauer didn’t have anything to say, not that anyone had asked him. He seemed lost in thought, and his hands remained tied.
It sounded like a good plan. They would try to wait out the Germans.
But the Germans had other ideas. Hauptmann Messner did not plan to pass the day quietly. He was disappointed that the Americans had not seen reason by turning Bauer over to them.
He might even have let them live. Now that wasn’t going to happen. If they were so determined to protect their prisoner, then they could die doing it.
“You missed that American, Dietzel,” the Hauptmann complained, referring to the fact that the Jaeger’s bullet had struck the door instead of the soldier.
“He moved,” Dietzel said. He shrugged nonchalantly. “Do not worry. I will not miss again.”
“See that you don’t.”
Climbing aboard the Kübelwagen, Messner turned the machine gun in the direction of the château and fired a short burst. Bullets hammered the heavy front door and tore chunks out of the château’s stone walls. He focused on the windows and fired another short burst, watching with satisfaction as bullets splintered the shutters. Bits of stone and wood rained down and scattered across the snow.
The Americans had made a mistake if they thought they were going to have an easy time of it.
Brock was still watching the house, figuring out what to do next, when he heard a machine gun open fire.
“Get down,” he hissed, although Boot and Vern were already pressed into the snow.
“Who’s doing the shooting?” Vern whispered.
“Got to be Krauts. Who the hell else would be out here?”
No bullets pierced the air over their heads, so they hadn’t been seen. “If they’re not shooting at us, then who the hell are they shooting at?”
“Let’s find out,” Brock said.
He and the others crept forward through the trees, toward the sound of the firing. Soon he spotted a German Kübelwagen. It was Krauts, all right. The Germans appeared to be firing at the château.
Maybe the smart thing to do would have been to crawl way, but that wasn’t in Brock’s nature. Instead, he opened fire. Taken by surprise, the Germans quickly recovered and turned their guns in the direction of the Americans. The Krauts knew their business, that was for sure. Their machine gun chewed up the trees, sending bits of bark flying.
“Take cover!” Brock cried, and he and the two others threw themselves to the snow-covered forest floor.
Brock got down as low as he could, willing himself to sink into the snow. A stray bullet whined inches from his ear, making his spine crawl. He was afraid to move a muscle for fear of making himself even more of a target. He was dimly aware of snow sifting through a gap between his coat and trousers, icy against his belly, as if the winter cold was gnawing at his bare skin.
Frozen in place, he wondered what to do next.
Brock had been trained to fight Krauts, however and wherever he saw them, but he realized that now wasn’t the time or the place for fighting. Besides, they were here to get one particular Kraut — who all signs indicated was in the nearby château.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he whispered to Vern and Boot, forcing himself to move. His coat had pulled up so that the snow worked its way against his skin, but the cold was better than a bullet.