They belly-crawled through the forest, away from the sound of the German guns.
Hunkered down in the château, Cole and the others heard gunfire coming from a different location from where they had last seen the Germans. Hidden in the trees, the Germans continued shooting, seeming to spray bullets in every direction as they defended themselves. For the moment, their fire was not directed at the château, but at wherever the gunfire in the woods was coming from.
“Uh-oh,” Cole said. “Sounds like the applecart done been upset.”
“Must be the cavalry,” Vaccaro said. “Hopefully it’s our guys out there.”
Vaccaro was half-right. There were Americans out there, but they sure as hell weren’t the cavalry.
The brief firefight in the forest ended and the Germans resumed firing at the château.
As Brock and his men retreated, putting more trees between themselves and the enemy, he saw that the Germans had returned their attention to the château, pouring fire at it. By now, there were a few answering shots from the château.
Not to be outdone, Brock opened fire briefly on the château, ordering his men to do the same. If the German prisoner was in that house, he wanted a piece of him.
Inside the château, Cole finally used the muzzle of his rifle to crack a pane of glass, enabling him to shoot through a gap in the heavy wooden shutters. The old glass had wavy distortions and was so brittle from the cold that it shattered readily into jagged shards that pattered to the drifted snow around the château’s foundation.
Behind him, Madame Jouret made a tsk sound of dismay at the broken glass, but Cole ignored her. He had bigger fish to fry. Besides, several German bullets had already blown out the upstairs windows.
Through the rifle scope, he scanned the woods, hoping for a German target to present itself. But the Krauts were staying out of sight.
With his focus on where he thought the Germans were taking cover, he was caught by surprise when several shots peppered the wooden shutter.
Clearly that rifle fire was coming from the direction of what he assumed was the American side of the firefight that had taken place in the woods.
Though the wooden shutters of the old château were heavy enough, they were really no match for .30–06 rounds. Bits and pieces of wood went flying.
Cole ducked.
“Hey, knock it off!” he shouted, hoping that his voice carried on the cold air. “Y’all are shootin’ at the wrong folks!”
To his relief, no more bullets hit the château. Friendly fire wasn’t unheard of in the confusion of war. The firing in the woods where the Germans were hidden also came to a halt, bringing a tense silence to the morning.
Keeping low, Cole slid his rifle into place and waited for a target.
When he heard the shout from the château, Brock ordered his men to stop firing.
Good to know we got their attention.
Brock decided to take a chance and see if the escort detail would be willing to hand over their German prisoner, or maybe exchange him for help fighting the Germans in the woods. If nothing else, they had a common enemy.
Deciding that it was worth a try, he slowly stood up, certain that he was concealed from the Germans somewhere on his flank, but visible to the occupants of the château. He kept plenty of thick trees between himself and the German position.
After showing himself, he shouted to get the attention of the troops holed up inside the massive stone house.
“Anybody home?”
After hearing the shout, Cole watched as a lone GI appeared at the edge of the woods, keeping several large trees between himself and the German position. Cole studied him through the scope, thinking that something about the man looked familiar, and not in a good way, but he couldn’t place his finger on it. What the hell did this guy want, and why had he been shooting at the house?
“Who the hell are you?” Cole hollered.
“If you’ve still got that German prisoner in there with you, send him out,” the GI shouted.
Cole was taken aback. What was it about Bauer? Everybody wanted a piece of him. How did that GI know anything about their German prisoner, anyhow?
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t you remember me? I remember you, hillbilly. The name’s Brock. Corporal Brock. All we want is your prisoner. Send him out. There’s no need for us to shoot at each other. We’re on the same side, after all.”
Then it dawned on Cole where he had seen the GI before. He realized that he was looking at the same man who had confronted him in Bastogne over Bauer.
He took a deep breath and shouted back, “Hell no! That ain’t how it works.”
“It’s your funeral, hillbilly.”
Brock ducked behind the tree, but not before firing a few shots at the house. Bullets pinged off the side of the château; stone chips and more bits of wood flew. Cole had no choice but to duck. Being shot at by his own side was a first.
Over his shoulder, Vaccaro wanted to know what was going on. “What the hell is happening out there? They’re shooting at us. Are they our guys or not?”
“Yes and no,” Cole said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“They want us to turn Herr Barnstormer over to them.”
“What did you say?”
“That’s why they’re shootin’ at us.”
Vaccaro turned to look at Bauer. “You sure are popular.”
Cole shook his head. He couldn’t believe it, but both the Germans and the Americans wanted their prisoner.
As much as he disliked Bauer, Cole didn’t plan on giving him up to anybody. Orders were orders.
If Cole was completely honest with himself, it also came down to the fact that he didn’t like being told what to do. Not by some vigilantes from his own side, and definitely not by a bunch of Krauts.
Meanwhile, the shooting had started up again. Bullets peppered the château from two different directions, apparently from both the German and American forces.
They were stuck in the middle, attacked from two different directions, by two different groups.
Cole had never encountered anything like this yet, but it was a familiar story. Three dogs, one bone.
“Well now, don’t this beat all,” he muttered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Think we can hold ’em off?” Vaccaro wondered.
“We can as long as we have daylight,” Cole said. “Once it gets dark, we won’t be able to see them come at us, so that’s gonna be a problem.”
Vaccaro lowered his voice. “Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to hand Herr Barnstormer over to our guys and let them fight it out with the Germans while we slip away. It would sure be easier.”
“Easy ain’t the same as right,” Cole said.
Vaccaro shook his head. “Hillbilly, let me ask you something. What does that German even matter to you?”
“It ain’t about the German. It’s about somebody thinking they can tell me what to do.” After a moment he added, “Tell us what to do.”
“Uh-huh. You have got to be the stubbornest bastard that I’ve ever met. But you know what? I kind of feel the same way about it.”
“Then that makes two of us,” Cole said.
“In that case, I’ll ask again. How do you like our chances?”
“The house is solid, but it’s a lot for us to cover. I’d feel a whole lot better if there were more than two of us who could shoot straight.”
Cole looked over at Lieutenant Rupert, to see if the officer had any ideas to deal with the situation that they were in. Rupert looked pale as the snow outside. It was a reminder that the lieutenant wasn’t a combat soldier. He was an intelligence liaison, whatever that meant, other than the fact that Rupert wouldn’t amount to a hill of beans in a fight. He was holding a carbine, but without any real conviction, like someone who had picked something up at the store and hadn’t made up their mind to buy it or put it back. He also carried a Webley revolver in a holster that looked as if it might be permanently snapped shut.