Lieutenant Rupert now had his carbine trained on Brock, the expression on his face making it clear that he was struggling not to shoot the man.
“Easy there, Lieutenant,” Cole said, not taking his eyes off Brock. He had decided that there were too many guns pointing at too many people for this to have a good outcome.
Slowly Brock turned his submachine gun and aimed it directly at Cole. “I guess we have a situation here,” Brock stated into the ringing silence that followed the burst of fire, his voice steady.
In the cover offered by the woods, Obersturmbannführer Bauer grappled with his decision to seize the documents and flee. His sense of honor was at war with itself; he had surrendered willingly and fought alongside the Americans, who had reciprocated with trust, leaving him unbound and armed. Yet, in the throes of war, how far did that trust go? His duty as a German officer gnawed at him, compelling him to secure the vital plans and maps to prevent them from falling into American hands. To Bauer, allegiance to the Reich outweighed any debt to the Americans.
Suddenly the crack of gunfire pierced the silence around him, then ceased. The firing had come from the direction of the road, where he had left the others behind. Bauer’s heart raced. Should he continue his escape, or had something gone awry on the road?
Compelled by an inexplicable urge, he sighed and turned back, retracing his steps. He realized that he hadn’t gotten very far. He was sure that the hillbilly sniper would have caught up to him in no time at all. His revolver would not have been much use against a sniper rifle. He chided himself for making his escape attempt purely on impulse.
Reaching the road, Bauer peered through the dense foliage, taken aback by the sight of a small band of American soldiers in a standoff with Cole’s squad, weapons drawn. The gunshots made sense now, although it didn’t appear that anyone had been shot — yet.
“What on earth is happening?” he murmured, curiosity winning out over caution. With another sigh, this one of resignation, he stepped onto the road, his sudden emergence startling the Americans. They hesitated, unsure where to direct their aim — except for Cole and Brock, whose weapons remained steadfastly trained on each other.
Several guns now targeted him, but Bauer, with the satchel of documents in hand, slowly raised his arms in a gesture of surrender. “What is going on here?” he inquired calmly, as if walking into the midst of a standoff between rival Americans was a normal occurrence for him.
“These boys want to shoot you for what you did to their buddies,” Cole replied, his voice firm. “They sure as hell tried, back at the château. But I can’t let them, tempted though I may be. My orders are to bring you in, and that’s just what I aim to do.”
Bauer gave Cole a nod of acknowledgment. “I respect your sense of duty, Private Cole,” he said, “but perhaps we can negotiate.”
Brock seemed to sense that he had the upper hand and scoffed. “Negotiate? What terms could you possibly offer, aside from a bullet?”
Bauer’s gaze never wavered from Brock as he spoke, his voice steady. “In my hand, I hold documents of great importance — maps and plans salvaged from wreckage we found on the road. What if I were to hand them over? Everyone could lower their guns. You could present them to your superiors and be hailed as heroes for capturing invaluable enemy intelligence.”
A flicker of interest crossed Brock’s face as the German’s offer sank in. The Obersturmbannführer had cast his line, and it seemed Brock was considering the bait. “And what about you?” Brock asked. “I suppose you think we should just let you go?”
“Let Cole escort me to headquarters, as he’s so determined to do,” Bauer proposed. “What do you say to my proposal?”
Brock’s brow furrowed. “It doesn’t sit right with me,” he admitted. “The men you’ve killed… you need to pay a price for that.”
Bauer winced, as though the memory of what had happened to the American prisoners inflicted physical pain. “Yes, that was regrettable, against my wishes,” he confessed. “Rest assured that there will be a reckoning. Once I reach your headquarters, I will face interrogation, and justice will prevail. The Allies will probably execute me, if not tomorrow, then after the war — which, should this offensive fail, could be sooner than we think. So, you see, there will be justice for your comrades. You will have your vengeance, albeit at the end of a rope rather than your rifle.”
Everyone seemed to think that over. The standoff stretched on, weapons still aimed at one another with deadly intent, the air thick with tension, until one soldier spoke up. “He’s making sense, Brock. Let’s just hand this bastard over to headquarters. He’ll get what he deserves,” he said, his voice betraying his anxiety amid the pointed weapons.
Brock pondered, then asked, “What exactly are these documents?”
“The maps detail supply depots as well as crossing points for the rivers, along with written orders and a timeline for critical objectives. With this information, your forces can thwart my countrymen’s advance,” Bauer explained.
Brock nodded slowly, turning to Cole. “Is this true?”
“It is,” Cole confirmed. “That’s why he fled into the woods with them.”
Having reached a mutual understanding, Brock lowered his submachine gun, and Cole followed suit, pointing his rifle at the ground. The others did the same. Brock approached Bauer, who still held his hands high, and snatched the satchel.
But he also wanted something more than just the documents.
Stepping back, the big man landed a solid punch on Bauer’s chin, knocking the German into the snow.
“That’s a down payment on that justice you talked about,” Brock said, sneering down at him. Then, hefting the satchel stuffed with documents, Brock turned to Cole and declared, “We’ll take these and head back to Bastogne. As for getting this Kraut bastard to headquarters, you’re going to need all the luck you can get. The woods are still crawling with Germans, and it’s cold as hell out here.”
As if to prove his point, Brock gestured toward the road winding into the dark, snowy forest. In the distance, the sounds of battle echoed — a cacophony of gunfire and the distant rumble of artillery. They’d had their moment of drama here on the road, but there was still much to worry about.
Brock and his men prepared to leave. Before Brock could depart, Lena’s voice cut through the tension. “My mother — what of her?”
Brock paused, appearing oddly puzzled by the question, then replied, “You keep asking about your mother, little girl. But I have to tell you, there was no one in the house when we went through it.”
Lena’s expression relaxed, a silent acknowledgment that her mother’s hiding place had been effective.
Cole and his men watched as Brock and his companions turned and disappeared up the road toward Bastogne.
“I reckon that’s that,” Cole muttered, realizing that his heart was thundering. He hadn’t noticed it before, but it was no surprise. He had been a hair’s breadth from pulling the trigger on Corporal Brock. Now, turning to Bauer, he wondered aloud, “What should I do with you? I should just shoot you.”
Bauer gave him that annoying smile, which only made Cole want to shoot him even more. “Remember my words to the corporal,” Bauer said. “Justice will be served, just maybe not today.”
“I reckon you’re right about that.” Cole nodded, a grim agreement hanging in the air. Nearby, Vaccaro shook his head. “You don’t always have to be so damn righteous, Cole.”
Cole ignored him, his gaze fixed on Bauer, who just shrugged and looked away. Rupert chimed in, “Shouldn’t we tie him up again? We should take back my gun, at the very least.”
Cole shook his head. “He came back on his own, didn’t he? He gave himself up to save our sorry asses from shooting one another. There’s no need to tie him up again.” To Bauer, he added, “Keep the gun. You might need it before the day’s out.”