“Keep doing it, that’s for sure. Tell me again, where did you say you found those documents?”
“We killed some Krauts we ran across, and they had those documents on them.” The story came so easily that Brock himself almost believed it.
“Well, that was lucky. Good job.”
Brock didn’t have a medal yet, but he puffed out his chest a bit as he made his way through the streets of Bastogne, Vern at his side. They’d already left Boot at the field hospital, where it wasn’t looking good for his frostbitten toes. He’d looked for Charlie Knuth, to tell him that he’d found the German who had gunned down those GIs. Knuth had been too weak to ask for details, and Brock hadn’t bothered to explain that he’d let the German officer go in exchange for the captured documents.
Anyhow, like that hillbilly sniper had said, the German would get what was coming to him.
Up the street, Brock spotted a soldier carrying a bottle of wine. The GIs had gone through Bastogne like a plague of locusts, looking for anything to eat or drink, but the soldier had somehow found another bottle in the ruined town. He moved to block the smaller soldier’s path and “liberate” the wine, just as he’d done a couple of days before with a different soldier.
Beside him, Vern chuckled. “Same old Brock,” he muttered.
The comment made Brock stop and think. Was he the same old Brock? He’d made good on his promise to get justice by hunting down the German, even if it wasn’t exactly the justice he had first envisioned. He’d brought his men back, more or less in one piece. Hell, it even sounded like he was going to get a medal.
In the street ahead, the soldier found Brock blocking his path. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Stick that bottle of wine under your coat before somebody tries to take it from you,” Brock said.
The soldier nodded and took Brock’s advice, then went on his way.
Vern was staring at him. “Hey, Brock, you know what? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve gone soft.”
“Not soft, just older and wiser. Anyhow, don’t push it,” Brock growled.
Days after the dismal meeting in Verdun, General Dwight D. Eisenhower surveyed the map again, feeling a sense of relief. The Battle of the Bulge was far from won, and Ike had been forced to throw everything he had at the Germans to halt the advance.
However, the map reflected that Hitler’s Operation Christrose was a fading dream. The wintry roads and lack of fuel had bogged down the German tanks. The snow-covered, rugged Ardennes didn’t play favorites, however. The weather and rough terrain had been just as challenging for the Allied forces. But it was clear that the tide had turned.
Much of that success in stopping the enemy was thanks to General Patton and his Third Army. Patton’s fighting spirit was exactly what had been needed, taking on the enemy panzers wherever his Sherman tanks and tank destroyers encountered them.
Soon the weather would clear enough for the Army Air Corps planes to resume flying. Once that happened, they would begin picking off enemy tanks and trucks like hawks swooping down on the chicken coop.
Then again, it hadn’t been just Patton’s troops who had stopped the Germans. No, each and every soldier who had shivered in his foxhole, holding his position, had done just that. Patton might get all the glory, but Ike was well aware that thousands of unsung heroes were responsible for this victory.
The stand made at Bastogne had also stopped the Germans in their tracks. They had not been able to advance any farther and had been forced to stop and fight once General McAuliffe had given his famous reply to enemy demands for surrender: “Nuts!”
Ike grinned, thinking about the consternation that response must have caused the Germans.
The Battle of the Bulge was being won, slowly but surely. Ike wasn’t quite ready to relax, but he’d actually managed to get some sleep the night before.
He looked at the map, to what was next. Beyond the Ardennes lay the Rhine River.
Then Germany itself.
NOTE TO READERS
Many readers have asked whether there would be more adventures for Caje Cole, to the point where I was encouraged to see if I could go back and write another story or two. There seemed to be a gap in the timeline between the end of Ardennes Sniper and Red Sniper where at least one or two more stories could be set. The result is this book, although it’s a little out of order, taking place well before Cole’s stint in Korea or the events of Sniper’s Justice. However, I hope Cole’s fans will forgive that wrinkle in the reading order of the series in the spirit of allowing space for another tale.
Much of the final section of this book was written in a period that coincided with the eightieth commemoration of D-Day. The publication date also comes eighty years after the Battle of the Bulge was fought in the snowy Ardennes Forest. My heart still goes out to the soldiers when I imagine the cold and miserable conditions they endured. (Ironically, I was doing a lot of the writing during a summer marked by several record-setting heat waves.)
For many of you reading this, your fathers or grandfathers or uncles were suffering in that cold. I appreciate that some of you shared your stories about these heroes and what they went through. These stories must never be forgotten and perhaps, in some small way, these Caje Cole books will honor their memory.
The history of Bastogne and the larger Battle of the Bulge comes from so many sources that they are almost too numerous to list. That said, The Battle of the Bulge by Stephen W. Sears provided much helpful context about the overall campaign. Also useful for its detail, including maps and photographs, was The Ardennes: Battle of the Bulge, a Department of the Army assessment written by Hugh M. Cole. Finally, the scene describing the soldier who used his helmet to bring beer to wounded comrades at Bastogne is based on an actual incident related by Vince Speranza of the 101st Airborne in his book, Nuts: A 101st Airborne Division Machine Gunner at Bastogne, and in YouTube interviews. Be sure to read his book or watch the entertaining videos to learn more.
I want to thank the many people who have been understanding during the writing of what is one of my longer WWII stories. As always, a big thanks goes to Mike, Aidan, and Mary for moral support and for listening to me think out loud and occasionally gripe when things aren’t going well, a small-but-mighty team of advance readers who road tested the story, Castle Walls Editing for correcting my errors and keeping the details straight, Streetlight Graphics for the cover design, Deny Howeth’s photography, and the narration skills of Scott Bennett. Most important of all, thank you for reading and making these stories possible.
— DH
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
David Healey lives in Maryland, where he worked as a journalist for more than twenty years. He is an author member of the International Thriller Writers.
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