After a while, the detectives tossed away their cigarettes and marched purposefully toward Cole.
“Did you know this man was former Stasi?” they asked. “The German authorities wanted to ask him some questions, it seems. He was a Nazi, perhaps a war criminal, and then a member of the East German Secret Police. He was not what you Americans would call a Boy Scout.”
“News to me, son.”
“We know about you, too. Some important people are very concerned about you. You were here during the war. You helped fight to free France. A war hero.”
“Long time ago,” Cole said.
“Some of us have long memories.” The one who seemed to be the senior detective pointed at Hauer’s body, then looked Cole right in the eye and announced, “Hunting accident.”
Once that was settled, everybody seemed to relax. The senior detective produced a flask and they all had a nip — even Danny.
“Don’t tell your gran,” Cole muttered, already feeling better as the alcohol and the shiny blanket warmed him.
Then the people in the red jackets loaded up Hauer’s body and everybody bundled into the vehicles and drove slowly out of the valley.
Cole glanced back once at the mountain peaks, oddly saddened to see them go.
An ambulance waited to transport Cole to the hospital to be treated for his wounds. The rescue team had bandaged him up, but his arm and shoulder needed more expert medical attention. First, they had some other business to attend to. They gathered in the lodge lobby, near the big fire in the hearth, which helped to warm their chilled bones.
Danny got a hug from Angela, and even a kiss right there in the middle of the lobby. Judging from the red blush that spread across his grandson’s face, Angela had warmed him up plenty.
Hans was also waiting.
“Hans, I’m sorry your rifle got a little banged up,” Cole said.
“My friend, that is the least of anyone’s worries. I am glad that you are all right.”
Hans explained how he had called Colonel Mulholland, who had pulled some strings so that a search-and-rescue operation was finally set into motion.
“I have to thank you, Hans,” Cole said. “It would have been a long walk back from that valley.”
“What in the world happened?”
Cole told the actual story, which was definitely not what he had related to the French police. Hans listened quietly. When Cole had finished, all that Hans said was, “I never trusted that Hauer.”
“I should have listened to you,” Cole admitted. “But it’s all done now. He ain’t going to cause any more trouble.”
“Now, you need to go to the hospital and see to that arm.”
“Oh, it can wait,” Cole said. “Let’s all have some breakfast first.”
Once Cole was back from the hospital and had recuperated for a couple of days, the two old soldiers had one last mission together. They made it alone, leaving Danny and Angela to their own devices. Cole felt that Danny needed some time just to be a kid and forget about what had happened.
Danny had been quieter than usual as the enormity of what he had done sank in. Taking a life was never easy, even in self-defense. When Danny had retreated to his room to watch MTV and eat pizza, Cole had let him be, not sure what else he could say or do for his grandson. Cole was thankful that the upcoming day with Angela had snapped him out of his brooding.
“Are you sure those two don’t need a chaperone?” Cole asked Hans. “Are you comfortable leaving your niece alone with my grandson? He is a teenage boy, after all.”
Hans shrugged. “They are young,” he said. “Let them do what young people do. Besides, your grandson is a gentleman. The business we are attending to concerns the past. Let them enjoy the present.”
“Amen to that,” Cole agreed.
At the wheel of the Volvo again, Hans drove them down winding mountain roads to the village called Wingen sur Moder. The place was too far off the beaten path to be much of a tourist destination. Cole had been there forty years ago, but none of the modern roads approaching the village looked familiar. Nonetheless, it was a lovely village, set among the hills, with one of every shop that the villagers might need in this remote location. It was also small enough that the arrival of an automobile with German registration plates did not go unnoticed. A couple of old-timers scowled in their direction.
“They noticed the car’s Nummernschilder,” Hans said, using the German slang for vehicle tags. “I do not think they like Germans very much.”
“They’d be a lot less friendly if we had driven up in a Panzer.”
“Good point,” Hans agreed.
The looks that the foreign car received were in part because this village had not been so peaceful back in the winter of 1945. In January, German forces had pushed deep through this countryside as Operation Nordwind drove further into the Allied lines just as the Allies thought that the Battle of the Bulge had been won. Although it had little strategic value, this village had found itself caught in the middle of a battle that raged all around them. The battle had moved from the hills, to the narrow streets, and even into the houses themselves. The roar of tank engines, machine-gun fire, and individual rifle shots had shattered the mountain quiet. In addition to the soldiers on both sides, many villagers had died. Others had lost their homes and shops. It had taken the villagers many years to recover from the war’s devastation.
At the village center, Hans parked the Volvo and got out with Cole. The village itself looked much as Cole remembered it. Several more trees had been planted, however, softening the street. The cobblestones were gone, replaced by modern paving with parking spaces marked in bright paint.
A few of the older villagers noticed them, and now that Cole and Hans had left the car with German tags behind, nodded in grim acknowledgment. They knew well enough why two old strangers were here. These aging villagers still remembered that day many years before.
The smell of woodsmoke transported him to another time and place. Cole stood thoughtfully, remembering the fight that had taken place there. He was lost for a moment in the sounds of battle, rifles firing, the ratatatat of machine guns, even the deep boom of tanks and mortars.
He glanced up at the church steeple, seeing what a clear shot Hauer must have had. It all seemed like yesterday.
With an effort, he shook his head to clear it and return to the present. The flashback had been so intense that he was startled to find the village so quiet and calm. A few people strolled the sidewalks, bundled against the chill autumn air, chatting quietly.
Hans had been watching him, but the old German soldier made no comment. Perhaps he had been lost in his own memories as well. Both men realized that as their generation faded, so would the last living memories of that war vanish.
They made their way to the small stone monument near the church that marked the graves of those who had died during the battle. Years before, a marker had been placed with the names engraved on it of the U.S. soldiers who had given their lives there. Cole didn’t know the name of the young soldier who had died at the side of the nun, but surely his name was included. Cole had brought along a small American flag, which he now placed at the foot of the marker.
Then he moved on to the second marker, on which the names of villagers who had died in the fight were written. He had left his cheaters in the damn car, so he had to get on his knees to read the names. He quickly spotted Sister Anne Marie’s name among the fallen.
Of course, Cole hadn’t known her beyond that brief meeting all those years ago. But she had clearly been a selfless young woman, called to serve a greater good by helping the American prisoners. One more life lost among many. Hauer had murdered her, plain and simple. A few days ago, Cole had finally been able to deliver his final sniper’s justice.