From scraps of fabric, one could sew a quilt, and that was exactly what Dauvin did with the scraps of information that he gathered. A few townspeople running errands for the Americans liked to gossip and inflate their own importance. Even a soldier on guard duty let slip a bit too much when trading a bottle of the local juniper-flavored Jenever liquor for packs of cigarettes. Dauvin would trade the cigarettes later for something to eat.
Through his wheeling and dealing, he soon had the name of the German officer and the reason the Americans took such an interest in him. He also learned of the plan to spirit the German out of Bastogne.
That night he made his way through the no-man’s-land between Bastogne and the German lines. It was dangerous, to be sure, but hunger and the need to feed one’s family was a great motivator.
The German that the spy reported to in this case was Hauptmann Messner. What Dauvin did not know was that since most of Messner’s unit had been lost in the devastating fight in the clearing, he had been put to use as a kind of factotum, and this included interviewing the occasional German sympathizers who wandered in to exchange tips for food.
Messner found that he liked the independence and even the small amount of power that his new role provided. The information that he gathered gave him the ear of higher-ranking officers.
Soon enough, he would be back in the fight. Every German soldier in the Ardennes Forest would need to fight, if they hoped to win. Until he was reassigned to a combat role, Messner got a new perspective on the war.
He was surprised that a few old men and boys had even volunteered to fight alongside the Germans, but he had sent them away. Still, he had admired their spirit. As for men like this informant, he found them barely tolerable, like dogs hoping for a few table scraps.
Messner’s eyes had widened at the news of the German officer being held prisoner by the Americans, especially when he heard the prisoner’s name.
“That traitor?” Messner muttered upon hearing Bauer identified. “I thought he was dead!”
“No, sir. He is being moved.” The informant quickly summed up the plan.
The informant was rewarded with a loaf of stale bread, some Landjäger, or dried sausages, and a few tins of rations. He put them all into a cloth sack and began his return journey to Bastogne. If he made it through no-man’s-land once again, his family would eat for a few more days.
He’d been lucky to leave in one piece. With his back turned, he had not seen the German officer’s hand go to the snap on the holster of his pistol. In Messner’s mind, a rat was a rat, even one that had provided him with information. For all he knew, this rat would be turning around and providing the Americans with information about the Germans. A rat could not be trusted.
One less rat would be doing the world a favor. After all, what was the life of a rat even worth?
But he let his hand fall, thinking that the man might yet prove useful.
Messner debated what to do with the information. He had disliked Obersturmbannführer Bauer, whom he considered to be an officer who had lost his nerve to the point that he was actively undermining the German advance — at least the portion of the advance that he commanded.
The memory of how he had been in constant conflict with Bauer brought a fresh wave of bitterness to his mind. In Messner’s imagination, Bauer had seemed to go out of his way to thwart Messner whenever he could, seeming to think that the younger officer was too bold. The shooting of the prisoners outside Bastogne had been one occasion when Messner had been a step ahead of the Obersturmbannführer.
Recalling the look of shock on Bauer’s face at the sight of the dead prisoners, Messner smiled.
To hear that Bauer was still alive and being held by the Americans was quite surprising. He’d been sure that the Obersturmbannführer had died in the confusing last moments of the battle as he attempted to surrender. Then again, wasn’t it enough that Bauer was now a prisoner of the Americans?
Messner might simply have passed along this intelligence about Bauer now being a prisoner, but he was sure that it would scarcely be noticed. What his superiors really wanted to know was how many US troops were in Bastogne, their readiness to fight, how many tanks had reached the city, how many more were expected — the rat had provided no useful information about that.
At most, the information that Bauer had been captured might be included in an official report. With American reinforcements beginning to reach Bastogne, there were bigger concerns than a single captured German officer. The fight was widening, and the German advance was in peril.
For all that anyone would care, Bauer might as well have been dead.
Who was to say that couldn’t still happen?
