They ran to the back of a truck and were pulled inside. The lieutenant joined them this time.
“Where the hell were you guys?” a soldier asked.
“Christmas shopping,” Vaccaro wisecracked. “Better late than never, right? I hope you wanted Santa to bring you some ice and snow, because that’s all that was left.”
The GI was too exhausted to process that Vaccaro was kidding. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Ignore him, he ought to be in the hospital anyhow,” Cole said. “Let’s just say we were takin’ care of business. The business in this case being some of Hitler’s buddies. They won’t be bothering us again.”
It was crowded in the back of the truck, not a terrible situation in this cold. The residual body heat was welcome, and some guys even broke out blankets. They settled onto their seats, trying to get some rest and stay warm. This truck still had its canvas covering, which did zilch to keep the heat in, but it did break the worst of the wind.
“Sleep if you can,” Mulholland said. “Once we get to Bastogne, there won’t be much of that.”
Obersturmbannführer Ingo Bauer considered his options.
For days now they had been pushing through the hills and forests as the Germans advanced. He had called a brief halt while he got his bearings.
Bauer was a tall man in his forties, with dark hair and blue eyes that stood out in a face that seemed permanently tanned and lined from the summer months spent fighting across French fields, despite the fact that it was now winter.
Looking around, he saw that his men were cold and tired, some slumped in the snow or on patches of bare ground. The lack of discipline nagged at him, and he thought the men would be warmer if they had remained standing instead of resting upon the frozen ground, but he held back the command —
He had to remind himself that some were only teenagers, pressed into service. There were still a few veteran soldiers, and he depended on them to keep the youngsters in line.
Toward the rear was a small group of American prisoners that they had swept up in the advance. The prisoners slumped to the snowy road, much like his own men.
What had happened to the unit that had set out so confidently from Germany just a short time ago?
Truth be told, it had taken a toll on him as well.
Had it really been just a few days ago that he had listened as Der Führer unveiled this plan to advance through the Ardennes Forest? Hitler and his planners had made it all sound so certain. Here in the cold and snow, with Allied forces digging in and not giving up, the plan seemed nothing but foolhardy, the Obersturmbannführer thought.
At least they were well equipped, with plenty of food and ammunition. The Germans also knew all about winter gear, and they were much better outfitted than the Allies. They were used to the constant gray of a European winter. The Achilles’ heel of the German campaign was proving to be fuel for the panzers and the tanks’ ability to traverse the narrow forest roads.
The sound of a throat being cleared interrupted his thoughts.
“What are your orders, Herr Obersturmbannführer?” asked Hauptmann Sepp Messner, who had appeared at Bauer’s elbow.
Bauer waited a moment before replying. It was just like Messner to address him formally, even though it was just the two of them talking, in the middle of a forest. He had encouraged the use of first names, but Messner definitely had an iron rod up his ass in that regard.
Bauer wondered whether he would ever hear the sound of his first name again.
He knew that Messner didn’t like him, and the feeling was mutual. Messner was a few years younger, but he was two inches taller and far more handsome than Bauer, not to mention that he came from a much wealthier background — just the sort of young officer who caught the attention of all the young ladies in Berlin. Messner resented the fact that a mere peasant such as Bauer outranked him. Bauer’s surname, in fact, meant “peasant” or “farmer” in German — a fact that Messner surely had not overlooked.
Perhaps it was petty, but it felt good to keep Messner waiting for a reply. He took his time studying the map he held, although he had long since memorized it. Their destination, the town of Bastogne, lay ahead.
“We move forward,” he said finally. “We will see if we can join up with the panzers. They can’t be too far ahead.”
“What about the prisoners?”
Bauer shrugged. The prisoners were the least of his concerns, considering that his unit had lost contact with the larger panzer force ahead as the result of having to sweep a couple of villages that the tanks couldn’t be bothered with. In the process, they had picked up a dozen American GIs who had basically been lost in the forest. “We will take them with us.”
