The man spoke with such simple certainty that it did not sound like bragging or boasting.
Messner glanced ahead at the driver’s seat, where Gettinger had a tense grip on the wheel, his knuckles white. Driving in these conditions was far from easy. The road itself was bad enough, of course, without the added threat of attack at any moment. For all they knew, the woods ahead might be filled with Americans waiting to ambush them.
Gettinger’s apparent driving skills aside, Messner was even more reassured about the man’s overall abilities. Where Dietzel was like a surgical instrument, sharp and precise, Gettinger was more like something blunt, perhaps a hammer or a wooden club. But Messner had no complaints. Time and again, Gettinger had shown himself to be a man who carried out his orders without question — as long as those orders could be easily understood.
To reach the necessary road, they had needed to come at it from the southwest, passing down a number of farm lanes, working their way around Bastogne. Of course, it would have been faster and easier to drive right through the center of town, but that was impossible with the Americans stubbornly holding Bastogne. Messner’s routing problems were simply a microcosm of what was faced by the entire German advance. At one point they even cut across a couple of fields where the ground was frozen enough not to get bogged down. The Kübelwagen barely made it. A heavy panzer wouldn’t have had a prayer.
Progress was frustrating and slow, but Gettinger seemed up to the task with Messner navigating. They were all relieved to arrive at the actual road — without an enemy soldier in sight.
The Kübelwagen then raced down the icy road, the frigid air whistling past their ears. Messner shivered but reminded himself that riding in the open vehicle was superior to walking. Besides, they were well on their way to gaining some measure of revenge.
There was no time to waste. Based on what the informer had told him, it was likely that Bauer and his escorts had a head start. Messner would not allow the hated Obersturmbannführer to slip through his fingers.
As they continued down the road in the direction that the traitor and his American escorts were supposed to have taken, Messner could see that it was surrounded by dense woods. Again, the thought crossed his mind that the conditions were perfect for an ambush.
The stretch of road had been empty, but now a modest farmhouse loomed ahead. No smoke rose from the chimney, despite the cold, so it was apparent the house was empty. This came as no surprise; many of the civilians had fled the fighting. As they came closer, it was clear that the farmhouse had seen better days. One of the shutters hung askew and dangled in the breeze, threatening to come crashing down. Part of the whitewashed stucco facing had cracked off, perhaps the result of nearby shelling or a mortar blast. The field stone wall beneath gaped like an open wound. The rubble made a small pile near the front door, which stood wide open.
Messner might have written the house off as abandoned if it had not been for a furtive movement in the vicinity of the front door.
“Herr Hauptmann,” Dietzel said quietly, his voice full of warning.
“Yes, I saw it too.”
He tapped the driver’s shoulder, signaling for Gettinger to slow down and then stop a couple hundred meters from the farmhouse. They needed to approach cautiously if the house was occupied, possibly by enemy soldiers.
With any luck, that might even be Bauer and his escort inside.
As soon as the Kübelwagen stopped, Dietzel slid out of the back seat with his sniper rifle in hand and disappeared into the trees for cover. Messner followed suit, his own weapon at the ready. Gettinger stayed behind with the Kübelwagen, his own rifle balanced across the hood, ready to provide covering fire if needed.
Snow crunched under their boots as they made their way through the woods toward their target. The cold air burned in Messner’s lungs as he carefully stepped around twigs and branches, trying not to make any noise.
He was not very successful, as proved by the fact that the sniper glanced back at him once or twice, unable to hide his exasperation. Somehow Dietzel managed to move through the trees like smoke.
They reached a fallen log that provided good cover, a spot where they could keep an eye on the farmhouse up ahead. It looked quiet and peaceful enough, but Messner knew that looks could be deceiving. There was definitely someone inside. He pulled out his binoculars and glassed the house, but still didn’t see anything useful.
The noise of the Kübelwagen approaching had certainly given them away and warned whoever was in the house. They would either be busy hiding or escaping out the back — or preparing to open fire. Which would it be?
Messner got his answer when an American GI appeared in the doorway, his rifle leveled, ready for business. He squeezed off a couple of shots in the direction of the Kübelwagen.
