In one swift motion, Dietzel aimed and fired, the sound of the shot echoing through the woods. The GI fell onto the snowy ground in front of the farmhouse.
But there was at least one more soldier in there. There was a muzzle flash from one of the windows, then another. Bullets whistled uncomfortably close, telling them that the soldier inside must have spotted Dietzel’s own muzzle flash from the gloom of the winter woods.
From the Kübelwagen, Gettinger shot back. The GI inside traded a few shots with him, then fired again at the woods, seemingly not sure where to focus his attention. Not for the first time, Messner was impressed by the rapid firing of the semiautomatic M1 rifle that the Americans used.
He was armed with an MP 40 submachine gun, which was not very effective at this range. Nonetheless, he emptied his magazine in the direction of the farmhouse. Silently, he urged Dietzel to shoot, but the sharpshooter would not be hurried. From behind the cover offered by the Kübelwagen, Gettinger also kept shooting.
Then Dietzel fired again, his bullet going in through the window and silencing the American soldier. It was an impressive shot, considering that the target hadn’t been visible, hidden within the shadows of the farmhouse. But Dietzel’s bullet had found him all the same.
Cautiously, they approached the house, weapons at the ready. Could these have been Bauer’s escorts? The traitor might still be alive inside the farmhouse, considering that the Americans would not have armed him.
Dietzel nudged the fallen GI with the toe of his boot, and the man groaned. Though badly wounded, he was still alive.
Not for long. Messner approached and shot the man in the head with his pistol. The pool of blood widened and stained the snow.
They moved inside and found the second soldier, but it was clear that Dietzel’s bullet had killed him outright.
Quickly, they searched the house. The place was small and the search didn’t take long. There was no sign of Bauer and no tracks leading out the back door.
“Let’s go,” Messner said, disappointed that capturing Bauer hadn’t been as easy as this. But he remained confident that their quarry was close. “They can’t be too far ahead of us.”
Gettinger got behind the wheel of the Kübelwagen again, Messner and Dietzel climbed into the back, and they roared off down the road once more.
Cole and Vaccaro were looking forward to some well-deserved rest. Their sniper mission during the night had left them exhausted, but at least now the soldiers and citizens of Bastogne were able to move more freely without fear of being picked off.
That freedom was well worth the price of a little sleep. In fact, the mission had gone so well that they were planning to bring the fight to the Germans once darkness returned by doing some sniping of their own. It was high time that the enemy had something to fear.
They curled up in the basement of the house where they had spent their first night upon arriving in Bastogne. It was cold, dark, musty, and smelled a bit too strongly of the men who had sheltered there, but Vaccaro summed it up best.
“This sure as hell beats a foxhole,” he said.
Cole grunted in agreement, then rolled over and promptly fell asleep.
It felt like just minutes later that Lieutenant Mulholland was kicking their boots to wake them up.
“For pity’s sake, Lieutenant,” Vaccaro complained groggily. “We just went to sleep.”
“No rest for the weary,” Mulholland said. “We’re wanted at HQ. Be sure to grab your gear because you won’t be coming back here.”
Hank heard them and asked, “What about me?”
“Not you, kid. Go back to sleep. Colonel Roberts specifically requested these two knuckleheads. Apparently they have some kind of reputation.”
Leaving Hank behind, the three of them made their way to HQ, where they found Colonel Roberts waiting for them. His mood had not improved since receiving the communiqué earlier.
But he was not alone. In addition to the clerk who was busy typing away, there was also a young British officer. However, their attention was mainly drawn to a tall German officer standing by the fireplace, which continued its struggle to heat the room. Cole, Vaccaro, and Mulholland looked at the German with open curiosity.
At that moment an officer barged in with an urgent message for the colonel, who read the piece of paper thrust into his hands and swore.
Cole took that time to size up the German. The man stood tall and proud, his gaze fixed on the three soldiers before him. His uniform looked impeccable, the brass buttons of his jacket shining brightly in the dim light. The officer’s cap was perched perfectly on his head, a stark contrast to the disheveled clerk, hunched over his typewriter in the corner.
His hands were bound together, a testament to the fact that he was clearly a prisoner. His winter coat was open, revealing a thick white scarf draped around his neck, the only touch of color in the drab room. The scarf gave the officer a dashing, stylish air compared to the Americans.
