The colonel then issued curt orders to the German to go with them. The German gave a single nod, showing that he understood. Apparently the Kraut spoke English well enough.
Moments later Cole, Vaccaro, and Mulholland found themselves standing outside HQ in the slush and cold, their numbers having been increased by one German prisoner and a British officer. The presence of the German caused several stares, not to mention a few hard looks. Many of the men on this street held a grudge against the Germans. They had lost friends to the enemy, after all. Others felt that the German attack through the Ardennes had been a dirty trick. The attitude seemed to be that the only good German was a dead German.
But they were supposed to keep this German alive.
Cole shook his head. How the hell had they ended up with this assignment?
Lieutenant Rupert was called away by one of the HQ clerks, who was trying to find him a warm hat and something more suitable to the winter conditions than his kidskin dress gloves. Cole and Vaccaro would just have to make do with what they already had.
It turned out that the German had better winter gear than the Americans. He had been allowed to keep his haversack, from which he produced another scarf, woolen mittens, a warm coat with a hood, even goggles against blowing snow and ice. It was more proof that the Germans had been well prepared for this winter campaign. His hands remained bound in front of him. The footing was slippery, and the German moved slowly, struggling to keep his balance.
Cole prodded him with the butt of his rifle. “We might be stuck with you, but you sure as hell ain’t gonna slow us down,” he said.
The German didn’t respond other than to pick up the pace.
“This is a hell of a mess,” Vaccaro said. “How did we end up having to babysit this Kraut.”
“Just lucky, I reckon.”
“What else is new?”
As it turned out, their mission nearly ended before it even got started. They had not gone far when several soldiers approached, making a beeline for them.
“What do you suppose they want?” Vaccaro muttered.
“Nothin’ good,” Cole replied. Instinctively, he tightened his grip on his rifle.
He was soon proved right. The biggest soldier in the group, apparently the ringleader, squared off in front of them, blocking their way.
“Where are you going with that Kraut?” he demanded.
“We have orders to move him,” Cole replied.
“We saw you come out of HQ,” the soldier said. “Where the hell else would you take him?”
“Like I said, we’ve got orders.” Cole didn’t elaborate.
“Listen, you probably don’t know this Kraut is responsible for murdering some of our guys.”
“So I heard. What about it?”
Seeing that Cole was going to operate by the book, the soldier changed tactics and adopted a friendly, reasonable tone. “Hey, I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot here. My guys call me Brock.”
“Cole. This here is Vaccaro.”
“OK, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Making proper introductions and all. We’re all on the same side here, Cole. You can see that, right?”
“What’s your point, Brock?”
“My point is that it sounds to me as if you and your buddy drew the short end of the stick and got stuck hauling this Kraut piece of crap to wherever he’s supposed to go. My guess is you’re supposed to take him to Corps HQ. That’s a long way off, and it’s a shit show out there, believe me. You look like you’ve already seen your share of that show. Why don’t you save yourselves some trouble and hand him over to me.”
“What are you gonna do with him?”
Brock’s friendly tone lapsed and he grew angry. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’d rather that you told me. Who knows, I might even like what you’ve got planned.”
“Listen, buddy. Hand the Kraut over to me. Nobody is going to ask questions. Just say that the German got lost in the mail.”
“Does he look like a postcard to you?”
“Aw, for the love of Pete.” Brock had run out of patience. He stepped forward, rifle aimed at the prisoner’s head. “Why don’t you say something? Huh? You damn Kraut. I’m sure you can speak some English. Go ahead and say something.”
But the German officer remained silent, his expression unchanged. It was as if talking to Brock wasn’t worth the effort.
“We know you killed our boys back there,” Brock said, trying a different tactic. “Didn’t you?”
Still no response.
Frustrated, Brock reversed his rifle and prepared to hit the prisoner square in the face with the rifle butt. “Say something!” he shouted.
Cole stepped between them before Brock could strike. “That’s enough,” Cole said sternly. “You know what, I think I figured out what you’re gonna do with him.”
“It’s easier if you don’t know, buddy. But let’s just say this Kraut is going to die trying to escape. We might rough him up a little first, for what he did to our guys, but never mind about that. Think of all the trouble you’re going to save yourselves from going through, considering that you’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of getting from Bastogne to Neufchâteau in one piece.”
