“They require watching,” Messner said, disapproval apparent from the tone of his voice.
Bauer glanced over at the prisoners. He doubted that they would give anyone much trouble. They looked to be in even worse shape than his own men, if that was possible. The Americans lacked real winter gear, wrapping themselves in blankets and even burlap feed sacks to fend off the damp cold. Bauer supposed that he should let them eat something, but there wasn’t time. The expressions on the Americans’ faces ranged from blank to fearful. None of them looked defiant.
He turned back to Hauptmann Messner. “What else would you have me do with them, Sepp? Tell them to keep up. I want you at the rear to watch for stragglers.”
Of course, he knew very well that Messner was hoping that his commanding officer would order him to shoot the prisoners. Bauer had no such plans. He wasn’t sure how much of his reluctance to shoot the Americans came from a sense of simple decency toward enemy soldiers — and how much was inspired by the urge to annoy Messner.
There was also the fact that the rules of war had remained somewhat gentlemanly between the Germans and Americans. Sometimes there were regrettable incidents where prisoners on both sides had been shot, but those were isolated cases where passions had gotten out of hand or there was no expedient way to deal with prisoners other than to shoot them.
The truth was that the Allies
In any case, these prisoners on the road weren’t Russians. Bauer would have been glad to shoot any Russians himself.
Through gritted teeth, Messner replied, “As you wish, Herr Obersturmbannführer. I will keep them moving.”
The Hauptmann walked off, and Bauer sighed. Having a malcontent as second-in-command only added to his headaches.
He felt that Messner was too reckless by far, taking chances and gambling with the lives of their men. For his own part, Bauer had begun to wonder whether there was a chance, even a slim one, that life would go on after this nightmare of a war was over. That hope was a bit like the faint light you saw on the horizon that hinted at dawn, even while the dark of night still enveloped you.
Of course, survival seemed to be a coin toss at the moment. They still had this day to get through. And if they were lucky, the next one after that. In war, you couldn’t think too far ahead.
Bauer hadn’t given up — he was a good German, after all — but he believed that only a fool could think that Germany would emerge triumphant after the beating they were now taking on two fronts. The way that Bauer saw it, the best option for Germany was some sort of conditional surrender or treaty. He suspected that the window was closing for any kind of negotiated peace, but if this battle in the Ardennes was successful, they still might get at least that.
Hauptmann Messner was one of those fools who still believed that total victory was possible.
Soon Messner was shouting at the prisoners to get on their feet. The unit began to move up the road.
From his maps, Bauer knew that their destination, the village of Bastogne, still lay several miles ahead. The crossroads town was essential to capture. The heavy tanks couldn’t manage the narrow roads through the hills, so the only way forward was through the town. Bauer had been told that, unfortunately for the Germans, the 101st Airborne and other units were putting up a stiff resistance. It would be vital for Bauer’s men to catch up with the panzers to create a more effective attack force.
With the panzers out of sight, the only vehicles that Bauer had at his disposal were a couple of Kübelwagen. Small but sturdy, these vehicles, manufactured in the tens of thousands by Volkswagen, managed to traverse the hilly roads no matter how much mud and slush the winter threw at them.
The Kübelwagen were currently serving as their ambulances, and Bauer had long since given up his seat to make room for the wounded and the worst cases of frostbite. The second Kübelwagen had been Messner’s, and it had taken a direct order for the Hauptmann to give up his vehicle — and then only reluctantly. Messner made the point that Germans who allowed themselves to get frostbite were no different from men who shot themselves in the foot to avoid duty.
“Duly noted, Messner,” Bauer had said, his tone far from patient. “But you need to get out and walk.”
Bauer was not ready to go so far as classifying frostbite cases as dereliction of duty. Nonetheless, he was not happy about the frostbite — those men should have known better than to let their feet get wet. In this cold, wet feet were as effective as a bullet in neutralizing a soldier. He made sure that the sergeants reminded the newer men to change their wool socks whenever they could.
