He kept his rifle ready but drew his knife. Silently, he cursed himself for not tying the German up again. If the tanks proved to be German, there was nothing to stop him from shouting a warning to his comrades or making a run for it.
“Make one peep and I’ll slide my bowie knife between your ribs, easy like,” Cole warned.
“Those tanks will be expecting an ambush,” Bauer said. “It does not matter if they are German or American. The smartest thing to do is to be quiet and let them pass.”
Cole nodded, glad that he and Bauer were on the same page regarding self-preservation.
Time stretched on and Cole had the nagging thought that they were once again falling behind schedule. What the hell was taking those tanks so long to go by? It sounded as if they had stopped. They seemed to be moving cautiously. The sound of engines grew louder before the tanks finally came into sight up the road. He was trying to tell from the engine noises whose tanks they were, but the echo off the hills distorted the sound.
Cole and Bauer were out of sight in the depression left by the windfall, gazing out from between the twisted tree roots at the rim of the hole. Wisely, Vaccaro and Rupert had their heads down behind the tree trunk. He was counting on Vaccaro to prevent the young British officer from doing something stupid, like deciding to take on the tanks and enemy soldiers single-handedly. Rupert didn’t seem like the heroic type, but now would be a terrible time for him to get any notions that he was Prince Valiant.
Cole’s heart sank when he saw that the approaching tanks were German panzers. This close, the things looked massive. Their 88 mm guns appeared big as tree trunks. The tanks carried machine guns as well, looking beastly and sinister.
There were three tanks, surrounded by a knot of supporting infantry. The soldiers were busy scanning the woods along the road for any sign of trouble. Wearing their white winter camouflage, some with white scarves over their faces, the German soldiers appeared inhuman or almost otherworldly, like wraiths moving through the woods. The businesslike dark stocks of their weapons stood out in sharp contrast. A few carried Panzerfaust to help the tanks deal with any US armor they encountered.
The name “stormtrooper” seemed apt as the wind blew and snow swirled around the foot soldiers. In this world of white, they were no longer men; it was as if they had been reduced to killing machines.
The harsh reality of the situation was that if it came down to a fight, Cole’s group was outnumbered and seriously outgunned. But they had to stay put. If they tried to make a run for it now, they would be seen and chopped into mincemeat.
He took his eye off the scope long enough to glance over at Bauer, who watched the German troops on the road intently, calculation evident in his eyes as if weighing his chances of escape.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Cole whispered.
“Be quiet,” Bauer snapped. “They will shoot us both.”
That had sounded an awful lot like an order, which rankled Cole. The German officer seemed to have forgotten just who was in charge here.
Who the hell did this Kraut think he was? Cole debated going ahead and sticking that knife between Bauer’s ribs just to shut him up for good.
But this was not the time for that. Reluctantly, he had to admit that Bauer was right about the need to keep quiet. The tanks would pass no more than fifty feet away from their hiding place at the side of the road. This was a time to hide rather than fight.
He looked over at Vaccaro, who seemed to be doing his best to sink into the snowy ground behind the log. Vaccaro caught his eye with an expression that seemed to say,
Cole felt the same way. He wished that they had retreated deeper into the forest. Better yet, not to have left Bastogne in the first place. They would just have to lie low until the Germans went past.
Vaccaro didn’t give any indication that he was planning anything stupid. Cole still gave him a shake of his head to encourage that line of thinking.
Cole returned his eye to the rifle scope and scanned the approaching column. As soon as he did so, he felt Bauer go tense beside him. Obviously the man did not like the idea of watching idly while an American shot his comrades.
“Don’t get riled,” Cole whispered. “I’m just keeping an eye on your friends there.”
He sensed Bauer relax ever so slightly.
Cole moved the reticle from one target to the next, but held his fire. The men weren’t far away to begin with, and they sprang much closer through the scope to the point where he could see the details of their faces. These were not old men or boys rushed into uniform. They had the look of battle-hardened troops.
His sights settled on the lead tank. It would be so easy to pick off the tank commander, who stood exposed in the hatch. Cole’s finger itched on the trigger, resisting the urge.
