Their orders were to get the Kraut to HQ, but Cole felt like the incident on the road had left those orders null and void.
What was one more dead German?
Lieutenant Rupert cleared his throat, seemingly reluctant to speak up. “Erm, Private Cole, may I remind you of your duty?”
Cole’s finger tightened on the trigger.
“Private Cole—”
Still, Cole ignored him.
“Hold on there, Cole,” Vaccaro said quietly. “Maybe you don’t have to shoot him. Not yet, anyhow.”
Cole kept the rifle pointed at the German for another half a minute. If the British officer hadn’t been present, he decided that maybe he would have pulled the trigger. He’d had enough of this Kraut, who had risked all their lives just to keep Cole from shooting that tank commander.
Also, the Kraut was supposed to be responsible for shooting those prisoners outside Bastogne. Maybe he deserved to die right here, right now, in these snowy woods.
But orders were orders. Lieutenant Rupert would have had no choice but to report that Cole had intentionally shot the prisoner. Rupert didn’t seem like the type who would make up a story about the prisoner trying to escape. Though young, he definitely had a stiff pole up his ass in addition to the famous British stiff upper lip.
“You don’t seem scared,” Cole said.
“I am fairly certain that I am already a dead man,” Bauer said, sounding resigned to his fate. “Die now, die later, what is the difference? Any soldier knows that.”
Cole lowered the rifle.
Bauer looked down at the snow, nodding as if in silent thanks, or possibly surprise.
“You lucky son of a bitch,” Vaccaro said, looking down at him. “You get to live another day. Well, maybe not a whole day. Another hour, anyhow. Possibly just on a minute-by-minute basis. We’ll see how it goes.”
Vaccaro turned away and lit a cigarette, the burst of smoke expanding in the cold, heavy air.
Cole didn’t smoke, but fumes seemed to be coming off him anyhow.
“Hold out your hands, please,” Rupert said to the German.
Bauer did as he was told, and the lieutenant bound his wrists together with a length of cord, though it wasn’t nearly as tight as Cole would have made it. Still, the rough cordage bit into his wrists. Then the lieutenant stepped away and lit his own cigarette. He was smoking a Craven A, a brand of cigarette issued to British troops and named after the late Earl of Craven. Generally speaking, the British cigarettes were considered inferior to Lucky Strikes, but Rupert was a loyal Brit and not one eager to admit that anything American was superior.
Nobody offered Bauer a cigarette. Having his hands tied again made it harder for Bauer to get up, but nobody moved to help the German. He struggled slowly to his feet, his movements stiff and heavy with exhaustion from the race through the trees, underlining the fact that he was a good dozen years older than the others. Not such a young man anymore. He had lost his officer’s hat somewhere and his face was crisscrossed with scratches from the tree branches he had run through escaping the hail of gunfire.
“This way,” Cole said, his voice brittle as an icicle.
He started up the lane, his footsteps carving a path through the untrammeled snow.
Silently, the others fell into step behind him.
They followed the snowy lane for nearly a mile without encountering anything other than snowy trees, heckled all the way by curious, hardy birds such as grackles and cardinals. A few jays scolded them. Cole took it as a good sign that the birds seemed to be going about their business unperturbed except by the passage of their own party. They seemed to be alone, without any sign of the enemy, but Cole kept all his senses on high alert. He didn’t want any surprises. The lane was far too narrow to accommodate a tank, but that wasn’t to say there might not be an enemy patrol or scouting party to worry about.
He looked back at the group trailing in his footsteps. He was glad to see that Vaccaro also had his eyes open, scanning the woods. Then came Bauer. Lieutenant Rupert brought up the rear. Although the road was covered in snow, an icy layer somewhere under the white blanket caused their feet to slip at random.
With a satisfied grunt, Cole noted that the German struggled to keep his balance with his hands tied. Cole found it gratifying that the German wasn’t having an easy time of it. He figured it was the next best thing to shooting him.
But Cole’s satisfaction didn’t last long. Having dodged several bullets, both those fired from the road and the one waiting in the chamber of Cole’s rifle, an amused smirk returned to Bauer’s face, as if this excursion was nothing more than a joke. Cole felt infuriated all over again.
Another snow flurry passed through, the cold flakes sending chilly shivers down their necks and exposed faces.
