Bauer shook his head. “My subordinate, Messner, took it upon himself to shoot the prisoners. He is a hardliner who would have been better off in the ranks of the SS. Of course, he was under my command, so the responsibility for his actions falls on me, but I did not condone it.”
“Passing the buck, huh?”
“I cannot change what happened. That does not mean I am not sorry for it. Prisoners should be treated with respect.”
“Easy to say when you’re the prisoner.”
“Well, there is that.” Bauer smiled.
With their meal finished, the men took time to relax before turning in. The only light came from the fireplace and the two candles that Cole had lit — despite the shutters covering the windows, more light than that might be tempting fate, considering that there could be enemy patrols in the woods or even Luftwaffe fighters passing overhead. No point in drawing curiosity to themselves unnecessarily. The warmth from the leaping flames in the fireplace had dispelled the cold and damp so that the room was actually pleasant. In fact, these were the most comfortable surroundings that he and Vaccaro had experienced in days, if not weeks.
Rupert pulled a chair close to the fireplace to take advantage of the warmth and light, then took out a small book and began reading it. Clearly he was instantly engaged by the words on the page. Watching him, Cole realized how envious he was of the ability people had to get lost in a book — pulled out of themselves for a while. To someone without that ability, it seemed like an incredible gift. He vowed that someday, after the war, he would put his pride aside and find someone to teach him how to read.
Vaccaro lounged on a sofa and smoked a cigarette. That city boy always preferred the sound of his own voice to anyone else’s, much less words on a page, but for now he seemed content to smoke and contemplate.
The German was doing the same. Cole debated tying him back up — he didn’t want that Kraut bastard sneaking into the kitchen, finding a knife, and cutting all their throats in the night. But for now he thought it was safe enough to give the man his freedom.
Cole had given up cigarettes because they cut his wind. Instead of smoking, he began cleaning his sniper rifle, although it had not seen much use that day. Still, the winter weather and dampness took their toll. He field-stripped the rifle and ran an oily patch through the bore, noting with satisfaction that it came out clean. He then gave the bolt and action, plus the exterior surfaces of the rifle, a once-over with an oily rag to ward off any rust.
Looking up, he noticed the German watching him.
“You look as if you have cleaned that rifle many times,” Bauer remarked.
“You don’t know the half of it, Herr Barnstormer,” Vaccaro said, picking up on Cole’s nickname for the German. “Cole here has got the cleanest rifle in the whole damn army this side of boot camp.”
“The cleanest rifle? Of that I have no doubt,” Bauer said. “It is a good soldier who takes proper care of his weapon.”
Cole ignored them. He swung the barrel toward the firelight and peered through it, admiring the elegant twists of the rifling. The dancing flames reflected on the bright metal. He thought about the power those simple twists gave a rifle. Looking through the barrel was like gazing into a whirlpool — or a tornado.
“Cole is also the best shot in the whole damn army,” Vaccaro said, bragging now. “He’s not just a pretty face.”
“How many Germans have you shot with that rifle?” Bauer asked matter-of-factly.
“He stopped counting at twenty, or was it thirty? I don’t remember exactly,” Vaccaro said. “But it’s a lot more than that.”
“Is that right? You stopped counting? But why? German snipers are expected to report their kills,” Bauer said.
Finally, Cole spoke up. “It ain’t a game,” he said. “There ain’t no score. If I shoot some Kraut bastard before he shoots me, I reckon that’s good enough.”
“So many,” Bauer said. The shadows cast on his face by the firelight made him appear suddenly older, and sad. “So many dead.”
Cole reassembled his rifle, satisfied that it was clean. In the morning, he would put it to work again. He leaned it against a sofa, within easy reach.
He now felt relaxed and not a little sleepy. Since he had volunteered himself to keep the first watch, he looked over toward Rupert, who was closest to the fireplace, and asked, “Lieutenant, you got any coffee left in that pot?”
Rupert put down his book and reached over to give the coffeepot a shake. He had just opened his mouth to respond, but before any words came out, they all heard a distinct creak.
It sounded like there was somebody upstairs.
They all held their breath for the span of several heartbeats.
“Did you hear that?” Vaccaro whispered.
