Several guns now targeted him, but Bauer, with the satchel of documents in hand, slowly raised his arms in a gesture of surrender. “What is going on here?” he inquired calmly, as if walking into the midst of a standoff between rival Americans was a normal occurrence for him.
“These boys want to shoot you for what you did to their buddies,” Cole replied, his voice firm. “They sure as hell tried, back at the château. But I can’t let them, tempted though I may be. My orders are to bring you in, and that’s just what I aim to do.”
Bauer gave Cole a nod of acknowledgment. “I respect your sense of duty, Private Cole,” he said, “but perhaps we can negotiate.”
Brock seemed to sense that he had the upper hand and scoffed. “Negotiate? What terms could you possibly offer, aside from a bullet?”
Bauer’s gaze never wavered from Brock as he spoke, his voice steady. “In my hand, I hold documents of great importance — maps and plans salvaged from wreckage we found on the road. What if I were to hand them over? Everyone could lower their guns. You could present them to your superiors and be hailed as heroes for capturing invaluable enemy intelligence.”
A flicker of interest crossed Brock’s face as the German’s offer sank in. The Obersturmbannführer had cast his line, and it seemed Brock was considering the bait. “And what about you?” Brock asked. “I suppose you think we should just let you go?”
“Let Cole escort me to headquarters, as he’s so determined to do,” Bauer proposed. “What do you say to my proposal?”
Brock’s brow furrowed. “It doesn’t sit right with me,” he admitted. “The men you’ve killed… you need to pay a price for that.”
Bauer winced, as though the memory of what had happened to the American prisoners inflicted physical pain. “Yes, that was regrettable, against my wishes,” he confessed. “Rest assured that there will be a reckoning. Once I reach your headquarters, I will face interrogation, and justice will prevail. The Allies will probably execute me, if not tomorrow, then after the war — which, should this offensive fail, could be sooner than we think. So, you see, there will be justice for your comrades. You will have your vengeance, albeit at the end of a rope rather than your rifle.”
Everyone seemed to think that over. The standoff stretched on, weapons still aimed at one another with deadly intent, the air thick with tension, until one soldier spoke up. “He’s making sense, Brock. Let’s just hand this bastard over to headquarters. He’ll get what he deserves,” he said, his voice betraying his anxiety amid the pointed weapons.
Brock pondered, then asked, “What exactly are these documents?”
“The maps detail supply depots as well as crossing points for the rivers, along with written orders and a timeline for critical objectives. With this information, your forces can thwart my countrymen’s advance,” Bauer explained.
Brock nodded slowly, turning to Cole. “Is this true?”
“It is,” Cole confirmed. “That’s why he fled into the woods with them.”
Having reached a mutual understanding, Brock lowered his submachine gun, and Cole followed suit, pointing his rifle at the ground. The others did the same. Brock approached Bauer, who still held his hands high, and snatched the satchel.
But he also wanted something more than just the documents.
Stepping back, the big man landed a solid punch on Bauer’s chin, knocking the German into the snow.
“That’s a down payment on that justice you talked about,” Brock said, sneering down at him. Then, hefting the satchel stuffed with documents, Brock turned to Cole and declared, “We’ll take these and head back to Bastogne. As for getting this Kraut bastard to headquarters, you’re going to need all the luck you can get. The woods are still crawling with Germans, and it’s cold as hell out here.”
As if to prove his point, Brock gestured toward the road winding into the dark, snowy forest. In the distance, the sounds of battle echoed — a cacophony of gunfire and the distant rumble of artillery. They’d had their moment of drama here on the road, but there was still much to worry about.
Brock and his men prepared to leave. Before Brock could depart, Lena’s voice cut through the tension. “My mother — what of her?”
Brock paused, appearing oddly puzzled by the question, then replied, “You keep asking about your mother, little girl. But I have to tell you, there was no one in the house when we went through it.”
Lena’s expression relaxed, a silent acknowledgment that her mother’s hiding place had been effective.
Cole and his men watched as Brock and his companions turned and disappeared up the road toward Bastogne.
“I reckon that’s that,” Cole muttered, realizing that his heart was thundering. He hadn’t noticed it before, but it was no surprise. He had been a hair’s breadth from pulling the trigger on Corporal Brock. Now, turning to Bauer, he wondered aloud, “What should I do with you? I should just shoot you.”
