Cole spotted movement in the distance, confirming that the Krauts were indeed coming after them. They had to keep moving. “We can’t stop yet,” he declared. “Let’s go.” He fired a few shots in the direction of the pursuing Germans before continuing onward with his team. Cole hoped the shots would deter their pursuers, even if he hadn’t hit them.
Their group pressed on through the dense woods until Bauer, breathless from the effort of supporting the lieutenant, insisted, “We must stop. He can’t go on without a break.” He glanced at Cole. “And frankly, neither can I.”
Cole nodded, conceding to a brief respite. It risked giving the Germans time to close in, but they had little choice. He swiftly replaced the blood-soaked bandage on the lieutenant’s wound with a fresh one. Then, settling on a fallen log, rifle resting on his knees, Cole took a deep gulp from his canteen. To his surprise, Bauer joined him, accepting the offered canteen with a nod.
The German then retrieved a flask from his tunic, offering it to Cole after a swift swig. “It’s not poison,” he assured him, “just schnapps.” The sharp liquor eased the rawness in Cole’s throat, the warmth cutting through the cold.
“It’s a hell of a thing,” Cole mused aloud. “Your comrades back there are relentless. They just won’t let it go, will they?”
“That’s Messner for you — determined, proud. The epitome of a German officer,” Bauer said, a wry smile playing on his lips. Oddly enough, he sounded admiring of his fellow Germans, even when they seemed determined to kill them.
Cole shook his head in self-reproach. “I should never have let them get the drop on us.”
“Do not be too hard on yourself,” Bauer replied. “That Jaeger is quite clever. Without you, we’d have been captured, or worse, long ago. You are unlike any American I have met. Had we known there were many like you, perhaps we would have reconsidered the war.”
Cole managed a half smile, but weariness and cold gnawed at him. Bauer’s gaze sharpened. “Messner only wants me. If I surrender, he will spare you and the others.”
“I’m not so sure about that. Anyhow, it’s not an option,” Cole said firmly. “We’ve been over this ground before. It wouldn’t be right.”
Bauer nodded. He tucked away his flask and checked his revolver, swinging open the cylinder, ensuring it was ready. “Then we shall face him together.”
The Obersturmbannführer’s assessment of Hauptmann Messner being proud and determined was all too accurate. Like a hunting dog with the scent of the quarry in his nose, Messner hurried to follow the tracks in the snow. Behind him, Dietzel followed more cautiously, not as eager to walk forward into the woods. The Jaeger’s eyes stared into the distance, as if willing the trees to part and give him a clear view of what lay ahead. He knew all too well that they might be walking into the other sniper’s sights.
Messner didn’t have the patience for caution. “Hurry it up, for God’s sake! I don’t want to spend another night in these godforsaken woods, not with so many Ami soldiers around. Besides, my toes are getting so cold that I can’t feel them. The sooner that we catch up to them and put an end to things, the better. Then we can find a fire somewhere and some hot food.”
“As you say, Herr Hauptmann,” the Jaeger said, but he didn’t walk any faster, much to Messner’s frustration.
“You are moving like an old lady.”
“Sir, you know that they outnumber us now?”
“Since when were two German soldiers outnumbered by less than twenty men?” Messner asked incredulously. It was a common notion that one good Soldat was worth several American GIs.
Dietzel remained silent, as if he wasn’t so sure.
Messner was not about to slow his pace, but he had to admit that the American sniper, at least, was a formidable opponent. Gettinger was dead, having been shot in the head by the American sniper during the ambush. Gettinger’s death had shocked him, first because the man had barely shown himself, not offering much of a target before being picked off, and second because Gettinger had been with him so long — longer even than Dietzel.
Gettinger had survived with him through thick and thin, almost like Messner’s very own good-luck charm, a life-size lucky rabbit’s foot. Messner would be lying if he didn’t feel a pang of sorrow at Gettinger’s death, but also anger that he had exposed himself.
The dummkopf should have done more to keep his head down.
Then again, the Germans had also taken their toll. Dietzel had managed to hit one of them — the British officer. There was blood on the snow, each dot like a liquid ruby, indicating that it was a bad wound. If nothing else, the wounded man would slow them down.
Unfortunately, it had not been Bauer who had been shot. Messner had pursued him this far; he intended to keep going until Bauer was dead.
Messner couldn’t believe that the Americans were still defending Bauer. It seemed foolish at this point, almost insane. Why not just give up their prisoner?
