The army had taken over an entire crossroads village, with soldiers and officers hurrying from one small house to another. Only a few lights burned due to the threat, however remote, of a Luftwaffe attack. Nonetheless, a few desperately cold GIs had started small fires fed with scrap wood or broken-up furniture to keep warm. The fires were small enough that they could be kicked out or smothered with snow at the first sound of enemy aircraft.
There was enough light thrown by the sputtering flames to see the gray slush churned up under countless tire treads and tank tracks. The firelit faces they passed looked grim and determined. When they noticed Bauer’s enemy uniform, some of the faces wore looks of curiosity while others scowled as if ready to shoot him. News of the massacre at Malmedy and the smaller murderous incident perpetrated by Hauptmann Messner outside Bastogne had spread, meaning that precious few German prisoners would be taken alive in the days ahead.
Word had also arrived that the fight for Bastogne was finally being won. Cole and Vaccaro would soon be returning to see for themselves how the fight was going. The worst of the German advance seemed to have been stopped, but there was still plenty of fight left in the Krauts.
An intelligence officer found them and told them to wait outside as he ducked back inside the house. He seemed excited by Bauer’s arrival but not quite sure what to do with him. It seemed to be understood that Cole would continue to keep his prisoner under guard. Wisely, Bauer had already handed back his weapon.
The two men stood surrounded by the dirty snow, waiting for the officer to return. They faced each other, stamping their feet to stay warm. Their breath made clouds that hung in the frosty air, but no words passed between them. No one else was around, and nobody seemed to be taking much interest in them.
Soon the officer would come back out and Bauer would be thrown into the meat grinder of military justice. But for now it was just two soldiers who had survived an ordeal together.
“I could let you escape,” Cole finally said. “It’s not too late.”
“You will do no such thing, Private Cole,” Bauer replied. “You will continue to do your duty. You set out to deliver me to your headquarters for questioning, and that is exactly what you have done.”
“If you get into those woods, nobody will find you.”
Bauer shook his head. “The time for that is past, but thank you for the suggestion.”
“What do you think will happen to you?”
“Don’t worry, they are unlikely to hang me until Germany has lost the war. That may be months from now. At that point I will no longer be a prisoner of war, but a common criminal.”
“For what it’s worth, the way I see it, you aren’t a criminal,” Cole said. “You’re just on the wrong side.”
Bauer nodded. “Keep your head down, hillbilly.”
The German straightened up, coming to attention. Cole did the same, and the two men saluted each other. The officer came back out with two MPs and took Bauer into custody. Then Cole turned and headed back down the snowy street to locate Vaccaro in hopes he had found some hot grub.
Before heading out for the return trip to Bastogne, Cole and Vaccaro stopped by the field hospital to check on Lieutenant Rupert. The hospital had been set up in a church. This was no cathedral, but a simple village chapel. A crucifix with an almost life-size Jesus overlooked the scene, and Christ’s eyes seemed to watch the suffering with sadness.
The pews had been removed to make more room, so that the wounded lay on the cold stone floor. Portable kerosene heaters had been brought in, but they were struggling. Most of the warmth came from the collective body heat, which was a mixed blessing. Cole wished that somebody would open a window — the interior reeked of unwashed soldiers, fever sweat, rubbing alcohol, and a whiff of rotting meat. He wrinkled his nose against the assault of smells.
They found Rupert propped up on his blankets, letting Lena help him drink a hot mug of broth. He still looked exhausted, but some of his color had returned. Fortunately, his wounds weren’t going to be fatal. What he needed was rest and hot food.
Some of the cases were far worse. Several men were so heavily bandaged that it was hard to tell where the gauze ended and the men began. In other cases, frostbite had turned the flesh of the victims’ toes, fingers, even noses, black like bruised fruit.
“The sawbones tell me that I should be out of here in a few days,” Rupert said.
“Don’t be in a hurry, sir,” Vaccaro replied. “I rushed to get out of the hospital so that I could get to Bastogne. What the hell was I thinking?”
“You weren’t,” Cole said. “And I told you so too. Don’t make the same mistake, Lieutenant.”
Lena smoothed a stray lock of hair and offered him more broth, showing the same intensity as when she had guided them through the forest.
“It looks to me like you’re in good hands, Lieutenant,” Vaccaro said knowingly.
