“Lena is going to stay here and volunteer at the hospital as a nurse,” Rupert said. “At least for a few days until the fighting around Bastogne is over. It’s just too dangerous for her to head home right now, although she is more than a bit worried about her mother.”
“Something tells me Madame Jouret will be just fine,” Cole said. “She’s one tough customer.”
Lena laughed.
Rupert had a question for Cole. “What about Bauer?”
“I delivered him to HQ just like we were supposed to, sir.”
“If he had anything to do with those prisoners being shot, they’ll hang him eventually.”
“Yeah, I know,” Cole said.
There didn’t seem to be much more to say after that. Cole and Vaccaro made sure that the lieutenant had everything he needed. Then again, considering that he had his own personal nurse, he seemed to be well taken care of. They said their goodbyes and made their way out of the hospital. Cole was glad for some fresh air.
“Like I said before, the officers always get the girls,” Vaccaro said.
“Aw, quit your bellyachin’. Let’s see if we can find some more ammo. If we’re headed back to Bastogne, we’re gonna need it. The Krauts ain’t licked yet.”
At that moment, many miles away, a heavy tarp moved in the expansive attic of Château Jouret, as if stirred by a cold draft. There was certainly no shortage of those. As the tarp moved yet more, it revealed that the cloth had been draped over a heavy piece of furniture in such a way as to create a sort of tent.
Madame Jouret’s face appeared at the gap in the fabric, peering out, as she listened intently to the house. She strained her ears, but the only sound in the house below was the distant scurrying of a mouse.
Inside the tent created by the dust tarp, there was a mattress, a washbasin, and a candle. All in all, it was a comfortable space, with the tent keeping in just enough body heat to make it bearable to sleep in the attic. It helped that Madame Jouret was rather plump, with plenty of middle-aged insulation against the cold.
There was also a double-barreled shotgun within her tent. If the Germans found her, she had planned on getting at least one of them.
But there had been no need. Having lived here for decades, she knew every creak and groan of the château. It was as if the old house could speak to her, verifying that it was empty. Satisfied that she was alone, she crept from her hiding place.
In the end, no one had even ventured into the attic. She had heard first the Germans and then the Americans venture into the house. There was a gap in the top of the walls that enabled sound to carry from the first floor. The words they had shouted to each other while searching the house had given them away. Madame Jouret understood the Germans well enough. She supposed that the words in English had much the same meaning.
But no one had been there since yesterday, so she had judged it safe to come out. Cautiously, she went downstairs.
Everything was a shambles from the fighting. Bullet holes pocked the walls. The shattered windows let in the snow and cold. Inexplicably, the searchers had slashed open the upholstered furniture. Who or what could they have thought was hiding there? Perhaps they were only being vindictive.
The lady of the house sighed. Windows could be boarded up. Walls could be repaired. The house had stood for a long time and wasn’t going anywhere.
Her only real worry was that her daughter had made it to safety with the British officer and the Americans who were escorting the captured German. Then again, she had every confidence in her daughter. The two American soldiers had been tough and competent. Reluctantly, she also had to admit that the German officer had fought like a tiger to help defend them all.
In that short time, Lena had also taken a liking to the young British officer. Madame Jouret smiled at the thought. Perhaps something good would come out of this war after all.
Brock and his men returned to Bastogne, where the fighting was slowly winding down. Nobody seemed to notice that they’d been gone or asked where they had gone. There was simply too much confusion — not to mention that many troops had gone missing in the cold, dark woods. In some cases their remains wouldn’t be found for decades.
It would have been easy enough to simply reappear and keep his head down, but he wasted no time getting the maps and documents that he’d “found” into the hands of his company commander, who immediately passed them up the food chain.
His CO found him later and announced, “You did good, Brock. Word is that what you and your boys found was really useful. The colonel suggested putting you in for a medal.”
“Just doing my part, sir.”
“Keep doing it, that’s for sure. Tell me again, where did you say you found those documents?”
“We killed some Krauts we ran across, and they had those documents on them.” The story came so easily that Brock himself almost believed it.
“Well, that was lucky. Good job.”
