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He could see at once that it was an offering or a kind of ransom. It was payment in advance for not destroying the town, even though that was the last thing that the Americans had on their minds.

Cole looked over the loot that the townspeople had gathered, and he felt embarrassed. Not for himself. Instead, he felt ashamed for these people. He could tell they were a proud bunch. They wanted to be in control, even here at what to them must be the end of the world. They had tried to organize their defeat and package it up neatly to avoid anything messy.

He didn’t give a damn about these valuables. It was true that Mulholland’s squad had “liberated” some things along the way, but you couldn’t call it actual looting. Did these people really think that the Americans were here to pillage?

Beside him, Vaccaro’s eyes lit up at the collection of watches. He’d always had a hard time saying no to another watch. He grabbed a nice gold model, worth twenty dollars at least, and prepared to shove it into his pocket. The townspeople simply watched, their faces stoic.

This was just what they expected from the barbarians, Cole thought. Greedy for the spoils of war. He reckoned that he would disappoint them.

“Jesus, Vaccaro, how many watches do you need? You still ain’t been on time yet. Put it back.”

“Hillbilly, are you nuts?”

Cole picked up a delicate teapot and handed it to the elderly woman. Then he turned to the burgermeister. ”We ain’t here to steal your teapots and cameras. You can tell your friends that you are now officially surrendered. Deutschland kaput.”

Grasping the teapot, the old woman nodded at Cole in understanding, while tears flooded her eyes.

Sheepishly, Vaccaro put the watch back on the desk.

• • •

They didn’t take any valuables from the good people of Arnouthbourg, although they did accept some cheeses, sausages, and whatever bottles of liquor the townspeople pressed upon them. It was a whole lot better than C rations and canteen water.

Cole and Vaccaro continued scouting ahead of the squad.

They were just leaving the town when a young woman came running toward them. Like most of the other women they had seen, she had on a patterned dress that had been washed to the point where the fabric was wearing thin. Over the dress, she wore a drab-colored button-down sweater and heavy black shoes. She also wore eyeglasses. The clothes were more suitable for an old lady and made her seem older than she actually was, but she was not what the boys would have called a looker. A couple of young girls trailed in her wake.

She was in tears, and at first, Cole thought that maybe she was just overcome by the sight of Americans marching through good ol’ Deutchsland. The woman seemed to have noticed his sniper rifle, and came right for him. She reached out and grabbed the weapon, babbling hysterically in German.

Cole wrenched the rifle away.

“Nein,” he said, using just about the only German he knew.

The woman took a deep breath and seemed to compose herself. The next words she spoke were in halting English.

“Please,” she said. “You must help me stop them. They are just boys!”

Now Cole was even more confused, not the least by the fact that the woman spoke English. He found it surprising that so many Germans seemed to know the language. There weren’t nearly as many Americans who spoke German.

He turned to Vaccaro for help. “What is she jabberin’ about?”

“I dunno. Why don’t you ask her?” Vaccaro said, looking amused. “She sprechen ze English real goot.”

Cole turned back to the woman, who grabbed for his rifle again. He pulled it away. “What is it, miss?” he demanded.

“I am their teacher,” she said. “Some of the boys are in a house beyond town, and they plan to shoot at your men.”

“They’ll be sorry if they do.”

“They are just children!” she pleaded. “One of their sisters told me that they think they are going to be heroes. They are just foolish boys. Please!”

Beside him, Vaccaro said, “I don’t like the sound of this.”

“Me neither,” he agreed.

The most dangerous soldiers they had met with so far in Germany were not hardened SS troops, but kids just fourteen or fifteen years old. Most of them had been brainwashed from growing up under Hitler. They also didn’t have a grasp yet of adult behavior. Half the time when they surrendered, the next thing you knew they were pulling a grenade out of their pocket. Crazy kids.

Now here was their teacher, in tears. Cole didn’t smell any sort of trap or deceit. The strange thing was that she looked just like a spinster schoolteacher would back home. The girls with her were no more than twelve or thirteen. He reckoned one of them must be the sister that the schoolteacher had mentioned.

He sighed. “Show me.”

They started up the road, letting the schoolteacher lead the way. When he saw the girls run to join her, Cole called a halt. “Go on back to town,” he said to the girls, not sure if they could understand English. “This ain’t a good place for you to be.”