He doubted the Germans would surrender. Killing the Americans at Malmedy meant that they were all war criminals, so surrendering was the same as putting their necks in a noose. At the same time, fighting to the last man sounded good in the movies, but it wasn't really how battles ended.
No, Cole wasn’t a general, but he saw the possibility exactly because of that — the Germans were planning to escape.
Observing them through the scope of his rifle, he had a closer view of La Gleize than most of the other Americans. He could see that they were up to something.
While most of the Germans were engaged in hurling shells at the American lines, as dusk fell a handful were rounding up Jerry cans of gasoline. The clincher was when he saw them knocking together several sets of travois. You didn't do that unless you planned on hauling wounded or possibly supplies on foot — sure as hell not with a tank.
It dawned on Cole that the Germans were planning to abandon La Gleize.
But how did they plan to escape?
At first glance, the Germans seemed to be corralled. But the Americans had focused on blocking the roads out of La Gleize. To the northwest of town the forest marched down out of the Ardennes toward La Gleize. The Americans hadn't bothered to guard the forest because the trees were too thick for tanks and trucks to pass through. It was like a fence. So why bother protecting it when the American forces were already spread so thin?
On foot, at night, the Germans could pass among the trees and right through the American lines.
Acting on his hunch, Cole slipped into the woods to explore them. He took with him a map borrowed from Lieutenant Mulholland. He did not have to go far before he found a forgotten sunken road, more of a cart track really, worn down below the surface of the forest floor from centuries of use. The sunken road was too insignificant to appear on the map. Not so much as a footprint showed in the thin snow covering the road bed. It was much too narrow for tanks, but the road would take the Germans right through the woods to what the map showed was a clearing on the other side.
Leaving the woods, Cole debated about whether or not to share his hunch with anyone. Who would believe him, anyway? But if the Germans did slip away, after what they had done to those poor bastards at Malmedy, it just wouldn’t be right.
He went to tell Lieutenant Mulholland.
Half an hour later, Cole and Mulholland were waiting to see Colonel Akers, who was commanding the assault on La Gleize.
“Cole, I hope you’re sure about this,” Mulholland said.
“Sure I am,” Cole said. “If we get some troops on the other side of those woods, we can bag the Germans neat as a rabbit in a sack.”
Mulholland gave him a look. “When we get to see the colonel, you better let me do the talking.”
They watched other officers and couriers hurrying in and out of the house that the colonel had taken over on a hillside overlooking La Gleize. Within a stone’s throw was the main road into town. Within sight at one end of the road was the town itself. To the west was Germany. The road was the obvious route of retreat through the rugged Ardennes territory. It was not heavily defended by Sherman tanks, Wolverine tank destroyers, and machine gun emplacements.
Cole and Mulholland had not even been invited inside the house. They stood outside in the cold, shivering.
“You reckon he forgot we were out here?” Cole asked.
“Maybe.”
Finally, an officer came out and beckoned impatiently to them. “You still here? The colonel will see you now.”
They found Colonel Akers pacing in front of a stone fireplace, chewing on an unlit cigar, with a mug of coffee in hand. Well over six feet tall, in his late forties, he looked like a tough son of a bitch — and exactly the kind of officer who was sure of his opinions.
He didn’t mince words. He also didn’t seem to remember Mulholland from the briefing before the initial attack on La Gleize. Looking at Mulholland, all he said was: “What?”
“Sir, we think the Germans are going to retreat through the woods just west of town.” Quickly, Mulholland explained Cole’s theory.
The colonel listened impatiently, taking long pulls from his mug of coffee, then throwing the dregs into the fire. The wood sizzled and steamed. He held up a hand, interrupting Mulholland.
“Lieutenant, I’ve heard enough. The Germans are going to try to fight their way out. They will try to come down this road and skedaddle back to Germany. If they went through the woods, they would have to walk out, and that’s not going to happen. An SS panzer group is not going to abandon its armor.”
“But sir, Cole here—”
“Lieutenant, what’s your name?”
“Mulholland, sir.”
“Mulholland, I hope to hell that you are not in charge of anything important. What unit are you with?”
“We’re snipers, sir.”
The colonel narrowed his eyes at Mulholland. “Right, now I remember you from the briefing. Snipers, huh? Sneaky bastards. Well, go shoot a few Krauts in the back, and leave the strategy to me. Meanwhile, I am putting every gun I can on the roads out of town for when these Krauts bastards do try to break out.”
Another officer came in, and the colonel turned his attention away from them. Mulholland put his helmet back on and stamped out of the house, with Cole following him. After the warmth of the house, the cold hit them like a hammer.
“We tried, Cole,” the lieutenant said. “If what you say is true, the Germans are going to walk out of La Gleize by the back door while we’re guarding the front door.”
“At least one of them Germans won’t get very far, if I can help it,” Cole said. “Thank you for going to the colonel with this, sir. With any luck, he won’t hold it against you when he wakes up tomorrow and the Germans are gone.”
“It’s all right, Cole. Who said I ever wanted to make captain?”
"You’re comin’ with me, Kid. I need some help," Cole said.
"Why me? You know I can't shoot worth a darn."
"This isn't about shooting. I need me an assistant."
"An assistant what?"
Cole thought about that. "Assistant ass kicker. How does that sound?"
Cole had already scouted the buildings in and around the hamlet. In an old barn, Cole had spotted just what he needed. Hung up on a nail high up on an old beam. Steel traps. The massive jaws measured nearly a foot across when opened. Cole had done his share of trapping, but he had never used traps so big. Mostly likely because he had never gone after wolves or bears. He guessed that the traps were very old. Antiques even. After all, when was the last time a beast of that size had prowled the Ardennes Forest?
Cole took them down and inspected the traps. Rusted shut. Getting one to function would require some work, which is why he had brought along the Kid.
"Got to be some oil around here. See what you can find."
The Kid returned with an old-fashioned oil can that might be used for a bicycle chain. Cole knocked off most of the loose rust. He soaked the trap in oil.
"All right, now I want you to stand on the springs. Whatever you do, don't take your weight off. I want to keep all my fingers."
The trap itself was a simple mechanism. The "jaws" of the traps were shaped like the curved portion of a capital letter D. Powerful springs were shaped like “greater than” and “less than” signs < > slid along the curved part of the D. When the Kid stepped on the springs, compressing them, the jaws of the D opened, revealing rusty serrated teeth.
Cole applied more oil and worked at the trap with a wire brush. By fitting a metal latch into a notch at the base of a flat metal pan, the jaws stayed open. He was careful to work from beneath the jaws — if they accidentally snapped shut, he did not want to lose a hand.