That they were sitting behind an engineer bridge unit that was waiting for their orders to move didn't matter to Cole. What did matter was that she was being left alone and that she could go back to sleep. Someone no doubt with more horsepower than she had was out there in the cold night stumbling around trying to sort the column out. Best to stay where she was and get some more sleep while she could. That, she knew, would end soon enough.
The rearming and refueling of Seydlitz's company had taken longer than Buhle would have liked. That it did shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone. Both his men and Seydlitz's were dead tired. Most wandered around during the resupply operations like zombies, barely knowing what they were doing or even where they were. While he watched, it amazed Buhle that anyone could expect men in that condition to think and act, let alone fight. Perhaps, he thought, this was what everyone meant when they said that war was insane.
Though he would have liked to coil up behind Seydlitz's tanks for a few hours and allow his drivers to sleep before pushing on back into the night, the news that the battalion was preparing to continue the attack to the west demanded that he continue. For if the fuel levels of Seydlitz's tanks were any indication, the rest of the battalion would not be able to go very far with what they had. So with great reluctance Buhle ordered his drivers to mount up, re-formed his column, and led it back out onto the hard-surfaced road that had taken them there.
When Buhle's column reached the juncture where the forest trail that they had been following met the hard-surfaced road that would take them back to Hünfeld, Buhle tapped his driver on the shoulder and pointed to his right. The driver, barely awake, simply turned the wheel and pulled out onto the hard-surfaced road. At first he slowed, since the trucks following needed time to make the turn and catch up to Buhle's little Volkswagen staff car. To make sure that all of his trucks were still with him and made the turn, Buhle opened his door slightly, leaned out, and turned his head to the rear to watch. His senior sergeant, riding in the cab of the last truck, would flash a green-filtered flashlight toward the head of the column when he was on the road. Until then, Buhle simply hung on to the door with his right hand, the dashboard with his left, and stared off into the darkness watching for the signal.
Actually, Buhle thought, this wasn't half bad. The cold air flowing around his neck felt good. It helped to wake him up and clear his mind. He needed to stay alert. He needed to keep himself, his driver, and every man in his column awake and alert. Before this night was over, Buhle mused, he was going to have to use every leadership and motivational skill and trick that his tired brain could conjure up.
Like a beacon at the end of a long dark tunnel, Buhle saw the green light from the last truck flashing. But he didn't react at first. It took several seconds for Buhle's tired mind to make the connection between the image of the green light and what he was supposed to do next. Finally a thought snapped and Buhle sat up, turned to his driver, and ordered him to begin to pick up the speed. While doing this, Buhle missed the red light to their immediate front, now only a few meters away, flashing wildly.
Buhle's driver, however, didn't. Between Buhle's shaking him out of his stupor and the sudden appearance of a red light shining in his eyes, the driver shot upright in his seat, clutched the steering wheel in both hands, and slammed down the brake without hitting the clutch, stalling the Volkswagen and throwing Buhle forward into the windshield. A sudden jerk that shook the whole vehicle told Buhle that the truck behind them, still following closely since there had been no time to assume the proper convoy intervals between vehicles, had also been caught off guard by his driver's sudden stop. The thought that his little Volkswagen staff car could have been crushed by the huge Mann supply truck never crossed Buhle's exhausted mind. At that point it could only deal with one thought or one action at a time.
Pushing himself up and away from the dash, Buhle looked at his driver in wide-eyed surprise. He still had no idea why his driver, staring to the front with mouth agape, had stopped. It wasn't until he heard a rapping on his side window that Buhle turned away from his driver. When he did, he realized that his vehicle was surrounded by several figures. Where in the hell, he wondered, had they come from? Now it was Buhle's turn to gaze outside in wide-eyed amazement at the apparitions that had sprung up from nowhere.
After what seemed like ages, the soldier standing at Buhle's door opened it. Shining a red-filtered flashlight from Buhle's face over to the driver and then back to Buhle, the soldier said nothing. Only slowly did it dawn upon Buhle, now blinded by the flashlight despite its filter, that he not only didn't have any idea who these people were, he didn't even know whose side they were on. Seydlitz's warning that there were enemy units infiltrated into their rear drifted into Buhle's slow-moving mind and caused him to start.
Seeing this, the soldier with the flashlight paused but kept the flashlight aimed in Buhle's face. "Oh, excuse me, Herr Hauptmann. I was simply checking to make sure that you and your driver were all right. We seem to have given you quite a surprise."
As with everything that night, the fact that the soldier at his door responded in German with a heavy, very formal northeastern German accent took several seconds to register. When it did, Buhle could feel himself go limp with relief. The soldier also noticed Buhle's response and introduced himself. "Sorry to cause you such concern, Herr Hauptmann. I am Oberstleutnant Kramer, Feldjäger Company 75."
While this sank into Buhle's mind, dulled by lack of sleep and the stress of wandering about the countryside in search of his battalion, Oberstleutnant Kramer continued to talk. "I am afraid I must divert your column. This road is no longer open to German military traffic."
More alert, Buhle shook his head. "You mean that there are American units operating this far to the rear?"
"Yes, Herr Hauptmann. In fact, they are very, very close."
With the Feldjäger's flashlight still in his eyes and his inability to deal with anything beyond the most immediate and obvious problems, Buhle never took note of the soldiers moving around or behind the lieutenant. Nor did his drivers, given a chance to lay their heads on the steering wheels in front of them and rest a minute, hear the movement of other soldiers as they moved out from the cover of the woods on either side of the road and crept up to the cabs of their trucks.
Standing upright and stepping back away from Buhle's door, the Feldjäger lieutenant named Kramer dropped the red-filtered flashlight from Buhle's face and turned to face toward the rear of the column. Buhle, wanting to talk to the Feldjäger lieutenant, began to climb out of his Volkswagen. This prevented him from seeing Kramer raise his red-filtered flashlight and wave it toward the rear of the column. Buhle, however, did catch the glow of green-filtered light at the rear of the column being waved at them.
For a moment he looked at the green light and thought. His sergeant, he was sure, had already signaled him that all of the trucks had made the turn onto the road. Why was his sergeant signaling him again? Perhaps the sergeant was tired, just like Buhle, and wanted to make sure that he had seen it. Or maybe, Buhle thought, the sergeant was under the impression that Buhle had stopped the column to allow the last trucks to catch up before continuing and it was he, Buhle, waving the red light. Well, no matter. Everything would be clarified in a few minutes. Turning back to the Feldjäger lieutenant, Buhle realized that he was looking down the barrel of a pistol held inches from his face.