Sniper's Justice (Caje Cole Book 9) by David Healey (best classic books txt) 📗

the Hofbräuhaus with her friends after this. If it’s all right, I mean.”

“I reckon I can find my way back to the hotel.”

Hans said, “I certainly won’t get lost, either. I’ve known Munich my whole life. You two go along and have a good time with friends. It is what young people should do.” He looked at Cole. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Cole said.

Danny and Angela headed for the Hofbräuhaus. Hans melted into the crowds flowing home. Cole returned to the hotel and ate alone, which was, well, lonely, but the food was good.

Much later, back in his room, he heard Danny return. His grandson was out in the hall, fumbling with the door to his own room. He seemed to be having some trouble fitting the key to the lock and getting it open.

Cole went out and found his grandson reeling a bit, but smiling happily.

“I guess someone had a good time,” Cole said.

“Probst!” Danny replied, then hiccuped. “I had two beers! I feel a little dizzy.”

“Oh boy,” Cole said. In his experience, a German beer was a large stein of strong lager. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He got the door open, helped Danny get his coat and shoes off, then tumbled him into bed.

Danny fell asleep instantly.

Shaking his head, Cole decided to stay and keep an eye on his grandson. The damn fool boy. He sat in a chair by the window, where he could look out and see the lights of the city. From time to time, a plane took off, bound for New York City or maybe London or Paris. His thoughts wandered across the years, strung out like beads of dew on a spiderweb. He dozed. At first light, reassured that Danny was fine, he slipped back into his own room.

“I’ll never drink another beer as long as I live,” Danny stated miserably.

They were having a late breakfast at the hotel restaurant. Danny sat slumped with his head in his hands, looking miserable.

Cole had to laugh. “If I had a nickel for every time I heard someone say that the next morning, I coulda bought Rockefeller Square.”

“You’re making fun of me,” Danny said.

“No, it’s just something to keep in mind when you feel better tonight and you have an urge to visit that beer hall again. I ain’t gonna lecture you. Hopefully, you learned your lesson.”

Danny just groaned.

Cole gave him his fresh-squeezed OJ. “Don’t worry. You’ll live.”

“I did have a good time, though. Angela was nice. Her friends were fun. She said I ought to come back and visit this summer.”

Cole surprised himself by saying, “Something to think about.”

By the time the hour arrived to get ready for the museum opening that evening, Danny was fully recovered and back to his usual chipper self. That was youth for you, Cole thought, along with some help from a nap and an afternoon swim in the hotel pool. In fact, it was Cole who felt himself dragging after he had put on his suit, freshly pressed by the hotel staff. Sure, part of it was the damn jet lag. But another part of him was simply dreading the opening and all of the old wounds it might open.

Colonel Mulholland picked them up promptly, pulling up in his BMW in front of the hotel.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Cole said, slipping into the front seat while Danny got into the back. “I haven’t felt so nervous since D-Day, but I’ve got to say, this car is a lot more comfortable than a landing craft.”

“Here we go then,” Mulholland replied, pulling away crisply from the hotel.

The museum was just a few minutes away. When they arrived, Cole was amazed to see soldiers, Jeeps, and a couple of German Kübelwagen pulled up on the lawn. Pup tents dotted the grass. Some of the troops wore vintage WWII GI uniforms, some had on the sheepskin coats favored by aviators, but most had on Wehrmacht uniforms.

“Who the hell are they?” Cole asked. “Actors?”

“They’re WWII reenactors,” Mulholland said. “You know, like Civil War reenactors back home? Over here, reenacting WWII is becoming a popular hobby. Of course, you’re going to see mainly German reenactors. Nobody wants to be the bad guys.”

“Bad guys?”

“Us,” Mulholland said. “Americans.”

“That’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen,” Cole said.

“They go out on the weekend to shoot blanks at each other, and maybe camp out,” Mulholland said. “It’s also an excuse to drink, pee in the woods, and get away from their wives. They were more than happy to come out for this event.”

Cole shook his head, not sure what to say. Who wanted to play at being a soldier? He’d had enough of the real thing.

They continued to the parking lot, only to discover that more of these reenactors stood along the sidewalk leading to the entrance.

“Looks like we have an honor guard,” Mulholland said.

“You do see that these are Germans? Should I put my hands up to let them know we surrendered?”

Mulholland laughed. “I think we’ll be OK.”

Inside, there was quite a crowd already. Almost everyone looked to be older, and well-dressed. Drinks flowed from an open bar and servers offered trays of fancy hors d'oeuvres. Cole didn’t know what some of the things were, so he stuck with the miniature sausages on toothpicks. The delicious smells of food and tangy champagne filled the air, mixing with wafting cologne and perfume.

One thing for sure, Cole thought, was that tonight was all a long way from the mud, the stink of open latrines and death, the shivering in the chill air or sweating in the heat, that all soldiers had known back then.

Cole heard a lot of English being spoken, sometimes in British accents, with only a smattering of German. It made sense that most of those in attendance seemed to be American or English because from what he had seen during the preview, this museum celebrated the Allied contribution to winning the war. Most of the pictures of Germans showed them with their hands up.