The Last Alliance

The halftrack's engine coughed and died. Jack Lee adjusted his helmet, then caught himself doing it again.

Through Castle Itter's stone archway, Wehrmacht soldiers stood at attention in field-gray uniforms. The same gray that filled Jack's nightmares, the same gray soaked in Tommy's blood at the Bulge. His fingers found the grip of his sidearm.

One German stepped forward and removed his cap. The gesture revealed a face weathered by more than combat.

"Major Josef Gangl, Wehrmacht," he said, each word measured. "If you permit me to say, Herr Commander, we have much to discuss."

Jack's jaw tightened. His Southern drawl came out flat.

"Captain Lee, United States Army. You best make it quick, Major."

The vaulted ceiling of the great hall amplified every sound. German commands echoed off stone. French murmurs mixed with American drawls. The acoustics transformed language barriers into a chorus that belonged to no single nation.

Tattered flags draped across makeshift barricades. American stars and stripes hung beside the French tricolor and Wehrmacht standards. Their colors had faded but their presence spoke of something Jack could not name.

An elderly man in worn prison clothes watched from the shadows. Wire-rimmed spectacles caught the light as he clasped his hands behind his back. His gaze moved between Jack's rigid posture and Josef's formal bearing with what might have been amusement.

Josef's voice pulled Jack's attention back.

"The SS battalion gathers in the valley below. They know we hold French political prisoners here. They will attack to execute them before the final surrender."

Jack's hand never left his sidearm.

"And I am supposed to trust you?"

"No," Josef said softly, forcing Jack to lean forward to hear. "But perhaps you will trust your orders. And the prisoners who will die without our cooperation."

The old Frenchman stepped from the shadows. He moved with deliberate grace despite his age and captivity.

"Mes amis, consider what Voltaire said about judging men by their actions rather than their uniforms." His accent wrapped around the English words. "This war has tested all of us. The question is who will preserve what decency remains."

Jack adjusted his helmet again. The motion felt automatic, compulsive.

"I do not need philosophy. I need to know if I can count on you when the shooting starts."

Josef stood rigid, spine straight despite the weight of his words.

"My men and I have chosen conscience over orders. We defected knowing execution awaits if we fail. The French prisoners are under our protection until they reach Allied lines."

He touched the Knight's Cross at his throat, a gesture that seemed unconscious.

"I cannot ask you to trust my past, Captain Lee. Only my present choice."

The sound of boots on cobblestone filtered in from the courtyard. American voices mixed with German ones, awkward cooperation replacing the silence of enemies. Through the narrow window, Jack watched his men and Josef's Wehrmacht soldiers building fortifications together.

The old Frenchman waved his hand in a sweeping gesture.

"Do you see, Captain? They have already begun. Perhaps we aging men should not stand in the way of what the young have wisdom enough to attempt."

Jack's legs shifted into that familiar braced stance, as if preparing for recoil. His mind showed him Tommy's face in the snow. German muzzle flashes. Blood turning white to red.

But here in this castle, French prisoners waited with faces that bore years of Nazi cruelty. Old men and one woman, people who had already lost everything. People Tommy would have wanted him to protect.

"How many SS?" Jack asked.

Josef's shoulders eased slightly.

"Intelligence suggests two companies. Perhaps more. They have armor and mortars."

"Then we will need a coordinated defense." Jack's drawl clipped the words short. "Show me your positions."

The two men moved toward the courtyard, their boots striking stone in unmatched rhythm. Behind them, the old Frenchman peered over his spectacles and allowed himself the smallest smile.

Through the vaulted ceiling's echo, three languages continued their unlikely chorus. And in that sound, Castle Itter stopped being walls that divided and became walls that sheltered.