In a little hotel that had not been damaged too badly by the fighting in Bastogne, Mahoney and Madeleine lay naked underneath a dozen blankets, kissing and writhing against each other, feasting on each other’s bodies.
They’d been doing this ever since Christmas Eve. She had had to report to the hospital from time to time, and he’d made a few appearances at General McAuliffe’s headquarters, but they’d spent most of their time in this dingy, little, unheated room, eating C rations and making love.
Mahoney was surprised by the depth of feeling he had for the little ex-whore. Instead of becoming tired of her, as he did with most women, he found the enchantment becoming stronger. He tried not to dwell upon what might happen in days to come because he was certain he’d be killed when the Germans resumed operations against Bastogne. In fact, he couldn’t understand why it was so quiet today. He didn’t know that many Germans soldiers who’d surrounded the city had been siphoned away to fight the threat coming from Patton’s Third Army in the south.
They made love languorously, moaning and sighing, making little motions and kissing softly. It was the kind of lovemaking they did for hours on end, devoid of anxiety, two souls intermingling and at peace.
Through the pleasure and lazy sensuality, Mahoney became aware of a commotion in the street below. He raised his head and perked up his ears. “What the hell is that?”
She gazed at him, her cheeks flushed and eyes sultry. “What’re you talking about?”
“Something’s going on down there!”
Mahoney jumped out of bed, threw on his field jacket, and dashed to the window, opening it up and looking down into the streets below. He saw paratroopers running through the streets, screaming and waving their rifles in the air.
“HEY!” Mahoney shouted. “WHAT THE HELL’S GOING ON?”
A paratrooper looked up at him, and his face was crazed with delight. “THE THIRD ARMY IS HERE!”
“Holy shit!” Mahoney said.
“What is it?” asked Madeleine.
“We’re not surrounded anymore!”
She got out of bed, wrapped herself in a blanket, and stood at the window beside Mahoney. They looked down and saw paratroopers and civilians pouring through the streets, heading toward the southern part of the city. They cheered and shouted, shook hands and passed bottles of wine around, as joy and celebration descended on Bastogne.
“Here they come,” said Mahoney, pointing toward the south.
They leaned out the window and saw the tanks of the Fourth Armored Division rumbling down the street. Children ran beside the tanks and screamed happily. Their parents applauded, and some of them cried, overcome by the emotion of the moment. The paratroopers from the 101st Airborne jumped up and down and cheered.
Colonel Creighton Abrams stood in the turret of the lead tank, grinning and holding up his hands, making victory signs with his fingers while the news was flashed around the world that bloody Bastogne had been saved.