James Shipman - Task Force Baum

“Oh, Richard, what will we do? Will we be safe?”

He thought about that for a moment. “When it’s over, I think we will be. If the Americans take us, or the British. It will be terrible for a time, but things will get better again eventually.”

“What about the Russians?”

Koehl shook his head. “You mustn’t be captured by them. They’re animals.”

“They can’t be as bad as the rumors.”

He leaned forward: “They are worse. That brings me to why I set up this dinner, besides wanting to see you, of course.”

She started to ask what he meant, but they were interrupted by a waiter who asked what they wanted. Koehl ordered a whole chicken and some bread for the two of them to share. There were no butter or potatoes available.

When the waiter left, they resumed their conversation. “All right,” she said, her eyes twinkling a little, “why has my big brother summoned me all the way to Rieneck?”

“I’ve arranged a transfer for you to my unit.”

Her eyes narrowed, caught by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I want you to move over to my headquarters.”

“In what role?”

“I need a typist.”

She sat back, her cheeks flushed again, but not with pleasure this time.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I won’t do it,” she muttered stubbornly.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m serving the fatherland in my flak crew. I’m a soldier, protecting our people against enemy planes. You want me to leave that to become a typist?” she asked, her voice rising.

“Keep it down,” he said.

“I won’t,” she said. “I can’t believe you, Richard. All these years I’ve worshiped you. I’ve hardly had a brother in my life. You were always gone. But I’ve had an idol. Richard Koehl, German officer and tank destroyer. Our own family hero. You’ve served, and you’ve fought, and now it’s my chance to do the same. I’m not going to give all that up to type up your messages like a common secretary!” She was shouting now, and other customers in the restaurant were gawking at them.

“I said, Lower your voice.” His words were calm and measured, but they were edged with a hint of steel.

She looked around for a moment before she continued; then she shrugged. “What difference does it make? We won’t ever see these people again. I’m so confused,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. “I thought you’d be so proud of me. Instead, you want me to quit and become some stupid clerk.”

“I am proud of you, but I also want to protect you.” He reached out, running a finger under her eyes to wipe away the tears. She pushed him away.

“Stop it,” she demanded.

“No,” he said, grabbing her by the wrist. “You don’t understand. You still think this is a game. You haven’t seen war, Gerta. You’ve had the newspapers and the schools filling your head with fantasies about glory and serving the fatherland.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “It’s all a lie. War is dirt and blood and death. I’ve lost so many comrades. Everyone close to me is gone, except Schmidt.” He softened his grip. “I can’t lose you as well.”

“You’re not going to lose me, Richard,” she responded, her voice softening. “Besides, I’m in a flak crew, not on the front lines.”

“You think you’ll be safe? What do you believe you’re shooting at? Those are fighters and bombers. They have their own sting. You think a flak crew is safe? Antiaircraft crews have died in the thousands. Besides, the front line changes every day. You’ll be caught up in the whole mess before you know it.”

“By my choice,” she said, eyes flaring. “That’s what I want to happen. I want to serve Germany before it’s too late.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have a choice. The orders have already circulated. You’re coming with me now.” He removed the transfer papers he had tucked in his tunic and shoved them across the table.

She gasped, her eyes widening. “You can’t be serious.”

“I put this in process a few weeks ago. Your commander approved the transfer. I can drive you back to pick up your things.” He looked at his watch. “We’ll eat and then head over there straightaway. Do you have a lot to bring?”

“I’m not going with you.”

“Oh, come now—”

“I refuse.”

He hadn’t expected this. He thought she’d be relieved, grateful. He was on unsure footing. “You don’t have a choice,” he said, using his sternest voice. “It’s an order.”

“Orders can be changed.”

“You will go.”

She stood, scraping her chair across the wooden floor. He rose also, his hands spread out, willing her to calm down. “You’re not my father, Richard,” she said. “You can’t make me do what I don’t want to do. I’m going to go back to my unit. I’ll talk to my commander. He’ll straighten this out. I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to do what you think is best, but I don’t want this.”

“You don’t understand. It’s not a choice.”

“ Hauptmann Koehl.” A strange voice interrupted him. He looked over, and there was a sergeant standing near him, paperwork in his hand. He didn’t recognize the man. Not now, damn it .

“Stay,” he pleaded with Gerta. “I just need a minute.” He turned to the messenger and ripped open the envelope, scanning the contents. An attack was in progress. Another one. Didn’t the Americans ever stop? He was wanted back at headquarters immediately.

“Thank you, Sergeant, you’re dismissed.” The soldier saluted and turned to depart.

“What’s in there?” Gerta asked.

“New orders. The Americans are at it again.”

“Good,” she said. “Then you’ll have something to do instead of trying to chase me down.”

“I told you: you have to come with me.”

“No,” she said. “I’m sorry. I love you, but I won’t go with you.” She stepped forward and kissed him briefly on the cheek and fled swiftly toward the door. He started to go after her but stopped himself. He would let her calm down and think about things. She couldn’t change the orders. He would visit headquarters and then swing by to pick her up. Yes, a few hours would calm her down. He took a final pull on his drink, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths.

All would be well. He’d pick up his sister later tonight and take her to the safety of his headquarters. For now, he would report to his commander and find out what the damned Americans were up to.

Hauptmann Koehl arrived back at his regimental headquarters in Hammelburg at about 2000 hours. As he jumped out of the car sent to bring him, he strained his ears for the sound of artillery. He couldn’t hear anything but the revving of diesel engines as vehicles passed behind him. He was a little surprised. If the message was as urgent as it seemed, he’d have expected an anthill of activity. He puzzled over this as he stepped through the front door of a small hotel serving as the command center. At the desk, instead of a manager, two privates lounged against the bar, their Mauser 7.922mm rifles and other equipment laid out to dry as they spread cheese out of a tube on some crudely cut slabs of bread. Koehl recognized one of them and nodded. The man started to rise, but the Hauptmann motioned for him to stay put.

“Where’s the Oberst? ” Koehl inquired after the regimental colonel.

“Upstairs,” said the soldier, taking a bite of the bread and cheese. The gummy golden paste gave off a pungent stench akin to unwashed feet. The soldier noticed Koehl’s crinkled nose. “Want a bite, sir?”

“I’ll pass,” said Koehl, laughing, “tempting as your offer might be.”