James Shipman - Task Force Baum

“One only, Hall. Besides, look,” he said, pointing out of the jeep. “We’re nearly through it now.”

Hall glanced around and realized the major was correct. They were passing the last line of houses and submerging into the darkness again. They were through. He was still alive. The thought struck him intensely, and every fraction of his body coursed with this one miraculous thought. I am alive! I survived! He slumped back into his seat, dropping the Thompson to the floor of their vehicle. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He was surprised to see the major leaning toward him.

“Good job, Lieutenant,” said Stiller in his gruff Texas drawl. “I wasn’t sure you had it in you. You done good, boy.”

Hall closed his eyes, breathing in as the jeep bounced along and the sound of battle faded away. They’d broken through. He’d made it. He felt superhuman. He’d faced combat, and he’d done his duty. Even Stiller said so. Maybe he was going to make it through this and get his ass home as a hero after all.

The night still deeply covered the sky as Task Force Baum rolled along, Schweinheim fading away behind them. Hall watched the eerie claws of tree branches as they passed overhead, blotting out the stars above the winding road. Next to him, Major Stiller worked away, pouring hot coffee out of a tin container into his mug. He tipped the opening in short spurts, trying to time the movements with gaps in the jarring bounce of the jeep. He finished and screwed the top back on, took a sip, and offered the cup to Hall. The lieutenant took the warm liquid gratefully, sipping from the cylinder and letting the heat restore his body against the frigid air of the early-spring morning. Too bad it wasn’t something stronger.

“How you doing, Hall?” asked Stiller.

“I’m okay, sir,” said the lieutenant. “Thank you for the drink.”

“You did good back there. You see how it goes now, right? When the shit’s hitting the fan, it’s not so terrible. You just stick your nose in it and keep your cool.”

Hall took another sip. The major’s charms didn’t affect him, but they could be used to his advantage. He decided to play the convert. “Where do you think we are?” he asked, his voice affecting interest.

“I was just thinking on that. Did you study the map Abrams had?”

“Not well enough.”

“Well, we are traveling about due east right now. Not too long up here, we’ll come across a couple little villages. Not much, a few houses. Shouldn’t be anything to worry about—hopefully, at least. After we clear those, we’ll arrive at Rechtenbach and Lohr. A little more to them. Then we get to Gemünden. That’s the big one. We must cross the Main River. Only one bridge up across the damned thing. Once we’re over, we make our way northeast to Hammelburg.” The major looked at his watch, grunting. “We’re a few hours behind schedule, close as I can figure it. We still should be damned close to that Oflag by dawn, if we keep a move on.”

“Do you think we’ll make it through without any more trouble?”

“Tough to say. It’ll take the krauts a while to figure out what we’re up to. But that don’t mean we’re in the clear. Depends on what’s up ahead anyway. We don’t have great intelligence all the way there. This camp’s just too far back from the front lines. I’d say we better figure we’ll hit a rough patch or two. You never know what’s brewing ahead. A couple tanks in an intersection or a barracks we don’t know about. Shouldn’t be nothing we can’t handle. It’s the trip home that’s gonna be a solid-gold bitch. After we nab those POWs, you better hold on to your ass.”

Hall felt a surge of fear pierce him again. He hadn’t thought much about the return journey. Just getting through the front lines seemed difficult and traveling fifty miles to the POW camp damned near impossible. Now that he considered it, of course, the major was correct. The Germans wouldn’t be on full alert on the way in, at least if they were lucky. But the more time they spent behind the lines, the more the enemy would organize and pinpoint their position. Could this group of three hundred men and a few tanks stand up to what the krauts would throw their way? He didn’t know.

“Look,” said Stiller, pointing, “houses ahead.”

Hall peered into the darkness. He couldn’t see anything at first, but eventually he made out a few buildings in the distance,

“Better get that Thompson ready, just in case.”

Hall reached into the satchel and pulled a clip out. His fingers walked over the remaining metal sticks, counting his reserves. He had five, six with the one he was loading now. He would have to be careful.

Still, they had broken the crust of the German line. He felt the power of the Shermans in front of him. Mobile steel fortresses bristling with weapons. They rumbled along, shielding him from harm.

The village loomed higher on the horizon. A few heartbeats, and the first tank clambered onto cobblestone streets ahead. The houses were bathed in the oily darkness of the night. As they rolled through the town, first one light, then another flickered on. Hall saw a head pop out to stare in surprise at them. A few moments more and they were through. The lieutenant breathed with deep relief. A half hour later, they passed another sleepy village without incident.

They traveled on through the endless winding roads, the trees and hills blocking out the stars and the rumbling of the tanks guiding their driver in the inky blackness. Hall wasn’t sure how long they jounced along, but Stiller went through several cups of coffee. The sky spoke a further story. At first, the lieutenant thought it was his imagination, but minute by minute he saw the early kiss of dawn perforating the onyx blanket above him. Soon the eastern heavens were mottled with the faint promise of morning.

“Are we almost to the camp?” he asked Stiller.

“Not close,” said the major. “But I’m not sure how far. Damn it, I should have asked for my own map. But we left late, and we’re supposed to be crossing a pretty big river at some point. Unless I missed it in the dark, we haven’t hit a bridge yet.”

“Maybe this town has got one,” said Hall, noticing some houses in the distance. “Looks like a bigger one. The kind of place that might straddle a river.”

“We’ll find out. Look sharp, Hall.”

Hall swung his Thompson over and flipped the safety off. He felt a hot excitement coursing through him. He’d never experienced such exhilaration before. Not in sports, or in training. Not even when he’d toyed with the girls in college. He hated and loved the sensation.

In a flash of time, they were inside the town. His impression of a larger place was borne out as they streamed down the main street. Instead of simple houses, there were buildings here, shops with signs and side streets packed with structures fading away into the distance in both directions. The pre-dawn light played havoc with Hall’s sight. The shadows below were impenetrable as his eyes strained against the brightening sky on the horizon, glaring directly into his eyes.

A burst of fire erupted somewhere to his right. Bullets rattled off the Sherman in front of them like hot rain. Hall raised his Thompson and blindly fired a few rounds. Stiller put his hand across the barrel, pulling it down. “Save them until you know what you’re looking at,” the major ordered.

Shots rang out from several directions now. The firing was sporadic and seemed to do slight damage to the column. Hall slumped down lower in his seat, aware of how exposed they truly were in their unarmored, open-air jeep. The task force rolled on, plowing through the town, machine guns blazing away.

The sky opened back up, and they were through. Hall thought perhaps the column would stop to check for casualties, but he was wrong. The tanks kept rumbling as they moved into the fields and farms beyond. The landscape changed here. During the night, they’d traveled through a hilly, forested landscape; now the horizon flattened out, exposing fences, farms, and fields.