James Shipman - Task Force Baum

“Nothing,” said Stiller. “The lieutenant needed a minute. He’s ready now, though, right?”

Hall nodded, not able to answer. The major turned around and started up the hill. He had no choice but to follow him. His mind still reeled from what he’d just seen. He’d never dreamed of anything like it. He could still hear the moans as he moved away from the girls. That bastard Stiller. How could he have brought him along? The major knew it was going to be like this. He had set him up, and now he was reveling in the shock. Hall spat again on the ground, his eyes burning into his commander’s back. No matter.

He climbed back into the jeep, and soon the column was on the move again. Hall turned back once, watching the smoke waft lazily up from the burning trucks. An explosion rocked one of the vehicles, the entire truck immolating into fire. He kept his eyes on the broken convoy until the task force rounded a bend and they were finally out of view.

Stiller was looking at a map he’d secured from Baum. The major took a few minutes to find their position as the jeep jarred along, bouncing the small chart up and down. “Only a few miles to go until we cross the Main,” he said. “I hope those bastards left us a bridge. I don’t feel like swimming today.”

Hall didn’t respond.

Stiller turned to face him. “Lieutenant, I need you to focus. I know that was a shock to you, but that’s how this shit works. Now pull it together. Pick up that Thompson, and get it ready. We’re a long way from getting out of this, and I can’t have you staring out in a daze when the bullets start flying again.”

Hall pulled his Thompson back into his lap. He tested the safety and made sure the weapon was ready. Focusing on something else helped slightly, and he started to feel himself coming out of the funk. His stomach still felt raw and twisted, but he breathed the air in deeply and tried to think of something else, anything.

“Another town coming up,” said Stiller. “Look sharp, Hall.”

They approached a cluster of buildings in the distance that was partially obstructed by a hill rising to their right. As they drew closer, Hall realized this wasn’t a town at all, but rather a cluster of commercial structures, long, rectangular, and covered with corrugated sheet metal on the walls and the roof. He pulled his Thompson around to his right, preparing to spray the windows with fire if any enemies appeared. No threats emerged as they started passing the buildings.

When they cleared the hill, the entire complex came into view. Hall realized this was a train marshaling yard. Beyond the buildings were five sets of tracks, all narrowly clustered in front of the buildings before spreading out in ever-widening directions behind the hill they’d just passed. On the two nearest tracks sat engines, steam up, and trailing long lines of cars.

Even as Hall watched, he saw a massive explosion strike the closest engine. A moment later, the thunderous sound of cannons reverberated in his ears. One of the Shermans had fired on the train, scoring a direct hit. The air filled in an instant with chaos. Detonations sounded one after another as the whole line of tanks poured fire into the waiting trains. The yap of machine-gun fire added to the scream of metal. Hall could see a rifle flash here and there coming from the trains.

Now the buildings came to life as heads appeared at windows and soldiers attempted to defend the train depot. Hall lifted his Thompson, taking a jouncing aim at the buildings and firing off a few bursts. He couldn’t tell if he had hit anything, but the act of shooting steeled his courage. A door flew open, and a German burst through, an MP 38 at his hip, spraying bullets toward the convoy, impervious to or ignorant of the terrible violence awaiting him.

Bullets ricocheted off the hood of the jeep. Hall jerked his weapon and sprayed in the direction of this irritating gnat. To his surprise, he watched bullets tear across the German’s chest. The body jerked back and forth for an instant, his weapon flung to the side; then he toppled backward, hitting the ground hard while his legs kicked up and down in a fit of agony. Behind him, the trains belched fire and rocked with explosions as the Shermans swiftly completed the destruction of the nearby trains.

The convoy rolled to a stop. Hall flew out of the jeep, swinging his Thompson into position. He kept his weapon aimed at the windows, but the enemy either were all dead or had retreated. He moved quickly forward and knelt next to the German, who still writhed back and forth. Angry holes gaped in his chest, covered with a mass of blood and fragments of uniform. The man’s eyes were wide open, but he looked past Hall, consumed by pain and confusion. Hall tried to get the German’s attention, but he was in his death throes, beyond him. He quickly scanned the German’s waist, finding what he was hoping for. His hands scrambled for the man’s belt, unsnapping a holster and removing a Walther 9mm pistol. The perfect souvenir. He stuffed the weapon into his jacket and was starting to turn away when he felt a lump. He pressed with his fingers and wrapped them around hard metal. He drew the object out and glanced down. He couldn’t believe it. He’d found a flask. His heart throbbing with excitement, he quickly drew the object up and shoved it inside his jacket.

“Hall, what are you doing there?” Stiller was standing behind him. He turned, hoping the major hadn’t seen what he’d done.

“I was checking on this soldier,” he said. “And look, I found a pistol.” Hall showed the weapon to the major.

Stiller stared for a moment, a flicker of disapproval running across the leathered features; then his shoulders gave the slightest of shrugs. “I guess it don’t do no harm, you taking home a keepsake. But let’s get going, boy. The whole convoy’s about to move out.”

Hall moved immediately, following the major. He felt the flask with his fingers, a smile creeping across his face. He stared at the back of Stiller as his commander tromped toward the jeep. Take that, you, bastard , he thought. He jumped into the vehicle next to his commander, all thoughts of dead girls behind him.

Task Force Baum started moving again, heading down the highway due east toward the Main River. Hall knew there was a bridge to cross there, and that this structure was critical to the mission. If they were unable to find a way across the Main, they would not be able to reach Hammelburg or the POW camp. Hall was of two minds about the bridge. He was fascinated by the mission, and the idea of blazing into a POW camp excited him, particularly for the prospects of credit the rescuers would receive. On the other hand, they’d already done enough. If they were blocked, they could head home, and certainly he would receive the commendation and promotion he richly deserved. That simpleton Stiller had said as much, and he’d played the game perfectly since they’d had that little talk. He smiled to himself. People could be so stupid. He liked the idea that he was playing this stern war veteran and Texas Ranger like a little puppet. He imagined moving his hands and dangling Stiller back and forth on strings. He couldn’t stifle a chuckle.

“What’s funny, Hall?”

“Nothing much, sir. Like you’ve told me, this war stuff is pretty terrible. I just figured if you can’t laugh at it a little—”

Stiller put a hand on Hall’s shoulder. “I understand. You’ve done good stuff out here, Hall. You’ve grown. You’ll make a man yet.”

I’m already three times the man you’ll ever be, you ignorant piece of shit . He smiled ingratiatingly at the major. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me.”

“You better reload your weapon. We’re getting close to that bridge.”