James Shipman - Task Force Baum

Hall nodded and reached into his satchel, removing another clip. He had three remaining, including the one he slammed into place. He picked up one of the grenades from between them, looking over the weapon. He’d practiced only a couple of times with dummies in basic training, but he decided he might want to brave one. He ran his hands over the pineapple-textured cylinder, his thumb resisting a momentary temptation to rip out the pin. He tucked the grenade into the front right pocket of his jacket, snapping it into place.

They rode along in silence for a half hour, the fields and trees passing them on both sides as they rolled along toward the river. They hadn’t encountered any Germans since the train station, and they’d caught those krauts totally by surprise. Hall was starting to hope that the Germans this far back hadn’t received notice of the raid. If that was true, they should be able to bust in and out of the camp before anyone was the wiser. He imagined arriving back at headquarters, a couple of POWs stuffed into the Jeep, newspaper reporters snapping pictures as he waved and smiled. Hell, that might be good enough for a Silver Star. Maybe it was better if the bridge was still up after all…

It looked like they were about to find out. Hall could see the outline of a city in the distance. He knew that Gemünden was the next town ahead and that the bridge was on the near side of town.

“There it is!” shouted Stiller, pointing excitedly. “It’s still there!”

Hall followed the major’s finger down the road. Straining his eyes past the Shermans, he could see the very top of some steel girders in the distance. The structure seemed intact. Hall felt his excitement rising. They were going to make it.

An eruption ripped down the column, nearly knocking Hall out of the jeep. A pillar of smoke belched into the sky. The task force ground to a halt. In the distance, the city vomited fire. Explosions rocked the column up and down the line. Bullets tore across armor, clanging loudly as the shells bounced off the steel and crackled into the air.

Hall froze, shocked by the sudden violence that poured over him. Their driver jerked, and his head snapped back. The sergeant’s hands flew to his forehead, blood spilling down the digits.

“Hall, help me, damn it!” shouted Stiller. The major grabbed their driver and pulled him down over the other front seat, so he was laying down with his face up. The major jumped out and moved quickly around the front of the vehicle, and bent over, pulling back the soldier’s hands so he could examine the wound.

“I need a cloth, Hall!”

The lieutenant ran his hands over his jacket, but he didn’t have anything.

“Where’s your aid kit?”

Hall hesitated for a moment. “I’m sorry sir, I forgot to bring it.”

“Damn it! Go get one from somebody fast! I need it now! And find a medic!”

Hall stared at the inferno around him. Was Stiller out of his mind? He thought of refusing but knew that would be the end of his medal. He drew a deep breath and jumped out of the jeep, turning and sprinting back down the line of jeeps. He reached Baum’s vehicle in a half-dozen heart-pounding seconds, and the captain looked up from directing the battle.

“What is it, Hall?”

“I need an aid kit, sir!”

Baum fumbled with his belt and pulled up his kit, handing it to the lieutenant.

“We need a medic too!”

Baum shook his head. “No time right now.”

Hall rushed back toward the jeep. Bullets kicked up in the dirt, and he threw himself behind their vehicle, hitting the ground hard.

“Hall, I need that damn kit!”

The lieutenant closed his eyes. He was frozen with terror. He drew himself to his knees, then reached down and removed the flask from his shirt. Keeping it close to his chest, he quickly removed the cap and took a deep drink. He nearly choked on the liquid. He hadn’t expected the sweet, cloying flavor of schnapps. Still, anything was welcome. He took another quick drink and then screwed the cap back on. Waiting a second more, he rushed around the jeep and up to Stiller, handing the kit to the major.

“Where’s the medic?” his commander asked, already ripping open the box.

“Baum said there isn’t time.”

Stiller grunted and turned to the soldier. He drew a smaller white box out of the package and pulled the little ribbon on the end, ripping the container open and pulling out a field bandage. He immediately pressed it against the wound, trying to clear enough blood to see what had happened. Hall watched over the major’s shoulder. The driver’s forehead belched a fountain of scarlet liquid. The soldier rocked back and forth, moaning from the pain.

“Stay still, son,” said the major. “I’m trying to see what the hell is going on here.” Stiller finally cleared away enough of the blood. “I’ve got good news for you. Looks like it just grazed the skin. Probably bounced off something first. You’re going to feel like hell for a few days, but you’re going to be okay, son. Now listen up. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m going to bandage you up and give you some morphine. We’ll put you in the back, and Hall and I will jump in the front. As soon as we can get you a proper look-over, we’ll do it. Do you understand me?”

The soldier nodded, his eyes closed and his teeth gnashing from the pain.

“Okay, good. Hall, get over here and give me a hand.”

The major seemed impervious to the explosions and bullets flying all around him. He was obviously too stupid to feel fear. Hall stepped forward, hunched over as much as possible. He took Stiller’s position on the left side of the driver, while the major stepped around to the right, exposing his back to the incoming fire. Stiller placed a large bandage over the soldier’s forehead, then held it in place with one hand while he taped it down with the other. When he was finished, he removed a morphine syringe and jabbed it into the driver’s arm. A few seconds later, the soldier went limp. “I sure hope I did that right. Haven’t had any cause to use one of these before.”

Stiller reached down and ran his hands under the soldier, nodding at Hall to do the same. In one motion they lifted, pulling the sergeant to their chests. The man was dead weight. They pulled him out of the jeep and then stepped backward, feeding him into the back seat. Every moment, Hall expected to be hit by gunfire.

“Okay, Hall, jump in!”

The lieutenant headed around the back of the jeep to the driver’s side, but Stiller waved him off. “I’ll steer. You need to use that Thompson!”

Hall ran back around and jumped into the passenger seat. He reached back and grabbed his weapon, prying the ammunition satchel out from underneath the wounded driver. He turned back around while Stiller put the jeep into gear, edging it closer to the Sherman directly in front of them.

Captain Baum materialized next to Stiller. He had his pistol out, and he was trailed by two GIs in close support. “I need you both to help with covering fire. Leave the jeep!”

“You heard him, Hall. Let’s go!”

The lieutenant hesitated. Now that they were in the shadow of the tank, he felt a little safer. He didn’t want to go back out there. There was nothing he could do; he steeled himself and jumped out, carting his Thompson with him, and followed the major as he tried to keep up with the brisk strides of the task force commander.

The small group walked along the line of Shermans. The tanks were actively engaged, firing their cannons at the buildings on both sides of the river. Machine-gun fire sprayed out of the front of the armored behemoths. Baum kept low, darting from tank to tank, heading toward the front of the column. Bullets whizzed and ricocheted all around them. One of the GIs in close support of the captain was hit, toppling backward with a bullet to the chest. Baum kept moving, ignoring the wounded soldier. Hall looked back as they passed. A comrade was already rushing to the soldier’s side.