James Shipman - Task Force Baum

“New intelligence from our spotter planes suggests it’s a modest force,” said Schmidt. “It’s a raid, not a general attack. Figure five hundred or less.”

Five hundred . The number rang through his mind. A force that size was more than he could handle, unless he hit them just right. It was a long shot, but he might pull it off with some luck. He would need to let them cross the river in force if he were to have any chance of wiping them out. Hit them a little to draw them in, then let the armor cross and blow the bridge after everything was on this side. In the narrow streets of Gemünden, his company and the six tank destroyers would have the force surrounded and bunched up in a tight space where each round would do massive damage. His own Cannae . He didn’t want to delay the Americans any longer. He wanted to destroy them, every last one. His mind whirled through the details as he adjusted to this new possibility.

What about the colonel? His instructions were specific. Koehl was to delay the enemy force and blow the bridge. Everything was prepared already. Could he ignore his commander’s express order? He made his decision.

“New plan, Schmidt. I want you to find those engineers. Tell them to wait until the column is across the bridge. We will hit them with some light fire when they come into range, then draw them over. Once they reach the park, we’ll blow the bridge and wipe all of them out.” Koehl delivered the command with a shaking voice dragged raggedly over the coals of his sorrow.

Schmidt’s eyes widened in disbelief, and he took a step back as if struck physically by the order. He shook his head, and his voice was measured, quiet, almost pleading. “Sir, there are way too many of them. Shouldn’t we just blow the bridge and take a few of them out? Wasn’t that what the colonel asked us to do? We can turn them around here or keep them at bay with long-distance shots.” He took a step forward, his eyes full of understanding. “Don’t you worry, sir. It won’t be long before the colonel can pull in more reinforcements. That will be the time to hit them hard. We will make them pay for what they did to Gerta.”

“You heard me!” snapped Koehl. The sergeant flinched. He came to attention, saluted, and stomped away. Koehl felt a tinge of guilt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d chastised Schmidt. They’d been through so much together. He was almost family himself. Almost.

A few minutes passed. Koehl watched the approaching American column through his field glasses. Around him, he heard the muffled scurrying of men and equipment, as his force hastened to move into position in time to ambush the enemy formation. He relished the preparation for combat, the tense minutes before the attack that kept the haunting churn of emotions about his sister at bay for at least a little while. Schmidt eventually returned. “Everything is ready, Hauptmann .” The sergeant’s voice was flat, tinged with disapproval. Koehl ignored the implied reproach.

“Excellent. Hit them with small-arms fire early. But nothing too much.”

“They’ll know we’re here, sir,” protested the sergeant.

“I want them to. We need to draw them in if we are going to get the whole force across the river.”

The sergeant shook his head. “I wish you’d reconsider. I’ve rarely questioned your judgment, sir, but I’m worried you’re not thinking clearly. Not that I blame you. Look out there,” said Schmidt, pointing to the advancing column. “We’re going to take some licks before they get over. They’ve got a batch of Shermans out front. If we’re not careful, it’s going to get out of control fast.”

“Take the lead out. That will confuse their fire. They will have to regroup, then they’ll storm across all at one time.”

Schmidt nodded. He turned to the nearby Ferdinand and shouted instructions to the commander. Koehl kept his eyes on the enemy force. The lead tanks were just a few hundred yards from the bridge now. “Hit them!” he yelled.

The town around them exploded in fire. Koehl winced, embracing the concussive force and struggling to lift his glasses again, straining to see the effect of the attack through the smoke and fire erupting across the Main. Small-arms fire sparked and sputtered on the enemy armor. As he watched, the lead enemy tank turret turned slowly to the left, an irritated monster searching for the insect that annoyed it. The Sherman never struck back. An 88mm shell struck the tank near the seam between the turret and the base. The tank bounced and shuddered. Fire and smoke belched out of the interior as the vehicle ground slowly to a halt. Behind it, men scurried for cover.

Koehl watched with growing excitement. The Americans moved across the far side of the river like pieces on a chessboard. The plan was evolving exactly as Koehl had foreseen. The trap was set; now to spring it.

“Keep up the fire!” shouted Koehl. “But no more cannons! I don’t want to pin them down on the other side!” To his left and right, the Hauptmann heard his commands followed faithfully by his men. The Ferdinands slacked off, instead adding their machine-gun fire to the infantry attack on the Americans. The enemy was immobile now, preparing its next move, a spring set to violently snap. Koehl just hoped the commander was aggressive enough to storm the bridge. If he waited for reinforcements, they would accomplish nothing, and he would have brought death down on his unit. He had to destroy this force. He wanted it more than anything he’d ever desired in battle. He willed the American commander to strike them.

He thought of his sister for a moment. He remembered the day he’d left for the war. She’d been a girl then, scarcely twelve. He’d taken her for a pastry and explained why he had to depart from her and their parents. She’d cried, begging him to stay. He’d smiled, wiping away her tears. She’d asked him to pray to God that he would be spared, that he would come home to her. He’d done so, holding her hand, both on their knees. He’d never thought of praying for her life as well…

Now he imagined her dead somewhere in a field. A disturbing image rocked his mind. He saw her blond hair amid the wreckage of a smoldering vehicle. One body among many. He smelled the blood and heard the cries of pain. He shook his head, the grief threatening to overwhelm him again. He forced himself to return his attention to the battle.

A Sherman rumbled forward, driving the burning husk of the lead tank out of the way. American infantry shadowed the armored hulk, scrambling ahead like so many green ants. The enemy vehicle fired. A shell ripped into a building to Koehl’s left. The American infantry were alternating in small groups, with a few men firing while others darted forward from cover to cover. These were veterans, Koehl noted. The new men always came on in a rush. All balls and no brains, but the experienced ones were cautious and lethal.

The Sherman advanced on to the first part of the bridge, a dozen GIs following close behind. They were going to establish a bridgehead, Koehl realized, a tight smile on his face. The enemy commander was skilled, but he was acting according to the book, and his actions drew his men into the Hauptmann ’s carefully orchestrated trap.

“Schmidt, it’s working!” he shouted, clapping the sergeant on the back. The sergeant smiled grimly in return, his shoulders hunched, and his head braced against the shrapnel and the stray bullets whizzing around them. “Make sure the Sherman makes it!” yelled Koehl excitedly. “I want everyone to pull back fifty yards. We need to give them some room. If we wipe this group out, the rest won’t follow!”

The sergeant moved out, giving orders on the run and gesturing violently backward. The first Ferdinand ignited its engine and reversed, backing slowly down the street. As Koehl watched, the others followed, deepening the trap, giving the Americans room to maneuver on this side of the Main. The captain was playing a dangerous game. He remembered Schmidt’s words, which seemed now to echo with vivid colors in his mind. If he misjudged the enemy force, he would have more than he could handle on this side of the river. If he failed, he would have to explain to his commander why he had disobeyed orders and allowed a powerful American force over the bridge without resisting them. Assuming they even survived such a mistake. He thought about it for a moment. He didn’t care. He wanted to destroy them all. Besides, he knew what he was doing. He’d faced worse odds before on the frozen plains of Russia…