James Shipman - Task Force Baum

The Sherman crawled along the structure. The advance squad of infantry followed tightly behind. He could see the helmets bobbing here and there behind the grinding treads. A bullet ricocheted near him. Koehl jerked his head down, shaking it. He had to be more careful. The tank kept moving, now three-quarters of the way across. He turned his binoculars back to the shore, hoping the other vehicles were starting to move forward. He felt a surge of adrenaline. The plan was working. They were coming.

An enormous eruption shook the ground around him, nearly knocking him over. He jerked his field glasses to the left and dropped them in shock. The bridge was a mass of fire and smoke. At first, he thought the Americans must have blown it. Why would they kill their own men? With horror and rising anger, he realized one of the idiot engineers must have done it. The fool had disobeyed his orders. He picked up the binoculars again, scanning the span, praying the damage was incomplete, that the Americans could somehow still make it across. Even as he watched, a huge section of the roadway spilled downward into the Main, followed by a tumbling girder from above. Finally, with one fluid motion, the entire mass of the bridge dropped into the river, churning and coughing before it disappeared.

Koehl gawked in amazement. How could his orders have been ignored? He stood in silence as the echoes of battle faded and the Americans slowly withdrew. He’d accomplished his mission, at least the one assigned by the colonel, but he tasted bitter ashes in his mouth. He wanted to make this American force pay in full for the death of his sister. Now, because of the stupidity of one of the engineers, he was losing his chance for vengeance. The stony silence continued, as tears of frustration ran freely down his face.

He had failed, but he was damned if he was going to let this go unpunished. He stormed forward toward the bridge, seeking out the engineers who hid among the bushes and trees of the park. He drew his pistol. He would show this bastard for ruining his plan. He felt a tug at his conscience even as his fury raged through him. He was a man of God, trained in the cloth. Not anymore , he whispered to himself.

He was halfway across the park. Jumbled steel smoked and crackled on both sides of the river. The remaining portions of the bridge, he realized. He glanced across the Main at the fleeing Americans. The column was nearly out of sight. They’d moved quickly for a thousand, he thought. Perhaps their intelligence was wrong. Not that it mattered anymore.

He saw a flash across the water and looked up in surprise. A single Sherman had remained behind, nestled in some trees on the side of the road. He braced himself for the incoming shell. An explosion rocked the park nearby. He felt the concussive blow from the detonation even as his legs were swept from beneath him. His ears rang, and he felt the tearing scrape of metal ripping across his chest and face. He hit the ground hard. He felt his heart tearing at his chest. He breathed fire and gunpowder. The sky above him hoved to and fro in a circular daze. He closed his eyes, and the blackness overwhelmed him.

Gemünden, Germany

March 27, 1945, 1000 hours

Hall stared in horror at Nutto and Baum. Stiller tore forward, rushing to their side. Hall growled for a medic even as the major set to work on the two commanders. Hall stood frozen, unable to move, watching the scene unfold. His mind was in a daze. The attack had materialized out of nowhere. It could have been me .

A medic and several infantry men rushed to the scene. The soldiers huddled over the commanders. Hall saw with relief that both men were moving—legs and arms rocking in pain. They were alive at least. But could Baum still lead the task force?

As he watched the medic work away on the wounded, his mind reeled. Patton’s son-in-law was in the camp. What the hell? The bastard had sent three hundred of them on a secret, personal mission to save a family member. Hall whistled softly to himself. There were a half-dozen dead already and a lot more than that wounded. For what? To rescue one man? Patton had to be out of his mind. If word leaked out about this, Hall was sure the general’s career would be over. He’d been in enough trouble with the brass already.

The medic finished his work on Baum and Nutto. Both men were able, with assistance, to get up and move around. Nutto was the more seriously wounded, with multiple bandages on his chest and stomach. Miraculously, both men were heading back to their vehicles and apparently proceeding with the mission. Nutto needed the assistance of a GI to help him walk. What was wrong with these people? Hall wondered. Were they out of their minds?

Within a few minutes, they were all back in position, and the task force was pulling out. A quarter hour later, they’d left Gemünden behind them, heading north. Hall sat silently next to Major Stiller as his commander drove the jouncing jeep along narrow, curving roads. The Main was to their right, poking in and out of view among the heavily forested banks. The task force was crawling along the constricted road. They had no idea where they were headed. The mission was likely a failure with the loss of the bridge at Gemünden. Hall knew they should be turning back now. The Germans were on to them, and there was no plan now except to try to find a bridge that was still intact across the Main. A slim chance. They should be heading back to American lines while there was still a possibility of making it.

Instead, they were pushing forward. Thanks to Stiller and Patton. Hall turned his head and spat. He was disgusted. Men dead, equipment destroyed. Worst of all, his life was in danger with this ridiculous mission to rescue Patton’s son-in-law. What if he was wounded or killed? Over this?

“Sir, shouldn’t we reconsider?”

“What do you mean, Hall?” asked the major, keeping his eyes on the road and the Sherman just ahead of him.

“I understand how important this is to Patton, but we don’t have a way across the river now. There’s no way he foresaw that before he ordered us in. Shouldn’t we turn around and get out of here while we still can?”

Stiller shook his head. “No chance. You don’t really know Patton, do you?”

“Not really, no.”

“He doesn’t take failure as an option. If we returned now, he might well court-martial the lot of us.”

“There’s no way he’d do anything to you. You’ve been friends for years.”

“Like I said, Hall, there’s no chance. Only thing we can do is keep rolling along this river until we find a way over. If Patton calls us back, that’s one thing, but unless we hear from him, we’re liberating that camp, or we die trying.”

Hall didn’t respond. He wracked his brain for any way out of the situation. There was none. He was miles behind enemy lines, and the major was watching him like a hawk. He had to hope that there was no way over the Main and the task force eventually turned back. There was every chance that would be the case. The Germans had left very few bridges over any of their defensive rivers. They’d been lucky to get to Gemünden with that structure still intact. He leaned back and closed his eyes, praying for a miracle. The old Hall luck had never failed him yet. Whether it was a suspicious professor or the angry parents of some college girl, he’d always found his way out of trouble. He’d find a path out of this mess too. He ran his fingers over the flask hidden inside his jacket. He wanted another drink desperately. He should have snuck one during the fighting at Gemünden, but he hadn’t thought about it. Damn this bastard Stiller. Sitting there smug in the driver’s seat.

The Sherman ahead ground to a halt. Stiller pulled the jeep over but left the vehicle idling. “Stay here, Hall,” he ordered. “I’m going to find out what’s going on.” The major jumped out of the jeep and headed back toward Baum’s command vehicle.