James Shipman - Task Force Baum

“Jawohl, mein Hauptmann ,” said the sergeant, hanging up quickly. Koehl hoped he’d scared the bastard enough to get some movement out of him. He needed that fuel, and he needed it now.

A half hour of agonizing waiting later, the truck rolled into view. Koehl stared at his watch, calculating the distance from Hammelburg. As frustrating as the delay was, the sergeant had moved quickly to get the refueling vehicle back into operation and all the way to the Main. Now it would be another twenty to thirty minutes to fuel the vehicles. A wasted hour.

“Fill them halfway only!” he ordered. He was taking a gamble, but if they reduced the intake, he could save ten minutes or so in the process. He only hoped the Americans were delayed. The truck filled one Ferdinand, then the next. He watched the process, keeping a close eye on his watch and shouting orders to move down the line when he felt the behemoths had enough petrol. Finally, the last one was done. The driver of the truck saluted. “I’ll be heading back to Hammelburg if that’s it, sir.”

“No, you will not. You will be coming with us. I may need you again before this is over.”

“But, sir,” the soldier protested, “I have orders.”

“You have new ones now. Get your vehicle to the end of the line. We are leaving immediately. Schnell! ” Koehl looked down at his watch. Seventeen minutes to refuel. Well, there was nothing he could do. The anti-tank vehicles rumbled back into operation and lurched down the road toward Burgsinn. He kept his head out of the turret, eyes darting between the town and the opposite bank of the Main, searching for any sign of the enemy column. They were a few hundred meters away now. They were going to make it. He stepped down into the belly of the steel beast, tugging on Schmidt’s jacket. His command sergeant looked up, ready for orders.

“Pass the command now. We won’t have time to set this when we get there. I want our machines to fan out, one per street, and roll down toward the Main. Put a few infantry on the back of each vehicle. When we get to the Americans, they can spread out and provide support fire. If we get into position before they are across the river, we can look at what else we might do to prepare.” Koehl paused. “And put that engineer on our turret. He can ride out front.”

“But, sir, that’s suicide.”

“We need a good spotter. If he makes it through, and if we bag those Americans, I might consider dropping the report at headquarters.” He felt a twinge. The order didn’t feel right. To hell with it. He ruined my plans!

The sergeant nodded, but Koehl could tell he didn’t approve. The captain struggled with his feelings for a few moments. “Fine, Schmidt, he can ride on the back. But he better do his job and do it well!”

The sergeant smiled. “Yes, sir. You’re a good man, sir.”

Koehl grunted. “I just don’t want him to get in the way of our cannons.”

“Of course not. That is wise thinking.” The NCO was grinning now from ear to ear.

“Enough. Make the orders.”

Koehl lifted himself back out of the top and looked toward the town. He lifted his field glasses. The narrow streets were crowded, and it was difficult to see. He could not make out any American vehicles. He looked to his left and examined the far bank. Again, he saw nothing. He felt an electric tug at his heart. Was it possible they had beat the Americans, even with the delay? Yes! Unless they were long gone.

As if in answer to that thought, Schmidt’s voice echoed up out of the Ferdinand. “Sir, it’s HQ on the line. They have an update on the Americans. I’m afraid it’s bad news, sir.”

Koehl took the receiver with as much calm as he could muster. “Is that you, Colonel?”

“Koehl, what’s your position?”

“We’re half a kilometer from town. Where are the Americans?”

“Well past you. Our reconnaissance plane flew over the column fifteen minutes ago. They are halfway to Hammelburg.”

“ Scheisse! Is that their target?”

“There’s no way to know. I’m preparing our defenses in case they come into the town.”

“I’m on my way.”

“No way you can get here in time, Koehl. You’re a half hour behind at least.”

“If you can hold them, we will hit them from behind and crush them. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Negative.”

“What do you mean?”

“My instincts tell me they are after the POWs. That’s the only thing that makes sense. If so, they will have to cut in near Hammelburg and then turn into the hills. Look at your map, Hauptmann , there is a straight road from your location. With any luck, you can be ready and waiting for them on the road to Oflag XIII.”

“And if you’re wrong.”

“If I’m wrong, then we will handle them here, or they will handle us. But I’m not wrong. Now get moving.”

“I will, sir. Good luck.”

“You too, Koehl.”

The captain paused for a moment and then gave new orders, sending his column on a sharp right toward the hills beyond Hammelburg. He knew the area well; he’d been training with his company here for more than a week, preparing for the defense of the area when the general attack from the Americans came. He wondered whether the colonel was right. What if the Americans were after the town instead? Why would they be? With such a small column, what would be the purpose of capturing a town? No, the colonel was correct, as he always seemed to be. They were after the POW camp. He was still puzzled about the size of the force. Why send less than a thousand men this far behind enemy lines with no support? The Americans seemed to have unlimited men and resources. The decision made no sense. Well, thinking at that level was not his problem. He was a tactical leader, and this force was enough of a problem for him. He just hoped he could get there in time and punish the column for his sister. Even as he contemplated that event, his vehicle was turning sharply, rolling down a bumpy side road toward the steep hills of Hammelburg.

The Ferdinand vibrated terribly on the gravel road. Koehl pushed his driver, laboring to eke out every ounce of his machine’s performance on the narrow, pothole-ridden road. They were moving due east toward the cluster of hills to the southeast of Hammelburg. Even now, the ground was beginning to arc upward.

Schmidt was on the radio with headquarters constantly now. The Americans had not materialized at Hammelburg yet and were past due based on the calculations of the reconnaissance pilot. Koehl felt the first prick of panic. Had they turned off somewhere along the way? The colonel assumed their target was the city or the Oflag, but what if they were wrong? Schweinfurt, the center of Germany’s ball-bearing industry, was just a few kilometers farther east. What if this was a daring gamble to smash that industry? Certainly, the American air force had tried and failed to do the same. If so, the column might have rounded Hammelburg to the north and could already be far out of his reach. He consulted his map, trying to find a route the Americans might be taking. Was there any way, in such a scenario, that he could still get in on the kill?

He heard Schmidt talking below him. There was a rapid exchange, and then the sergeant lowered the headset. “The Americans have been spotted again, sir,” he said.

“They’ve turned north, haven’t they?”

“No, they’re headed straight for the town.”

“Then they are attacking Hammelburg? Not the Oflag?”

“No way to know that yet, sir. The highway heads straight toward the city before a branch road heads up into the hills. We won’t know for a few more minutes.”

Koehl checked his map, trying to pinpoint the location of the Americans and his own column. Even if the enemy force was coming to the Oflag, he wasn’t sure he could be in position in time. If they weren’t headed toward the camp, the Americans could hit Hammelburg long before he would reach the position. He felt his frustration mounting again. Why hadn’t the colonel allowed him to proceed directly toward him, where they could have caught the GIs in a double-sided trap, hammer to anvil.