James Shipman - Task Force Baum

The door opened, and Stiller stood in the entryway, beckoning to Hall with a stiff flick of his head. The lieutenant tried to read the expression on the major’s face, but he showed nothing. Damn him . Hall rose and walked past the aide, still busily poring over his documents, and into Patton’s office.

The lieutenant general was perched behind a massive mahogany desk at the far end of the room. Maps and charts filled the wall space behind him and most of the surface in front. He was dressed impeccably as always, his three silver stars gleaming brightly from a starched collar. His jaw worked furiously at some gum. Patton watched the lieutenant with hawkish eyes nesting beneath a gray crew cut. Hall’s breath quickened, and his hands shook. He’d met the general twice before, but they’d spoken only a few words to each other. He stood at attention and saluted. The gesture was crisply returned.

“At ease, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Do you know why you are here today?”

Hall hesitated. He could guess, but he didn’t want to admit it. “No, sir,” he lied.

“Major Stiller has communicated to me about you for some time now. A little of this, a little of that. Laziness, bad attitude, a sense of privilege.”

Hall glanced over at Stiller, who stared into space with a satisfied smirk cresting his lips. The bastard .

“Pay attention, boy,” growled the general.

Hall went rigid again and returned his focus. “Sorry, sir.”

“I told Stiller to have patience. After all, we all were young once, and most of what he described didn’t seem too unusual for a young college graduate with a powerful father. I figured it would all work out in the end. Then I received your letter.” Patton leaned forward, his countenance clouding. “I don’t play games, Lieutenant. We don’t break the chain of command in the Third Army. Worse than that, I’m not sure I’ve ever read a correspondence more filled with entitlement.” Patton’s eyes bored into him. “Just who the hell do you think you are? You figure just because your dad ran a tank under my command in the Meusse-Argonne that I owe you something?”

“No, sir, I—”

Patton jabbed a finger at him. “I didn’t tell you to talk, boy. Now listen up. I told your father I’d get you some combat time. I informed Stiller of the same. But it’s his damned decision when and how. I don’t have time to grease the wheels for every damned kid with a father that served with me somehow or somewhere. If you’d worked your ass off and followed the major, you’d already have what you wanted. Instead, you’ve sat back, half-assed, and demanded what you could have achieved if you’d just shut your mouth. Then when you don’t get it fast enough, you have the balls to try an end run around, directly to me!” Patton was shouting now, and a speck of spittle frothed at the edge of his mouth.

“I’m sorry, sir, it’s just that—”

“I told you to be quiet!” The general rose out of his chair, his arms crossed. “I thought I had enough to chew your ass out about. Now I find out you’ve been drinking on the job.”

“I wasn’t drinking, sir. That’s a lie.”

Patton’s face flared an angry scarlet, and a speck of spittle frothed at the edge of his mouth. “So, Stiller’s a liar, is it? Do you want to go home right now?”

Hall hesitated again, his cheeks hot and his eyes on the floor. “Okay, sir, it’s true, I took a little nip. I’d been up twelve hours—”

“ I’d been up twelve hours ,” Patton repeated in a mocking tone. “The boys in the field are up for days at a time! And their buddies are blown up, shot, and stabbed! No shower, no food, no sleep! Death stalking them every minute! You don’t know a damned thing about being tired! You’re the biggest pile of shit I think I’ve ever seen. What do you think, Stiller?”

The major grunted in agreement.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Hall began again. “I just wanted a chance to serve in combat. I wanted to do more—”

Patton’s eyes narrowed. “I know what you wanted, Hall. You wanted a cushy half hour in pretend combat somewhere near the line so you could bring home a decoration to daddy. Well, I’ve got something different in mind for you.”

“You can’t mean…” interjected Stiller.

“I mean exactly that.”

The major stuttered in protest. “I don’t want that boy with me. That’s the last thing I need.”

Hall didn’t know what they were talking about. He looked from Patton to Stiller.

“He’s going,” said the general. “If anything is going to make a man out of this pile of horse manure, this will.”

“Sir, what are you talking about?”

“Shut your mouth before I change my mind.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sending you with Stiller. You’re going to be his bodyguard. I’m authorizing a task force to break through enemy lines and liberate a POW camp near Hammelburg. You’re going with him.”

Hall was shocked, Hammelburg was fifty or sixty miles behind the front. “But, sir, that city is—”

“I know damned well where it is, Hall. You want combat experience? You’re going to get it. But you won’t get a soft patrol in a safe zone. You’re heading balls deep into the shit. If you come out of this thing alive, we’ll talk about a medal. If you’ve done everything Stiller tells you, without question, without hesitation. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Patton stepped right up to Hall, standing an inch away from his face. “But you listen here, you little maggot,” he said, jabbing a finger into the lieutenant’s chest. “If you step a toe out of line. If I hear one thing you failed to do. Then I will run you through the wringer for drinking on duty. You’ll go home without a commission, dishonored, on the slowest ship I can find. You’ll have a tough time finding a job sweeping the damned streets in Spokane. Do you hear me!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Now get the hell out of my office!”

Hall saluted and retreated from the room. His face was flushed, and he was hot with humiliation and anger. He’d never been talked to like that before. His whole life, nobody had dared. That shit Stiller was responsible for this. He’d get his revenge when the time was right. He smiled to himself. They’d be going where accidents sometimes happened. He’d be smart and play the game. He would do everything asked of him on this mission. No matter what, he would get his medal and his promotion. And if there was a chance for some payback as well, all the better.

The stupid aide still sat at his desk, fumbling through papers. Hall looked down at him. “Sergeant, on your feet!” The soldier looked up in surprise and confusion. He hesitated for a moment and then rose, coming to attention. “Salute your superior,” said Hall, keeping his voice low enough so that it would not be heard in the office next door. The sergeant saluted crisply. Hall looked at him for a moment, then turned and arrogantly swept out of the office, already feeling a little better.

He decided to walk the short distance back to their headquarters. Stiller hadn’t expressly ordered him to wait. He smiled to himself. Despite all this, he was getting his way. He had his mission. He would show those bastards and get what he wanted in the end.

Oflag XIII POW Camp

Hammelburg, Germany

March 26, 1945, 1100 hours

Captain Jim Curtis stared out at the frozen fields beyond the barbed-wire fences. There was freedom there, just out of reach. The towers looming above the fence line bristled with guards wielding automatic weapons, MP 38s, and a smattering of the new STG 44 assault rifles. Any attempt to cross that fence, day or night, was instant death for the prisoner. He knew this from firsthand experience. He’d seen men killed here.