James Shipman - Task Force Baum

Moment by moment, Hall expected another round to drop in among them, but still there was nothing. “What just happened?” he asked.

“Don’t know!” shouted Stiller.

“Why aren’t there more?”

The major spat. “Could have been a lone panzerfaust . Some bastard snuck up in the dark and took a potshot at us. Brave son-of-a-bitch. I’d still like to skin him alive. We don’t have enough tanks for this horseshit.”

Stiller was right. They were down to a handful of armor. If they ran into anything serious at this point, they wouldn’t be able to fight their way out. Again, he cursed the decision to bring the POWs along. Without them, they’d be halfway back already. Instead, they were crawling down through the damned hills and hadn’t found their way out. Still, they’d been lucky. If they had faced a full attack, the Germans might have wiped them out.

They crept down the narrow pathways through the steep, heavily forested hills coming out from the Oflag. Nutto’s Sherman was in the lead, followed by three more Shermans and then the command vehicles and the half-tracks. The rear of the column was made up of the light tanks. The force moved at a crawl, barely above the brisk pace of a pedestrian. Even worse, they kept inexplicably halting, sometimes for as long as ten minutes, before lurching ahead again.

Hall felt like he could burst. What the hell was Nutto doing? The Germans were everywhere. They’d spent far too long in the camp, and now they were pussyfooting down toward the valley. If they had any chance of getting out of here, speed was critical. Was he surrounded by imbeciles? He looked over at Stiller in the driver’s seat. Visibility was low, but from what he could make out, the major seemed unconcerned by their situation, staring straight ahead with that blank, stupid expression on his face while he chomped away on his tobacco.

The convoy ground to a halt again. The Shermans shuddered and coughed, and then one after another, the engines died. Hall strained his eyes, trying to see what was up ahead. He was outraged that the column was stopping. Baum must be out of his mind. Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer, and he voiced his frustrations. “What the hell is going on?” asked Hall. He checked his watch. They’d been almost three hours now in the hills. By contrast, they’d only spent a half hour or so climbing up to the Oflag on the way in.

“I don’t know, Hall, but why don’t you go find out?” responded Stiller.

That was the major’s solution? To put his ass on the line again? Why didn’t the bastard get out himself and check? All he did was sit there, his mind focused on God knows what. Hall thought about refusing but knew he couldn’t. Swearing to himself, he climbed out of the jeep, pulling the Thompson out and moving forward. He passed a Sherman to the right. He coughed and sputtered when he walked into a low-hanging branch, the needles clawing at his cheek. He could barely see a few feet in front of him.

Hall passed the rest of the Shermans and reached the front of the convoy.

“What do you think you’re doing?” A whispered voice washed over him from the turret of the lead tank.

“It’s Lieutenant Hall.”

“Good for you,” said the tanker, his voice laced with sarcasm. “I didn’t ask your name. I asked what you’re doing.”

Hall bristled. “I’m trying to find out why you nitwits are taking so damned long to get us out of these hills.”

“We’re taking our time because I say so,” said another voice coming out of the darkness in front of him. Hall turned and saw Lieutenant Nutto emerging from the blackness, limping along toward him, his face grimacing in pain.

Hall turned to the tank commander. “Stiller wants to know what’s going on.” That wasn’t technically true, but Nutto didn’t need to know that.

“Stiller isn’t in charge of this task force.”

“I’m aware of that, Lieutenant, but he’s a major, and he’s trying to figure out why we’re taking all night traveling a couple miles out of these hills.”

“How much combat have you been in, Hall?”

“I’ve been in… some.”

“I’ll bet my March pay this is your first patrol.” He looked carefully at Hall, watching his reaction. “That’s what I thought,” he said finally. “Well, I’ve been in the shit now for months. Let me tell you from experience, we were damn lucky to get out of that last cross-fire ambush. We won’t make it out of another. We are in the worst tactical situation right now. It’s pitch-black, and we’re on a narrow road with wooded inclines on both sides. What’s more, I don’t know where the fuck we’re going. So if you want to be alive in the morning, I’d suggest you go back and tell your major that we’ll be out of here when we’re ready.”

Hall was furious, but he found he could not meet Nutto’s eyes. If he only outranked this smug jerk, he’d give him a piece of his mind. But he didn’t, and Hall had no choice but to grunt and turn around, walking back toward the jeep with as much dignity as he could command. He was fuming. He cursed the army, cursed this war that allowed men of no background or social standing to order him around. Well, they’d be out of this mess in the next few hours, and the war was almost over. When it was, he promised himself he would return home and ensure he was never in a position again to be told to do anything.

He arrived back at the jeep, climbing silently in.

“What did you find out?” asked Stiller.

“Not much. Nutto’s grown cautious, and he’s jumping at shadows up there. He told me it’s going to take as long as it takes. He also reminded me that you’re not in charge.”

Stiller chuckled. “I like that Nutto.”

Hall’s fury increased. Of course, the major would like the tanker. They were cut out of the same bolt of cloth. Careful, don’t say anything. You’re so close .

Fortunately, the column jerked into motion at that moment, and Hall could suppress his emotions. They crawled forward for another hundred yards or so, and then, to his amazement, the tanks rolled to a stop again. He checked his watch, shaking his head.

The remaining hour of March 27 passed like that, start and stop, fumbling blindly through the darkness in the hills. He doubted they’d made it two miles. He waited for the attack that would wipe them out, the ambush that stupid Nutto was giving the Germans all the time they needed to prepare. He chewed his lip, suppressing his frustration at this impossible situation.

Midnight passed, and then one. Hall gave up all hope as the task force stuttered and stopped in the darkness. Was the bastard waiting for dawn? If so, they’d surely catch it good. He complained to Stiller again, but the major silenced him, chastising him for interfering with Nutto, an expert in combat. With each moment, he waited for a panzerfaust to fire and the shells to rip through the column, killing them all.

And then, miraculously, they were through. The ground leveled, the trees gave way to fields, and in the distance, Hall could make out the lights of a town, perhaps Hammelburg. He checked his watch again; it was 0130. Hall’s spirits rose; they’d burned through half the night traveling a few miles, but they were in the clear now, and soon they would be back on the highway and streaming toward the Main and beyond to the American lines. Stiller chuckled as he accelerated; even the major was apparently relieved to be out of the winding hills. Hall laughed as the major clamped him on the arm. He felt a fleeting moment of comradeship with his commander. He breathed deeply of the crisp night air. Only a few hours to go. They were going to make it.

To Hall’s shock, the column ground to a halt again. Was Nutto still playing his game of hide-and-seek with the Germans? Was he intentionally trying to kill them all? The lieutenant had had enough of this. He would not let himself be destroyed like this. If the idiots in charge of this were going to stay here in the dark, he would find some other way out.