James Shipman - Task Force Baum

Baum’s appearance interrupted his panicked contemplation of escape. “Morning, boys.”

“Morning,” said Stiller. “What’s the situation?”

“As I’m sure you can see, we’ve made it out of the hills.”

“Finally,” said Hall.

“What’s that, Lieutenant?” asked Baum.

“He didn’t mean nothing,” said Stiller. “Sometimes he doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

Hall stewed, but there was nothing he could do. He tried to concentrate through his emotions on the conversation.

“Where are we headed from here?” asked Stiller. “Back to Hammelburg?”

“Negative,” said Baum. “Likely too much heat up that way. That’s the direction they will expect us. No. I studied the routes carefully over the past few hours as we’ve mucked around in those hills. I’m heading south.”

“What’s south?”

“Bonnland, for starters. I figure we make our way through there and on to the Main.”

“But how the hell do we get across the river with no bridge?” asked Hall, refusing to keep quiet.

“We don’t know what’s down there south of Gemünden.”

“What if there’s nothing?” he persisted.

“Then we backtrack north along the river back to Burgsinn and across.”

“We’ll never make it,” said Stiller.

Baum grunted. “You might be right, but there’s no way we can head back the way we came in. They’ll be ready for us in force by now. Our only chance is to find something to the south, or at least get them off the scent. We spent too damned long in those hills.” The captain glanced at Hall. “ It was necessary , but it was a hell of a delay.”

Stiller paused. “I guess it’s the best we can do.” He looked up at the GIs hanging on to the Sherman in front of them. “We gotta save those boys, but they’re going to slow us down something fierce.”

Baum shook his head in agreement. “I don’t know what Patton was thinking. I’ve seen some screwed-up plans in this war, but this one takes the cake.” The captain shrugged. “I don’t have enough brass on my shoulders to worry about that. I’m a doer, and if there’s a chance to get us out of here, I will.”

Stiller reached out his hand, shaking Baum’s. “I know you will. You’ve done good out here, Captain. It’s not your fault we’re in this shit show. We should’ve brought a hell of a lot more firepower.”

“Agreed. But let’s see what we can do with what’s left. Be ready; we’re heading out in a few minutes. I just want to brief my boys.”

Baum departed, and they sat there for a few minutes in silence. Hall figured Stiller would chew him out now that the captain was gone, but the major seemed distracted and didn’t say anything. The lieutenant was thankful for that, but his mind reeled at Baum’s plan. What was the captain thinking? The Main was an insurmountable obstacle. They had to have a bridge to cross it. The only known bridge at the time of the attack was the one at Gemünden. That had been destroyed, and only by a miracle had they found another. They were now heading the opposite direction from the bridge at Burgsinn. The chances they would come across another to the south seemed just about zero. He felt doom closing in on the force.

The column lurched back into motion as the task force moved down the ever-broadening road into the valley toward Hammelburg. As the city loomed larger on the horizon, Hall wondered if the commander had changed his mind about the direction they were heading. His hopes were dashed when the Sherman took a sharp left, and soon they were all traveling southwest away from the bridge and from their only hope for escape.

There was a small chance now that they were at least back on paved, wider roads. This was not quite a highway, but the column gradually gained speed after hours of crawling. Hall felt a little relief as the column finally put some distance between themselves and the Oflag. Perhaps Baum was right to send them southwest. Certainly the krauts would not expect them to head in this direction. If they were lucky, they might even find a bridge over the river somewhere south of Gemünden. If that happened, they might well escape untouched the rest of the way back to the American lines while the Germans lay in wait uselessly somewhere to the west of Hammelburg.

Another half hour passed. They traveled as far from the bottom of the hill as they had traveled over all those preceding hours. The Germans seemed to be nowhere, and Hall started to feel a flicker of hope. At least they were making progress somewhere.

The sound of ripped linen drew his attention starkly away from his contemplation and toward the front of the column. Hall saw first one flash, then another. He heard the sharp clang of bullets flicking off the Sherman in front of them. A POW clinging to the turret screamed in pain, clawing at his arm. Another GI jumped down and helped the wounded kriegie off the tank as the rest of the men scrambled away from the top of the vehicle where they were easy prey for the Germans.

The lead Sherman fired its 30-caliber machine gun, the tracers tearing through the night. The road was too narrow here for the rest of the Shermans to move into position. Hall ripped his Thompson into position, preparing to repulse an attack he expected on either side of them. Moments passed as the fire in front of them rattled away. Hall noticed no increase, however, in the volume of the fighting, and no attack materialized on either side of them.

This didn’t seem to be a significant German attack. Perhaps it was just an outpost with a few German guards. If so, why weren’t they tearing through it?

“What’s going on?” he shouted to Stiller.

“It’s an attack. What do you think?” responded the major.

Idiot. “I know it’s an attack, sir, but it doesn’t seem to have much weight.”

Stiller cocked his head, listening for a moment. “Perhaps you’re right, Hall.” Even as he said this, the fighting in front of them died down, and within a few minutes, it was silent. Hall waited in the darkness for the Germans to rumble forward again, but for some maddening reason they remained immobile.

In the ditches on both sides of the road, the POWs milled around. They gradually returned toward the tanks, initially placing their hands against the turret, as if preparing to dart away again, and then finally climbing back on board.

Out of the dark, Hall saw a figure strolling toward them. It was Nutto. What was it now? They needed to roll forward and keep up their momentum. The tank commander had already wasted half the night chasing shadows. Now he was stopping again to confer with Baum. He needed to be replaced. Couldn’t Baum see that? The lieutenant had obviously lost his nerve. Perhaps Weaver and the light tanks would evince a more aggressive spirit.

Baum appeared near their tank, and Hall could hear the two men conferring. Nutto kept pointing behind him, and the task force commander listened, nodding his head now and then in agreement. The captain stepped over to their jeep.

“Looks like we’re going to have to turn back,” said Baum.

“Why?” asked Stiller.

“Roadblock.”

“But they stopped firing,” protested Hall. “Can’t we just push through?”

“Nutto doesn’t think so,” said Baum.

“How will we know if we don’t try?” asked the lieutenant.

Baum shook his head. “No telling what’s ahead, Hall. We don’t have enough left to fight the Germans head-on in the dark. One more misstep and we’re toast. Nutto thinks we should head due west toward Höllrich, where we can hit Highway Twenty-seven. If we can find a route there, I agree. The nice part about that town is we can go north or south, and once we reach it, we will be moving fast along the river. It gives us better options.” Baum paused and wiped a handkerchief across his forehead. “Frankly, I should’ve thought about that in the first place.”