James Shipman - Task Force Baum

“Did you know your son-in-law was in the camp?”

“Do you feel responsible for all the dead and wounded?”

Patton held his hands up, forcing the din in the long, bare room to finally die down.

“One question at a time now. I’ll try to answer every one of them that I can. I didn’t announce the raid ahead of time for obvious reasons. We don’t publicize our military operations. You know better than that.”

“But did you know that Waters was in the camp?” the reporter repeated insistently.

“No, I did not,” said Patton. Stiller shifted uncomfortably under the weight of these words. But he said nothing.

“Why this raid then? Why to that camp?”

“Look,” Patton said, his hands raised as if he could push the questions away. “I’d been looking for a chance to liberate some of our boys for a long time. You saw what those damned Germans were doing in the other camps we occupied. This Oflag was in range, and I took a shot at it.”

“Yes, but you failed,” said another reporter.

Patton’s face flushed red at this. “Yes, I failed. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, young man, but war doesn’t follow a recipe. You throw the ingredients at it and hope you bake up something you can eat. Sometimes the batch gets burned. That’s the way it goes.”

“Would you have done anything different if you had a chance?”

Patton paused. “Yes, I would. I should have sent a whole combat command. I thought about it, but I wanted a fast, tight raid. That was a mistake.”

“You’re sure you didn’t know Waters was in there?” It was the young reporter again.

Patton turned on him. “Listen here, puppy. My word is my honor. I didn’t know he was there, and that’s the end of that. But if you need more proof than that, here are my personal and official journals. You’re welcome to read them. You’ll see there isn’t a word about my son-in-law being in that camp.” The general held up a couple of leather-bound books. “I’ll circulate these after the conference is over. I can only let you look at the relevant pages. Too much in there that’s confidential. I’m sure you understand.

“Now, if that’s enough about that, I’d like you all to meet my son-in-law. John, can you come out here?”

Lieutenant Colonel John Waters stepped up on the stage; he still had a distinct hobble, and he moved with measured, stiff movements, but he was there, alive, liberated, just like Stiller and the rest of the survivors of the doomed task force.

The reporters erupted in applause as Waters took the stage. Patton embraced his son-in-law, then took his left arm in his right, lifting his hand into the air. The clapping went on for a good while. Stiller took the opportunity to step out of the building.

He took a walk, past tanks, trucks, and the busy hive of an army headquarters. Here and there he was recognized, and he gave salutes or brief greetings, but he didn’t stop to talk. He was flushed with his own emotions. He had spent a good portion of his lifetime serving Patton. The general was a gruff, obnoxious prima donna at times, but he had a heart of gold. He’d made just about every mistake a man could make, usually with what came out of his mouth. The people loved and hated him for it. Stiller had never minded. His friend seemed always in the end to seek what was right and honorable. Besides, he was Mars himself on the battlefield, in Stiller and many other people’s opinion, the greatest field general of the war, at least on the American side of things. Wars needed men like Patton.

Something was different now, though. Stiller had never seen Patton lie so directly to reporters, to Ike, to anyone who would listen. He’d acted in self-interest, and that bothered Stiller. Still, who didn’t want to protect their own in time of war? But to deny he’d done it was something else. My word is my honor.

What would he do about it? Nothing, he realized. He would keep the secret. His own honor demanded it. He’d done everything he could do. He’d gone on the raid. He’d tried to rescue Waters. He’d protected Patton’s reputation, even at the cost of rewarding someone he found despicable. Perhaps that’s what really rubbed him the wrong way. He wanted to punish Hall more than anyone he’d ever encountered. Not out of spite; that wasn’t in his nature. He wanted the young officer to face consequences for his actions, to learn that the world wasn’t here just for him. Hall needed that desperately. Instead, the lieutenant’s deceit had been rewarded in order to protect Patton. Stiller had fed a growing monster. Well, it couldn’t be helped. God’s will be done.

He continued his walk, already feeling a little better. Stiller eventually made his way back to Patton’s office, where the general sat with Waters, enjoying a glass of eighteen-year-old scotch. Patton nodded to Stiller when he came in and poured the major a glass.

“Come on in and take a seat, Alex.”

Stiller stepped in, sat down, and accepted the glass, tipping the container back and enjoying a sip of the deep, fiery whiskey. “Thank you, George.”

“John was just telling me about the raid. Hell of a situation. Did he tell you about this Knorr fellow?”

Stiller nodded. “A real bastard. Although not the only one we’ve heard of. These Nazis have a real sadistic streak. Good thing we whipped ’em good.”

“What about Curtis?” asked Patton. “He sacrificed his life to save John. I want the Medal of Honor for him.”

Stiller shifted uncomfortably. “Sir, you realize every one of those requires a detailed inquiry into the facts of the medal. I think we want to let dead dogs lie on this little trip.”

Patton thought about that for a second. “I guess you’re right. Let’s get him a Silver Star then, at least. And I want something for Baum, Nutto, and the rest of the boys. They didn’t make it, but they gave it a hell of a run.”

“What about my recommendations for Hall?”

Patton looked at Stiller sharply. “I thought you didn’t like the little prick?”

Stiller kept his face straight. “He did his duty on the raid. He fought bravely.” You better keep your word, you little shit .

Patton grunted. “It seems excessive to me that he gets a promotion and a medal, but if that’s your recommendation, I won’t fight it. How about you, Alex? Surely you deserve something for going along.”

Stiller grunted. “I don’t need nothing, sir. It’s just my job. All I did was sit in a jeep and ride along.”

“We all know that isn’t true,” said Waters. “You’re a hell of a leader and a lousy self-promoter.”

“I followed orders, nothing more.”

“Well, I may do something despite your protests,” said Patton. “The war is all but over. You’ve been a hell of a friend and staff member. I’m not going to forget you.”

“How’d the meeting with Ike go?” asked Stiller, wanting to change the subject.

“He was pissed as hell about the raid,” said Patton. “I don’t think he believed me about Waters, but he let it pass.” The general chuckled. “In a way, I’ve been in so much trouble already that this seemed like small potatoes. I do worry with the war over they’re going to want to find a back shelf to shove me on. I’ve never been much of a peacetime officer. Too much handholding and brown-nosing for me.”

“They can’t get rid of you,” said Waters. “You’re a hero.”

“Watch them,” said Patton. He turned to Stiller. “Well, my friend. This thing’s almost over. Thank you for going in to get John. I’m sorry it turned out the way it did.”

Stiller wanted to say something to his friend, tell him how he felt, but he let it pass. There was nothing that could be done about it. The past was the past. Their friendship was bigger than this. The war was over. The dead from the raid could as well have perished in the general offensive that occurred on the heels of the failed task force. War was messy. He’d let it lie at that.