James Shipman - Task Force Baum

“Alex, is that you?” a deep voice grumbled.

“Sure enough,” said Stiller. “How you doing, Creighton?”

Hall realized Stiller must be talking to Lieutenant Colonel Creighton Abrams, commander of Combat Command B of the 4th Division, US Third Army. He stood like a khaki sequoia, bulging boulders for arms resting below a child’s face, as if God had assembled spare parts to play a joke on the man.

“What the heck you doing here, Major?” asked the colonel, his eyes flickering in mirth. “You finally grow tired of all the pencil pushing and come down here for a toss-up?”

Stiller chuckled. “Something like that, Creight. I’ve got a job from George. Can I have a private word with you?”

Abrams’s eyes narrowed, and his face grew thoughtful. “Sure thing, Alex.” He turned to the group surrounding him. “Give us a few minutes, boys. Why don’t you get a little coffee? And bring me some too, and a bit of grub if you can scrounge it.”

The men filed out, and after a few moments, only Stiller, Abrams, and Hall remained. The colonel glanced over and pointed at Hall. “What about that one?”

Stiller pulled out his pouch of tobacco, drawing a wad of oily leaf and shoving it in his mouth, his eyes boring into Hall. “Guess he better stay,” he said finally.

“What’s this all about, Alex?”

“Orders direct from Patton.”

“What kind? Since when are you his errand boy? Why didn’t this just come down the usual way?”

“It’s a special deal.”

Abrams dropped some paperwork he’d been half-perusing and turned to Stiller. “Now you do have my attention. Tell me about it.”

“He wants you to punch through the German lines and liberate a POW camp around Hammelburg.”

“Hammelburg?” asked Creighton, staring down at the map for a moment. “Jesus, Alex, that’s fifty miles back. That’s a mighty big leap. What the hell for?”

Stiller’s eyes shifted, and he paused before answering. “He didn’t give me all the reasons. What I do know is, there’s an officers’ POW camp somewhere around there. He said he’s worried about the Germans carting those boys off again—or, worse yet, killing them.”

Abrams’s eyes narrowed. “Now that don’t make no sense. How many camps are there out there, up and down the line? Fifty? A hundred? What makes this camp special? We can’t stop the war to deal with all of them. That’s been the gospel from George since we landed in France.”

“I told you, I don’t know every reason. Maybe he’s sore at MacArthur. He don’t like anyone else getting the limelight.”

Hall knew what Stiller was talking about. General MacArthur had famously liberated two POW camps from the Japanese this past January. The exploit had made all the headlines and created quite a stir. That was just the sort of thing to get the fame-seeking Patton’s ire up.

“Well, it don’t make any sense to me,” said Abrams. “We’ll be there in a few days if we follow current plans. Can I tell him no?”

Stiller shook his head. “No chance. I’ve already gone through it with him. He’s dead set on this.”

Abrams chewed his lip. “Well, orders are orders. When do we get started? I’ll need at least a day to plan. Pretty big change in orders.”

Stiller shook his head and spat a trail of brown liquid on the ground. “Not you, Creight. Patton wants a reinforced company. That’s it.”

Hall was shocked. This was the first he’d heard of that. Combat Command B numbered in the thousands, many times larger than a company. He’d assumed they’d all be going. A reinforced company would be a few hundred men at most.

Abrams clearly shared Hall’s surprise. He scratched his cheek, his eyes on the map. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Alex. We send in a tiny force like that and all they’ll bring back is a batch of bodies. If they even get back. Hell, there might be ten thousand Germans between us and Hammelburg. I’ve got to talk to George. No way he’s thought this through.”

“I argued about that with him too, Creight. I told him we should take the whole command. He’s insistent it’s just a few hundred men.”

“Well, I won’t do it. He’s just not thinking straight. I’ll get him on the phone, and we’ll get this flushed out.” Abrams shouted, and a head poked into the tent. “Get me General Patton on the phone.”

“When, sir?”

“Right now, damn it!”

The head disappeared as quickly as it had materialized, returning a few moments later with a field telephone. He carried the enormous green box over and set it down gingerly on the table. A moment later, the phone started to ring. Abrams lifted the receiver. “George, is that you? Hey, I got Stiller here, and he’s giving me the story on your request. Now, George, I’m not sure I understand why you want to do this, but that’s not my job. It is my role, however, to make sure we get the thing done. I can’t do it with a company. I want to take the whole command.” Abrams stopped, listening to the response on the other end.

“But, George, we can’t get guaranteed success with that few men… no, I know it’s not a general breakthrough but…” He listened for a few more minutes. “If I do this, it’s under protest, George… yes, sir.” He hung up the phone. His face flushed an angry scarlet.

“A reinforced company it is. George doesn’t want too much attention on this. He thinks a small group can get in and get out before the Germans even know they’re there.” Abrams shook his head, pursing his lips, his forehead furrowed. He exhaled deeply. “Perhaps he’s right. If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, boys, I’m going to get the ball rolling on this. I’ll be back in a half hour, and we can talk logistics.”

As the colonel left, Hall stood in shock. This was not at all what he had in mind. It was one thing to ride along in the middle of a massive armored column, with a thousand or more men all around him. It was another to dash behind lines with a few hundred, not able to put up any real resistance, and with no guarantee they would ever make it back. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for at all. He felt the panic rising. He had to get out of this.

“Sir,” he said, addressing the major for the first time since Patton’s office.

“What is it, Lieutenant.” Stiller was facing away from him, chewing away at his tobacco, arms folded. His voice was terse.

“Do you want me to take any messages back to HQ when I leave?”

Stiller turned slowly, his eyes burning a hole in Hall. His leathery cheeks creased and crackled as he sucked on the plug. “What was that you said, Hall?”

“I was asking if you wanted me to take anything back to Patton?”

The major’s lip curled in a knowing grin. “I thought you were balls in to see combat, boy?”

“You told me you weren’t going to take me with you. I figured you were just waiting to get away from Patton before you sent me away. I want to follow orders, sir. You… you were right all along.”

Stiller’s cracked lips pressed in a tight grin. “Oh no, little Hall. You’re not going anywhere. You want medals and promotions. This little trip will have plenty of both… assuming anyone makes it back alive. I wouldn’t deprive you of the chance to be a hero.”

“But, sir—”

“There’s no argument, Hall. You’re going into the shit, and I’m going with you. Three hundred men against ten thousand?” He spit on the floor. “Our own personal Thermopylae. We oughta be just fine.” He took a step forward; his forehead furrowed, and he raised a finger. “Now, you listen to me, you little shit. This is the real deal. I’ll be watching you every step of the way. You’ll do your duty, and you’ll do it up right, or I’ll run your ass out of this war, and you’ll go home to daddy with your tail between your legs. You got me?”