by Gary Moore
“That would only be six batters,” someone else chimed in.
The debate—sometimes lively, and always interesting—continued for ten minutes as everyone tried to figure out how nine batters can come to the plate in the first half of one inning, and yet not score a single run. Gene’s trick worked exactly as he hoped it would. Everyone on the team forgot they were crammed into a hole in the ground in a desert in North Africa, waiting for the German Luftwaffe to drop a bomb or two on their heads and bury them alive.
The riddle remained unsolved when the eerie siren sounded again. Everyone stopped talking. A soldier stuck his head into the bomb shelter and announced, “All clear!”
“You heard the man,” Buck said with a big smile. “Let’s get out of this rat hole!”
As the team emptied out into the bright sunshine of another clear desert day, Buck put his hand on Gene’s shoulder. “Good job, Gene. But next time, do me a favor and pick a riddle that can be solved. That one is impossible.”
Gene smiled slyly and replied, “No, it’s very possible, Buck. Don’t let that Columbia education of yours get in the way of logic.”
Buck stopped walking and shot Gene a perplexed look. “Okay, professor, tell me how it’s possible.”
Gene nodded and began speaking, very slowly and deliberately. “Nine batters came to bat in the first half of the inning, but not a man scored.” Gene smiled again, broadly this time. He was as amused as Buck was mystified.
“That’s impossible!” he protested.
The catcher erupted in laughter. “It was a girl’s softball game, Buck!” Gene turned and walked away, laughing hysterically as if he had just told the funniest joke on earth.
Buck tilted his head and stood quiet for a moment until he finally figured it out. When he realized the joke, he could not help laughing himself. Gene Moore, he thought, had the presence of mind and natural instincts to know exactly what to do to relax his team while in danger—even though he was also experiencing an air raid for the first time. “Impressive,” Buck said aloud. “Very impressive.”
By the time Buck arrived in the barracks Gene had already shared the answer to the riddle with most of his teammates, who had gathered around demanding he let them in on the secret. Some were laughing, some were shaking their heads, and others were protesting, claiming they had been misled. By this time everyone had forgotten about the air raid—except Ron Callais.
Buck reassembled the team and finished delivering the information about upcoming games when a lone hand shot up into the air. It was Ron’s. “When we’re playing ball,” he began, “will there be anyone shooting at us?”
Some of his teammates chuckled. For a few moments Buck looked unsure how to answer. He finally looked out over the team and replied, “Hey, everyone, this isn’t funny. I guess it’s possible, Ron, yes. Again, I don’t want to keep reminding you that there’s a war going on. Let’s not forget that the war is the reason we’re here. But, I kind of doubt anyone will be shooting directly at us. We are not playing at the front, only near the front. These base camps are well guarded by trained soldiers. We’ll play ball—that’s our job. They’ll protect us and the base—that’s their job.”
Buck nodded with satisfaction at his own answer. “Men, let’s hit the field.”
Chapter 10
Casablanca
“Gather round,” Buck ordered as the team assembled in the tent next to the makeshift field just outside of Casablanca. “The US Army’s North Africa Exhibition Baseball Team arrived last night, and today begins what I hope will be a long series of games all over North Africa, and beyond. I think we are ready, don’t you?” Buck asked as he looked around at each of his players in turn. Everyone was nodding in agreement.
“How many men are we playing for today?” Ray asked.
“Not many,” Buck replied, “but it doesn’t matter. This is our first of many games, and I can’t think of a better way to begin than with a win. Ray is pitching today, so let’s show them how we play ball in the Navy.” Buck assumed his best game face and then spat out one of his favorite lines: “Let’s hit the field!”
The team trotted out of the tent about fifty yards to the makeshift diamond, where Buck was met by the coach of the Army team, Lieutenant Darren Berline. Darren was a graduate of the University of Connecticut. Like Buck, he had played ball in college on a scholarship and spent a short time in the minors. Before the war broke out, he was planning to go back for his second year as a class C minor league coach with the New York Yankees, but the opportunity to lead an Army team appealed to Darren, and he jumped at the chance.
“Buck, it’s good to meet you. I guess we’ll be spending quite a bit of time together.”
Buck and Darren exchanged pleasantries and small talk. “How’s your team handling the danger?” Darren asked.
“Danger?” Buck asked. “What danger?”
“You didn’t hear? Last night, they were transporting us here as part of a supply convoy. We came under attack about twenty miles out. We were strafed from the air by German fighter planes. Unfortunately, several of our men were killed, but no one from the team was hurt.” Darren was still shaken by the event. “I knew there was a war on,” he continued. “I just didn’t expect to be this close to the shooting.”
“Holy cow. I had no idea,” Buck replied. “We had an air alert yesterday, but nothing happened. I didn’t even hear a plane.”
“I guess we just have to keep our eyes open and trust that God and the real soldiers will keep the Nazis away. What else can we do? Do any of your men have the shakes, Buck?”
“Not really. Well, one does for sure. My center fielder is only 17, and has never been out of Louisiana. He seems a bit rattled by all this, but none of us has come under fire like you. Can your guys play today?”
“What choice do we have, Buck? That’s why they sent us over here, right? We have to do our part.”
“Okay, then let’s try playing ball,” answered Buck, reaching out to shake Darren’s hand.
“Yeah, let’s play ball. As long as we’re moving, we’re a harder target to hit!” Buck and Darren wished one another good luck without meaning it and walked to their respective benches.
Gene was still warming up Ray when Buck called them over. “How’s the arm, Ray?” he asked.
“Feels really good,” answered the pitcher. “But have you seen that mound? It’s awful! It’s too high, and it’s a few inches off on the right side.”
“We are in the middle of a world war and are playing baseball,” Buck replied. “Somehow we will deal with a screwed up mound. I think we’re lucky to have a mound to pitch from.” Buck looked at Gene. “You ready?”
“I’m always ready.”
“Then let’s get moving. We’re the visitors, so we’re up first.”
Ron Callais was the lead-off batter. He walked a few feet over from the bench, picked up his bat, took a couple of swings, looked back at Buck for the sign, and headed for the plate. As he stepped into the batter’s box, he turned to the Army catcher. “Think we’re in any danger here?”
The catcher took the time to lift his mask before answering. “We were attacked last night coming in,” he replied. “So, yeah, I’d call that danger.”
“What? You were attacked? By Germans? They shot at you?”
“What do you think?” the catcher answered sarcastically. “Where do you think we are? This ain’t Wrigley Field—or maybe you haven’t noticed.”
Ron stepped out of the box.
“Time!” The umpire yelled, looking over at the Navy bench.
Buck came running over. “What’s the problem, Ron?” he asked, looking back and forth from Ron to the ump.
“Holy Moly, coach! These guys were attacked last night! I can’t stay here! They have to move us away from the fighting! I didn’t sign up for this!” Ron was pacing back and forth around the box, waving his bat in the air.
“Ron!” Buck shot out forcefully. “Stop pacing and look at me.”
“Sorry, coach,” the umpire interjected. “We need a batter in here. The troops are getting restless and we’re the entertainment. Can we please play some baseball?”
“Sure, ump. Sorry.” Buck turned to the bench. “Tim Milner! You’re up! Grab a bat, and get over here.” Milner, a lanky kid from Fort Lauderdale, Florida, jumped up, grabbed his bat, and headed for the plate. Buck turned to Ron, who now had tears in his eyes. The kid was obviously unsuited to play ball. “Ron, it’s no problem. Go grab a seat and calm down. We’ll get you back in the next game.” Buck turned to the umpire. “Sorry again ump. We’re ready.”
If Buck thought sending Ron back to the bench would solve the problem, he was wrong. Ron was now more animated than ever, and had already told the guys about the Army team being attacked. Everyone was gathered around the Louisianan listening to his every word.
“Hey, hey … hey!” Buck shot out when he realized what was going on. “Ron, you sit your butt down and shut your mouth. That’s an order. The rest of you, we have a game to play!”
Ray looked over at Buck. “Is it true? Were they attacked last night?”
“Damn it, Ray, this is a war! What did you expect happens during a war?”
“If the Army thinks that was bad, wait until they see what we do to them,” Gene announced. “They’ll rather face the Luftwaffe than us after today!” Everyone relaxed a bit and several chuckled as they moved back to take their seats.
“We’re gonna give them a shelling today to put the Germans to shame!” yelled out another player.
A loud crack of the bat interrupted the boasting. Everyone instinctively turned to watch the ball hit sharply to leftfield. As one, the team leapt to its feet and screamed, encouraging Milner as he rounded first base and headed hard toward second. The left-fielder scooped the ball on one hop and fired it to second, but Tim slid beneath the tag for a double.
Tim Milner fired the opening salvo of the first baseball exhibition game of the war. Although all the players on both teams were nervous, the idea of German planes flying overhead was quickly forgotten by the natural rush they all experienced playing the game they loved more than anything in the entire world. By the end of the first inning, everyone had forgotten where they were.
Everyone but Ron.
Chapter 11
War Games
The American army had a much tougher time in North Africa than many expected it might. On November 4, four days before the Operation Torch landings began, the British under General Bernard Montgomery, soundly defeated Field Marshal Rommel and his vaunted Afrika Korps at El Alamein, 65 miles west of Alexandria, Egypt. The Germans were on the run across North Africa, moving west as quickly as possible. The news deceived the overly-optimistic green American troops into thinking Rommel and his men no longer posed a serious threat.
As the Americans soon discovered, Rommel fully intended to keep fighting. He was consolidating his command and shortening his supply line, which had been grossly overextended by his lightening westward drive. The British continued pursuing the Germans across North Africa and captured Tripoli before January 1943 expired. The Americans, however, now in force on Rommel’s western flank, moved slowly, “violating every recognized principle of war,” General Eisenhower later wrote.
The Desert Fox planned his inaugural welcome for the Americans carefully and delivered it through the Faïd Pass on February 14, driving the Americans rearward and setting up one of the major engagements of the war five days later at Kasserine Pass, in the Tunisian Dorsal Mountains. Rommel led the attack through the pass, broke open the American lines, and destroyed every illusion his enemy had previously held about fighting Germans. American tanks proved utterly ineffective against veteran and well-handled German armor. No one was ready for the rapid attack and concentrated firepower of the Germans. More than 1,000 young boys from New York to San Diego, from North Dakota, to Alabama, were killed, many more were wounded, and hundreds were taken prisoner.
But the Americans learned quickly from their mistakes, bringing in new equipment and learning to concentrate their firepower. Three days later air strikes forced Rommel to retreat to a 22-mile string of defenses known as the Mareth Line. Once again the Americans moved slowly in pursuit. British probing attacks confused and weakened the Germans and Italians, and the fighting, for a while at least, fell into a large-scale but bloody stalemate.
Gene knew they were lucky. His Navy team had been playing the same Army team nearly every day for four weeks. Twenty-eight days with only one day off during the entire run, a stretch that included a pair of double-headers. After playing twenty-nine games, it was Navy 16 and Army 13. If either team was dramatically better than the other, the routine could have gotten old fast. But as it was, the two teams were pretty evenly matched.
For the first three weeks, every game was played just outside Casablanca. Without any advance notice, they packed up one morning and moved to Tebourba, a place no one had ever heard of. They were now close enough to the fighting that they could hear the bombing in the distance. But they were playing baseball and still having fun, though now the potential danger was very real to them.
The nights he spent sitting outside his tent reminded Gene of summers in Sesser, where the hot days were often followed by evenings of heat lightning. The distant flashes in the skies above North Africa mimicked what he had seen as a boy back home—with one major difference. The flashes in the sky were not lightning, but exploding bombs and massive artillery bombardments many miles to the southeast, reflecting against the African night skies. Occasionally he could hear the dull rumbling, which was always fascinating but disconcerting.
The entire experience was surreal. It brought to mind a hymn his mom used to sing in the kitchen. “I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,” were the only words he remembered, but it described perfectly what he was experiencing. The sporadic lights were beautiful, almost hypnotic at times. It was the aftermath that brought Gene back to reality—the trucks rushing the wounded and the dead back to the hospital tents or makeshift morgues. Each beautiful flash reflecting in the night sky snuffed out lives in any number of hideous ways.
After four weeks, the ballplayers had adjusted pretty well to their surroundings. Even Ron Callais stopped asking if they were in danger. The poor guy was still rattled, however, and had not played much ball.
War and baseball seemed to carry on as if in parallel theaters. Baseball played out on one stage, while the war raged next door on the other. Baseball and war coexisted in North Africa. The terrifying nights passed, as they always did; the next day there was always a baseball game to play.
After one particularly unnerving night of enemy shelling and flyovers by American aircraft, Buck walked into the team tent. Gene was the only one dressed and ready to play.
“You want to play today?” Buck asked.
Gene shrugged, “Why not?”
Buck motioned with his head and Gene followed him out of the tent. “I was going to cancel the game,” answered the coach. “We weren’t going to have an audience because no soldiers are going to be leaving the front. Something big seems to be taking place—or has already. The casualties started arriving heavy a few hours ago. The docs over at the hospital asked if they could bring over some of the less seriously wounded. They think it might do them some good to get a little sun and see a little ball.”
“Then playing is the least we can do for those guys,” answered Gene. “I’m up for it.”
Buck nodded his approval. “Good, then let’s do it. Milner’s shoulder was still sore last night, so I’m going to start Ron in his place.”
Gene licked his dry lips before answering. “You think you can get Ron to actually go out into centerfield? If he isn’t with a group, he still gets rattled. Frankly, I’m surprised by how poorly he has taken to being here.”
“Well, I guess we’ll find out,” replied Buck. “If we can’t get him to play today, there is no reason to keep him on the team. Tim has played great, and his posi
tive influence on everyone is impressive, but he needs the day off. Ron will go out into centerfield, or I’ll draw up papers to release him from the team. I have no idea what the Navy will do with him. Given that choice, I think he’ll go out and play.”
With that, Gene and Buck walked back into the tent and began getting the team ready for another day of baseball.
An hour later, Gene found himself walking toward the diamond with Ron by his side. “I’m starting today,” announced the Cajun teenager. “You know, I was a little scared when Buck told me.”
“Really?” Gene replied, unable to hide his sarcasm. “I don’t think anyone noticed, Ron. I mean you almost forfeited our first game before the first pitch was thrown. Since then, Tim has had to play more than his share in centerfield, and you haven’t done much of anything.”
Ron looked hurt by Gene’s sharp response. “I’ve never been this close to a war before.”
Gene stopped walking and the two players faced off. “Do you think the rest of us have?” asked the catcher.
Ron hung his head and toed the sand. “No, of course not.” He paused, but Gene did not speak up. “I guess what I am trying to tell you is that I am fine now. I have a … I have a bad feeling about things, but for some reason I’m okay with it. Besides, if I don’t get out on the field and play today, Buck told me he will cut me from the team.”
“A bad feeling?” Gene inquired. “What do you mean?”
“Just a bad feeling. But I’m alright.”
Puzzled but unsure where to take the conversation, Gene sighed deeply and put his hand on Ron’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Buck told me he would have to do something today if you did not play. And I’m sorry I snapped at you. We’re all nervous. I still am, at times. I think we would feel better if we had rifles or even pistols tucked beneath our bench, but we don’t. I’ll be glad when this is all over and we’re heading back home to play ball in the States again. And to think I used to get worked up about someone throwing a wad of gum at me!” Both players laughed. “You get out there today and play well. That will satisfy Buck and everything will be fine.”