August 9, 1945: Frankfurt, Occupied Germany:
The crowd began to gather around the makeshift ballfield as an Army truck pulled up, and the passenger door swung open. A man in civilian clothing stepped out, offering gratitude to the driver before closing the door. A smirk played on his lips as he observed the men warming up on the field.
Approaching him, an MP spoke in broken German, questioning his presence.
"I'm looking for my kid brother," the man replied in English.
"You're American?" the MP asked, eyeing the man's slightly worn attire.
"As sure as the day is long, friend," he said with a broad grin, extending his hand. "Fred Barrell."
"Fred Barrell? The ballplayer?" the MP exclaimed as they shook hands.
"In a different life, my friend," Fred replied, nodding. "But, yes, that's me."
"Nice to meet you," the MP, Tony Donelli, said. "I'm from Brooklyn. I saw you play many times."
Fred engaged in a conversation with Sergeant Donelli before gesturing toward the field. "I'm going to see if I can find my brother Harry," he said.
The past two months had been peculiar for Fred Barrell. The soldiers who had essentially captured him in Berlin brought him to their regimental HQ. Fred had proven his worth by tapping into his memory of the German defenses, having previously mapped them with the underground resistance. The Soviets appreciated the information but remained confident in their ability to crush the fascists regardless. Fred didn't doubt it. He had never witnessed such an overwhelming force of men, tanks, and artillery. He was grateful that, at least nominally, the Soviet Union was allied with the U.S.
However, the situation became delicate. The commissar in charge of Fred seemed eager to extract as many American secrets as possible, even though Fred had limited knowledge of his own forces. While he knew that some American troops had been in Berlin as early as June, it wasn't until July, during the Potsdam conference, with representatives from all the Allied powers converging, that Fred was finally allowed to rejoin his countrymen.
He underwent thorough debriefing and even had a brief encounter with President Truman, who sought his impressions of the Red Army. Fred described them as "formidable." He had been impressed by Truman's plain-spoken nature, thinking he'd have made an excellent baseball manager if he didn't already have a slightly more important job.
He'd then been allowed to get on a transport plane for a flight to Frankfurt, where he was told to report to Third Army headquarters presumably to help with the Army's denazification efforts. Upon arrival, he discovered that everyone was at a ballgame, where Harry Barrell happened to be playing. Hitching a ride with a group of GIs who were enthused by his past as a professional baseball player, Fred found himself on his way to the game.
Now, he strolled toward the field, scanning the players but not spotting Harry among them. His gaze shifted to the crowd, and there, he saw his brother in baseball uniform engaged in conversation with a group of Army officers. Fred headed towards them.
As he approached, a couple of MPs noticed him and began to close in. Harry caught sight of their movement, did a double-take, and said something to a colonel standing next to him.
"Let that man through!" the colonel ordered.
Fred smiled and nodded at the bewildered MPs, making his way to the group standing with Harry.
"Fred, what on earth are you doing here?" Harry asked, pulling him into a bearhug.
"Just making my way home from Berlin," Fred replied nonchalantly.
"Berlin?" a voice exclaimed from his left.
Fred turned and was surprised to see General George S. Patton giving him a stern gaze. As usual, Patton wore his helmet adorned with four stars, despite the war having ended.
"Yes, sir," Fred responded, leaning towards Patton and speaking in a low voice. "I'm with the OSS. I was sent there in February to work with the underground."
Patton scowled at him. "And?" he snapped.
Fred was taken aback. "Well, I was stuck there when the Russians arrived ahead of our boys."
"Only because Washington was too scared to let us take it," Patton replied bitterly.
Fred didn't know how to respond, so he simply nodded.
Patton proceeded to interrogate him about the Soviets for ten minutes. Fred divulged everything he could, realizing that Patton held a disdain for the Russians.
"Do you trust them?" Patton finally asked.
Fred pondered for a moment before replying, "I trust them to do what's best for the Soviet Union."
Patton nodded and turned to a colonel standing beside him. "You see, Bigsby? We can't trust those shifty..." Fred turned back to Harry with raised eyebrows while Patton continued his profanity-laced rant about the Russians' untrustworthy nature.
Afterward, Patton settled down to watch some of the game. Harry went off to play, and Fred sat beside Colonel Bigsby, who happened to be related to the prominent New York Bigsby family. The colonel shared intriguing plans about bringing professional baseball to the West Coast, hoping that Patton would consider investing. It seemed that the general was quite wealthy, perhaps even more so than Bigsby himself.
During the game, an announcement was made that a second atomic bomb had been dropped on Japan, this time targeting Nagasaki. Fred found Patton's reaction surprising — anger. Colonel Bigsby explained that "the general still had hopes of getting a command in the Pacific. These atomic bombs probably mean the war is over."
Bigsby leaned over and said, "I remember you as being a good ballplayer. Want to get out there one more time?" He nodded towards the field. Harry laughed and said, "He hasn't played since '42. I bet he doesn't even remember how to hold the bat."
Fred felt the old stir of his competitive juices. "Sure, why the hell not," he said, shooting Harry a sharp look. "I've had a really long - and strange - war, but baseball is in my blood." He stood up and asked, "Where's my uniform?"
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Fred Barrell, one last game, August 9, 1945
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