US infantry captain Matt Urban was desperate to get out of the hospital. He knew his unit was in trouble back in Normandy, but until he had completely recovered from the wounds he’d picked up there the previous month, the doctors weren’t letting him go anywhere. That is unless he could find an excuse to leave.

Suddenly, he saw his ticket out of there. A rag-tag group of felons, draft dodgers, and pre-war deserters had been bunched together as a makeshift unit. Urban begged to train them, knowing the time would soon come when they were sent to the continent, and he would go with them. His plan worked, and two weeks later, he was on his way back across the English Channel.

Arriving in France, the men had served their purpose, and Urban had no intentions of fighting alongside the unwilling. Leaving them on the beach, he hitchhiked his way to the front lines. The situation was as bad as he had imagined - his unit was pinned down by an onslaught of German bullets coming from high on a ridge.

The soldiers could barely believe their eyes as the indomitable Urban limped toward them, one hand resting on an improvised crutch and the other waving around a .45 caliber pistol. As he pulled a wounded soldier from a burning tank, he yelled: (QUOTE) “Who’s in charge here?” No reply. If they didn’t get out of there fast, they were done for. Everyone present knew there was only one man for the job…

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