Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

Voss grunted. “I’m going in to see the captain. Khan isn’t in there with you, is he?”

“No, Lieutenant.”

“Is he inside with the captain?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve not seen him since this afternoon. Why?”

The question irritated Voss considerably. “Because, Sergeant, when I report to the captain that all personnel are accounted for, I can’t as far as Khan is concerned, now can I?”

“No, I guess not, Lieutenant.”

Voss stepped up to the house and opened the door slowly. Dark and silent like a tomb. The flame from the paraffin lamp had been turned down low, and only the faintest illumination exuded from the clubroom. Papers and maps were spread messily on the table; aerial reconnaissance photographs and schematics littered the floor. Falkenstein paced the room, deep in thought. I can take him now, easily , Voss thought, as he watched from the threshold, but the officer deserved better than an ambush. Suddenly, Falkenstein looked up and peered through the half-darkness with one sharp eye. “Voss, is that you? Anything to report?”

“It’s raining.”

“I can hear it on the roof. Anything else?”

“Wilms has resumed his post on the tower, and all the men are accounted for except Khan. I have failed to locate him. Perhaps the captain knows where he is?”

“Somewhere outside, preparing his soul for battle, or whatever it is shamans do.”

“He isn’t in the house, then?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Falkenstein said, blandly. Voss did not appreciate the captain’s ignorance or like the feel of the situation. Did the shaman sense a threat? Did Falkenstein? Have I been preempted, so soon, and a trap ready to be sprung? Steady, steady man , Voss urged himself. Falkenstein sat down and looked through the papers scattered over the table. “Let’s have a review, shall we? So little time remains. How many panzerfausts have we?”

“One, sir.”

“Of course. That fool of a grenadier by the river.”

“Three adhesive mines, satchel charge, an assortment of grenades, and petrol bombs, the effectiveness of which is highly doubtful,” Voss said.

“Don’t forget the flamethrower. That should give us an edge. Who do you have in mind to operate that infernal device?” Falkenstein asked.

“I haven’t given it much consideration.”

“Sergeant Reinhardt. He’s a stout fellow. I don’t want to supersede your authority over your immediate crew or volunteer anyone. Perhaps you yourself, Voss?”

Voss struggled with paralysis. He had been all set to act the moment he entered the room, but a spell, what else could it be described as, prevented him. Was it the force of the captain’s personality that intimidated him, or was it some magic the shaman had woven, Voss wondered, fretfully.

“Voss! Whatever is the matter? You seem preoccupied.”

“Do I, Captain? I was only wondering where Khan has gone off to.” He became alarmed at the unintentional mention of the name.

“Khan again. Why do you insist on concerning yourself? He’s probably turned himself into a bird again and is hovering about, keeping an eye out for our enemies. Or a snake, lying coiled in the night, ready to strike death into the hearts of those who wish me harm.” Falkenstein then pointed to a place in the dark room, somewhere in the far corner, behind Voss’s back. Unnerved, Voss turned around to look. Falkenstein laughed. “I don’t think I could have gotten this far without him. He tells me of whom I should beware and when.”

“Other than Red Vengeance, whom should the captain be wary of?” Voss asked.

“Can you not answer that for yourself?”

“How is that possible? Khan intimates nothing to me.”

“But he has to me, Lieutenant. He has told me, in that rather elliptical manner of speaking he has, that every conflict can be narrowed down to one essential factor. Will. Who possesses the greater will between antagonists, be they heads of state, entire armies or single individuals?”

“And concerning the will of Falkenstein and that of Red Vengeance, has Khan made mention which of the two is greater?”

“We stand at the very edge of the world. There are no guarantees. A trying place for a man to be for such a length of time.”

“Yet, you do want to win more than anything. Even at the expense of all concerned.”

“Nothing short of ripping this earth in two. Yes, I do want to win, but I find myself doing battle on two fronts, and it exhausts me. Red Vengeance and treachery within my command.”

Voss drew the heavy Walther P-38 from its holster and trained it on the captain, his arm quivering, as though a subtle current of electricity coursed through his body. Falkenstein did not show surprise; in fact, he remained terribly calm. “Watch where you point that gun before it goes off prematurely. I have a few more words that need to be said before you carry out your plan.”

My God, this madman is sure of himself , Voss thought. He lowered the pistol, but not by much.

“From the beginning you were never committed to this effort, were you, Voss?”

“No, not this particular effort.”

“When did it occur, this unwillingness, this lack of resolve? The decorations you’ve earned attest to the fact that you’re a good officer. Your disposition didn’t evolve simply under my command.”

“There were a number of mitigating factors,” Voss replied.

“Name one.”

“I have grown ill watching men die around me. I am weary with shame at giving orders that account for nothing other than men’s lives. I’m tired of trying to complete objectives that are beyond the scope of achievement. We’re not officers. We can’t even call ourselves soldiers. Instead, we’ve become undertakers, and this war, this entire world we’ve helped to create, is one gigantic mortuary. Right now my only concern is for the crew, to give them a fighting chance. I want nothing for myself.”

“The loyalty for your men is admirable, but you do them an injustice with such reckless behavior.”

“Me? Reckless?” Voss laughed with contempt.

“You are under the impression I have no feelings for those under my command, that I buy their loyalties with tinned meats, schnapps, and tobacco, and then do with them as I please. When I pursued Red Vengeance at first, my sole motivation was revenge. I once enjoyed the comradeship and, yes, even the love, of an entire company of men as equally deep and binding as the relationship you have with your sergeant and driver—the very last of your company, am I correct? I truly wished to have died that day. To walk away from that slaughter, alone, has been more than I can bear. Somehow, over time, I have managed to cool. My desire for revenge has yet to fade completely, but other factors propel me to continue this hunt. I’m not provoked to action merely out of obedience to the Fuehrer or the National Socialist creed. Institutions and politicians, for better or for worse, inevitably change, but Volk and fatherland…that is something entirely different. The German people, our culture and heritage must be preserved always, at the expense of our lives, if necessary. Red Vengeance is the chalice of poisoned wine. A mere touch of the lips brings death. It is the vermin that carries the plague on its back, spreading defilement and putrefaction with its alien culture and ideology. Spill the cup of its poison, shatter it, and the cup bearers will fall. Lives will be saved, time bought for our Kameraden and our people. Do you really believe that by killing me, you will save the lives of your men? Red Vengeance lurks out there, waiting for the right moment…when it knows the body has lost its head. In your elation of freedom, as the final step is taken to cross the river, Red Vengeance will be waiting. No matter what road you choose, it will be there. You know this is so, Voss. Kill me, and you will make no difference to the inevitable outcome. You will have to face the monster alone. My only wish would be that I could have been alive to help you.”