Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

The muzzle was centimeters from Falkenstein’s head. “You malignant wreck of a man!” Voss shook violently, every nerve stretched to the point of tearing. In these few moments, his entire body waged a war as ferocious as any he had fought at the front. He was empty of all feeling: hope, despair, not even grief or longing. He wanted nothing and expected nothing for himself or for anyone else. “May God forgive me.”

The rain muffled the sound as Angst worked his way over to the captain’s headquarters. The darkness was interrupted by a series of flashes that would bring the surroundings into sharp relief. A faint rumble followed. At first he thought the light and noise was associated with artillery but realized it was lightning accompanied with thunder. When he reached the rear of the house, he crouched down and quietly edged along the siding. At the doorway that led into the kitchen, he peeked in. It was dark, and the muted sound of voices could be heard. Afraid of causing the slightest noise, he did not venture in to listen, although his curiosity was aroused. Water poured from the edge of the tin roof, the narrow eave above affording inadequate relief from the rain. He crawled the remaining distance to the front of the house and peeked around the corner. Past the front yard he could make out the shape of the scout car. The vantage point offered a good view of whoever approached, well before they reached the front door. Angst wondered if he could actually shoot the Mongol in cold blood. What punishment was meted out for killing a Hiwi did not concern him much at the moment. It was murder, plain and simple; and more importantly, he had nothing against the man personally. Khan was strange and intimidating by nature, and not because of any unique powers he might possess; that was hearsay. He seemed to resonate total awareness—maybe that was it, Angst thought. It would be better to meet up with the likes of Khan in the dead of night as an ally and not as an adversary. If the lieutenant’s plan backfired, Angst knew he would be headed for a penal battalion, at best, for his involvement. Voss was a sure candidate for a firing squad, if the captain didn’t shoot him on the spot. Angst could not fathom how he allowed himself to become involved in this power struggle. What flaw or defect in my character was so evident that anyone with a harebrained scheme would seek me out for help? Once again, an officer, a lieutenant, has set upon a personal course of action that will impinge directly on my fate. So far the results have been catastrophic. Instead of the boredom of guard duty at the Atlantic Wall, I’m fighting for my life on the eastern front. If the lieutenant’s maneuver works, we have everything to gain, at least a shot at getting out of here in one piece, but if it fails… the ramifications were beyond his imagination.

The silence from inside the house was excruciating. He expected to hear shouts, the sounds of a struggle, even gunfire, but he heard nothing other than the steady droplets of rain tapping annoyingly on his helmet. The front door opened finally. Voss stepped out with deliberate slowness, removed a cigarette case from his field jacket pocket, took one, and attempted to light it. He was having difficulty. Angst joined him on the stoop, the rain pattering loudly on the overhang, struck a match, and cupped the flame with both hands. Voss offered him a cigarette and stared blankly into the night. Angst lit up and then said, “What happened, Lieutenant?”

“The captain is a very persuasive man. He could very well be mad, or he is as lucid and sane as one can be when thrust in an insane situation.”

“I don’t understand.”

Voss smiled. “It was pointless of me to try to effect change. I think it would be best if we return to our posts. You will want to resume watch with your squad mates at the repair depot.”

“It might be too late for that, sir.” Voss looked at him quizzically. Overcome by frustration and guilt, Angst explained about the Volkswagen and the planned desertion that he, Braun, and Schmidt had agreed to, including taking the women along. Wearily, Voss sighed. “If the vehicle is serviceable, then by all means take it.” Perhaps the lieutenant wasn’t listening, Angst thought, as he seemed unfazed by the admission. Voss searched through an inner pocket of his tunic and brought out a folded piece of paper, a map of another sector, far away, a place he would never return to. He kept it for sentimental reasons. “Elista…”

“What did you say, Lieutenant?”

Voss motioned for Angst to turn around. “If you would allow me, Corporal, to use your back to write on.” Angst did as he was asked and bent forward, slightly. He could feel the pressure between his shoulder blades as Voss wrote with a charcoal pencil on the blank side of the map. When he finished, he gave the map to Angst. “Your new orders. Whatever you do, don’t lose it.”

With the aid of the cigarette ember for light, Angst read: “To certify Cpl. Johann Angst and his immediate squad (Pvts. Braun and Schmidt) to accompany and ensure the safe passage of 3 Wehrmacht civilian employees to within XL Corps defense zone upon my order.” It was signed “Voss, Lieutenant, Erich-Rainer 156 Panzergrenadier Regiment.” “Why, Lieutenant?”

Voss dismissed the question. “I will radio ahead, to my division, to expect you. They’re dug in north of the city, by the reservoir. My battalion commander, Captain Griem, will see that you are returned to your unit. Tell him for me…just tell him everything, Corporal. The truth. You had better get the women and leave immediately. Mueller and I will resume your watch after you’ve gone.”

Angst hesitated. “What did the captain say to make you change your mind?”

“It was nothing that he said so much as something I knew to be inherently true…now, get moving.”

Angst did not know what to say. Thanks? Good luck? The words were too hollow and ineffectual for the moment. Voss nodded, a small gesture, but it was the impetus Angst needed. He ran across the square to the assembly hall. The door was locked from inside. “Mueller, open up. It’s me, Angst.” He heard the bolt slide away, and the door opened. Elenya and Valeria sat on a bench shoulder-to-shoulder, heads leaning together, asleep. Monika stood up, expectantly. Angst nodded. “It’s time.”

Monika woke the two women and started to speak very rapidly in Russian. At first they appeared dazed, but as Monika talked, their eyes widened in amazement. Mueller hung on to his carbine a little too nervously. “What’s happening?”

“Internal business. It doesn’t concern you.”

“Maybe it should. Are the Russians here?”

“No. The lieutenant wants me to stash these three in a safe place before anything starts. He’ll be dropping by any minute.”

The young grenadier knew something unorthodox was taking place. “You’re saving your own skins, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Angst snapped, guiltily. He watched as Mueller’s face, a mixture of anger, jealousy, and fear, quivered. Valeria picked up her little valise and started for the door. “Tell them no luggage,” Angst barked. Monika began to explain, but Valeria protested, as did Elenya. “But our clothes—”

“There’s no room. We are saving our lives, not our clothes,” Monika warned them firmly. How much of the conversation Mueller actually understood was open to question, but as far as Angst was concerned, the cat was out of the bag. He did not want a struggle with the kid. Exasperated, Mueller sat heavily on a bench, looking in his hurt like a puppy that had been kicked aside by an ogre. Angst was sickened by guilt. How old was he, all of nineteen? He possessed the smooth, soft face of a child. The women, having put on their coats, gathered by the door and waited for Angst to lead the way. “Take me with you,” Mueller pleaded.