Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

Angst cursed. “I’m not going anywhere, goddamnit! I’m coming back. Wait here until the lieutenant comes for you.” He could not tell if the words consoled the youth any, but he himself felt a little better. He opened the door. It was teeming outside. The sky had grown more active with lightning. He held the door as the women filed out. “Walk quickly, but don’t run. If anyone stops us, let me do the talking, understand?” Monika translated, and then all three nodded their heads in agreement and followed Angst as he skirted the square and led them to the Old Cart Road, the same road Falkenstein had led them down when they first entered town. That was only this morning , Angst suddenly realized, having the sense that time had elongated. Such a long day, and so much had occurred—and it wasn’t over yet, not by half. He turned around to make sure the women were keeping up. Behind him, illumined by lightning, three spectral forms walked in single file.

Using the flashlight attached to his belt, Braun removed the tarpaulin from the Volkswagen and tossed it aside. He took the key from his pocket and kissed it. Fortune had smiled upon him, but the weather had turned foul, and that was worrisome. Angst was taking too long, and so was Schmidt, for that matter. Five more minutes and then he would leave, alone, if necessary. He leaned inside the car and inserted the key into the ignition. The workshop doors swung open: Angst and the women, finally. “Welcome to Friedrich Braun’s frontline excursions, ladies.” He turned off the charm and looked at Angst. “About time. We’re going to sink in the mud.”

“No, we won’t. Where’s Willi?”

“He went to have a word with that machine gun crew. I expected him back ages ago. I should have dealt with them myself.”

“You will be glad you didn’t. Here.” Angst handed over the map for him to read.

“Should I ask how you got this? Unless it’s a fake.”

“The lieutenant signed it himself. He’s breaking radio silence and informing his division of your arrival.”

“My arrival… what about you?”

“I’m following on the BMW, remember?”

“No, you’re not. You’re staying, aren’t you? What a fool! Why?” Braun exclaimed.

“Somebody has to man this post until the lieutenant and Mueller show. We can’t leave this side of town unprotected. Let’s get this thing out of here. Everybody…”

Braun opened the driver’s side door and released the hand brake, pushing and operating the steering wheel as the women joined Angst at the front of the car and applied all their strength. Once clear of the shop doorway, Braun turned the wheel until the car pointed south. The narrow street was sodden, and the tires settled into the muck. The women piled into the back seat with Valeria in the middle. It was a snug fit. Braun got in behind the wheel. Leaning in through the passenger side window, Angst said, “Take the Old Cart Road, and it will bring you closer to the reservoir, where the lieutenant’s battalion is dug in. The CO is Griem. There’s no sense in trying for Zaporozhye. You’ll never make it in all this mess.”

“I don’t much like doing this with a bunch of strangers. It was supposed to be you, Schmidt, and me. We have the luck, remember? The three of us, together.”

Angst looked up and saw Schmidt as he turned a corner and approached the car.

“Here he comes now.” Braun turned over the engine and revved the gas when their ears were assaulted with an insultingly loud noise. The muffler had worn through. Angst was about to tell Braun to lay off the gas pedal when suddenly he saw Schmidt light up like a solo act on a stage. He put his hands up to his eyes to shield them. Angst yelled above the noise, “Turn off the headlamps, idiot.” But Braun hadn’t switched on the headlamps. The light originated from a different source. Schmidt’s face turned from surprise to horror.

“Tank!” he screamed and began to run. Braun shifted into gear and lurched forward. Instinctively, Angst dove away from the car and rolled across the ground until stopped by the corrugated wall of the maintenance building. The Volkswagen started to make a turn down a side alley when a shuddering blast coursed down the length of the narrow street. A high-explosive round caught the small, toylike vehicle in mid turn. It disintegrated in a ball of fire and smoke. Angst covered his head as a slew of glass and metal shards showered upon him. Above the ringing sound in his ears, he heard the clatter of tank tracks advance down the narrow passage. Only the chassis and two flaming tires remained of the car. Debris lay everywhere; seats, a section of roof, crumpled doors, and mangled fenders. To his shock and horror, he saw the occupants scattered across the ground in smoldering chunks and wet pieces. He pressed hard against the wall, as if to meld with the metal surface. The tank passed by so close, he became dizzy as the cogs and wheels spun wildly, encrusted with mud and a necrotic odor so acute he gagged as it filled his nostrils. The tank brushed aside the burning wreckage as though it were a meager pile of trash and then turned down a side alley out of view. “My friends,” Angst choked, “my friends…” and then he passed out.

Wilms felt miserable. He tried to shrink under the folds of the shelter half, the only protection he possessed against the rain. He was so tired he could have fallen asleep despite the rain, thunder, and periodic flashes of lightning. A stream of water would find its way under his collar and drip coldly down his back, and he would brood on this torment. There was barely enough room on the small platform at the top of the water tank to set the radio and for him to sit with his feet resting on the top rung of the ladder. Now that it was dark, he did not feel the need to remain this high and would return to the catwalk that circled the base of the water tank, in spite of the captain’s order. He was not about to gamble against the odds of getting struck by a bolt of lightning. The only problem was he would have to lug the radio and constantly pace the catwalk. At least that would keep him alert and dispel the desire of having to snooze. As he was ready to slip his arms through the shoulder harness of the radio, something red and bright caught his eye, a flare from a Very pistol originating from the north, some distance beyond the warehouse. Simultaneously he heard an engine, but not a tank. It sounded like an automobile, only terribly loud, but how could that be, he wondered. Then a bright shaft of light cut through the wet pudding night. An explosion. He saw an aura of flame amid the cluster of workshops and tool sheds, then he heard the distinctive noise of tank tracks. Wilms spoke into the microphone. “This is observation post Wilms calling Two-Twenty-Two, over.”

“This is Two-Twenty-Two.” The voice was Vogel’s.

“We are under attack.”

“Red Vengeance?”

“Cannot confirm identity of enemy armor at this time. An explosion has occurred behind maintenance facility building. A vehicle has been destroyed.”

“That’s impossible; both vehicles are accounted for. Where’s the tank now?”

“Heading south on passage at rear of depot. Wait…it’s turning…turning again. Now heading north on gravel road and passing right below…Red Vengeance, I can now confirm that T-34 is Red Vengeance.”

“Maintain visual contact and raise Two-Five-One and inform. Vogel out.”

Falkenstein slammed the field telephone down. Schroeder had observed a red flare and heard the explosion. “Observation posts on all sides, and yet it successfully penetrates without being seen or heard.”

“The responsibility is mine, Captain. I have failed.” Voss had signaled his battalion on the Hanomag’s radio. As he was returning to the headquarters, he too heard the explosion and listened in on Vogel’s conversation with Wilms.