Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

“Red Vengeance tore us apart. They all panicked and ran but didn’t get very far.”

“Was Khan with you?”

Schroeder shook his head. “It must have been his flare we spotted. And then the tank.”

Falkenstein was at a loss as to why Khan had failed to materialize. It was apparent that the first flare Wilms reported and then the second, observed from the square, were his. The Mongol could be wounded and no longer able to signal, but Falkenstein didn’t want to dwell on the possibility. He summoned Reinhardt. “Take the panzerfaust, Sergeant, and an adhesive mine. Corporal Schroeder will assist you.” Detwiler had skulked around to the far side of the armored carrier to avoid notice. Schroeder witnessed this and muttered, “Bastard.” The doors of the vehicle swung open, and Reinhardt stepped off as Mueller passed the weapons along, first the magnetic antitank mine, which Schroeder took, and then the panzerfaust to Reinhardt.

“Two-Twenty-Two Falkenstein to observation post, do you read me, over?”

“Observation post. I read you, Two-Twenty-Two, over.”

“Can you give an estimate on target position, over?”

“Still north of settlement trolling east-west axis…can barely make it out from the light of the fires. Tank has made second attempt to continue east toward rail crossing, but target’s course has been altered by antitank rifle fire.”

“Are you sure, observation post?”

“Affirmative, Two-Twenty-Two.”

Falkenstein was relieved. The right flank had been covered all along. Khan was still in the hunt.

“Excellent news, Wilms. Keep us informed. Without you, we’re blind down here. Two-Twenty-Two out.” He then returned to Schroeder and Reinhardt. “Make your way to the north side of the settlement and try for a clean shot at the tank. Vogel and I will cover the left flank. If Red Vengeance attempts to get past us, we’ll either have the good fortune to stop it there or send it back in your direction. Khan is somewhere to the east, covering the far right flank and will continue to do so.”

The two panzergrenadiers understood what they had to do. When Red Vengeance made a sweep close to the defensive positions, before breaking out, they would strike, at close quarters. They set off across the road at a run, ducking from one house to the next for cover. “Remain here for the time being, Corporal” the captain instructed Hartmann. “Should the need arise, either Wilms or I will inform you where to reposition the vehicle.” The scout car sped over to the southwest end of the settlement.

Like kindling, the main strong point had gone up in flames; the fencing and fruit trees that dotted the front yards had also caught fire. Above the sound of crackling timber, the powerful T-34 diesel roared. Although Reinhardt and Schroeder could see each other plainly by the light cast by the flames, thick smoke wafted through the backyards and had begun to obscure the details of the settlement north of the fires. Red Vengeance would use this screen to its full advantage. The anxiety Reinhardt now felt was not from the risk of carrying out an assault at close quarters; rather, it was the possibility of failure in the attempt. Schroeder followed as he ran further down the street past several more houses, following the sound of track links working the ground. The tank was closing in. “In here,” Reinhardt said to the corporal, and ducked into a weathered, dilapidated house. The dull glare of fire-light reflected on the walls provided enough illumination to see by. Drafts of smoke seeped in through the windows. As Schroeder followed, he walked to the back end of the house and turned right at a doorway that led to a small adjoining room. A basin on a stand and a scrubbing board were the only furnishings, and a number of uneven wood planks imbedded in the damp earth served as a floor. A door led out to the fenced-in backyard. Schroeder opened the door and was ready to step outside when the sound of a revving motor and breaking wood made him pause. Red Vengeance plowed through the adjoining yard, splintering fences. Outhouses and woodsheds fragmented and collapsed. The noise of destruction increased. The tank was only a backyard away. “When it passes, I’ll fire into its diesel plant,” Reinhardt said, poised in the doorway, “It might try a one-eighty degree traverse, so get that mine fixed on the hull directly over the fuel reservoir.”

“I know where,” Schroeder answered, petulantly. The armor around the engine is thick , Reinhardt thought, but I’ll be close—too close, in fact . The fence to their right burst into splinters, and the house trembled as the tank raged past, its girth knocking down the posts that supported a low overhanging roof. The entire section crashed down and blocked the doorway and the small window to the left of the door. Reinhardt threw his weight against the section of tin and wood framing and, with Schroeder’s help, tried to shove it aside. Valuable seconds were lost, and the sergeant cursed the useless effort. Finally, a narrow opening was achieved, and Schroeder barely managed to squirrel through. “Give me the panzerfaust,” the corporal shouted above the racket. The opening was too small for Reinhardt’s bulk. He passed the weapon over, knowing the opportunity had been missed. He picked up the bell-shaped magnetic mine that Schroeder had set down on the floor and ran out the front of the house with the intention of circling around and then trying to intercept the tank from another backyard further on.

Schroeder stepped over the debris left in the tank’s wake. Red Vengeance had continued through two more sections of fencing and had entered yet another yard. He ran after it to get closer, tucked the launching tube under his arm, and sighted down its length at the machine’s broad rear end. Engaging the firing mechanism, he was seized by a jolt from the blowback. At the very moment the projectile escaped the launching tube, the tank tracks had kicked up a large piece of trash. A flattened metal washtub deflected the course of the hollow charged grenade. There was an explosion, but the only appreciable damage was to the long wooden toolbox mounted on the right mudguard. Wrenches, spanners, nuts, and bolts flew in all directions as the box disintegrated. Schroeder knew he was in trouble and started to run. He could hear the whine of rheostats as the turret traversed to six o’clock. There was a deafening roar, and at once he was caught within the vortex of a raging storm. The high-explosive shell struck the back end of a neighboring house, and pieces of wood, metal, and glass pummeled him mercilessly. Something punched him in the chest, repeatedly, and his lungs collapsed like pierced balloons.

After the second explosion, Reinhardt waited by the side of the house before venturing into the backyard. The tank had rumbled on. Everything was in a shambles as he picked his way through. Amid the trash he found the corporal, sprawled on a section of downed fencing. The caved-in rear of the house that had been hit by the shell smoldered. Schroeder looked like a child’s doll would after a large hound had finished playing with it; at least, that was the only analogy Reinhardt could summon when viewing the battered, pulpy remains. The corporal had been skewered with a number of large, thick splinters of wood. Then he listened as the 20 mm gun on the command vehicle knocked out a series of rounds. By the sound, Reinhardt could gauge that Red Vengeance had made it to the left flank of the settlement and was attempting to cross the road. He waited to see if the captain was successful in driving it back. Apparently that wasn’t to be. He found the spent firing tube and picked it up. He should have never handed the weapon to Schroeder. They should have left the house together and circled around. Cursing his bad luck, he flung the tube as hard as he could into the night sky and ran back to where the Hanomag was parked. The whites of Hartmann’s eyes were orange with firelight when he looked into the driver’s side portal. “Did you manage to score one?” he asked Reinhardt.