Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

“Two-Five-One receiving.”

“Target is now west of supply yard and heading south.”

Reinhardt wanted to inform the captain exactly where they were without betraying their position. “We sure could use some advice, Two-Twenty-Two…”

There was a pause. Falkenstein understood the situation all too clearly. The armored carrier was near or directly in the tanks path. “Do what is necessary to protect your vehicle, Two-Five-One. I repeat, protect your vehicle at all cost. You are not alone. Two-Twenty-Two out.” Falkenstein switched off the mike. “This is going to be tricky, Klaus. Red Vengeance is on the west perimeter of the supply yard heading south. If you can negotiate the vehicle into the supply yard, we can slip in behind the tank as it passes. Red Vengeance will certainly turn left further down, either before or on the Old Cart road.”

“I’ll give it a try, sir,” Vogel replied.

“Take us back around so I can have a look.”

Vogel turned and edged forward slowly. The T-34’s searchlight was an attractive beacon, daring, even begging for interaction.

“Get us out of here—Red Vengeance is on the way,” Reinhardt said, and bolted from the co-driver’s seat to direct the maneuver from the crew compartment. Hartmann shifted into forward, then reverse, then back again to get the vehicle turned around in the right direction. A subtle change in the wind caused the smoke from the oil drums to blow in a more easterly direction. A harsh beam of light stroked the darkness as the Hanomag wove around the scattered piles of materiel. The tank was still some distance away and its searchlight was aiding in their escape, although the driver worked at remaining outside of the beam. Once he emerged from the supply yard, Hartmann continued across the muddy street, down the wide alley that separated the machine shop and the repair garage, and slowed, almost to a complete stop, at the gravel road. Reinhardt looked and gave the all clear. The vehicle turned left onto the road and picked up speed. Then something happened. Engine noises? A light? Reinhardt wasn’t sure but Hartmann became spooked and floored the accelerator. “Did you see the spotlight? It was right behind us!”

“I can’t tell…”

“I’m getting the hell off this road, now!” Hartmann had yet to reach an intersection or turnoff wide enough to accept the vehicle; instead, he downshifted and turned the wheel violently to the left, driving through an enormous breach in the corrugated metal wall of the maintenance building. “Watch your head,” he shouted as the fanglike edges of metal skin screeched abrasively against the armored siding. Reinhardt ducked down and held his head, reflexively, so as to keep it on his shoulders. The tracks churned up the debris of wood framing and metal panels that lay on the ground as the Hanomag raced down the interior of the building and out the far end. The vehicle was traveling too fast to make the turn at the immediate intersection. Hartmann tried, but the momentum was too great; the vehicle barreled across the alleyway directly toward the garage on the opposite side. The wooden doors remained only partially open as the armored bulk rammed through; there was a deafening roar as the wood disintegrated, and Hartmann braked hard and fast. Complete and utter blindness. He hit the switch on the dash that activated the headlamps on the front wheel fenders. Wheels and linked tracks slid over the oil-saturated concrete flooring as the vehicle screeched to a halt. The way out was blocked by the Mark IV wreck that stood in the entry. There was too much weight to the hull to try and push through. Hartmann bellowed a stream of obscenities as he swung the vehicle around. The garage wasn’t spacious enough for the size of the Hanomag to make a successful U-turn, but that didn’t stop Hartmann from trying. The front right end smacked into a wall, and the engine stalled. Reinhardt was rudely bounced around in the crew compartment. “Stop right here, Heinz, goddamn it!” Above the sound of his own panting, Reinhardt heard an engine. His stomach tightened as he went for a grenade bundle but remembered Mueller and the others had taken everything. As the sound increased, he relaxed. It was only the BMW. He called out as the motorcycle bounced past the garage entrance. Voss slowed and wheeled around. Timber from the ruined door lay in the opening. Inside, nose to the wall, the Hanomag looked like a zoo animal too exhausted to leave its cage. “We were trying to get to the other side of the depot,” Reinhardt said, “and hide the vehicle among the slag heaps on the other side of the tracks.”

“To hell with the Hanomag. It’s not worth the risk. Red Vengeance is around here, somewhere,” Voss replied.

Reinhardt looked at Hartmann, who remained slumped over the wheel, and said rather loudly, “To the south of us, by my reckoning. The captain warned us. His order was to protect the vehicle.” That was exactly what Voss was afraid of. The armored personnel carrier and his two best men were to be used as bait. “We might get lucky, Lieutenant,” Hartmann said.

Reinhardt concurred. “While Red Vengeance concentrates on us, the captain can intercept and score a few good hits. Immobilize it, finally.” Voss didn’t like any of it, but his sergeant and driver were keen on the idea and too fond of the vehicle to surrender it to the likes of Red Vengeance. He thought for a moment and worked out a route. They would stay off the gravel road. North of the garage, the nearby huts and tool sheds thinned out considerably. They would zigzag around and between these outbuildings and, once past the area in line with the water tower, make straight for the warehouse, drive through it, and then out the far end. Next, they would turn right—east—on River Road and over the railroad crossing; then, immediately, make a right turn again using the coal hoppers and elevator for cover before reaching the slag heaps near the equipment dump. “I’ll lead you over,” Voss said. “If Red Vengeance gets anywhere close, abandon the vehicle and get clear. That is my order.” Turning the motorcycle around, Voss rode to the end of the alley and looked down the gravel road. He gave the all clear, then wheeled about and did the same at the other end. The Hanomag fired up and exited to the right out of the garage and got on the motorcycle’s tail. Voss turned and saw Reinhardt standing at the bow machine gun. The sergeant waved. Voss waved back, then let out the clutch with one hand and opened the throttle with the other as he made the turn.

Once Falkenstein was sure the tank had driven past their position, he told Vogel to turn into the supply yard. They expected to see the searchlight but instead saw nothing. Slowly, the scout car eased through to the far side of the yard, and Falkenstein, raising himself half out of the turret, strained to see. Then he gagged. Smoke enveloped them. It had become as black as pitch and not a breath of air. “Back up,” he rasped. Vogel reversed and rear-ended a drum of burning sludge. A diesel engine roared and track links clattered. Between fits of coughing, Falkenstein urged his driver to continue to the west. Vogel managed to clear the smoke and had an easier time extricating the 222 from the supply yard. The captain choked and spat. Vogel turned south and, once on open ground, free of any obstructions, picked up speed. He continued almost to the Old Cart Road and swung left. Red Vengeance was nowhere to be seen. Falkenstein ordered him to turn onto the street separating the workshops and the repair depot complex. There was still no sign of the T-34. Further down, the poisonous cloud of smoke covered the street like a dense black fog, obscuring whatever lay beyond from view. He told Vogel to head over to the gravel road. On the way over, the realization of what had actually occurred dawned on him. Red Vengeance had not traveled to the south end of the supply yard, as he presumed it would. The tank changed direction while they fumbled in the smoke. That’s why he had heard the tank’s diesel engine so acutely; the tank used the smoke from the burning drums of paint sludge as a screen to confound them as it reversed completely and headed in the opposite direction. Falkenstein tried to raise the Hanomag over the radio but was greeted by static, followed by a sudden high-pitched wail that felt like an ice pick driven into his ear. He ripped off the headphones, in pain and dumbfounded. Reception perfect, and now this! “We’ve been fooled, Klaus. Stay alert! Red Vengeance is about to pounce at any moment!”