Peter Idone: Red Vengeance

Khan allayed the captain’s fears. “The beast is frustrated and prefers to wait, until dawn if necessary.” He was confident that he could force the tank to move before that time.

Together, they descended the stairs to the scout car parked in the mouth of the entrance bay. Angst and Detwiler sat close to the vehicle’s rear quarter to absorb the warmth emanating from the armored engine covering. Khan took inventory of the small box of 14.5 mm armor-piercing shells for the antitank rifle. There were only eight. He placed the box in the canvas shoulder bag and removed an entrenching tool from the toolbox. He was ready to leave. “Come back to me, Khan.” The sincerity in Falkenstein’s voice was plainly evident.

“And you, Captain, beware. After you strike the final blow, that is when the beast will be more alive than ever before.” He gathered rifle and gear and waited a moment before leaving the warehouse. Falkenstein watched as the shaman crossed the railroad tracks, using the coal elevator for cover, moving from there to the coal hoppers, running and turning at sharp angles as he skirted around, behind, and in between the slag heaps. Anticipating lightning before it flashed, Khan would either hide from view or lie motionless as the sky lit up for a split second or two. He would be off and running when the darkness returned.

Exhausted of fuel, the motorcycle glided to a stop at the edge of the supply yard. Abandoning the vehicle, Voss shouldered the flamethrower and made his way through the repair depot. He came across the scene of the first attack. The Volkswagen chassis smoldered, and the metal and viscid human wreckage lay churned and run over in the mire. He continued down the muddy narrow street, past the water tower on his far right, to the most recent encounter—and, for Voss, the most costly: the Hanomag. A high-explosive shell had since landed in the crew compartment and a door had been shorn from its hinges, the siding buckled outward. The seating and stowage lockers were scorched, and the equipment left onboard was scattered and broken. The smoke reeked of singed horsehair as the bench cushions burned. Someone poked through the trash that lay around the vehicle. Mueller. When Voss called out his name, the youth whirled, ready to throw what he held in his hand. It was the grenade bundle. “Careful with that thing,” Voss cautioned him.

“I thought everyone had left, and I was all alone, with only the dead for company,” Mueller said, in an unsteady voice.

“The captain has regrouped at the warehouse. I’m going there now,” Voss told him.

The interval of suspected isolation and abandonment had shaken the youth to a substantial degree. He had been crying but now, in the officer’s presence, attempted to appear in more control. He had spent his time covering Hartmann’s body with a frayed tarpaulin and salvaging some more items from the vehicle. He showed Voss the Very pistol and box of flares. He also discovered the small arms left behind by Angst and Detwiler. “Leave the weapons here for now,” Voss recommended. “We won’t need them for what we have to do.”

“I was so terribly thirsty and started to look for some water. Corporal Angst had me cover the south end of the depot, only the tank never showed. I don’t know what I would have done if it had.” He handled the grenade bundle self-consciously. It was obvious to Voss the boy had hid from the fight and was either ashamed or worried that he would have to give an account of his behavior. “You will have another opportunity to throw your bomb. Now, let’s get over to the warehouse. I can officially remove you from the missing-in-action list.” Mueller smiled weakly and followed the officer.

“I see you have brought reinforcements.” Falkenstein stood in the doorway of the warehouse, binoculars in hand. Mueller saluted the captain and immediately joined the others, who were napping beside the scout car. When Voss outlined the full casualty situation to the captain, the news was received coldly. “The prognosis for Sergeant Reinhardt and the grenadier is not optimistic,” Voss added. “There is little the medical orderly can do for either one.” Even if they were to evacuate immediately, the task of saving the wounded—or even their own lives—would prove impossible, Voss thought. Between Red Vengeance and the mud, it was doubtful the command vehicle would get very far. The fuel reserves were all but finished. “Where is the tank now, sir?”

“Another half of a kilometer beyond those ruined farmhouses and out-buildings. Approximately one kilometer in total. Khan is out there now, setting up a firing position. You will want to take the remainder of the crew back to the repair depot and take up positions. Khan and I will attempt to herd the tank over in that direction. With any luck, Vogel and I will keep Red Vengeance contained within this immediate area and restrict its movement, so it doesn’t withdraw to an open space and dominate the surroundings.”

“And if not?”

“Then we will have to improvise, Lieutenant. I’ll risk getting as close as possible.”

“Offering the scout car as bait this time?” Voss asked.

“No, but certainly as the most logical target—but not without adequate cover. I want to relish the tank’s destruction, not succumb to it,” Falkenstein replied.

It only stood to reason, Voss knew, that after so much time spent and so many lives lost, Falkenstein would want to savor the final abuses upon the object of which he had poured so much hatred.

“This is our last chance, Voss. I want you and Corporal Angst to be especially aware of this fact.” In a manner of unprecedented subtlety, Falkenstein reminded the lieutenant of his responsibility for the deaths of the two crewmen and the women. Voss had given orders that were not his to give and broke radio silence. These two infractions irked the captain more than the parlor room showdown he’d attempted earlier. That he could almost forgive, under circumstances of extreme stress and fatigue. But however well-intentioned and misguided his motivations were, Voss would have to make good for his complicity for the casualties.

“Corporal Angst and I will make a supreme effort. Will that be all, Captain?”

“This may take some time. The men should take the opportunity to rest up, by turns, while Khan prepares.”

Voss wished the captain luck, then roused the three grenadiers and led them out the rear of the warehouse, along the exterior wall. At brief intervals, one man at a time, they crossed over the open stretch of ground before dropping behind the damaged sheds for cover. The repair garage at the north end was the closest, and that was where he had them converge. He called a short briefing of his own to inform them of the captain’s plan. “There is no guarantee how Red Vengeance will react or even if it can be coaxed before daylight. Detwiler, I want you and Mueller at the south end of the depot, but no further than the machine shop. Keep out of the maintenance facility building—it offers no protection whatsoever. Angst, you will stay close to me and do exactly as I tell you. Most important of all, be aware of the scout car. It will be firing upon the tank at every opportunity. The captain will try to drive the tank toward us, so don’t take any unnecessary risks out in the open. Be absolutely sure of the scout car’s position and where it’s firing. The purpose is to render the tank immobile and then finish it off, not get cut in half by a 20 mm shell.” He then had the men discard every piece of nonessential equipment and paraphernalia. They would all have to work fast and loose when the time came. Per the lieutenant’s instructions, Angst was given a magnetic mine from the sack, and Detwiler kept the rest. The satchel charge was given to Mueller as along with his grenade bundle. “Good luck, fellows. Make no mistakes.” Detwiler and Mueller exited the garage at the opposite end. While Voss unbuckled the shoulder harness of the flamethrower, Angst took some of the weight of the double fuel canisters and helped set it down on the concrete floor. The rain had let up but, feeling chilled, Angst wished he had brought his shelter half along. He couldn’t remember where he’d left it and asked to return to the wrecked Hanomag and look. The lieutenant forbade him and instead removed his own camouflage field jacket for Angst to wear. The inside of the jacket was warm. Voss suggested they take turns getting some rest. “I’ll wake you in an hour,” he said. The cement flooring was damp and cold, so Angst took a section of broken door panel to sit on. Every muscle and joint ached, yet his mind was clear and overactive. He dreaded the upcoming battle, but the fight was better than the lull, because it didn’t allow him time to think. All he could do at the moment was to think of Braun, Monika, and the final look of horror on Schmidt’s face. When he was engaged in the fighting, he thought of nothing but getting even, but now the time afforded him nothing but worry over his fate. If his friends could be destroyed so easily, in the blink of an eye, what chance would he possibly have? He had the desire to talk, about nothing in particular, but Voss was not in the mood. He had his own manner of wrestling with what lay ahead. “Calm yourself,” Voss said, as he listened for any clues of the tank’s intent. Calm myself , Angst thought, as his nerves bundled tightly into a fist of anticipation.