Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

Vogel drained the last drops of gasoline into the fuel tank and set the empty can aside. He removed all the external equipment on the vehicle—the heavy tools from the toolbox, the spare tire—to lighten the load. “Everything in working order, Klaus?” the captain asked.

“Like a charm, sir.”

“You’ve managed to extricate me out of many difficult situations because of your skill driving that thing. Now the true test of your abilities. This time we will enter straight into the fire.”

Vogel patted the armored siding. “She’s a good machine, Captain.”

Falkenstein continued to make small talk for a while longer, mainly about the weather and the damp chill in the air and how long it would take before Khan was ready to act. This was unusual for the captain, Vogel thought; perhaps he was displaying signs of nerves. He climbed into the turret, verified that the ammunition rack was stocked to capacity with twenty-round magazines of armor-piercing shells, and double-checked the weapon to see that it was in perfect operational condition. The long wait was oppressive, so Vogel busied himself with a string of chores, some necessary and others superfluous, doing anything to quell the anticipation. Straight into the fire …the captain’s words echoed in his ears. We could get burned this time , he thought.

Adull thud resounded in the distance, followed by a sharp metallic knock. Moments passed, and the same noise was repeated. Khan had fired off two rounds from the antitank rifle. The tank’s searchlight came to life, and the beam arced from left to right, seeking a target. The diesel coughed, and then the rattle and clank of ribbed tracks sloughed through the saturated ground. Red Vengeance was on the move. The scout car idled as Falkenstein climbed aboard and entered the turret. Vogel eased the vehicle out of the warehouse bay, stopped, and waited. The glare from the searchlight illuminated the churned soil as Red Vengeance drove toward the railroad tracks. The turret swiveled from nine to three o’clock in anticipation of where the next threat would originate. Never before had the machine appeared more animalistic than now, with its piglike snout on the alert. When the cannon shifted its aim toward the opposite direction, Falkenstein gave the order, and the scout car raced from the warehouse entrance to the next cover position, the coal elevator. Vogel remained on the west side of the tracks but kept the vehicle in line with the tall, narrow structure. He nosed forward at the captain’s command. The 20 mm cannon fired off a succession of rounds at the tank’s right flank. The small, armor-piercing shells sparked against the thick, armored hide. Falkenstein knew he was out of effective range and had to get closer. Before the turret swiveled back to three o’clock to bring its gun to bear on the exposed scout car, Vogel shifted into reverse and braked behind the elevator. The tank no longer possessed the same speed and maneuverability it once had. Reaction time showed signs of sluggishness, but the machine wasn’t stupid. No sooner had the scout car braked than an armor-piercing shell punched a hole through the elevator siding. The air was displaced above Falkenstein’s head as the projectile streaked by like a comet. Vogel was in tune with the situation. They only had seconds as the tank slipped in behind the slag heaps, where it was protected but would have difficulty aiming a killing shot. Without needing the captain to tell him to do so, Vogel turned about and sped north, down the gravel road, and turned left to the back end of the warehouse before another round could be loaded, sighted, and fired. When the shell did strike, the scout car was safely out of the way. Once past the slag heaps, Red Vengeance turned sharply to the right, crossed the tracks, and continued down the gravel drive that led to the warehouse entrance.

Voss stood behind the junked Mark IV and watched as the fight resumed. Dawn had barely arrived; a diffuse light under a pileup of clouds; the surroundings gray, ruined, and sordid. After Khan’s opening volley, only minutes had elapsed since the sound of the engine was heard and the subsequent bark of the 20 mm gun and the booming cannon that answered. The support stand of the water tower obstructed Voss’s view, so he left the cover of the useless panzer and walked to the gravel road. Focusing the binoculars, he observed the T-34 edge slowly toward the warehouse entrance, stop, and then fire into the building. High-explosive, Voss assumed, judging by the smoke and debris that mushroomed out the rear end. Angst ran over and stood beside him. “Can you see the captain?”

“No, but I gather the command vehicle is somewhere in or near the back end of the warehouse. At least that’s where Red Vengeance believes it to be. I should take the flamethrower and help out.”

“That’s suicide, Lieutenant,” Angst protested. “There’s no cover for you to get that close. You’ll be cut to pieces.”

Through the binoculars Voss could see a puff of smoke emanate from the hull’s right side, followed by an emphatic clash of metal. The turret swung around to five o’clock and fired another high-explosive round at the coal elevator. Timber and siding planks hurled through the air, exposing the skeletal coal lift machinery within. That was Khan who had fired, to divert attention from the 222, Voss realized. If the Mongol was as acutely aware as the captain claimed, he had fired from a position near the elevator but not in the building itself. The shell from the antitank rifle, although not crippling, had the desired result. Red Vengeance traversed to the right and, at a crawling speed, heaved its bulk on to the gravel road and proceeded north. “I’m not sure, but the captain’s vehicle might still be in the game,” Voss said, as he gave the binoculars to Angst. What caught Angst’s attention when he looked was the veil of blue exhaust fumes that poured from the tank. “It’s definitely hurting,” he said. Turning, he noticed the lieutenant’s annoyance as he looked at a newcomer. Detwiler had joined them. “Why did you leave your post?” Voss asked.

“We heard shooting.”

“Of course there’s shooting. Now, get back to where you belong and stay there,” Voss ordered angrily. Every action was critical from this moment onward, and patience, Voss knew, was necessary if they were not to incur more losses. Everyone wanted it over with, himself included. The fight had dragged on for too long. He shook his head with exasperation as he watched Detwiler turn the corner at the end of the garage, where Mueller waited for him. So, both grenadiers had come forward to watch and satisfy their curiosity. He called out to them again to move back.

The turret revolved, its cannon pointing at six, three, and twelve o’clock and back again. Angst pointed in the direction of the elevator. “Look, Lieutenant!” Voss detected movement and lifted the binoculars. Khan, covered completely in mud and grime, darted around the piles of slag. His short, powerful legs worked furiously, but he didn’t seem to pick up any speed. Something was obviously wrong as he bounded over the split ends of railroad ties, across the road, as he held the rifle by the squared muzzle end, dragging the shoulder stock in the dirt. He wobbled over to Angst and the lieutenant by the Mark IV. The magic vest might protect him from bullets and shrapnel, but his head had been clobbered by debris from the exploding elevator. A contusion had developed on the left temple, and a clot of blood filled his ear canal. “He should wear a helmet,” Angst commented. Khan pointed in the direction of the warehouse and tried to communicate something. Difficult to understand under the best of circumstances, his speech was now slurred as well. Voss translated as best he could. “He saw the Two-Twenty-Two exit the rear of the warehouse and take cover behind a group of outbuildings along the back end, just as the tank fired.” Khan grew more animated as they heard, then caught a glimpse of, the scout car as it drove behind the cluster of damaged sheds and workshops near the site of the ruined Hanomag. The vehicle then reappeared as it turned in between a narrow opening separating a workshop and tool shed and pulled up alongside the garage wall to escape the tank’s notice. A shroud of wood splinters, brick, and mortar dust coated the surface of the vehicle, evidence of a close call. “Red Vengeance needs room to maneuver and will not venture down these narrow streets,” Falkenstein called down from the turret opening.