Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

Angst went in search of Minnesinger to turn in the pay books and disc halves and decided to stop in at first squad’s dugout on the way to scrounge a dressing. The gash in his forearm had been left untreated for too long and had grown more annoying. He found Ehrling, Braun, and Halle milling around the entrance but did not speak; they all eyed him when he went in. Sauer had since been taken away on a stretcher, but Keller still remained. His boot had been cut away and a bandage wrapped around the foot in a haphazard, even careless fashion. Angst didn’t think too much about it; he merely asked Keller how he was doing and looked around the dim hole for the first aid kit. He slipped his arm out of the field tunic and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. The field dressing normally sewn on the tunic lining had been used weeks earlier, and he’d failed to get it replaced. He had given it to somebody who’d been wounded, rather badly in fact, although he could not remember the exact circumstances. If the fellow survived, he would probably be in a field hospital or transferred back to the occupied territories. If he hadn’t, then his cross would be among the hundreds of thousands that lined the roads and highways over the great expanse of Russia. The first aid kit, Angst had discovered, had very little in the way of salves or ointments. There was tincture of iodine; wincing, Angst applied it to the cut liberally and then wrapped a length of gauze around it several times. It stung like hell. Seeing Keller, he made less of a fuss over himself. Keller’s left big toe had been shot clean off.

“What are you still doing here, Keller? Why haven’t you been given a lift back?”

Keller did not answer. The three who were lingering outside the dugout filed in at that moment. The look on Keller’s face was one of disdain.

“Keller wants it in writing that his wound is legitimate. He refuses to leave before he gets it,” Halle said.

“What’s the holdup?” Angst asked.

No one answered. Finally Keller spoke. “Why don’t you explain your theory, Halle? No? Then I will. You must understand, Corporal, that Halle, along with others whom he has managed to convince, is of the opinion that I did this to myself. During the course of a counterattack, in which I played an important role, I took the time to mutilate myself.”

“When is there a better time” Halle asked.

“You were directly behind me, Angst. Did you see me shoot myself?”

They all looked to Angst for corroboration. The wound Keller sustained would prohibit him from further service at the front, and he’d probably be discharged from the army altogether. The practice of self-inflicted wounds was, to Angst knowledge, a rarity; the severity of punishment was harsh and decisive. Keller had the reputation for being something of a malingerer, which put him out of favor with the majority of the platoon. Whether he thought himself so clever to get away with it, Angst did not know. He had no feelings about Keller one way or the other. He simply didn’t know the man.

“After I left Ehrling with the machine gun, you were already hurt. I did not actually see you get shot.”

Keller rolled his eyes. “Mein Gott.”

“All I said,” Halle explained, “was that when the medical officer sees that wound, it will strike him as self-inflicted, and you will more than likely see a firing squad sooner than get treatment. The powder burns alone will cause him to suspect.”

“There are powder burns because the Russian swine was right in front of me,” Keller fumed.

“I say we take a machine pistol and shoot the whole damn foot off. That won’t arouse the MO’s suspicion,” Braun said.

“Trial by ordeal. That’s quite an alternative,” Angst said. He wasn’t at all sure if Braun was really joking or not.

“I should receive a close combat medal for my participation in the counterattack, and instead of earning the support of my Kameraden, I am to be maimed even further? Is this what you all want?”

“Take your pick. Loose a foot, or be on the bad end of a firing squad.”

“Braun, please, not another word. Don’t even think. Save it for someone who still possesses a rational mind.” Keller lay back, exasperated and clearly in fear for his life. The movement caused him to grimace. Angst had everyone leave the dugout. Once outside, he took Halle aside, so they could speak without having to listen to any side commentaries. “What do you think? You seem to know Keller best.”

“I don’t know. With the shit we’ve been in, a man can get desperate. I don’t want to see him pay for something he didn’t do. The wound could be legitimate. Maybe he was waiting for the perfect opportunity. I was up front. I didn’t see it. We tore through that trench, Angst. If any Russian was still alive, it was by a thread.”

“But do you think Keller is capable? Because if you’re wrong…”

“Then Braun’s idea isn’t half bad. He’ll survive the MO’s inspection. Damn, the bastard will even get to go home. A gimp for the rest of his life, but so what? He’ll be alive. And what about the rest of us? What will become of us? If he did it to himself, spending the rest of his life on one leg will be a constant reminder of what sort of a miserable shit he is and why his squad took his foot.”

“What does this congregation signify?” a voice boomed. It was Lustig. He was taking a tour of the company, assessing the damage and the casualties. Halle, Braun, and Ehrling shrank back, leaving Angst alone to deal with the acting CO. He informed the sergeant of Keller and the dilemma he faced but avoided any mention of removing the wounded man’s leg by nonsurgical means. Lustig listened dispassionately. When Angst was finished, Lustig said, “I don’t see a problem, corporal. If there are any doubts, Keller will be questioned thoroughly by the chief medical officer. The truth will be known, one way or the other, and will be dealt with accordingly. An inquiry will be made, should it be necessary. If all is well, then Private Keller will receive the best medical treatment available to a soldier of the Reich.”

Lustig then collared Halle to find a pair of litter bearers and have Keller evacuated to the rear. “As for the rest of you, continue to keep that ravine under watch. This is far from over. The enemy will re-infiltrate with more artillery spotters. And make sure you locate whoever is still out there causing trouble, so our snipers can fix them once and for all.”

After the squad parted ways, Angst turned over the disc halves and pay books. He was only saving Minnesinger the trouble. Lustig placed the items inside his bread bag, which was already crammed with more of the same and then sat down, wearily, in an empty rifle pit. “A costly day’s work,” he said, referring to the identity discs.

“Should we expect anything more out of the Russians today, Sergeant?” Angst asked.

“They’re spent for the day, I would think. Nothing till nightfall, at any rate. They’ll re-settle the ravine once it cools down and send in probes. Most of the divisional sector is quiet for the moment. But other sections of the line are taking a pounding.” Lustig said.

“Does that come from regiment?”

Lustig nodded. “Especially further south. The Red Army has every intention of taking Stalino, come what may.”

The sergeant became annoyed at himself for prattling on as though he were at a staff meeting. This was the sort of thing he’d admonished Angst for earlier. As for Angst, what he really wanted to know was how the situation concerning the breakthrough was shaping up, only he was too intimidated to ask, despite the NCO’s loquaciousness.

“You and Minnesinger did an admirable job holding the platoon together,” Lustig told him.

“Congratulate Minnesinger. The counter attack was his show. I merely helped,” Angst replied.