Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

The diesel engine revved, and the T-34 swung about a full 180 degrees and retired further out on the steppe. It continued for three or four hundred meters, stopped, and then traversed completely around to face the hamlet. Several minutes passed, and still no action was taken. Schroeder seemed to relax. “Let’s get into the house,” he said, and pulled everyone along slowly as he retreated backward.

Once inside the cramped quarters, the boys wasted no time freeing themselves of the bindings. The girl helped to unwind the cord and uttered sounds that indicated her disgust of the situation and the treatment by her captors. She crawled onto the bed and sat with her knees up, facing the wall, her back to the room and its unwelcome occupants. The boys huddled in a corner and tried to gain some kind of protection from each other. Unsure of what to do, Oleksander started to sit down at the table, then thought better of it and remained standing. Schroeder gestured for the old man to sit. He obeyed. Schroeder then opened a shuttered window and kept watch on the tank with binoculars. Angst unhooked his gear and placed it on the floor by the table and sat down. His feet ached terribly, and he would have removed his boots, only Schroeder would never allow it. “Do we stick to the same plan? Wait for a while and try to slip out?”

Schroeder gestured incomprehensibly, eyes glued to the binoculars.

“What if the tank radios for infantry support?” Angst asked.

“Its transmitter might not have the range for a call like that.”

“There could be a unit close by. There’s bound to be a follow-up to the Russian advance.”

Schroeder did not respond. Despite the logic, Angst sensed his remarks were eating away at the corporal’s nerves. He realized there was no plan left to follow. Their lives were held in the balance by the whims of fate and what little luck remained. “All I wanted was a place to rest,” Schroeder said, “and to get out from under the sun for a little while. I didn’t want this.”

“Maybe we still can. These brats aren’t a threat, and the old man can hardly move. One of us can keep an eye on the tank while the other goes to sleep. We can take turns. You can go first if you want.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Angst. We’ve got to try for that ravine and get the hell out of here.” Schroeder lowered the binoculars. He looked at each person in turn and then took in his surroundings, the trap he had unwittingly led them into. The heat of the enclosure was stifling. At any moment the newspaper-lined walls could burst into flame. Then his face twisted into a grimace. “How I hate this fucking backward country. Take a good look around, Angst; this is the Soviet worker’s paradise. A tawdry dream peddled by half-baked ideologists as hopeless as they are idiotic. Look at the filth and squalor. We could be back in the Middle Ages, for all this is worth. And these helots.” He gestured angrily. The boys had crawled under the bed. The older of the two toyed with the tin of fish and sought to find some new way to open it, which he had so far failed to discover. The other youngster watched attentively. “Look at them,” Schroeder continued, “By-products of inbreeding. They all should have been miscarried rather than born.”

The girl had turned around on the bed, her arms still locked tightly around her up-drawn legs. Several small pink toes poked through the frayed cloth of her shoes. Despite the foreign language, both she and Oleksander understood the tone all too plainly. They felt the hatred that seethed within the words.

“I will give meaning to their miserable lives by using them to save our own,” Schroeder said. He removed the assault pack and equipment and let it fall nosily to the floor. As he stepped away from the window, the submachine gun dangling by the strap from around his neck, he gave the binoculars to Angst. He stood by the bed, in front of the girl. She did not look up at Schroeder; her large brown eyes stared straight ahead, unblinking. “Kra seevi dyevoosh ka,” he said, badly, in Russian. It meant “pretty girl.” Schroeder took hold of her wrist, and she did not try to struggle free. Instead, she remained frozen. “I can see why Detwiler fancied you in a hurry,” he said. He pulled her off the bed, but not roughly. The girl stood, straight and tense, and waited for Schroeder’s next move. He lay down on the bed and placed an arm across his eyes. “Give me some time, Angst. Then I will relieve you. I’ve got to think.”

Angst carried a chair over to the window, sat down, lit a cigarette, and began his watch. The smell of tobacco roused the old man. Angst offered one from the pack, and Oleksander accepted gratefully. “Dyah koo yoo,” he said, and gestured with the cigarette contentedly as he sat back down at the table.

After a time the children became more animated. The girl rummaged through the cupboard and various boxes and addressed Oleksander with a host of questions. It was apparent she was looking for a utensil to open the fish tin but with no luck as yet. During her search she had discovered four small sunflower seed cakes wrapped in a towel. To Angst’s bemusement, the fear and concern for the dilemma they found themselves in had all but evaporated. Perhaps, with all the terrors and disappointments life had dealt them thus far, the children had simply learned to exist in the moment. And at this moment, nothing mattered, other than finding the means to end the ache in their empty bellies.

Through the course of all the activity, Angst understood the girl’s name to be Daryna, as the old man repeatedly addressed her. The older boy was Mykola, and the runt was called Lev. Daryna broke apart a sunflower cake and gave half to each boy. She stood at the head of the bed and looked down upon Schroeder. His eyes were closed but that was not enough of a confirmation to indicate he was actually asleep. Daryna hovered like a nervous swallow and then placed a cake on the bed near the corporal’s shoulder. She stepped quickly away so as not to become ensnared, then crossed the room and offered a cake to Angst. In spite of her youth, Daryna was fully developed—magnificently so. Angst was not blind to her physical charms, but the mantle of girlhood still enveloped her. To be moved by desire was terribly easy, but to act on it went beyond lechery. It was criminal. Detwiler had disgraced himself for the second time in Angst’s presence. He wouldn’t get another chance. There wasn’t much he could do for these kids, but one thing Angst silently promised the girl was that he’d keep Detwiler off her, no matter what the cost. Then again, with the situation as it now stood, none of it really mattered. There was a much more powerful, deadly force to contend with than the likes of that brutal idiot. Angst took a bite of the cake. It was stale and dry, and the sunflower seeds had a bitter aftertaste.

Oleksander had found a small knife and attempted to open the tin. Either the knife was blunt, or he hadn’t the strength. Angst intervened before the palsied fellow hurt himself. Using his bayonet, he pierced the metal and pried back the lid. Greedily, the boys rushed to retake possession of the tin. Daryna had to referee. Using her fingers, she separated the shaped stack of whole sardines onto two small plates and dribbled the oil over each compact little pile. Lev and Mykola could not contain themselves; they gobbled up the fish in a matter of seconds and licked the plates clean. Daryna watched over them, almost jealously, it seemed to Angst, as she tasted the fish oil on the tips of her fingers. All that remained was the odor that inundated the close room. Schroeder made signs of irritation but kept his eyes closed.

The tank had yet to take any action, and the crew members had not shown themselves. Not even a hatch was opened to allow for ventilation. Under the blistering sun, the hull’s interior must have been transformed into an oven. Angst could not fathom how the men within could tolerate such extremity. They might have all passed out by now and were slowly roasting, but he certainly wasn’t about to take the risk to find out. The T-34 was an eerie sight. Concrete was smeared on the armored surface, similar to the zimmerite paste used on the panzers to prevent magnetic antitank mines from attaching. But this coating was blotchy, scabrous, as though the steel skin had contracted some disease. There was writing on the turret’s left side. Cyrillic letters, very small, the red paint chipped and faded. Even if he could see the letters clearly, Angst would not comprehend the meaning. He did know that some tanks were named after a kolkhoz or Komsomol group that helped to raise the rubles necessary to offset production costs. Considering the amount of barbed wire sprouting all over the hull, Angst thought it impossible for a crew to mount and access the vehicle. Aside from the extra armored plating fixed to the sloping front end, strands of wire bristled across the driver’s hatch cover. The same was true for the twin hatches on the turret, the Mickey Mouse ears. To enter and leave the vehicle would be a difficult and painful procedure, as if the crew was sealed in for the duration of its mission. The concept was bizarre. He lowered the binoculars and glanced at his wristwatch. Nearly half past twelve hundred hours, and it could not get any hotter than it already was. The children had finally settled down. Daryna amused the boys with stories, Angst guessed, to judge by the theatrical manner of speech and gestures she employed. But she performed quietly, so as not to awaken Schroeder. When the boys started to fidget and become unruly, her tone sharpened, and she would point to Schroeder or Angst as if to say a firmer reprimand would be meted out, should they try the patience of their captors. What went on here last night, when the retreating army passed through and then the Russians in hot pursuit? Angst could only wonder. Now it’s our turn. Daryna and the old peasant probably figured out we had fallen way behind. Cut off and isolated our desperation is certainly evident. What happened to the boys’ parents? And Daryna? None of them seemed related. Had they all been orphaned and survived on the meager kindness of others? What sort of existence was lived out here in all this empty space? Grim and marginal, he was sure.