Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

Everyone napped. Oleksander had taken a quilt and pillow from a wood box that served as a chest and had spread it out on the floor. The boys lay curled up beside him. He did not seem to mind; their proximity yielded some comfort, as his frail and vulnerable form did for them. The heat had caused Angst to become practically ill with lethargy. He had to will himself through the crushing boredom and fatigue, one second at a time. He would soon follow Schroeder with at least an hour of uninterrupted, dreamless sleep, depending on their present predicament—maybe even longer. Hang on , he cautioned himself; it would be his turn soon. With the hour and a half that had since elapsed, Angst assumed the rest of the squad was well on their way, heading west, using the ravine for cover. Well, good for them , he thought; at least Braun, Schmidt, Minnesinger, and the others have a shot at survival . Angst felt left out, more so because whatever was about to come his way would have to be faced with the likes of Schroeder and not with his friends. Hang on, every moment, every second counts . He was intent on awakening the panzergrenadier corporal and see what they could come up with in extricating themselves from the death trap they had blundered into. Last night and now today, what does that tank want from us? We’ve been followed, hounded, and for what purpose? None of it made any sense. Daryna sat and rested her head on her arms, folded on the table. She stared at Angst with one eye that peeked from the crook of her arm. Her eye widened just as they heard the loud eruption from the tank’s 76 mm gun. A second volley followed. Schroeder gasped loudly as he awakened and was immediately on his feet, waving the MP40 around the room, seeking out a target. Through a small, shuttered window at the back wall of the room, Angst saw the smoking debris of a shack that once stood closest to the edge of the ravine, now completely obliterated. Oleksander stirred on the floor, frightened and confused by the noises. Daryna reacted the worst, unleashing a fury driven by panic and fear. She charged for the door and managed to open it before Angst caught hold of her around the waist. She flailed wildly as Angst threw his weight and hers against the door. The teenager was strong, and he thought she would propel them both out of the house. Daryna scratched, kicked, and slapped; her teeth snapped open and shut in an effort to get a fix on a part of him to bite. Schroeder was making an attempt to pull her away when Angst saw the older boy, Mykola, mount the sill of the rear window, ready to leap out.

“Schroeder, get the kid!” Angst bellowed.

The panzergrenadier lunged and grabbed the boy by the ankle, dragged him roughly back inside across the floor, and dumped him on top of Lev. He slammed the window shutters closed and returned to Daryna as she continued to struggle with Angst, of whom she was getting the upper hand. Schroeder took a crop of her hair and yanked her head back so forcefully, Angst was afraid her neck would snap. She let go of Angst as both her hands went toward the pain at her head. Schroeder then flung her down upon the bed, where she lay sobbing and stroking her abused scalp.

Oleksander clapped his hands over his ears and moaned, “Lahskah, lahskah.” Angst sank to the floor, his neck and ears burning from the girl’s scratches. He noticed that Schroeder still trained the submachine gun on her, as if deliberating whether to blast her or not. “Don’t hurt her,” Angst said.

“She almost got the better of you, Angst.”

“I know. I thought I could handle her without causing injury. She’s a scrappy little thing.”

“I hope you have better success against the Russians.”

They were interrupted by a prolonged burst of machine gun fire. The rear window shutters flew open, and someone dove through the opening. It was Wilms. He landed on Mykola, who had yet to recover from Schroeder’s treatment. Wilms scrambled across the floor and looked out the front window. “Still not going anywhere.”

“What the fuck is going on out there, Wilms?” Schroeder was livid and definitely afraid.

“Don’t look at me like that, corporal. I didn’t start it. Some of the guys couldn’t take the heat any longer, so they took cover in that house. I don’t know how the tank could have spotted them.”

“Who were they?”

“A couple of ours. Freitag for sure. And your platoon leader, Angst.”

“Minnesinger?” Angst refused to believe it but knew it was all too possible. In the short time he had known him, Angst had noticed Minnesinger appeared to suffer more than most from the heat. It would drive him nearly to madness. “Didn’t you try to stop him?” Angst’s question only exasperated the signalman.

“How could I? We’ve been passing out one by one down in that ravine, getting cooked alive.”

Schroeder had no sympathy. “Either that or get blown to pieces. Take your pick.” He went to the rear window and looked out. “Blockheads,” he muttered, as he closed the shutters over. The tank hadn’t budged. The lack of commitment of the T-34 to engage them was too bizarre for Schroeder to comprehend. “Why didn’t you leave? You were all in the ravine. Why didn’t you try to make it free and clear?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“There were no orders…”

“Yes, there were. Think for once in your stupid, miserable life, Wilms. You and the others. Our orders are to link up with the rest of brigade, or division, and form a new line. If some of us get cut off or fall behind, well, then that’s just too bad. It’s about manpower, Wilms. The more the merrier to fight this war, wouldn’t you say?”

Wilms appeared cowed, foolish. “What are your plans now?”

“That all depends on what’s waiting for us out there,” Schroeder replied. “If the tank makes a move toward the village, then we make a run for it. If there’s no change, then we wait it out. We won’t make a move until sundown. I got a feeling that T-34 won’t make a move either as long as we have hostages.”

“Not until now,” Wilms commented.

Schroeder glared back at Wilms. “And whose fault is that? Where’s the radio?”

“I left it with Schubert.”

“Anything?”

Wilms shook his head. “Interference. I tried to monitor any transmissions that might have originated from the tank, but it was useless. I didn’t want to waste the battery.”

“You won’t hear a thing out of that tank,” Schroeder said with conviction.

“Red Vengeance,” Wilms said. The remark caused Schroeder noticeable discomfort.

“What is ‘Red Vengeance’ supposed to mean?” Angst said, but his question was ignored.

“Ganz said it was Red Vengeance. I didn’t believe it at first, but now I think he’s right. It all adds up,” said Wilms.

“Ganz is an asshole, and so are you for mentioning it,” Schroeder retorted.

“Tell me that isn’t the same T-34 from last night” Wilms said, “That ambush was too strange. And what about that bizarre incident you had in the brush? Detwiler refused to speak of it. And here we are, isolated, not a soul in sight. This entire sector should be crawling with Bolsheviks—and not a one.”

“It’s a big country” Schroeder said.

“Will someone tell me what Red Vengeance means and why you’re all so worked up over it?” Angst asked.

“How long have you been at the front, Angst?” Wilms asked.

“Since early August.”

“Well, that explains your ignorance.”

Angst became defensive toward the signalman. “So why don’t you enlighten me?”

“Red Vengeance is a frontline myth,” Schroeder interrupted, “a phantom T-34 that appears from out of nowhere, attacks, and then disappears. It’s known to inflict a lot of damage to any unit it happens upon. And there are few survivors, if any. There isn’t a tank or assault gun able to put it out of action. Not even Tigers have had any success, from what I’ve heard. Panzer crews have said that when Red Vengeance shows itself, your number is up.”