Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

“So far a body count of thirty. Ost Truppen. Seven were executed. They’re lying face down in a front yard, with a gunshot wound to the back of the head. Two civilians with this group.”

They probably tried to surrender, but the Russians meted out the sentence for treason swiftly, Voss thought. “Do you advise entry at this time, Striker One?”

“Come ahead, Striker.”

“Will you be able to observe arrival, Striker One? Do not give away present location, only confirm.”

“Affirmative.”

“Entry will be made on foot. Striker out.”

Voss set down the microphone. He noticed Reinhardt smiling down on him. “The lad maintains an odd radio protocol, eh Lieutenant?”

Protocol or not, Voss was simply relieved to hear Junger’s voice. “You and Hartmann remain here. Should a Russian patrol show up, I doubt if they’d enter the village by way of the orchard.”

“What do you plan to do, Lieutenant?”

“Question the locals about the size of the column that passed through here. Ask about Falkenstein or search for his remains.” He removed the MP40 submachine gun mounted on the side wall next to the co-driver’s seat and a leather magazine pouch of extra ammunition. From his kit of personal gear, he included a flashlight and buttoned the small, box-shaped device to the epaulette of his field tunic.

Leaving the Hanomag, he walked to the far end of the orchard, came to a dirt road, and turned left. The map had indicated this road to be the main route that ran through the village and crossed to the other side of the river. He then crossed a bridge, a short span that was reinforced with heavy wooden trestles. Courtesy of German engineers, the bridge was strong enough to carry the weight of armored vehicles one at a time. The Russians hadn’t blown it. Perhaps they intended to use it again, Voss thought, uncomfortably. The layout of the village was typical, with the simple peasant dwellings flanking both sides of the road. The Russians had stormed through and poured a tremendous amount of machine gun and small arms fire on any house that sheltered resistance. The Ost Truppen hadn’t time to organize a suitable defense, as the mechanized detachment swept down upon them too rapidly. The homes were then ransacked. Pieces of broken furniture and bric-a-brac lay scattered in yards and on the road. Voss encountered some of the dead. Several women with small children fled upon seeing him. Others paid little or no mind as they went about their work, picking up debris and removing the bodies. A dull glow emanated from the windows of several houses. Candle and lantern lights weaved and bobbed all throughout the village. Voss feared that without a blackout, the Russians might be tempted to return. He heard wailing as the voices of old babushkas discovered loved ones among the dead. The battle had caught more peasants in the crossfire than he originally assumed.

“Lieutenant.” Junger appeared from around the side of a house.

“All this illumination isn’t good, Junger.”

“I pleaded with some of the women to snuff out their lanterns. It was suggested that if I don’t like it, I should leave. No one’s too happy about my being here.”

The peasants had lived through the worst of it, and even threats wouldn’t convince them; Voss hadn’t the energy to threaten anyone at the moment anyway.

“Any sign of Captain Falkenstein?”

“No, but there is something I think you should see.”

Junger led the lieutenant back down the road, toward the river. Set further back were several two-storied houses and nearby barns. The signalman ducked around to the rear of one large house and stopped. Voss looked. The remains of a radio truck had been parked some distance away from the back end of the house. Only a scorched chassis remained, as the rest of the vehicle was completely blown apart. A mass of machine parts and twisted debris lay in a wide swath. A section of aerial pole had speared the side of a neighboring house in the explosion. A man dressed in a German uniform sifted through the pieces of electronic assemblies at his feet. Resistors, ceramic insulators, tubing, all shattered but still a recognizable mix of sophisticated radio equipment. The man, an officer judging by the silver braid on the epaulettes, appeared bemused as he lifted a coil to his eyes for closer examination and then tossed it aside. He performed the same act with a condenser, picking it up and, after a moment or two, letting it fall to the ground. He exhibited the characteristics one might expect from a primitive exposed to artifacts from some advanced civilization for the first time. Suddenly he looked up and saw Voss and Junger watching him and crouched in an animal-like posture, ready to bolt. Voss spoke soothingly. “Take it easy, now. We’re with the Sixteenth Panzergrenadiers. We have come to help you.”

The startled look receded and slowly the officer, a lieutenant, stood up as if at attention. He tugged at the hem of his field tunic, as though this gesture would make him more presentable.

“Lieutenant Gottfried at your service,” he said and walked stiffly up to Voss and saluted. Gottfried reeked terribly, having fouled himself sometime during the course of the day. Junger turned aside, away from the odor, and kicked at some of the debris on the ground. Gottfried gestured expansively at the destroyed truck. “This was my doing. The signals truck was mined for such an emergency. I could not allow sensitive equipment to fall into enemy hands. I hid in a crawl space under a house. I suppose that is shameful to admit, but there was really nothing I could do. I believe my signalmen are all dead. They tried to resist, along with the others. We were a monitoring post. Have you come to place me under arrest?”

“No, I’m not here to arrest you.” The day’s events and what had transpired had all been too much for this survivor. Gottfried struck Voss as slightly unhinged. “I am Lieutenant Voss. My headquarters sent me to find Sundial.”

“Sundial? You know about Sundial?” The signals officer spoke with agitation.

“Has Sundial perished as well?”

Gottfried shook his head. “I don’t know. Sundial’s last transmission warned me of the Russians’ approach, but they were on us too fast. They came in from the south. A unit from the advance detachment. A few armored cars and motorcycles, but mostly truckloads of troops. There was no time. The few Ost Truppen decided to give the Russians a tough fight for as long as possible. All was lost, and they knew it.”

“What of Captain Falkenstein? Have you any knowledge of where he is or what has happened to him?”

“Captain Falkenstein? It was he who warned me. These were his men who were attacked. They were standing down, temporarily. I don’t know what may have befallen the captain.”

Voss excused himself and pulled Junger over to the side. “Go back to the vehicle and inform the sergeant. The lieutenant and I will join you shortly.” He took the portable transceiver from Junger to be on the safe side.

“The lieutenant must have had a bad time of it.”

Voss nodded. The strains of grief could be heard echoing throughout the village. “Some have had it even worse.”

After Junger departed, Voss suggested that Gottfried take a moment and tidy himself up. “And then we will return to the vehicle. You are welcome to share our field rations and a cup of coffee. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

Gottfried thanked him. “Yes, Lieutenant, I’d like that very much indeed.”

Fearing that Gottfried might hurt himself or simply get lost, Voss followed close behind as the signals officer entered the rear of the house, which had served as a billet for him and his crew of operators. The house had been ransacked. Overturned furniture, articles of clothing, books, papers, and maps lay scattered on the floor. Anything that seemed to be of value had been pilfered by the Russians, and what was not taken had been shot to pieces during the rampage. Bullet holes patterned the walls, and a dish cabinet in the kitchen had been sprayed with submachine gun–fire. Shards of glassware and ceramic crunched underfoot. It was a mindless orgy of shooting. The house was spacious and probably belonged to some wealthy peasant from before the days of the revolution, Voss imagined.