Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

“I will have to convince these louts, my neighbors, that it’s in their best interests to bury all the dead, peasant and Ost Truppen alike.”

“And how will you do that?”

“Very simple. A reminder. If you don’t work for the Germans, you don’t eat. It is written on signs and placards in every kolkhoz. Try explaining that to some Red Army officer, and you see the results. We are all collaborators or worse in their eyes. I can’t bear to think of what will become of us if you Germans are forced out.”

Neither could Voss, but the inevitable appeared plain to see by all. “Should that occur, and every effort is being made that it doesn’t, then you will be taken with us.”

Raisa smiled. “That is not an invitation I would want to be forced to accept.”

Gottfried then stood up, somewhat confused and impatient, and began to shuffle off toward the road. Voss wished the midwife good night. “On behalf of Lieutenant Gottfried, thank you.” Raisa Grechko nodded but said nothing.

With the radio weighing him down, Voss followed after Gottfried as fast as he could. When he reached the bridge, he found the lieutenant leaning over the railing. As Voss drew up beside him, he realized Gottfried was choking on grief.

“What a cowardly wretch. I should have died with them. Instead, I hid.”

“Don’t punish yourself. At least you can help me locate Captain Falkenstein, if that is still possible.” Besides , he thought, we will all get the chance to die sooner or later . The business about the mutilations had unsettled Voss. He felt that with each passing hour, the war became that much more vicious and ugly. He took Gottfried by the arm and led him into the orchard. When they had covered half the distance to the armored personnel carrier, they met up with Hartmann, who stood guard behind a tree. Voss made introductions. “Can you stay awake for a while longer, Heinz?”

“That cup of coffee I drank should keep me on my feet for another hour,” the driver said good-naturedly. “There’s a pot on for you and the lieutenant.”

Voss promised to have him relieved before the hour was up.

The star aerial rose up between the interlacing branches. The rear doors were open, and the two officers boarded. Reinhardt took the transceiver and the lieutenant’s weapon and stowed it up front by the co-driver’s seat. Junger was at the set, wearing earphones and playing with the dials in an effort to find a strong, clear signal. A codebook lay on his lap with a pad and pencil ready.

“There’s a lot of chatter, mostly en clair, ” Reinhardt said, when he came back. “The armored spearhead has been ordered back, apparently due to their supply lines being severed.”

“Do they sound serious?” Voss asked, as he squeezed closer to the radio.

“Orders direct from South-West Front. Whoever is in command sounded upset.”

“Any mention of position? Heading? Or what time?”

“Nothing. Only the order to return to the line of demarcation. That was the expressed terminology. I passed it along in code. Blue Flower had monitored the originating transmission from their end. It’s believed to be legitimate.”

“They won’t try anything till morning. Anything else?”

“Maintain position, and keep them apprised of developments.”

That solves some of our problems , Voss thought. At least we know the Russians won’t be setting up shop by the Dniepr. What route they plan on their return is another matter. That is a problem for both First Panzer and Sixth Armies. Everyone will be on the lookout. Now, all we have to do is concentrate on Falkenstein . “Good work, Sergeant. And would you fix the lieutenant up with a cup of coffee and something to eat? He must be famished by now.”

“Right away, Lieutenant.” While Reinhardt sorted through the supply of field rations stored in one of the backrest lockers, Voss turned to Gottfried, who had stretched out on the bench behind the driver’s seat. Voss sat down on the bench near the open doors. “Your expertise will be of great service. Under the present circumstances, how would you go about raising the captain?”

After taking a moment to ponder, Gottfried said, “First, I would simply try to raise him on our frequency. The call sign for the listening post for today is ‘Outstation.’ Having been out of communication for so many hours, the captain wouldn’t respond.”

“He would recognize your voice,” Voss suggested.

“That is no guarantee. I could have been captured. How could he be certain?”

“More importantly, how would the captain try to contact you?”

“Most likely, he believes me to be dead. By all probability I should be,” Gottfried replied.

“Suppose, for a moment, he makes the attempt, just to be sure?”

Gottfried thought for a moment and tapped the side of his head. “All the Russian codes are right here. Not as primitive as they once were, originally, but not that difficult to break if you know what you are doing. You must understand that the captain and I were not in the habit of communicating by radio on a regular basis while he was in the field. As my operators and I monitored transmissions from a variety of sources and decoded enemy messages, there was a lot of raw data to sift through. Signals from our people were easier and faster, of course. Unless something specific came my way concerning the captain’s mission; then I would not hesitate to signal him directly. Most of the time that wasn’t the case. My operators and I passed the information along to Army Group, because what we overheard had direct bearing on overall operations, and a certain percentage directly to the captain. He would then interpret the reports and would decide if it had importance. When the emergency on September seventh occurred, we quickly worked out a code between ourselves. An old Russian numbers code, outdated, but we adapted it somewhat to fit our needs. Due to the rapidly changing situation, we used voice for the sake of expediency a little more than we should have. That proved to be disastrous at our—at my end. I hope not for the captain’s sake.”

The sergeant had opened a tin of meat for the signals officer and followed with a can of pears in syrup. Gottfried consumed the food ravenously as he talked. “If I can rest for a moment longer, perhaps I can relieve your radio operator.”

Voss agreed. “Take your time, lieutenant, and drink your coffee.” He then motioned to Reinhardt to follow him as they stepped out of the vehicle and walked a short distance within the orchard.

“Besides the summary executions of civilians and Ost Truppen, there were mutilations. Gottfried’s signal crew,” Voss told him.

“Jesus,” Reinhardt exclaimed.

“One would expect more professional behavior from an armored corps.”

So did Reinhardt. The mechanized divisions were a more sophisticated branch of the Red Army. The officers and troops better trained. “They’re paying us back in kind for something done by somebody. It sounds more like an act perpetrated by partisans.”

“You realize what this means, don’t you?” Voss asked. The sergeant had an idea but waited for Voss to air the doomed requirements. “Should we get into a fight with this bunch, it will be to the finish. I’m sorry, Dieter.”

“Nobody promised us this would be an easy one,” Reinhardt said, resigned. They returned to the vehicle. The hour was almost up, and Voss remembered his promise to Hartmann and sent Junger to replace him. The signalman was to take the transceiver along and extend the watch as far as the bridge near the village. Voss wanted to be informed if anything of importance were to take place. As soon as he had finished eating, Gottfried took over signal operations. “Outstation calling Sundial, come in, over…” He did not operate by voice for very long, as the risk was too great. He then switched over to key and tapped out a series of coded messages.