Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

“I may have something that will keep you occupied during your long restless hours,” Beutel said. He reached for the captain’s silver cigarette case, took one, lit it, and breathed in deeply. He reached into the breast pocket of his waist-length tunic and brought out a number of papers, which he unfolded and gave to the captain. “This is only a preliminary, scribbled rather hastily by a subordinate. There wasn’t the time available to type the long version, and I didn’t want to discuss the matter over an unsecured line. That is why I’ve come to speak with you personally.”

Falkenstein glanced at the papers briefly. The text had been penciled in shorthand. The handwriting was indeed abysmal. “I’ll need Gottfried to decode this mess.”

“Let me give you a rundown,” the major began. “Two days ago a few stragglers were picked up by one of our tank batteries. Six grenadiers and a local peasant girl. They had spent the night trying to outrun a T-34 that had pursued them from the day before. A couple of these grenadiers were part of a rearguard platoon that had pulled out of the Tortoise Line, only they never managed to link up with their regiment. They fell in with a self-propelled antitank gun that, due to mechanical troubles, lagged behind as well. They couldn’t make up the loss in distance, as both armies were continually on the move. Sometime in the early morning hours, there was an ambush. There were a number of casualties, and the assault gun was destroyed. The following day the remains of this platoon and several panzergrenadiers from the Stug III escort hid out in a small abandoned village. It’s where they came across the girl and several more civilians. The same tank showed up and harassed them throughout the entire day. Their ranks were whittled down even more. The corporal in charge, a real hard nut and very capable, used the civilians as hostages. In the long run, it didn’t help. All night, as they forced-marched through the ravine and across the steppe, the tank laid down cannon and machine gun fire. There are other pertinent details. The use of search lights, sirens, etcetera. From the corporal’s description and what others in the squad corroborated, there is every indication that the T-34 in question was none other than Red Vengeance.”

Before the major had finished speaking, a disturbing mood settled over Falkenstein. He seethed with anger, frustration—it was difficult to distinguish between the two—but Voss could sense the force that the captain projected. Tightening his hand into a fist, Falkenstein brought it down on the table, although gently. The gesture had its own vehemence. He rose, stiffly, out from the chair. “Where can I find these men?”

Beutel held up a hand, a placating gesture. “One step at a time, Captain.”

“I must… I will speak with them immediately.”

“And you will, just as soon as—”

“Show me on the map. Timing is everything in this hunt!”

The major obliged him as he looked through the maps on the table and found the appropriate one. Voss was stunned by the captain’s behavior. His first impression was of a cold, aloof man, whose every movement appeared under rigorous control, and who merely tolerated his company out of a politeness that seemed strained. Even the major, a superior officer, was relegated to the same category and behaved with a subordinate air. Falkenstein smelled blood, and a tempest filled the room.

“I’ve stashed them with Gilmeier, an artillery battery commander with the hundred and twenty-eighth,” Beutel explained cautiously. “I didn’t have the means to transport these fellows to you. I didn’t know where you were. Gilmeier’s a good man. He’ll sit on them for as long as necessary.”

“Who else knows of this?”

“Just us and Dietrich, the tank commander who found them. Don’t worry, Hans, everyone involved will remain discreet on the subject.” Beutel let his finger rest at a place on the map. “Here, right on the Sinel’nikovo-Krasnoarmeyskoye rail line.”

“I will leave straight away.”

“But it’s over sixty kilometers away,” the major protested.

“No matter. I’ll want to debrief them all, individually.” Falkenstein lifted the receiver of the field telephone but thought better of it and left the cottage.

“I knew he would react this way,” Beutel said dejectedly. “Not since Operation Citadel has Red Vengeance raised its ugly snout. Not a sign, until now.”

Voss had heard of the exploits attributed to Red Vengeance, and although he did not dismiss some of the stories outright, he did arrive at his own conclusion that its reputation was manufactured largely from the exhaustion attributed to overstressed troops in the field. “The captain has reacted very strongly to your report, Herr Major.”

“And why shouldn’t he?” Beutel answered, as he poured himself another round. “Captain Falkenstein has actively pursued Red Vengeance for quite some time now.”

“I didn’t know command took the matter under consideration.”

Despite the effects of the alcohol beginning to take hold, Beutel was noticeably astounded. “Wait a moment, Lieutenant…surely you are aware that Red Vengeance wiped out the captain’s command. Thirty kilometers outside of Elista. Can you imagine, it was considered a relatively secure area.”

“No, I was not specifically aware of that fact, Herr Major. The captain served in a different regiment. I was only aware of certain details of the ambush and that the captain was the only survivor.”

“You can believe me, there are more than a few panzer crews and grenadiers who can testify to the serious nature of Red Vengeance—and many more could too, if they were alive to speak their minds.”

“Would I be correct in assuming that the captain’s primary, if not his sole mission, is to hunt down and destroy Red Vengeance?”

Beutel nodded. “You would.”

“And this is approved by Army Group?”

“It began with the captain’s urging, and certainly the influence of General Hoth played an important role. During the general’s relief operation to Stalingrad Red Vengeance had sniped at Fourth Panzer Army repeatedly. I don’t mean to imply the tank was solely responsible for the operation’s shortcomings, but the psychological aspect has to be factored in. Over the weeks and months that followed, a number of senior officers on the corps and divisional staffs came to view Red Vengeance as a serious morale problem, especially for us Panzers. At Army Group, someone very high up and close to the field marshal listened, and a small unit was formed to look into the matter.”

“Sundial and the listening post.”

“The captain and his Ost Truppen were the primary unit in the field, yes. There were a number of officers at divisional and regimental headquarters that recognized firsthand the corrosive effects on the men’s fighting spirit with regard to this fiendish T-34. Myself included. An ad hoc group was established to provide intelligence, any scrap of information that may relate to Red Vengeance, and funnel it to the captain.”

“With all due respect, Herr Major, with all we face at this moment, is Red Vengeance really that important? The men are stretched beyond the limits of endurance. The casualty rate is unacceptable by any standard. Crossing the Dniepr—now, that would boost morale. That is worth risking one’s life for.”

Beutel smiled, fatuously. “You are absolutely correct, lieutenant. There are too few of us to staunch the Russian tide. Yes, we could use a propaganda victory. A morale boost! How can under strength panzer units and undermanned infantry companies expect to hold back an onslaught, when a machine of near mythic invincibility cannot be stopped? If we allowed Red Vengeance to go unchecked now that it has once again shown itself then it is only logical to conclude…” Beutel trailed off into an intoxicated silence, as the point he was trying to make only exhausted him. So this was the evil Gottfried had alluded to and was so reticent to speak of, Voss thought. “I still fail to see the value in diverting attention to a single tank, when the full weight of the Red Army is about to crash down upon our heads.”