Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

“You were in there with him for an awfully long time,” Wilms said to Schroeder.

“I had to brief the captain about our adventures over the past few days.”

“You told him about the tank?”

“He specifically wanted to hear about the tank.”

“Everything?” Detwiler asked.

“The captain expressed a wish that I be candid. Relax,” and he patted the gunner on the knee, “there is nothing to worry about. The captain said we did all we could, given the circumstances.”

“Hey, Schroeder, did you mention how you got lost in a thicket of weeds when the assault gun you were supposed to protect got blown sky high?”

Braun’s question stopped everyone cold. He’s really begging for it , Angst thought. He searched the corporal’s face for a reaction, but Schroeder remained quite placid, despite the incendiary nature of the remark.

“The captain listened with keen interest on that subject. I explained everything in detail. I’m sure he will ask your version of events at some point, Braun.”

The truck bounced along the rutted dirt road. The scout car pulled up alongside and then passed, leaving them choking on the dust. Schroeder was unaffected and did not cough, as did the rest of the squad. “Braun?” he said.

“What?” Braun managed to splutter.

“From now on you had better address me as ‘Corporal.’ If you know what’s good for you.”

Braun rolled his eyes and prepared to dismiss the request, but Schroeder persisted. His malevolent gaze bore into the grenadier long and hard. Understanding just how serious Schroeder was on this point, Braun finally said, “Yes, Corporal.”

Despite the continual jolting, due to the truck’s worn suspension, the men took the opportunity to nap—except for Angst, who suddenly became too wide awake. Furtively, he looked at Schroeder, head tilted back and eyes not quite closed, as he bounced along with the rest of them. What has this son of a bitch got us into? he wondered. Angst had a strong urge to confront him but realized he hadn’t the nerve. He was afraid to speak his mind. The larger, more powerful Detwiler he had risked squaring off with—and, should that happen, the results would be a disaster for Angst. Yet it was the gunner’s animal stupidity that inflamed him to action, despite the foreseeable consequences. Schroeder, on the other hand, was a completely different entity. Medium build and not in the least tall in stature, he had a schoolboy’s face set in a mean expression that never seemed to change. He didn’t cut the sort of figure one would think twice about, but from what Angst had experienced in the short time under the corporal’s leadership, he understood him to be ruthlessly cold, vindictive, and needlessly cruel. And at this moment, Angst did not want those traits turned toward him, so he backed down. He simply wanted to state that he did not appreciate being volunteered, whatever the circumstances or the reasons. He could include his own people if he saw the need, but as Angst understood it, he wanted his own squad left out of it. Schroeder had no right to them; Schmidt and Braun were all that remained of their platoon, and Angst was responsible for them. They belonged with the battalion, whatever was left of it. Angst had no idea what they were in for, but one look at that captain, and he knew it wasn’t going to be good.

Upon returning to Combat Group headquarters, Junger and the radio equipment were delivered back to Captain Beck’s charge. When replacements were eventually assigned, Voss would welcome the signalman’s expertise. The youth shook hands with Reinhardt and Hartmann and said he’d volunteer if he were able. Without the slightest trace of arrogance, Junger added that he doubted the intelligence staff would let him go, as he was too good at his job. After they said their good-byes and the corporal left the Hanomag, Beck congratulated them for the superb manner in which they had accomplished the mission. He passed along Colonel Hahn’s apologies for not being present to greet them, as he’d been summoned to an important staff meeting. There was no opportunity for an official debriefing, as Beck was pressed for time, although he did show Voss the general area on the map where his battalion operated. When the Combat Group linked up with the other divisions, namely the Ninth and Twenty-Third Panzers, there was a tendency toward overlap. The battalion covered a wide sector twelve kilometers further to the southeast. Skirmishes were flaring up all along the line and then quieting down, only to erupt in some other sector. This had been the rule since early morning. T-34s constantly probed and were kept in check by the few self-propelled guns at their disposal.

The first chore Voss and the crew had to undertake upon leaving Beck was to tow a Pak38 and transport the gun crew. The antitank cannon were to beef up an area undergoing repeated forays by enemy armor. Reconnaissance assumed it was no more than a feint rather than an all-out attack, but nothing could be left to chance. The consensus was that the Russians would continue to apply pressure, but it would be a couple of days before a major assault was launched. Their heavy artillery had to be moved up and into place, and that would cost the Red Army some time.

After the Pak crew had dug in and camouflaged the gun, a radio message relayed the designated sector Voss was responsible to keep under observation. Upon their arrival they were met by Griem’s adjutant, Lieutenant Konrad, who was in temporary command of the battalion. An important staff meeting was brewing, and a number of field officers, including the captain, were flocking to the rear at an undisclosed location. Konrad implied some important announcement was in the offing—he didn’t know what, but nonetheless the officer seemed pleased with himself that he could relate this much to Voss.

Activity gradually stabilized by nightfall. Flares lit up the sky, and there was the occasional stutter from the MG42s. The Hanomag had repositioned itself several kilometers to the rear of the front line, close to where an under strength platoon had dug in for the night. A coded message was received from the battalion command vehicle. Voss was ordered to stand by and wait for a visit from the CO.

Well after midnight the puttering of a motorcycle could be heard. Hartmann went to the aft machine gun and pointed west, the direction the sound originated from.

The engine noise increased in volume until it was suddenly switched off, and the motorcycle coasted to within a few meters of the armored vehicle. A dark form climbed out of the sidecar and approached.

“Turn that weapon aside, if you don’t mind. It’s me, Griem.”

“Sorry, Captain,” Hartmann said, and swiveled the machine gun away from the officer. Voss opened the crew compartment doors wide enough to allow the captain to enter.

“That will be all, Corporal,” Griem said, and the driver stepped out of the crew compartment. Griem then sat down on a bench nearest the rear doors. Sergeant Reinhardt was up in the co-driver’s seat, monitoring transmissions on the radio. “Anything happening I should know about, Lieutenant?” Griem asked.

“Enemy patrols are trying to work their way in to do some damage, only they haven’t had any success. At least not in our sector.”

The captain uttered his approval. “The theory at headquarters is that nothing significant is expected from the Russians over the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours. The First Guard Mechanized and the Twenty-Third Tank Corps received quite a thump on their return to South-West Front. They are in no mood to see action yet.”

“Was that the subject of the briefing?”

“Partly. That’s why I’m here. It’s official. As of twenty-four hundred hours, September fifteenth, Army Group South is to withdraw to the west bank of the Dniepr River.”