Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

Moeller frowned. “Weapons? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t alarm yourself, Herr Deputy.”

“I deserve an explanation, Captain Falkenstein. I can permit reserves of fuel stored here, temporarily, for your use, but a weapons dump here, at so sensitive a location?”

Voss cursed himself for having stirred the pot, only to make matters worse. He attempted to explain. “Not a weapons dump exactly, Herr Deputy…”

Falkenstein came to his aid, not in the least bothered by the lieutenant’s supposed gaff. “Some weapons and reserve supplies have been well concealed at the quarters of your chief engineer.”

“Herr Franz’s quarters? How could such a thing occur without my expressed permission or involvement?” Moeller appeared shocked and more than a little irate.

“Herr Franz saw fit to accommodate me, at his discretion. He is in charge of operations in this district, is he not?”

“He was my representative during my absence only. This complex and the network of tractor stations, cooperatives, and estates, the very land itself, is my responsibility. I am the ultimate authority of all agricultural matters in this oblast. Herr Franz was simply a mechanic.”

Falkenstein’s reaction upon hearing the engineer referred to in the past tense was subtle. “Is Herr Franz a mechanic no more?”

“Not in the sense you might mean. He ran afoul of partisans earlier this afternoon. There was an ambush. Herr Franz is dead.”

Falkenstein was visibly distressed upon hearing the news. “Why did you not tell me when I first arrived? I asked for him, and you said he wasn’t here.”

“I have my own manner of showing distress,” Moeller said, unconvincingly. “Now I must oversee this entire process without help.”

“Have the order police made any arrests?” Voss interjected.

“With all that is taking place, they’re having a devil of a time sorting the matter out. To answer your question, no arrests have been made. Yet. I can assure you, Lieutenant, before day’s end, I’ll have a dozen locals rounded up and shot. See if that doesn’t loosen a few tongues.”

“This is most unfortunate,” Falkenstein said. “Herr Franz performed an invaluable service, not only for me personally but for the army as well. Under his supervision, the production quotas were consistent and above adequate. You have lost a capable man.”

“Unfortunate as it is, Herr Franz invited the disaster upon himself.” Moeller was pleased with himself for having made the remark as he observed the captain’s expression of dismay. Whatever delights the deputy took soon evaporated under a cold, venomous stare. “There was a flaw in his thinking,” Moeller continued uneasily. “He was of the opinion that the peasants could share in the harvest and whatever capital that could be gained through hard work and commitment to our cause.”

“And his murder illustrates the misplaced trust he had in the Ukrainians?” Falkenstein said.

“They are helots to be used as such and nothing more.” Unable to endure the captain’s scrutiny, Moeller looked to Voss. “You may not believe me, Lieutenant, but I see myself more as a caretaker. The farms kept viable until this dreadful war is finished, and all you brave fellows can share in the fruits of victory. The Fuehrer promised as much. You, the captain, every soldier will have an estate of his own someday.”

At the rate we keep losing acreage , Voss mused, that promise will be a difficult one to keep .

“I wonder how sweet the fruit of this blood-drenched soil could possibly be,” Falkenstein said with disgust. Moeller fumbled lamely through the paperwork and bent to retrieve a number of sheets that fell to the floor. “I at least remain optimistic about what the army can still achieve. Now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen,” he waved a hand over the pile of reports on the desk, “I have all this to account for.”

Falkenstein raised himself stiffly from out of the chair. Voss held the door open for him.

“And, Captain, may I suggest you go through the proper channels next time regarding the use of a private arms depot. We wouldn’t want any ministry employees stumbling over it by accident and causing a disaster, now, would we?” Moeller forced a smile. His tone was lighthearted, as though he were attempting to dispel the grim mood before they parted ways. Falkenstein remained icy. “I will take it under advisement, but you need not worry. I doubt if any of us will pass this way again.” Falkenstein limped out the door, and Voss went to follow but stopped and turned toward the deputy. “Could you answer a question for me, Herr Moeller?”

Moeller looked upon Voss with distaste. “What is it?”

“When the attack occurred, was the engineer driving an official vehicle? Your personal transportation, perhaps?”

“Yes. Yes, he was. I lent him my vehicle so he could oversee the boarding of the machinery on the train. His truck was commandeered by the military.”

“That being the case, I wouldn’t lose sight of the order police for a moment, if I were you. Good day to you, sir.” Voss left the building and caught up with Falkenstein as he struggled across the field. “I regret the engineer’s loss, sir. So obvious a vendetta aimed at the deputy, I feel, under the circumstances, the partisan issue should be evaluated and the effect it may have on your plans. At least while we are in this sector.”

Falkenstein was not listening. “Mark my words, Lieutenant, the likes of Herr Moeller and all those golden pheasants will cut a profit, no matter how disastrous the situation becomes. Franz was a dreamer. We had talked on the subject. I grant you, his vision of lebensraum was particularly idyllic. Neat, orderly homesteads, like small islands, surrounded by a sea of grain. Flawless machinery cultivating the land…”

“And did you share with the engineer your own vision of the future, Captain?”

Falkenstein stopped short and took hold of Voss by the arm. His hand felt like a claw. “In this vast, oppressive emptiness, only demons can flourish and thrive. This land is evil. Can you not sense this?”

The viselike grip tightened. “Captain, really, I…”

“I do not suffer this conflict for personal gain and certainly not to advance the careers of petty bureaucrats. I do it to preserve Volk and Fatherland from a godless menace. And should I be swallowed up in the process, then the devil will soon know whose bones have lodged in his throat.” Falkenstein let go and seemed to recover himself. He looked at Voss oddly as the lieutenant massaged his arm, painfully. They continued on in silence.

The farmhouse lay two kilometers northeast of the station. Kahn had paid the grenadiers little mind as they hung on to the outside of the scout car and would look down into the turret with curiosity at the strange, novel being. He remained within as Vogel stopped and climbed out of the driver’s side hatch. From the tool bin, Vogel removed a small axe, a mallet, and a long screwdriver and handed the tools around. He lent Angst the use of his flashlight and led them inside. The house consisted of a large single room with separate sleeping quarters. The furnishings were Spartan, only what was functional and necessary. The smell of pipe tobacco and mineral oil permeated the space and was rather pleasant. The small brick oven, a table, and two chairs defined the kitchen. A wood trough and pump served as the sink with a small, narrow, wood burning metal sleeve attached to the water intake pipe A little more sophisticated than a basic peasant dwelling, but not much. Half-curtains on the windows betrayed the German middle-class sentiment of hominess. An open doorway led directly into an enclosed walkway attached to the small barn. To the left of this doorway, Vogel had them turn back the large woven mat on the floor. “Pull up the floorboards here,” Vogel said, pointing out the rectangle-shaped seam in the wood, “and don’t be fussy.”