Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

“I saw you leave, so I followed in the event you needed assistance.”

“You shouldn’t have bothered. This exercise will prove as futile as it has in the past.”

“Does Khan expect an ambush? Red Vengeance?” Voss felt exposed in the amber glare and dropped to one knee. Falkenstein remained standing. “He’s alert to some unknown presence in the vicinity, but it’s outside our senses to detect. The rogue baits me to accompany him on these nocturnal forays that, so far, have borne nothing substantial. Certainly not a hint of that accursed tank.”

“And what of Khan, sir? Does he simply abandon you, unprotected like this, when any danger can occur?”

Falkenstein seemed to laugh. “He has no doubt transformed himself into one of those animals of his. A bird of some kind, a steppe eagle or raven, circling the sky and keeping an eye on things, on me, only to return at dawn in his familiar shape. Never having witnessed the mechanics of this craft myself, I’ve only Khan’s word for it.”

“That being the case, could it be Khan is nothing more than a clever charlatan? Perhaps an outright liar?”

“You don’t know the man as I do. But tell me, from where do you draw such a harsh opinion of him, Lieutenant?”

“I can well imagine that being a bodyguard and personal magician to the captain is a far more prestigious qualification than as a mere Hiwi, or worse yet, a prisoner in a labor camp.”

“Not Khan. He’s too smart for that. He orientates me, Lieutenant, interprets my dreams. He claims I dream the future, or at least the possibility. Nightmares are more like it! Yet Khan guides me, reels me back in. Needless to say, he has the conjurer’s art down pat and has awed me with a trick or two. You witnessed one yourself.”

“I have?”

“Indeed. That dust storm on the morning when we first met. How do you think Vogel and I managed to elude an enemy mechanized corps for so long? Khan summoned that dust devil, and we drove hidden within…”

Voss could see the sense of marvel on the captain’s face. The white of one eye shone, and his teeth reflected the light from the fire as the eye patch and short dark beard dissociated the rest of his face.

“Even more astonishing is when he told me he’d been in communication with the spirits from my doomed command. He knew names and spoke in voices that were not his own and behaved with mannerisms familiar only to me. Make no mistake. The dead seek retribution. Khan acts as intermediary to those pale, bloodied ghosts. Naturally, I didn’t know what to make of this savage. Who is he, and how did he come to know so much? But something resonated deep within me and said to listen and abide. Some months ago, Khan prophesized that the day would come when every living creature would be driven from the steppe, and there would be fires everywhere. The very ground would be set ablaze, and the smoke would empty the sky of birds. When that day came, my hunt for Red Vengeance would soon be over. Take a good look, Lieutenant,” Falkenstein said, and pointed to the fires lighting up the night. “It appears that day has finally arrived.” As Voss looked to where Falkenstein pointed, his attention was drawn to a dark form that seemed to materialize from out of the flames. It was Khan.

“Be patient, Captain.”

“Don’t humor me. Patience is afforded only to those who have time, and we haven’t any.”

An intense heat emanated from Khan’s body. Voss could feel it, as though the man was a burning ember. What devil spawned this creature, he wondered? As though he could read thoughts, Khan turned to face Voss and hissed, nastily; then, just as abruptly, he turned his back and ignored him. To Falkenstein Khan said, “After your armies cross the river, and the Captain is left behind, then Red Vengeance will see you, and it will come.”

“That explains when. Now tell me where. Where should I go?”

“This is all I know, Captain.”

Discontented, Falkenstein started back to where the vehicles were laagered. It was Khan’s turn to follow. Voss thought it a strange shadow for a man to possess.

The crew broke camp and made preparations to get underway as Wilms neared the end of his stretch at the radio. The signalman was exhausted, not having slept much the night before, but he wasn’t allowed to succumb to fatigue. He listened and jotted down notes feverishly and thrust a handful of notepaper toward the nearest individual, who happened to be Sergeant Reinhardt. One look at the scrawled dispatches, and the sergeant bounded off the armored carrier and sprinted over to the command vehicle, where the captain and Lieutenant Voss plotted the day’s journey on the map. Falkenstein took the notes he was offered and, after he read, passed them on one by one to the lieutenant.

0500 hours: increase of heavy mortar activity. 0530 hours: artillery barrage accompanied by mass enemy infantry attack along corps sector. It got worse as Voss read on. By zero six hundred hours, a breakthrough had occurred, and a sizeable armored formation had been observed.

“Thank you, Sergeant. Keep me informed,” Falkenstein said, and turned to Vogel, who was refueling the scout car. “After you’ve finished, get on the radio and raise our friends with the Twenty-Third Panzers.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Tucking the map under an arm, Falkenstein walked with Voss over to the Hanomag. “Have you any notions on the subject, Lieutenant?”

“Better to await more information before drawing any conclusions. I am curious, though, as to how you will proceed, in the event the Russians succeed with a breakthrough that can’t be stopped locally. Have you a contingency plan in case such an event should arise?”

“As you said, Lieutenant, better to wait for more information.”

Voss boarded the armored personnel carrier. The radio loudspeaker was turned on, and Voss stood beside Reinhardt and listened as Wilms worked the tuning dial. The airwaves were loaded with chatter, both code and en clair . Even the Russians could be heard, but the reception was poor. The situation, at least what could be pieced together, described a concentration of enemy armor of undetermined strength having made a penetration in the vicinity of Dorznjanka, a village forty-five kilometers to the south.

“Voss!” The captain was calling him. “Keep at it,” Voss said to Reinhardt. “Try to nail down the location precisely and the size of the force involved.” He then joined the captain and brought him up-to-date with all that he had heard. Vogel had pulled the scout car closer to the Hanomag.

“Any luck raising the Twenty-Third?” Voss asked.

“Nothing yet,” Falkenstein said. “Too much interference. The Russians, presumably.” He opened the map again and laid it out on the front end of the scout car. A new pencil line indicated the last known position of German forces east of Zaporozhye and south of the Sinel’nikovo-Krasnoarmeyskoye railroad. “I think it is safe to say we are no more than fifteen kilometers to the rear of the combat area, and that is taking into consideration any measurable distance von Mackensen’s and Hollidt’s divisions had made during the night.”

“If indeed a single step was taken from yesterday’s positions.”

“That may be so. Now look,” Falkenstein said, indicating a symbol on the map, “here lies a forward area airstrip. It’s small. The Luftwaffe can maintain a squadron or two at best. With any luck, it’s still operational.”

Voss could see the airstrip was thirty kilometers to the south and could be easily reached in a little over an hour’s driving time.

“We can be brought up-to-date on the penetration occurring further to the south upon our arrival,” Falkenstein said. He then gave the order to move out.