Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

The crew was placed on alert. Bow and aft machine guns were manned by Schroeder and Detwiler, and several rounds were test-fired. Angst and Braun scanned the horizon for any signs of enemy activity. Schmidt trained binoculars on the sky. Wilms was relieved from his stint at radio monitoring. Eyes heavy, the signalman took his seat on the bench and, despite the level of excitement generated by his crewmates, immediately passed out.

The airstrip was a scene of organized mayhem as the command vehicle and the Hanomag arrived. A pair of He129’s had just lifted off the ground; maintaining a breathtakingly low altitude, they circled around the base before getting on course to the east. A flock of JU-87s followed, while several more remained on the hard-packed dirt runway, propellers spinning, awaiting orders for takeoff. Judging by all the activity, this would prove to be the last sortie the dive-bombers and ground support fighters would fly from this airfield. Engineers were in the final stages of mining the runway and the immediate surroundings. Once detonated, the airstrip would be useless as a base when the Russians took possession of the area. The large canvas field tents and prefabricated huts that had served as the executive officer’s headquarters and barracks for pilots and ground crew were in the process of being removed as rigging was untied, stakes pulled up, and frameworks disassembled and loaded on trucks and prime movers. Adding to the stress of the operation was the interdiction fire from enemy artillery. The intermittent shells would fall either well beyond or far short of the makeshift airbase without damage to equipment or causing casualties, so far anyway, but the explosions were hellishly loud and sent enormous geysers of smoke and earth into the air.

The handful of airfield security had been assigned to direct the foot and vehicle traffic, both entering and leaving, down specific lanes that were specially flagged to bypass the mines and detonating cables. Near the base perimeter, an NCO blew a whistle and waved on the trucks that were loaded with equipment and ready for departure. The scout car, with the Hanomag following a short distance behind, came to a stop. Falkenstein raised halfway out of the turret. “How close is the front, Field Sergeant?”

The NCO spat out the whistle and let it hang from the lanyard looped around his neck as his hands continued to make a variety of overwrought signaling gestures. “Eight kilometers,” he said, then looked at Falkenstein with consternation. His hands stopped moving. “Excuse me, Captain, but could you tell me your unit and what your orders are?”

Wearily, Falkenstein explained his situation, but with minimal elaboration. He turned over his pay booklet. The NCO made a cursory inspection, appeared satisfied, and handed it back.

“What is the situation as it now stands, Sergeant?”

“We’re two hours behind schedule. All staff, including the CO, are seeing to the evacuation.”

Falkenstein rolled his eyes in annoyance. “I meant at the front. How severe is the enemy breakthrough?”

“I have no exact information on that, sir. All I know is Ivan is close. Very close.”

“Without having to drive to the front line and find out first hand for myself, who among you here could enlighten me?”

The sergeant pondered the question for a moment until something dawned on him. “Captain Tanner, the squadron leader. His JU-87 is still here, although the propeller’s spinning, which means he won’t be for long. And there’s the air liaison officer, Lieutenant Pohl, who has set up temporary communications in the emergency air raid bunker.”

The sergeant proceeded to give directions. Falkenstein instructed Voss, via radio, to follow his vehicle exactly. The bunker was situated a quarter of a kilometer on the north side of the airfield, but the 222 had to drive several hundred meters east, as the sergeant explained, and then arc around in a northwesterly direction. The large pole antennae came into view. A metal pennant bearing the colors of the signal section was mounted next to the opening of the low, sandbagged structure. A thick bundle of cable snaked down the steps. Falkenstein entered the semi dark, confined space. Voss followed. Two transmitters and receivers, each with an operator monitoring the set, occupied a makeshift table constructed of upended crates and planks. At another smaller table was a field telephone in use by an officer decked out in a flight suit and leather helmet. He looked up with interest at the strangers, but only momentarily, as he went back to concentrating on the voice at the other end of the phone. A lieutenant hovered over one of the radio operators and listened in on the receiver. He put down the earphones as Falkenstein introduced himself.

“Lieutenant Pohl, how do you do, Captain, Lieutenant. You will have to excuse our conditions. The airfield is set for demolition.”

“So we have been made aware. The reason why we are here, Lieutenant, is to ask for any details on the breakthrough. Lieutenant Voss and I are headed south, and we are interested to know what to expect.”

“Early this morning a concentration of enemy armor did try to force the issue, and a high number of casualties were sustained while trying to seal the breech.”

“And this has taken place near Dorznjanka.”

“That is correct. An incomplete battery of Mark IVs reinforced with a Ferdinand intervened. The reports we’ve been monitoring seem to indicate the enemy thrust was repelled for the time being.”

“Undermanned and outgunned, and still we manage to hold back the flood gates.” Falkenstein was elated.

“Nothing short of a miracle,” Pohl said.

“Miracles have nothing to do with it. Determination. Yet another example of how far skill and ingenuity can triumph over innumerable odds. You see, Voss, we have reason for optimism after all.”

“Skill and determination aside, Captain, I don’t know how long we can keep this up. The combat groups have only just begun to inch their way back. This corps area alone will have to force-march more than forty kilometers tonight to maintain schedule, and a Soviet rifle division is on the attack no more than ten kilometers from where we stand. The regiment in this sector, woefully undermanned, is barely holding its own as we speak.”

Falkenstein wasn’t listening to the lieutenant’s worries. There were other matters of far more importance on his mind. “Tell me, Lieutenant, have you heard any reports concerning a T-34 operating behind the lines, independent of an enemy armored group or task force? Anything at all. Rumors, perhaps?”

“No. Should we have?” The squadron leader, Captain Tanner, had placed the field telephone receiver down and regarded Falkenstein quizzically. He introduced himself. “Does this concern your orders, Captain Falkenstein? Because we are in short supply of the mobile reserves necessary to check every Russian unit that might find its way through the gaps in the line. And believe me, there are plenty.”

“I was simply curious, Captain. Other than this morning’s penetration…”

“Nothing has been brought to my attention. Who can be seriously interested in the whereabouts of a lone Russian tank at a time like this? Not Corps, surely.”

“When it concerns this particular tank, Captain Tanner, it interests me greatly.”

The squadron leader thought for a moment, and his face lit up in amusement. “You’re after the steel beast, aren’t you? Red Vengeance.”

Falkenstein nodded, solemnly.

“That is splendid. Good for you, Captain. Whoever puts an end to that nuisance deserves the Knight’s Cross. That’s what I think.”

“Medals hold no fascination for me.”

“Oh, I know, but still it impresses the ladies,” Tanner said jocularly. “Seriously though, I have always hoped to have Red Vengeance lined up in my sights someday. No one, to my knowledge, has ever spotted it from the air. An entire Geschwader devoted to killing tanks, and not one pilot has come even close. Something about it is indeed odd. I would not be surprised if Red Vengeance has camouflaged itself to such a degree that it appears more as one of our Panthers than a T-34, from the air, that is.”