Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

“You should bear that in mind on your next sortie, Captain” Voss suggested.

“A splendid idea, Lieutenant. I will bear it in mind.”

“I believe the anomalous nature of the tank is far more complicated than either one of you perceives it to be,” Falkenstein said, sharply.

A shell landed nearby, causing the rafters, only inches above their heads, to shake violently as fine grit rained down upon them. Rattled, Lieutenant Pohl said, “One would think it safer at the front.” Voss ducked out of the bunker to see how the vehicles fared. Looking past the smoke, he could see the men’s ashen faces peering over the top edge of the crew compartment. A large crater smoldered some thirty meters away, and yet both the 222 and the Hanomag were covered with volumes of soil. Except for being shaken, no one was hurt. “Can’t the Luftwaffe do anything about those infernal guns?” he asked, upon reentering the bunker.

Captain Tanner smiled sadly. “Every attempt is being made, I can assure you, Lieutenant. Our efforts are hampered trying to keep the skies free of Stormoviks. Each day the Red Air Force grows stronger, more sure of itself, while we, on the other hand…”

Voss was chastened. “Captain, I did not mean to suggest…”

Tanner noticed Voss’s discomfort and waved it aside. “No offense taken. This base has served its purpose. Time has simply run out. Speaking of which,” Tanner looked at his wristwatch, “I have a mission to fly, and with any luck I’ll find a place to land before she runs out of fuel, preferably on this side of enemy lines. Good hunting, gentleman.” They shook hands, and the squadron leader swept out of the bunker with a flair that gave the impression he was already in flight.

“There is room on the personnel carrier, if you and your staff wish to leave, Lieutenant.” After Voss had said this he stole a glance at Falkenstein, expecting a negative reaction, but found him nodding in agreement.

“Of course. I could squeeze on at least one more man,” the captain said.

“Thank you, but we are staying. Lines of communication will remain open until the very last moment. I am waiting to hear from corps that all the wounded have been removed to a safe distance. Once the mines are detonated, and the enemy observers detect the smoke, the entire sector will come under an intensive barrage. We will all be in for something of an unpleasant experience, I should think.” Though he attempted to display an air of nonchalance, Pohl’s nervousness betrayed him; his voice quivered when he added, “At the risk of sounding inhospitable, Captain, you and the lieutenant would be well advised to get clear of this area while you still have the opportunity.”

The officers exchanged courtesies and wished each other good luck. None envied the other’s mission, as they all had too much to be responsible for and possessed too few resources to draw from. There was no time to lose as Voss and Falkenstein exited the bunker. The squadron leader’s JU-87 negotiated the mined runway and went aloft as the very last dive-bomber to leave the airfield. As it flew overhead, the wing dipped once, then it continued to gain altitude. Voss waved. The trucks were tearing away from the airstrip, leaving long trails of dust behind. Falkenstein ordered a heading of west by northwest. The drivers gunned the engines as the officers boarded their respective vehicles and sped off. They had entered a mad race that barely lasted the distance of two kilometers when a series of explosions alternated down the length of the runway. Seconds passed, and then the entire airfield erupted in a grid like pattern. One section followed by another went up in controlled blasts of fire, smoke, earth, and debris. Minutes later a rolling wave of drumfire commenced. The grenadiers hunkered down behind the walls of the crew compartment hands covering ears, heads between knees, teeth chattered. The hulking vehicle vibrated as the ground turned to liquid from the unrelenting cascade of falling shells. Two, three kilometers more, and still the vehicles continued to run the gauntlet as this brood of deadly configurations hatched out of the ground and loomed powerfully into the sky. The vehicles were buffeted by the shock waves from the explosions as the armored sidings were pelted with clods of earth, stones, and fragments of steel.

The barrage lasted for another twenty minutes. Once they were safely out of range, Vogel could rendezvous with the Hanomag. The two vehicles drew near one another and waited over an hour for the smoke and dust to settle and for everyone to get their nerves under control. Voss and Reinhardt inspected both vehicles to confirm that no damage had occurred and to make sure that the precious fuel cans had not been punctured. When visibility had improved, the vehicles changed direction to the south and wove carefully through the impact site. The entire sector had become cratered, like the moon.

First Panzer Army continued its retreat toward the Dniepr bend. Fighting skillfully, the worn-out, under strength divisions managed to thwart the Russian advance, although for some their situation was far from optimistic. Intercepted radio transmissions reported enemy mechanized units descending upon isolated pockets of infantry separated from their battalions. Cries for help carried over the airwaves as these grenadiers were hunted down and eventually silenced. Voss had listened and became increasingly haunted by the fact that there was little he could do; there was no consolation in the knowledge that Reconnaissance Group Falkenstein was too small a force to mount a successful rescue. Due to distance and speed, they would only arrive too late to affect the outcome. The valiant troops would hold back the Russians for several hours, a day at best, before the vast, lonely steppe would consume them. No one would ever know their names. Voss prayed these men were possessed by apathy, born of misery and fatigue, which would resign them to their fate; perhaps, once free of all expectation, desire, and fear, they would unleash their ferocity in the face of the inevitable. Voss hoped to possess the same cold indifference when his turn came, as he believed it would someday.

The war in Russia had taken on the characteristics of one enormous rear guard action. Voss was worn out from having fought this war of attrition all summer long, and there appeared to be no end in sight. He had not been home on leave in well over a year, and such a prospect in the near future seemed dim. He was tired, filthy, and hungry all the time, scared most of the time—and he commanded men whose condition was no better than his own. Everyone hung on by a thread ( maybe the Reds are attacking some other sector and not our own…maybe we will make it to the river in time ). As the hours and days passed, hope dwindled. Voss was resigned to his own fate but there was something he wished to impart to the men. However, he hadn’t the authority to grant it. Not now, perhaps not ever. He needed to dispel the gloom that had enveloped him. The thoughts merely antagonized the present reality as he continued on with the captain’s inexorable course. The last thing the crew needed to see was a demoralized, moping officer. Weary of standing, he exchanged places with Wilms and climbed into the co-driver’s seat. Sergeant Reinhardt had taken over the wheel from Hartmann, who was in need of a break. The driver had delivered all his skill and luck during the barrage and for hours thereafter and was thoroughly depleted. Reinhardt glanced over as the lieutenant sat down and put on the headphones but did not speak, satisfied to drive on in silence. Despite the warmth and cramped space of the drivers’ cabin, Voss closed the front and side view port shutters to keep out the dust and tried to be as comfortable as possible. He turned his attention to the dossier the captain had given him the evening they had left the tractor station. During these past strange and demanding days, it had proven difficult to do more than glance at a few pages and read a passage or two. The file on Red Vengeance had the appearance of a worn scrapbook jammed with memoranda, notations, intelligence reports, photographs, and documents. The initial pages began with the complete evolution of the T-34 and all modifications thus far. Included were schematics, technical drafts detailing exterior and interior aspects such as weaponry and fire control systems, disposition of mechanics, and functions. A number of photographs were available illustrating the inside of a captured tank. Panzer divisions were known to place captured, serviceable T-34s as scouting vehicles and as flank protection for infantry units while on the move. When the T-34 appeared for the first time during the autumn of 1941, it immediately dominated the battlefield. The Mark I and II panzers in use at the time became obsolete overnight. The Wehrmacht was stunned. Due to poor intelligence both prior and during the opening phase of Operation Barbarossa, there were many at Oberkommando des Heeres , or OKH, who indulged in the luxury of believing the tank was miraculously produced overnight. Like any weapon, the T-34 followed a technological progression over time, and only the aptitude of Russian engineering was underestimated—with disastrous consequences.