Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

“Show them what you have brought, Lieutenant.”

Setting the items down, Voss arranged them neatly on the ground. Included with tins of meat, canned fruit, and chocolate was a small mirror and comb. The woman liked what she saw. The boy edged his horse closer and leaned toward his aunt so that they could talk discreetly between themselves; meanwhile, Kahn glided among the horses, stroking their flanks and speaking soothingly, inspecting each one carefully. There was a problem between the woman and the boy. It was obvious they were not in complete agreement. The woman turned to the captain. “Everything on the ground and a dagger, the kind you soldiers have with the black and silver scabbard.” She had described the ceremonial knife carried by the SS. Falkenstein had to explain they were regular army and were not in possession of such a knife. “Besides,” he informed her, “a weapon like that would never leave a soldier’s side, and it would never be bartered as a trifle.”

The boy shook his head and muttered something as his aunt eyed the objects on the ground. She was becoming infuriated at her nephew’s reluctance to accept the offer.

“They’re hungry, Voss, and have little or nothing to live on. She understands they need the food.” Falkenstein reached into a pocket and tossed something across to the boy, who caught it deftly. His eyes brightened for a moment and then returned to an impassive stare. It was a pocketknife. The boy unfolded the different blades, corkscrew, and file and appraised the durability of the instrument.

“You have a good tool there,” Falkenstein said, with unusual warmth. “A young fellow like yourself can find use for it.”

The boy nodded, and the woman jumped from her mount, not without grace, gathered the tins of food, mirror, and comb into the scarf she had pulled from her head, and then tied it closed. Khan had made his selection, a young gelding with a dull brown coat.

“A good choice,” the woman said, “spirited, but not troublesome.” Having taken hold of the dark mane, Khan seemed to exert an immediate control over the animal for one not in possession of a rope or bridal. The woman threw herself back onto her horse and bid the captain good-bye, satisfied with the outcome of the trade; and, with her nephew, she began to round up the rest of the herd that had taken to examining the barren ground for grass. Voss could not help but marvel at the pair’s tenacity. They traveled with nothing. Although the offerings were meager, at least she could keep herself and the boy fed for the next couple of days. As they walked back toward the schoolhouse, Falkenstein asked where the remainder of the squad had been posted.

“I had them establish a perimeter guard outside the village,” Voss said.

Falkenstein nodded. He mulled something over in his mind, and it was obvious to Voss he was unwilling to share what it was. Khan followed with the gelding firmly in his grasp. When they reached the vehicles, he placed the animal in the care of the two officers and climbed into the scout car. Amid tools and engine parts, the men observed, momentarily, this new addition to the unit. Vogel appeared to lack interest as he continued to bathe the disassembled carburetor in a shallow pan of gasoline. After rummaging inside the scout car, Khan returned with a cloth bundle tied with rope. He led the horse beyond a row of burnt shacks and further out into the open.

“The Mongol is about to give riding lessons,” Hartmann announced cynically.

“I’m sure the captain is an accomplished rider,” Schroeder said, defensively. He saw that both the driver and the sergeant observed him with mild contempt, and he grew increasingly uncomfortable and foolish. “I don’t know this with any certainty, but I think it to be the case. The captain seems like the kind of officer who would know how to ride,” he said lamely.

“Vogel knows. Don’t you, Vogel?”

“What makes you think I know anything, Sergeant Reinhardt?”

“Because you’re very quiet on the subject.”

“Khan’s up to his old tricks, and he can do it as far as hell away from me.”

“And what sort of tricks might those be?”

“Everyone would be best served minding their own affairs and getting these vehicles operational.” Reinhardt agreed to drop the subject and saw to it that work resumed.

After walking some distance, Khan stopped and drew several lengths of rope from the bundle, knelt down beside the gelding, and, with precision, looped and knotted the rope around the front and rear legs just above the hooves. While Khan performed this task, he uttered words in his native language, a discourse directed exclusively to the animal. When the horse was successfully hobbled, Khan removed a number of objects from the bundle that appeared ceremonial in nature, one of which was a drum, no more than animal hide stretched over a narrow hoop of wood closely resembling a tambour. The drumhead was decorated with symbols, pictographs of some kind. With what could only be described as a rib bone from some large animal, Khan began to strike the drum, circled the horse repeatedly, and took up a chant. A curious ritual was about to unfold, and Voss asked the captain what it meant.

“Khan has his own ways. I try not to interfere. Let’s leave him to it, then.” As he started for the schoolhouse, he turned to the lieutenant and said, “I want you to take the squad out on patrol.”

“Sir?”

“Bring the handset along, but maintain strict discipline. Don’t transmit unless out of dire necessity.”

It wasn’t an unusual request, but Voss considered the timing odd. “How far should I take the patrol?”

“No more than an hour out and back. You should see everything there is to see in that space of time.”

“Very well, Captain. I’ll gather the men immediately.”

After the captain had entered the schoolhouse, Voss located Angst, who had taken a position by the split tracks at the edge of the village, and told him to round up the rest of the squad.

“They’re all spread out, Lieutenant.”

“Collect them, Corporal, and assemble here by the embankment.” While Voss waited, he listened to the rhythmic drumbeats and watched as Khan circled the stationary horse. As he dragged his feet along the ground, clouds of dust billowed, until both man and animal were entirely obscured.

The stiff breeze was oven warm. Each man walked twenty to thirty paces apart, feeling the crunch of withered steppe grass underfoot. At every footfall, small grasshoppers leaped upon cracked leather boots, settled on trouser legs and tunic hems, and caught a free ride. A swarm of flies buzzed around their heads. Angst brushed at his eyebrows and upper lip, where it tickled most, disgusted that the annoying insects were making a meal of his sweat. Forage caps had replaced helmets to keep their heads from boiling under the hot steel. The lieutenant had taken point alongside Wilms, who shouldered the portable radio. Watchful eyes were directed skyward and toward the eastern horizon. The possibility of being spotted by a Russian fighter was uppermost in all their minds. The squad had grumbled at the outset when Angst put out the word to form up for patrol. There was a relative perception of safety in the destroyed village, the proximity of the armored cars, rather than out on the open plain in full view. There was nothing to see, and Braun continued to balk at the futility of the exercise. The only aircraft observed was a Fiesler-Storch, flying far to the east somewhere near a Soviet position. The small plane gasped pink clouds that would evaporate into confetti. Ivan was receiving a message courtesy of OKH. Eventually, as the march continued, stray pieces of the brightly colored litter swirled past, carried along by the warm gusts. Braun and Detwiler would make a grab for them, but the love note–sized papers proved too elusive as they fluttered swiftly across the ground. Being hampered by machine guns and necklaces of ammunition belts did not deter Braun and Detwiler, but it was Schmidt who got lucky as a leaflet floated past on the wind, and he grabbed it. Their interest aroused, the others all converged on Schmidt to see what was written. “It’s not for us,” Schmidt said, as he tried to decipher the Cyrillic print. He understood only a few spoken words of the language, but the Russian alphabet was as alien to him as hieroglyphs. He gave the leaflet to Voss. “This describes an eastern wall on the Dniepr,” Voss said, as he struggled with the text. “A rampart of concrete and iron that cannot be breached…Something to the effect that if the Red Army ventures near, they will be sent to their deaths.” The rough translation inflamed the squad’s imagination, and they began to draw unfounded conclusions as to what the warning actually meant for them. Braun described a sophisticated network of bunkers and trench lines that he believed had been built for them across the river and down the length of the Wotan Line, and deep, secure dugouts with barracks and showers further to the rear. Detwiler chimed in with the notion of getting fed on a regular basis for a change, three ample meals a day. It was all going to change for the better very soon. Before his own thoughts were allowed to run wild, something occurred to Angst. “If Army Group is seeding the Russian lines with these notices, it can only mean one thing.”