Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

Snug in the warmth of the peasant farmhouse, Voss sipped at the cup of spiked tea—the taste seemed to be kirsch—and relished the moment. Falkenstein lit a cigarette and, remembering his host, offered the case to all around. The room became gray with smoke. The wind had relinquished in strength, and in the few minutes of silence that followed, Falkenstein looked at one of the maps on the table that detailed the cities and towns along the Dniepr and the villages to the east. “The ferry is out of the question. You have deviated too far south,” he said.

Von Helmansdorff leaned over to look as Falkenstein pointed to the map. The lieutenant colonel was stunned. “You mean to say that we have gravitated this far south? I knew I had fallen off-course, but to think… are you sure, Captain?”

“This is approximately where I am, Lieutenant Colonel, and where I have found you.”

“Then the regiment might as well try for Zaporozhye. Impossible. I can’t believe it.” Von Helmansdorff shook his head in disbelief.

“You should make for the defensive salient around the city and the dam,” Falkenstein advised.

“That is… what, forty kilometers? Attempting a forced march in this muck?”

“Twenty-five or thirty kilometers at most to the salient perimeter. It is your best, perhaps your only option.”

The lieutenant colonel was clearly embarrassed by his navigational blunder and wanted to avoid further discussion. “The Fuehrer really wants to hold on to that dam” he said, changing the subject, “and it only stands to reason. Since having lost the Donbas, that leaves the ore deposits and mining facilities at Nikopol. The entire industrial region of western Ukraine is at stake.”

“Not only because of the dam or the mines. It makes perfect strategic sense. The salient will thwart the Russians—” Voss attempted to explain but was interrupted.

“A proper, deeply echeloned fortification along the Dniepr should have begun months ago,” von Helmansdorff asserted. “The predicament we now find ourselves in has been foreseen by every commander in the field. I gather, Captain, you have yet to hear the latest news…” von Helmansdorff waited in a theatrical silence, obviously pleased to drop his bombshell. “The Russians have established a bridgehead, up north, near Bukrin. That’s in Eighth Army’s sector of operations. The Twenty-Fourth Panzer Corps was still on the east side of the river, fighting its way toward the Kanev bridge crossing. All available forces were ordered to detach and race to help deal with the problem.”

The comfort and sense of well-being Voss was enjoying suddenly evaporated. Von Helmansdorff then leaned across the table, gauging the effect his words had on his guests, and said quietly, “There’s more, and I have this on good authority. The Russians tried to secure the region with a massive parachute drop. A total fiasco, fortunately for us. Most were shot dead before they hit the ground. Quite a duck hunt, from what I heard. But the audacity, nonetheless. A night drop on the west bank of the river. What will they think up next? If anything good can be said about the weather, it is that it has slowed the race down and has kept the Red Air Force out of the sky and from blowing us all to hell. As difficult as it is for the Russians to maintain the speed of their own offensive, it’s proven equally difficult for us to extricate ourselves from this morass.”

Falkenstein would not let the lieutenant colonels’ words upset or deter him, but he did have to work at maintaining a cool front. “Your adjutant mentioned that the regiment you’ve become attached is several kilometers away.”

“Yes, four kilometers, to be exact. Defensive positions were established early this morning. We’re planning to resume the march tonight.”

“And the Russians?”

“Parts of a rifle division. Other than small combat patrols, they haven’t the stomach for an all-out attack. The Bolsheviks are feeling as miserable as we are.”

“What about tank support?”

“A few are probing the area; they’re the only machines capable of maneuvering through this muck with any degree of success, although nothing has been attempted. They might be conserving fuel or believe they face a stronger force than is actually the case.” Von Helmansdorff sifted through a number of papers littering the table and selected a situation map detailing the First Panzer Army sector of operations. The map had been drawn with a mass of red pencil lines and arrows jutting between, across, and around a number of blue lines. The red lines signified the Soviet forces, and the blue represented the corps and divisions of First Panzer Army. The distances between the neighboring German units had grown immense since converging on the two bridges in the Army’s sector. “Bear in mind, Captain, this depiction is a number of days old.”

“At least it will provide me with some notion as to what is taking place. It grows tiresome, traveling blind.” Opening the leather folder, Falkenstein searched within and withdrew a map of his own and gave it to Voss to transcribe the pertinent features of the lieutenant colonels’ map. Both maps were quite similar. Voss began by marking the Soviet dispositions and routes of advance. He also made notes. Von Helmansdorff poured another shot of kirsch into Voss’s cup and his own. He noticed that Falkenstein disapproved of the action but kept silent.

“So, Captain,” von Helmansdorff said, lighting another cigarette, “what role does an autonomous reconnaissance group play in the greater scheme of things?”

Although the question was put to him earnestly, Falkenstein could not help but detect a note of sarcasm in the lieutenant colonel’s voice. He decided not to be vague.

“My role, as you put it, is specific. To search for and then destroy the T-34 known as Red Vengeance.”

“That’s it, then, in a nutshell?”

“If you prefer to put it that way, yes. That is the entirety of my mission.”

Von Helmansdorff maintained a straight face, but he was clearly amused. “Such a task at this point in time, given the predicament we all find ourselves in…I don’t mean to downplay the risks you and your men are exposed to or defame your courage, but that is, in a word, absurd.”

A jolt ran through Voss. He stopped writing but dared not look up. He maintained the pretense of examining something of interest on the map and not having heard.

“Absurd,” Falkenstein repeated, coldly, allowing the word to remain in his mind as he examined each facet of its meaning from every angle. Finally he said, “My mission has evolved from the direct interest of the commander of Fourth Panzer Army. I can name at least six divisional generals, any number of operations and intelligence senior staff officers in corps and army group who clamored for and lent their support for this mission. Are they to be characterized as absurd as well?”

“Perhaps I use too provocative a word, Captain. I only mean to say that while an entire Soviet Tank Army breathes down our throats, the value of hunting for one T-34, no matter the reputation, lacks the propaganda weight it might have if the front were more stable.”

“You do not fully appreciate the danger Red Vengeance poses or all it has accomplished.”

“I’ve heard the stories and understand the morale problems associated with it. Every Russian tank scares the pants off of me, Red Vengeance or not.”

“Had you encountered the beast and survived, you would understand the difference between fear and stark, mortal terror. Absolute. Unyielding. The kind of fear that flays the soul. Fortunately for you, Lieutenant Colonel, having been spared the experience, I will overlook your ignorance of the subject.”

“I am a patient man, Captain Falkenstein, even permissive to a fault regarding enlisted men and officers whose rank is below my own. But you try me, sir, with your attitude of superiority regarding this issue, and I cannot help but wonder if it is borne of arrogance.”