Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

“I have Wilms on the detail. He should be in place momentarily.”

“Good. And I want him at the very top, not just circling that platform like some half-wit walking the wheel.”

“I’ll be sure to inform him.”

The valve assembly at the base of the tower was still intact, but there was no evidence that the water tank had been drained. Except for the pools of standing rainwater that had accumulated in the depressions and the ditch between the road and the embankment, there were no major puddles; Voss was certain the runoff would have been prodigious from a container that size. He doubted the saturated ground could absorb so many thousands of liters. The water wasn’t potable—and not because of the additives used to soften it and prevent scaling from occurring inside the locomotive boilers. Rather, Voss was thinking about the water’s source, the wells, polluted with some form of poison or feculence, as was every well and watering hole between here and the Donets since the retreat began. It was all part of the strategy to inhibit the Red Army’s advance with stomach cramps and diarrhea if necessary. The water in the tank could have been laced with something even more sinister; an industrial site as this would have any number of poisons on hand. He expressed his concerns to Falkenstein, who agreed. “Point well taken, Lieutenant. We will have to ration our own supply and prohibit use of the local water supply.” Driving past the tower, on their right, was another dumping ground seventy-five to eighty meters east of the tracks, consisting mostly of hillocks of gravel slag heaps as well as a stack of railroad ties that smoldered. The odor of creosote hung heavy in the damp air. Further along there was a coal elevator and two hoppers that stood close to the tracks. Gaps and seams in the planking of the elevator facade exposed the workings on the inside. The machinery seemed in place and undamaged. To the right, directly opposite, the road forked, and a gravel drive ran directly to the wide bay opening of a warehouse. The structure looked like an enormous L-shaped barn. A section of the roof had partially burned, and pieces of blackened and charred framing had collapsed within. Inside, the scout car maneuvered around the debris quite easily, as could any fighting vehicle. The structure was voluminous and totally empty. Two sets of stairs on either side led to the storage galleries on the second level. A rime of blond sawdust blanketed an area of the exposed dirt floor, and a lingering odor of milled lumber and mineral oil remained—a smell Voss found quite agreeable. Upon exiting the rear of the building, the scout car turned back onto the gravel road that continued for another fifty meters before it ended abruptly at the rail crossing. Another dirt road, running east to west, continued back toward the town square. The captain had Vogel stop and raised himself up in the turret opening to survey the crossing and the tracks that lay ahead and behind. As the track wolf had passed through, the split, shattered wood ties jutted up at odd angles. It would not be impossible for a T-34 to cross the double set of rails, but there was always the possibility that a tank’s ribbed, perforated tracks could get snagged on the thick splinters of wood. A tank trap of sorts, which, if it did not stop the vehicle or cause damage, would slow its progress considerably. And that could work to our advantage , Falkenstein thought. The best option to enter the town in this sector without difficulty would be to use the improved rail bed crossing both here or at the south end of the depot at the Old Cart Road . If Red Vengeance approached the town from the east, it would be at either of these two points. The same was true for both the armored personnel carrier and the 222. Any flanking or outmaneuvering, when the situation arose, would demand the use of the crossings. The scout car turned left onto the dirt road that returned to the town square. The captain explained that this road continued on to the river and was named, appropriately, River Road, whereas the Old Cart Road at the south end, although not on any map, was a meandering path that eventually wound up by the reservoir. Houses flanked the River Road on either side. The workers’ settlement was a collection of rough dwellings constructed of weathered planking. The rear of the houses were fenced in with either sunflower stalks or narrow boards, and the yards, both front and back, appeared to have been cultivated for growing vegetables for the inhabitants’ private use. There were coops and pens, all empty, and a small barn or at least a shack or woodshed in back. A collection of thirty houses with adjoining structures, the settlement reminded Voss of a rabbit warren. Voss had never ceased to be amazed at how, in all this open space, the peasants would constrict themselves—adults and children all crammed together with cows, pigs, chickens, and the inevitable lice. The settlement had the look of so much kindling.

He then considered a viable defense of the town as insurmountable, even counting the stragglers who were about to be temporarily inducted into their ranks. They were too few, and he said as much to the captain.

“It was never my intention to transform Veranovka into a strongpoint, Lieutenant. The best we can hope to accomplish is to maintain observation of all four cardinal points. My guess is we have twenty-four to thirty-six hours before a sizeable enemy force inhabits this immediate sector and that will be in the form of advance reconnaissance parties. But we needn’t bother with them. We have bigger fish to fry.”

Voss was intrigued at how the captain arrived at this particular time frame. Was it Khan’s interpretation of omens, or a strategic calculation Falkenstein formulated from scant enemy radio transmissions? Maybe it was something said by the Red Army tank crewman from the night before. He thought better not to ask, especially about the latter, as it would only stir up the memory of his own insubordinate behavior. The captain had not forgotten what had occurred, of that he was sure.

“Red Vengeance’s success has always taken place on the steppe. If it can be lured into town, which I believe our presence here will accomplish, these houses and buildings will afford us an advantage. The signalman on the water tower can observe every move in town and the surroundings, but more importantly, he can inform us when the beast makes its approach. We will have several minutes to get into place. The real test will be a confrontation at night. I will have to consider the possibility of sending out advance patrols to signal in the event Red Vengeance is on its way, but with limited communication, that could prove difficult.”

“Indeed. Very flares, even radio could not only tip off Red Vengeance but also arouse the interest of a local Soviet reconnaissance unit,” Voss said.

“My thoughts exactly. Ideally, I would rather have Red Vengeance come to us than risk a confrontation on the steppe in the dark. We will see how it develops. Under the right circumstances, the Hanomag can ferry men and equipment to the initial flash point and be utilized as a firing platform for the panzerfausts. And with the proper cover, Vogel can bring the Two-Twenty-Two into close range, and I can do some minimal damage with this,” Falkenstein said, patting the 20 mm cannon. “Damage the cogs at least,” Falkenstein added, “or the road wheels.”

“But will Red Vengeance allow itself to be lured in? Judging by what Corporal Schroeder said in the initial debriefing, the tank didn’t launch an all-out attack on the hamlet where he and the rest of Corporal Angst’s squad were holed up. Granted, they were fired upon, but Red Vengeance kept its distance.”

“But not for long. You forget, Voss, they had hostages. The only trump card in their favor. Only we are here, and that will tempt Red Vengeance to enter.”