Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

“‘Don’t hurt us’? Is that what you said? Who else is here?”

Elenya did not understand, or pretended not to. She looked to be in her late twenties and, by her ample figure, well provided for. Her light brown hair was fastened with a mother-of-pearl barrette. She was breathing in short gasps, as if hyperventilating. “Don’t be afraid,” Angst said. “I’m not with that scum outside, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Fingering the dark gray patch with field gray stripes on the collar of his field tunic, he added, “See, regular army. Not SS.”

The young woman did not know how to respond. She gaped at the collar insignia, not knowing whether to look with seriousness or to smile. She tried the smile, coquettish and a little clumsy, and the color gradually returned to her cheeks.

“Are you here alone, or is there someone else? Please tell me. No one will hurt you. The SS men are leaving soon. My lieutenant will make sure that nothing happens to you. He’s a decent fellow.” Elenya crossed her arms and shook her head and prattled on in Russian. Angst decided to search the house again. “Stay here and don’t move,” he said loudly, as if the timbre of his voice would be translation enough. There was a door to the left of the room, and as he went toward it, he could hear Elenya gasp quietly. “Behind here? Inside?” he asked, but before he reached to turn the knob, the door opened of its own accord. Angst brought up the submachine gun. A pale, thin brunette stood in the doorway and regarded Angst and his pointing weapon with relative unconcern. She could have been attractive at one time, Angst thought, but now, in her late thirties, the finer, more appealing aspects of her face had aged and hardened. She wore a dark gray skirt and suit jacket and a pale gray blouse. There were no insignias or badges, but the clothes were definitely Wehrmacht. “There is one more in there,” the woman said in fluent German, “Valeria. She’s not well.”

“Come in here, Fräulein, and take a seat.” After she stepped aside, Angst peered into a small room cluttered with worn sofa pillows, curtains, lampshades, and boxes. A girl in her late teens sat on a small pile of luggage, dressed for traveling. A scarf was tied about her head, and she wore a raincoat and rubber boots. A small valise lay on her lap. “Will you step in here, please?” The girl did not move; she seemed to shrink deeper into herself and continued to stare at the same spot on the floor. “What’s the matter with her?”

The brunette sneered at the question. “Are you joking? With all the goings on around here, had we been discovered, we would be hung along with the rest. And a whole lot worse besides.”

“Come and get her. Bring her out.”

The woman did as she was told. “Get up, Valeria. It’s all right.” She coaxed the girl to her feet, still holding onto the handle of her little valise, eyes remaining downcast as she skirted past Angst. The thin woman slid the upholstered armchair from the foyer into the parlor and made Valeria sit down. “You’re German, aren’t you?” Angst said. The woman nodded. “I’m from Hamburg, originally. Monika Glammers. Elenya you have already met, and that poor creature sitting over there is Valeria. Have you a cigarette?” Monika went over to the bar and stood facing Angst, her elbows leaning on the bar top. Her bearing struck him as defiant. He continued to look at the fabric and cut of her jacket: field gray, like his own. “You’re an employee of the Wehrmacht.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“How did you end up in this godforsaken place?”

“It’s a long and undignified story. How about that cigarette?” Angst dug into the top left pocket of his field tunic and tossed the pack, with a box of matches, onto the bar. “You can lower that machine pistol, Corporal. We are all friends here,” Monika said, as she lit the cigarette. She moved to hand him back the pack. “Keep it,” he said, then asked, “What are you still doing here? Why didn’t you leave with the rest?”

“We were housekeepers for the officer in charge, Colonel Rausch, and his staff. I acted as the colonel’s secretary when needed. We were among the last to leave with the Reichsbahn workers. There was a lot of confusion as the Russians were about to attack, or so everyone believed. The Reichsbahn people must have thought we had already boarded the trucks. Before we knew it, they had driven off, and we were stranded. The Russians never showed, only those animals outside. It was horrible.”

“You mean those partisans on the gallows.”

“Partisans, my foot! Simple, harmless people, they’d been walking for days. They were wet, exhausted, and hungry, waiting for a train that would bring them to safety, a train that would never arrive. They were roaming the streets when the SS and their jackals arrived and rounded them up. Then the abuse started. The women were singled out for the harshest treatment. They did unspeakable things right in the town square. The Sturmbannfuehrer watched the show. I don’t know who is worse, the Nazis or the locals in their employ. After they were through with their games, the peasants were marched to the edge of town and were forced to help build their own gallows. Such screaming and wailing. It went on for hours. We were afraid they would do the same to us, so the girls and I hid.” Monika fell silent, and her gaze shifted to Angst’s left. Someone had entered the room.

“Well, hello.” It was Detwiler. He eyed the three women with lust. “Quite a find you have here, Corporal,” he said, and plopped the machine gun and a chain of bullets on the bar noisily.

“These ladies are in the employ of the Reichsbahn and were stranded.”

“Employed as what? Camp whores?”

“Really, Detwiler!” Angst said, noticing as Monika smiled bitterly and shook her head.

“She knows exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you?” Detwiler said to Monika. She stared back at the panzergrenadier with an expression of contempt. Detwiler turned his attention to Valeria, who remained seated, clutching the valise tightly with both arms and averting her eyes from the large man who hovered over her. “The only service to the Reich these women perform is done on their backs…or their knees.”

“That’s enough, you swine,” Angst said. He was at a loss as to why Monika did not defend herself or the other women from the insults. She exhaled a mouthful of smoke, tossed the butt on the floor, and stepped on it.

“You’re so fucking ignorant, Angst. I suggest we have our fun before anyone starts looking for us.” Detwiler took hold of Monika’s arm and started to pull, but she held herself rigid and did not budge. Angst brought up the MP40 and pressed the barrel against Detwiler’s middle. “You want her for yourself, just say so,” Detwiler said caustically, and let go of Monika’s arm. “I like something with more meat, anyway.” He spun around, grabbed hold of Elenya, and yanked her off the barstool so hard she came out of her slippers. Momentarily frightened, she let out a short squeal as Detwiler cradled her in his arms and laughed. “A face like a potato field, but you’ll do just fine.” Elenya did not protest as she was pushed into the storage room and the door slammed shut.

“Is what he said true? Are you prostitutes?”

“Do you care, Corporal?”

“I’m only interested in how you managed to be in this predicament, and if what Detwiler said is true.”

“You don’t want to hear my life story, Corporal. I am too tired to explain. So very tired.” The sound of metal clattered to the floor inside the storage room. Detwiler had unbuckled the harness of his assault pack and let it fall. Elenya could be heard giggling.

“You’re not a secretary like you said.”