Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

Hartmann lowered the earphones. “Some chatter. Ours. Units reporting in along the salient.”

“Any familiar call signs?” Voss asked.

“Not from our people, although I had the urge to try and raise Meckler.” Hartmann was referring to the signalman at battalion headquarters.

“Don’t tempt yourself. The captain has issued strict orders for radio silence.”

“I got the word from Vogel. I reckon the Sixteenth has dug in by now. I’m glad for them. Maybe I can’t be there with them, but it’s good they’re settling in, you know, Lieutenant.”

Voss did not answer. He was in no mood to sulk over their separation from the division. There were other matters on his mind, so he changed the subject. “Has Ivan had anything to say?”

“Not a word. If the Russians are nearby, they’re keeping unusually quiet.”

That is good news , Voss thought, because the Russians have not been quiet of late when on the move . “Keep at it, Heinz. I’m going to have a look around.” After he had left the vehicle, Voss circled around to the rear of the administration building. The brick facade still remained upright, but the interior was completely gutted by fire. Sixty meters north of the site was a flak gun emplacement, stripped of hardware and empty. He made a mental note to have a machine gun set up there. The entrance to the air raid bunker was but a short run from the administration building. Sandbagged and well-timbered, the grade sloped down acutely to the narrow opening. Voss ducked under the lintel as he entered. A small paraffin lantern hung from a peg on a support beam, the small flame casting a dull light. In size the bunker was no larger than a rifle squad dugout and could hold the same number of men. The earthen walls had been excavated in places to form a long, narrow shelf, with a banquette effect, for either sitting or lying. There were a couple of wood benches with first aid kits, field dressings, medicines, and basic instruments laid out neatly. A man stared out at Voss from the gloom. “You must be the medical orderly,” Voss said.

“Yes, Matthias Bruno.”

Voss introduced himself. “We are fortunate to have you.”

“Don’t get your hopes up about the quality of my skills. I’ve applied a bandage or two and dug out a few shell splinters on occasion, but mainly I’m a stretcher-bearer. Under fire.”

“Whatever you can provide will be a help. It’s not necessary that you remain down here. There is no call for your services yet.”

“There will be soon, I’m sure. Besides, I’ve grown fond of holes. Dugouts, slit trenches, bunkers, cellars, tunnels, and even a sewer. I’ve been living underground in one form or another for years.”

“As you wish.”

“Like a mole,” Bruno said.

“I don’t follow.” Voss was puzzled.

“That’s how I live, how we all live, like moles. If I make it back home, I don’t think I could cope living above ground in a proper house ever again. A typical parlor or bedroom has become like an uncharted region. One would have to be armed with a spirit of adventure to enter. I will have to dig myself a deep, sturdy hole and furnish it simply with the barest necessities.”

“Perhaps when all this is over, you will feel differently.”

Matthias Bruno gestured broadly. “This will never be over. Our children and grandchildren, generations far into the future, will exist below ground so as not to insult the sun with their actions.”

“Too many spiders for my comfort, I’m afraid,” Voss replied.

“Spiders? Of course there are spiders. And worms and a host of infinitesimal creatures that go about the business of living and do no harm. Think of the quiet and the rich smell of the earth. We will spend an eternity buried. Best we get used to the idea beforehand, don’t you think?”

Voss would not commit himself to agree. He had engaged in this abnormal conversation for long enough. “There should be some food along, eventually. If you do not come out, I suppose I will have to send someone down.”

Bruno shook his head. “I’d rather have something to drink. It would help fortify my resolve.”

“I’m afraid the Ukrainian police drank everything this town had to offer.”

“A pity. I can tolerate the wounded more when I’m drunk than sober.”

Yes, I’m sure you could , Voss thought. He bid the orderly good morning, for the time being, and left the bunker. He squinted. The sun shone brightly through breaks in the clouds. Since the weather had turned, Voss had grown unaccustomed to the light. He set off across the square, fully cognizant that there were more insults, outrages even, to be performed under the sun’s glare and wondered what would be the extent of his own involvement.

Vogel had stepped out of the captain’s headquarters when Voss approached. The driver held a piece of paper in his hand, the deciphered transmission from Corps. “I informed the captain,” Vogel said, and gave the paper to Voss. Buildup of Soviet South-West and South Fronts continues. Two Armies and one Tank Corps assembled southeast of Zaporozhye. Large-scale enemy mechanized patrols operating all throughout vicinity. Present position of Recon Group Falkenstein untenable and advise immediate withdrawal to defensive perimeter . “We’re out on a limb. How did the captain respond when he read this?”

“Nothing, other than to say it was advice he was unwilling to accept.”

A profound bitterness overcame Voss. The weight of the Soviet forces was gathering just beyond the horizon, out of sight, and he did not need this piece of paper to tell him what the logical, sane move was. One individual sealed his fate and the crew’s. The entire Army Group has crossed the river , he thought, and we are still here. Malinovskiy’s South-West Front could descend upon us and then what—make a futile last stand? What a pathetic irony. It would be worth it only to live long enough to see Falkenstein in that moment of failure and frustration. Oh, but he’s a cool one, sure that Red Vengeance alone poses the only threat . That blasted tank! Why hadn’t it done a thorough job of it the first go-around? Falkenstein’s megalomania arose from the wreckage of that first encounter, and to wreckage he takes us .

Intent on having it out with the captain, one way or the other, Voss entered the house. The door to the storage room was closed. Voss tapped lightly and said, “Captain Falkenstein.” There was no response from within. He opened the door. A shade had been put up to cover the window, and it was dark. Falkenstein lay on his back, covered with the wool blanket. Leg brace and wet muddy boots stood at the foot of the cot. “Captain Falkenstein, there is a matter we need to discuss.” There was no answer. Voss stepped farther into the room, almost timid in the sleeping man’s presence. “Captain…” He went to touch the officer, to wake him, but quickly drew back his hand. Alone. Vulnerable. Without thinking, Voss had placed his hand on the holster at his belt and suddenly became aware of it. How easy this would be , he thought. He then became resolute in the action he was about to take but was immediately thwarted by a strong, willful presence. He whirled around and saw Khan standing in the doorway, stroking the antler horn knife still its sheath. The Mongol hissed like a snake. Voss was thrown completely off guard. He had not seen Khan since the command vehicle had arrived at the outskirts of town and he had run off toward the depot—and now he simply materialized out of thin air. Unnerved by the sudden manifestation, Voss hadn’t the slightest doubt the shaman knew exactly what murderous intensions he now possessed. “Fiend,” Voss spat out quietly, “have you come to guard this vampire while it sleeps!” As he pushed his way past, the eyes of both men locked. Voss was beaten quickly, unable to stare long into the black, icy depths. Khan smiled, scornful and triumphant. Frightened and humiliated, Voss rushed out of the house, knowing that never again would he have the captain so easily at his mercy.