Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

The forage party yielded meager results. All the houses in proximity to the town square had been searched, and only a single onion and two small potatoes were found. The best find of all was a jar of sunflower seeds that Elenya had discovered. The women, under Reinhardt’s watchful eye, had begun a sweep of the workers’ settlement when the sounds of a commotion could be heard. Mueller was seen walking swiftly down the road in the direction of the square. Reinhardt stopped him. “Is that field telephone operational?”

“I don’t know, Sergeant.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t get a chance to hook it up…I think Corporal Schroeder has lost control of the men,” Mueller replied.

The sound of breaking glass and loud voices was coming from the northeast side of the settlement. “Keep an eye on this bunch,” he told Mueller, and set off to restore some order. That Schroeder had lost his grip on the stragglers was all too evident. Four men rampaged through the settlement with the gusto of a horde of brigands as they kicked in doors, shattered windows, and broke whatever piece of furniture or crockery that was left lying around. These men weren’t simply hungry but ravenous, and their search for something edible had turned into a riot. They vented their rage, fueled by the pangs of an empty stomach. Concealed behind a fence, Reinhardt watched as the group entered another house. The place shook from the violence within. This would prove more dangerous than anticipated, and he wouldn’t have minded a squad of field police at his side. He saw that Schroeder was observing the events from a distance, perplexed at what to do next. Reinhardt got his attention and signaled to the corporal to join him. “What set them off?”

“No drinking water. That was the last straw. Manure and pieces of rotting cattle have been tossed down all the wells,” Schroeder told him.

“Is there a ringleader?”

“A tall, skinny bastard. Otto they call him.”

Reinhardt had seen someone among the group a head taller than the rest and he was very familiar. Otto, the defiant grenadier from last night, had tried to force a takeover of the armored personnel carrier and was nearly executed by the captain. “I’m going to snuff Otto’s candle. If anyone interferes, shoot him, Corporal.” They ran up to the house and crouched down on either side of the door that hung broken on its hinge. Reinhardt figured he would have to lie and cajole this bunch if he wanted to avoid bloodshed. In a clear, loud voice, he yelled above the racket. “Chow line forming in the town square! Get it before it’s all gone!” The group bounded out of the house, with Otto the first out the door. With minimal effort, Reinhardt snatched his rifle away and, with the butt, dealt him a savage blow to the midriff. The others were brought up short by the sudden action and found themselves staring down the barrels of two submachine guns. “Blink and I’ll cut you in half” Reinhardt threatened. They watched as Otto curled up into a ball of pain. They understood immediately that there was no chow line forming anywhere just yet.

“We’re starving to death, Sergeant. We’ve not eaten for days,” said one.

Another chimed in, “And that idiot corporal is having us dig—”

“Shut your mouths, all of you. Food is on the way, but you must hang on. Get yourselves dug in. Fortify this side of town as best you can, and then you can eat.”

“Fortify the town from whom, Ivan?” said the other grenadier. “Why don’t we continue on toward the river?” He looked to his comrades for support.

“Yeah. Why should we wait around here so the Russians can kill us?”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Reinhardt said in full agreement. “Go ahead. Leave. But remember, it’s another twenty-five kilometers to the Dniepr, and you will have to find a way to get across. And you’ll be doing so on an empty stomach.”

Schroeder was certain they would make good on the sergeant’s offer, but the sober realization had taken hold. Their fire was dampened, it seemed, at least for a while. Otto started to groan and squirm about. “For as long as you are here, you will take orders from me or the corporal. Not him. Have I made myself clear?” They nodded in agreement and helped the whipped ringleader to his feet. Reinhardt rejoined the women; with Mueller’s help they searched a few more houses on the south side of the road and then returned to the square. A turnip was added to all that had been found.

“Having mouths to feed has become as critical as maintaining defense,” Reinhardt summed up after briefing the lieutenant on the incident at the workers’ settlement. Voss had listened but did not react in any particular way; he seemed preoccupied and, Reinhardt could not help but notice, despondent in the extreme. Having served under the lieutenant for some time, Reinhardt could sense his moods fairly accurately. This was more than the typical overwhelming fatigue the young officer was prone to exhibit lately; it was an unusual sadness. Reinhardt’s confidence ebbed slightly, and he suggested the lieutenant get some rest. “There will be plenty of time for that,” Voss said irritably.

Field rations, mess tins, utensils, and the primus stove were removed from the Hanomag and set up inside the assembly hall. Voss had decided the women could be confined more easily and kept under closer scrutiny within the building. The hall was constructed roughly of wood, with a set of double doors at the front end and glass-paned windows with shutters on either side. Built shortly after the revolution, the assembly hall had been used by the local commissar to inform the peasants what the Soviet expectations were during the course of the successive five-year plans. More recently, the Reichsbahn officials would conduct meetings or hold briefings there, and Monika had said that on occasion films would be shown or banquets held. There were numerous benches that could be tiered and used as tables for the women to set up and prepare the food. There was a bucket of fresh water in the kitchen at the house, and Elenya went to fetch it, along with a large skillet. Voss told them to use everything—the field rations, chocolate, and coffee—for one last meal. He wanted the crew and stragglers calmed down and satisfied before any trouble brewed.

The auxiliary, Yvgeney, had reappeared. He informed everyone, the women especially, that his comrades had abandoned him to “this shit-hole of a town.” He received no sympathy from the women, their nerves still raw from what they had witnessed the night before. Valeria, who had begun to come around and behave with more animation, simply withdrew again in the man’s presence. “I won’t do another thing until that butcher is removed,” Monika threatened. Reinhardt hustled the auxiliary out of the assembly hall and admonished that he tear down the gallows and bury the dead, as the lieutenant had suggested. “Then we will see about getting you something to eat.” Yvgeney cursed but could do nothing, so he staggered out of the square. The women resumed their work. While the vegetables boiled, the last tins of beef were opened and their contents diced, and the coagulated aspic was spooned into the pot to flavor the broth. Monika suggested the sunflower seeds be added to stretch the portions. Elenya agreed, but said they should only be added at the very last minute. The seeds had a tendency to turn bitter if overcooked. Admitting she was not much of a cook, Monika deferred to Elenya’s talents.

Tempted by the aromas, Voss looked in to see how the meal progressed. Despite the crude manner in which the operation was carried out, there was a vague domesticity about the scene. The women seemed to work well together. The youngest, Valeria, timidly informed him that the supply of ersatz coffee was low, and she doubted if there was enough to go around. “Be sure the captain, myself, and my immediate crew get some. The rest will have to drink the last of the water…” He was interrupted by a noise. Loud, long, and filled with anguish, a terrible moaning—familiar, because he had heard it once before at the kolkhoz on the bank of the Samara. The busy, almost cheery scene in the hall became uncomfortably still. Racing out of the hall, he saw Mueller running across the square toward him. The youth had been stationed by the field telephone in the captain’s headquarters since his return from the settlement. The youth was pale. “Something’s wrong with the captain. He’s in a terrible state.”