Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

In a severe lean that caused the sidecar wheel to lift off the ground, Angst rode in ever-widening circles. When he shifted his weight and straightened out, the wheel touched the ground and caused the machine to bounce. While playing on the BMW, he was careful to not venture too close to the square; his motto was avoid all officers and NCOs . He raced over to the workers’ settlement and rode circles around the perimeter, between houses, and down the River Road. When Schroeder ran out, shaking his fist and yelling at him to stop fooling around, he just laughed uproariously, which infuriated the corporal even more. Splashing through puddles, he stood on the foot pegs as the machine swerved and slid through the mud. He turned east from the settlement to the firm gravel road; once on it, he opened the throttle and rode down and back over the relatively smooth surface, past the depot, braking recklessly just seconds before the stretch ended abruptly in mire. He was beginning to feel relaxed and, for the short time available, free; he wondered what it would have been like to serve in a motorcycle rifle squadron. That was the best time, early in the war, when the Kradschutzen were special. Not anymore. Now, the majority of units drove around in Kubelwagens or the dreary, light, small-version Sd.Kfz 250. But the Kradschutzen rode full bore over the countryside of Europe and the east, with the wings of Stukas overhead, lending protection and support. Angst would not have minded the duty as motorcycle dispatch rider, delivering messages from one command post or headquarters to another. That would be a nice way to finish out the war.

Eventually, as he rode around, Angst became self-conscious. On the tower, Wilms trained binoculars on him the entire time. Ratting me out , he thought. After completing one more pass down the gravel road, he turned into the heart of the depot and zipped between the workshops and tool sheds, past the shop where the Volkswagen was concealed, the doors still secured with a chain. He turned into the maintenance building, and the wheels spun around wildly for a moment on the sandy ground. Shifting into neutral, he gunned the engine, and the sound echoed throughout the barren, cathedral-like space. Wings flapped excitedly as frightened birds flew from their perches on the rafters above. He drove through the building and returned to the machine shop. Schmidt was keeping lookout from one of the metal-framed windows. Braun sat on a folded shelter half on the concrete floor, his back leaning against the brick wall. “Are you finished playing?” Schmidt asked, once he had come to a stop and turned off the engine.

“I’m never finished playing,” Angst replied. “You should have come along, Braun. It would have done you a world of good.” Sunk in a morose state, Braun did not respond. He had pulled in his legs and clasped his knees.

“You’re going to catch hell,” Schmidt said.

“Aren’t we all?” Angst joined them at the window, took the binoculars from Schmidt, and scanned the horizon. Yvgeney had torn down the gallows. Bodies and timber had collapsed in a degrading, haphazard pile. After cutting the nooses and binds, the Ukrainian proceeded to lay the corpses one way and the other, turning some over, laying some side by side, and some at odd angles. There was no apparent logic to the work.

The sky had a moist, opaque cast. “It’s starting to drizzle,” Angst said, then added quietly, “You must have had an earful.”

Schmidt nodded. Suddenly, as though he had heard, Braun looked up at his friends. “I’m getting out of here.”

“Go ahead. Ask Falkenstein for a furlough. I’m sure he’d approve it.” Angst gave the binoculars back to Schmidt.

“No, I’m serious. I’m going, and not just across the river. I’m going home. I want to see my folks again.”

“We all want to see our loved ones, Freddy,” Schmidt said, gently.

“I’m all for taking the Volkswagen and clearing out, tonight,” Braun said stubbornly.

“Come on now, you’re talking desertion,” Schmidt said.

“So I am. What have we to lose, Willi? Tell me! I thought I’d seen every horror this war could offer a man. And just as I was starting to get numb…I’d look at the dead, comrade or foe, a gruesome sight, and say to myself, well, that’s him, and this is me. I’m still breathing. No more to it than that. Simple, not another thought. Then something happens and it’s different, horribly different, like today. There is this new horror that takes hold of you. A fear like no other. Stifling, gnawing. It feels like you’re drowning in it. Nothing is worth living through that kind of fear ever again.”

“Try to get a grip of yourself, Freddy. Besides, it would be wrong to leave. Where could you possibly go?”

Braun stood up and faced Schmidt. The stance appeared menacing. “For once in your life, stop being such a fucking choir boy.”

The abusive, condescending language and threatening tone was not lost on Schmidt, but he refrained from getting angry. “I don’t want to see you do anything foolish that would put you in front of a firing squad.”

“That is the least of my worries. In fact, I would welcome a bullet from our guys, rather than have my guts decorate the countryside from that fucking tank. Believe me, I would. If you saw the kind of slaughter on that river bank, you would too.” He turned to Angst. “We’re going, right? A couple of hours driving at night, and we will be within our own lines.”

“Either that or a Russian patrol. Maybe Red Vengeance,” Angst said matter-of-factly.

“Don’t say that! We have the luck. That won’t happen to us. We survived Red Vengeance, remember? That first night out on the steppe—”

“I remember Walter Lustig.”

“Yeah, Walter. It happens. Some guys eat it, but we didn’t. All the following day and through the night in the ravine, we still had the luck. If these jackals want to stick around and get torn to bits, then let them.” Braun was adamant. He was leaving, and his friends could do as they wished. “But I’d rather not go alone. We have survived so much. We have the luck, us three, together. What do you say?”

Angst agreed to the plan but not without reservations. As far as he was concerned, they had been kidnapped into this unit, but leaving Veranovka and making the journey at night was not without its own set of dangers. The dead by the river flashed through his mind, an image that was becoming increasingly difficult to blink out. “I’ll go, but only if Willi goes too. It’s either all of us or count me out.” He said this with the expectation that Schmidt would remain the voice of reason and refuse, thus excusing himself from making the commitment to desert. Surprisingly, Schmidt was won over and agreed. Ecstatic, Braun reached out and embraced the two men and lowered his face, so that his tears of exhaustion and relief went undetected. The rejoicing was short-lived, as Wilms stood in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt your reunion, but I’ve been temporarily relieved.” He said to Angst, directly, “I spoke to Vogel on the radio. The captain knows all about your antics.”

“I wonder who informed him.”

“What do you expect? We’re on full alert. You can drive that thing back to the square and report to Sergeant Vogel.”

Angst shrugged and returned to the BMW. As he climbed on, Wilms stepped into the sidecar and sat down. “I’m going that way myself to get something to eat. Might as well give me a lift.”

Angst wasn’t pleased. “Hold on.”

“No daredeviltry, please.”

As he kick-started the engine, Angst gave the thumbs-up. Schmidt and Braun returned the gesture. The signalman was bemused by the smiles. “Vogel said it was the worst ever,” he said, as Angst drove out of the machine shop. He was expecting some kind of reaction, specifically more details of what happened to the Einsatzgruppen. Angst studied the signalman and deliberately angled the sidecar through a deep puddle. Muddy water splattered over Wilms’s face, chest, and arms. “Hey! Watch where you’re going, damn you.” Angst laughed and opened the throttle.