Peter Idone - Red Vengeance

Falkenstein stopped writing and looked up. “Very well, Lieutenant. I’ll make an entry of it in my field notes. Care for a piece of fruit?” On the round table sat an apple, mushy with a multitude of bruises. Voss declined. “I was under the impression you worked well with indigenous troops, sir. You had many under your command.”

“I do. The Ost Truppen who served with me were motivated by a fierce love of their country. They may not have cared for us Germans or believed in our cause, whatever that might be at this time, but they were loyal. Not the character who has just left. His criminal tendencies overshadow any possibility for loyalty or trust. It’s best to be rid of him.” Falkenstein returned to his notes. With mock interest, Voss asked, “Is that the Reconnaissance Group war diary, sir?”

“This is a separate log. When this business is concluded, I will submit a detailed report to Army Group headquarters. There are some who will want an explanation as to why this operation has consumed so much of my time. You have no idea of the pressure I was under prior to the recent enemy breakthrough on September sixth. Despite unavoidable setbacks, the situation demanded that I perform other duties while in the field. The Reconnaissance Group lent its skills and fought defensive battles alongside units in whatever sector we happened to be operating. I want to set the record straight and avoid any misunderstanding.”

“I’m sure it will make for interesting reading.”

“Only the facts, Voss. Facts and figures.” He set down the pencil stub and regarded the lieutenant. “I have earned a reputation, deservedly or not, of having become obsessed. Initially I used the morale argument to convince my superiors that Red Vengeance needed to be taken seriously and dealt with accordingly. Oh yes, I would get carried away, now and again, and speak too passionately. Word circulated. My bête noire, as Major Beutel had come to call it. Then the name Mad Falkenstein took. Don’t look so surprised, Lieutenant, I know what is said of me while my back is turned. The innuendo. All those headquarters staff officers, trying to advance their careers with all that paper, charts, graphs, and telephone calls. Influence peddlers trying to sell their own worth. They haven’t a clue what life in the field is like, not the way you and I know it. And now their safe rear area has turned into a main line of resistance as they close up shop, evacuate comfortable quarters, and retreat even further. They can no longer deny the link that exists between that steel beast and the disasters occurring at the front with greater frequency. The Volga, Donets, Mius, the Dniepr, and everything in between lost; and always Red Vengeance is in full view of our setbacks and outright failures in this costly, miserable war of attrition. If you are born with sight in a world of blind men, will they not call you mad if you describe to them the world you see?”

Not if that sight is clear and true , Voss thought. Falkenstein was not waiting for an answer from his subordinate. He picked up his pencil and committed to paper his unique interpretation of events. “Will there be anything else, Captain?”

Falkenstein shook his head. “No, Voss. Get some rest. You look as though you need it.”

“Should you not try to get some sleep yourself, sir?”

“After this morning’s discovery, I have become reinvigorated, more out of anticipation I would think. The anticipation of success.”

“Have you decided on a route?” Angst asked.

“South. Ten, fifteen kilometers more or less and then whatever road or trail that heads west. It shouldn’t be too difficult. The ground has had a chance to dry out some,” Braun replied.

“You will have to drive in total darkness, and it will be slow going. The real difficulty will be once you’ve reached our lines. You could easily take fire.” Angst looked at the luminous dial of his wristwatch. Almost time to pick up Wilms and then meet the lieutenant.

“Either Schmidt or I can go in on foot and establish contact. Make it safe for the others to follow. I’ll ditch the car in the mud if I have to. It isn’t worth getting killed over.”

Angst mulled over the hurdles Braun had set for himself. No radio, no password, unseen in the dead of night, and attempting to explain yourself to weary troops who are waiting for an entire Soviet front to fall on top and bury them . “It will be risky.”

“And hanging around here won’t be?”

Angst was in no mood to argue, especially now that Braun had his mind so firmly set on the endeavor. “You better establish a pretext for the machine gun crew on the south side of town. As soon as they hear the car go by they’ll be prone to open fire.”

Braun made it very obvious as he felt the bayonet handle tucked in his boot and made sure it was snug. “I can remedy that situation very easily if I have to.”

Due to the darkness, Angst was unable to see the look on his friend’s face to know if he was serious or not. “That isn’t funny.”

“Why should I concoct some half-baked story that will only arouse suspicion?”

“So instead you creep up and shove a knife in their backs?”

“I don’t owe those guys. They almost got us killed last night when they swarmed the vehicle. That kind would use a drowning man for a life raft if they had the opportunity. Should I wager their stupidity and have them shoot us to pieces?”

“And yours is a winning alternative, because you haven’t the imagination to use a pretext.”

“I’m not a clever thinker.”

This is how brutal, desperate men behave , Angst thought. He was too hollow and worn out to summon disgust or even shock; rather, he was disappointed at how easy his friend made it sound.

“I’ll talk to them,” Schmidt said. Their voices had awakened him and he heard the more crucial parts of the conversation. “I’ll tell them we have been in communication with a patrol. Panzers. We’re sending out a vehicle to link up. It’ll be worth the risk, because we could use the support. Men are comforted when they hear panzers are on the way.”

Angst looked at Braun, although he could not see him. “Satisfied?”

Braun shrugged and laid a hand on Angst’s shoulder. It was a mock friendly gesture. “I was only joking, by the way, so don’t judge me too harshly. Filling those poor bastards with false hope is equally criminal, but I’m willing to live with that.”

How many hours will the lieutenant make me spend on top of that infernal tower? Wilms felt miserable and cursed himself for not getting the sleep he so desperately needed. Ten minutes remained before the appointed hour, so he shoved Reinhardt to wake him. The sergeant said nothing about the rude manner in which he was roused to consciousness. Muddle-headed, he unwrapped himself from the cocoon of tarpaulin and shelter half and settled behind the MG42. Without so much as a word, Wilms got up and returned to the assembly hall in the hope of getting another cup of coffee before Angst arrived. Unbarring the door, he entered and found, as luck would have it, the last of the coffee reheating on the primus stove. The women were getting on each other’s nerves, having been confined to the hall for the greater part of the day. Elenya complained the most—and the loudest—of boredom and questioned why they had to spend their time under lock and key. She was more than willing to lug the pot around and serve all the troops, just to have something to do. “You might be mistaken for a Russian and shot,” Monika told her, dryly.

“I am Russian.”

“All the more reason.”

Valeria giggled and hid her toothy smile with a small hand. “She wants to visit her boyfriend.”