Voss stood behind the junked Mark IV and watched as the fight resumed. Dawn had barely arrived; a diffuse light under a pileup of clouds; the surroundings gray, ruined, and sordid. After Khan’s opening volley, only minutes had elapsed since the sound of the engine was heard and the subsequent bark of the 20 mm gun and the booming cannon that answered. The support stand of the water tower obstructed Voss’s view, so he left the cover of the useless panzer and walked to the gravel road. Focusing the binoculars, he observed the T-34 edge slowly toward the warehouse entrance, stop, and then fire into the building. High-explosive, Voss assumed, judging by the smoke and debris that mushroomed out the rear end. Angst ran over and stood beside him. “Can you see the captain?”
“No, but I gather the command vehicle is somewhere in or near the back end of the warehouse. At least that’s where Red Vengeance believes it to be. I should take the flamethrower and help out.”
“That’s suicide, Lieutenant,” Angst protested. “There’s no cover for you to get that close. You’ll be cut to pieces.”
Through the binoculars Voss could see a puff of smoke emanate from the hull’s right side, followed by an emphatic clash of metal. The turret swung around to five o’clock and fired another high-explosive round at the coal elevator. Timber and siding planks hurled through the air, exposing the skeletal coal lift machinery within. That was Khan who had fired, to divert attention from the 222, Voss realized. If the Mongol was as acutely aware as the captain claimed, he had fired from a position near the elevator but not in the building itself. The shell from the antitank rifle, although not crippling, had the desired result. Red Vengeance traversed to the right and, at a crawling speed, heaved its bulk on to the gravel road and proceeded north. “I’m not sure, but the captain’s vehicle might still be in the game,” Voss said, as he gave the binoculars to Angst. What caught Angst’s attention when he looked was the veil of blue exhaust fumes that poured from the tank. “It’s definitely hurting,” he said. Turning, he noticed the lieutenant’s annoyance as he looked at a newcomer. Detwiler had joined them. “Why did you leave your post?” Voss asked.
“We heard shooting.”
“Of course there’s shooting. Now, get back to where you belong and stay there,” Voss ordered angrily. Every action was critical from this moment onward, and patience, Voss knew, was necessary if they were not to incur more losses. Everyone wanted it over with, himself included. The fight had dragged on for too long. He shook his head with exasperation as he watched Detwiler turn the corner at the end of the garage, where Mueller waited for him. So, both grenadiers had come forward to watch and satisfy their curiosity. He called out to them again to move back.
The turret revolved, its cannon pointing at six, three, and twelve o’clock and back again. Angst pointed in the direction of the elevator. “Look, Lieutenant!” Voss detected movement and lifted the binoculars. Khan, covered completely in mud and grime, darted around the piles of slag. His short, powerful legs worked furiously, but he didn’t seem to pick up any speed. Something was obviously wrong as he bounded over the split ends of railroad ties, across the road, as he held the rifle by the squared muzzle end, dragging the shoulder stock in the dirt. He wobbled over to Angst and the lieutenant by the Mark IV. The magic vest might protect him from bullets and shrapnel, but his head had been clobbered by debris from the exploding elevator. A contusion had developed on the left temple, and a clot of blood filled his ear canal. “He should wear a helmet,” Angst commented. Khan pointed in the direction of the warehouse and tried to communicate something. Difficult to understand under the best of circumstances, his speech was now slurred as well. Voss translated as best he could. “He saw the Two-Twenty-Two exit the rear of the warehouse and take cover behind a group of outbuildings along the back end, just as the tank fired.” Khan grew more animated as they heard, then caught a glimpse of, the scout car as it drove behind the cluster of damaged sheds and workshops near the site of the ruined Hanomag. The vehicle then reappeared as it turned in between a narrow opening separating a workshop and tool shed and pulled up alongside the garage wall to escape the tank’s notice. A shroud of wood splinters, brick, and mortar dust coated the surface of the vehicle, evidence of a close call. “Red Vengeance needs room to maneuver and will not venture down these narrow streets,” Falkenstein called down from the turret opening.
“Judging by its slow rate of speed, some damage has been sustained,” Voss said, optimistically.
“And it will continue to run circles around us, despite the pace, until its task is complete…what the devil is the matter with Khan?”
The shaman had sunk to the ground, an arm slung over a cog for support.
“Concussion. He was by the coal lift when it blew up,” Voss explained.
“Damn! See that he’s placed under cover for now. Where are Detwiler and Mueller?”
“On their way back to the machine shop. Their interest was aroused.”
“Vogel and I will be at the south end. Keep it on this road, Voss. Wear it down. Let it run the gauntlet on this road and grind it down.” Falkenstein’s voice trailed off as the scout car U-turned and sped down the muddy street. Voss returned to the Mark IV and joined Angst. The tank had followed the gravel road as far north as the crossing and traversed a full 180 degrees. It would return down the same road, as the captain had said. Voss had Angst gather the antitank rifle and shoulder bag and help him carry Khan into the garage. They laid him down in a far corner with his weapon close at hand. “Keep your head covered next time,” Angst said, but Khan did not seem to understand, so he pointed to his own head. Voss hoisted the flamethrower onto his back and cinched the shoulder straps. “Corporal, I want you to get into the ditch by the water tower. Red Vengeance should pass by close enough for you to fix a charge.”
Angst’s bowels churned. “It’s covered in cement paste…”
“You might get lucky. Don’t dawdle, there isn’t time.” They went over to the Mark IV, where Angst took off the camouflage jacket, removed the Walther P-38 from his belt, and set both on the rusting hull. “Bear in mind, Corporal, the closer you are to the tank, the less you will be observed by the crew within.” Angst was fully aware but didn’t know why he had to get soaking wet in the ditch to carry out the assault. Armed with the magnetic mine and the lieutenant’s words of encouragement, Angst sprinted to the base of the water tower. The ditch that ran alongside the road was at its deepest point here, he remembered, and filled with an obscene mix of muddy water, oil, and grease. He looked at Wilms’s corpse lying under the tower, the shelter half still covering his face. Then he stepped into the water, a half-meter in depth, shocked by the reptilian cold. He settled in as deeply as possible, careful to keep the magnetic charge out of the slime. The T-34’s diesel engine strained as it drew closer. Angst raised up just enough to steal a peek over the rim of the ditch. The tank clattered onward, slowly, thirty meters away. The cannon, pointed at two o’clock, covered the buildings as it advanced. Angst ducked back down and listened as the armored symphony increased in volume, worried that his joints would seize at the decisive moment. He lay flat, his shoulders pressed against the sides of the ditch, and held the mine up with two tired arms. The sound had swiftly transformed into a deafening roar. Any moment now, he thought. The tank was too close for the crew to see him now. In the scant, gloomy light, he sensed the oppressive mass burgeoning terribly near. Angst shifted about and again looked up to get an exact fix, and, horrified, he saw that the tank had straddled the ditch. Urinating uncontrollably, he still had his wits about him to pull the delayed fuse on the charge. Darkness engulfed him as Red Vengeance loomed directly overhead, and with both hands he pushed the mine against the armored under carriage. He let go, but the four strong magnets would not adhere to the metal. He tried again, and as his knuckles grazed the surface, he understood why the mine wouldn’t take. The undercarriage had been textured with the same concrete that covered the outer hull. The magnets, the mine was useless. How ingenious. Thorough. The tank seemed to take forever to pass overhead as the charge hissed, and Angst panicked with the belief that all he would accomplish in this life was to blow himself to pieces in a rank, dark hole. Suddenly there was light, and he leaped out of the ditch, ran several steps behind the tank, and hurled the mine onto its rear deck. He turned around and dove back into the cold ooze, like some mud-born creature, certain never to reemerge.