“Schroeder, get the kid!” Angst bellowed.
The panzergrenadier lunged and grabbed the boy by the ankle, dragged him roughly back inside across the floor, and dumped him on top of Lev. He slammed the window shutters closed and returned to Daryna as she continued to struggle with Angst, of whom she was getting the upper hand. Schroeder took a crop of her hair and yanked her head back so forcefully, Angst was afraid her neck would snap. She let go of Angst as both her hands went toward the pain at her head. Schroeder then flung her down upon the bed, where she lay sobbing and stroking her abused scalp.
Oleksander clapped his hands over his ears and moaned, “Lahskah, lahskah.” Angst sank to the floor, his neck and ears burning from the girl’s scratches. He noticed that Schroeder still trained the submachine gun on her, as if deliberating whether to blast her or not. “Don’t hurt her,” Angst said.
“She almost got the better of you, Angst.”
“I know. I thought I could handle her without causing injury. She’s a scrappy little thing.”
“I hope you have better success against the Russians.”
They were interrupted by a prolonged burst of machine gun fire. The rear window shutters flew open, and someone dove through the opening. It was Wilms. He landed on Mykola, who had yet to recover from Schroeder’s treatment. Wilms scrambled across the floor and looked out the front window. “Still not going anywhere.”
“What the fuck is going on out there, Wilms?” Schroeder was livid and definitely afraid.
“Don’t look at me like that, corporal. I didn’t start it. Some of the guys couldn’t take the heat any longer, so they took cover in that house. I don’t know how the tank could have spotted them.”
“Who were they?”
“A couple of ours. Freitag for sure. And your platoon leader, Angst.”
“Minnesinger?” Angst refused to believe it but knew it was all too possible. In the short time he had known him, Angst had noticed Minnesinger appeared to suffer more than most from the heat. It would drive him nearly to madness. “Didn’t you try to stop him?” Angst’s question only exasperated the signalman.
“How could I? We’ve been passing out one by one down in that ravine, getting cooked alive.”
Schroeder had no sympathy. “Either that or get blown to pieces. Take your pick.” He went to the rear window and looked out. “Blockheads,” he muttered, as he closed the shutters over. The tank hadn’t budged. The lack of commitment of the T-34 to engage them was too bizarre for Schroeder to comprehend. “Why didn’t you leave? You were all in the ravine. Why didn’t you try to make it free and clear?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“There were no orders…”
“Yes, there were. Think for once in your stupid, miserable life, Wilms. You and the others. Our orders are to link up with the rest of brigade, or division, and form a new line. If some of us get cut off or fall behind, well, then that’s just too bad. It’s about manpower, Wilms. The more the merrier to fight this war, wouldn’t you say?”
Wilms appeared cowed, foolish. “What are your plans now?”
“That all depends on what’s waiting for us out there,” Schroeder replied. “If the tank makes a move toward the village, then we make a run for it. If there’s no change, then we wait it out. We won’t make a move until sundown. I got a feeling that T-34 won’t make a move either as long as we have hostages.”
“Not until now,” Wilms commented.
Schroeder glared back at Wilms. “And whose fault is that? Where’s the radio?”
“I left it with Schubert.”
“Anything?”
Wilms shook his head. “Interference. I tried to monitor any transmissions that might have originated from the tank, but it was useless. I didn’t want to waste the battery.”
“You won’t hear a thing out of that tank,” Schroeder said with conviction.
“Red Vengeance,” Wilms said. The remark caused Schroeder noticeable discomfort.
“What is ‘Red Vengeance’ supposed to mean?” Angst said, but his question was ignored.
“Ganz said it was Red Vengeance. I didn’t believe it at first, but now I think he’s right. It all adds up,” said Wilms.
“Ganz is an asshole, and so are you for mentioning it,” Schroeder retorted.
“Tell me that isn’t the same T-34 from last night” Wilms said, “That ambush was too strange. And what about that bizarre incident you had in the brush? Detwiler refused to speak of it. And here we are, isolated, not a soul in sight. This entire sector should be crawling with Bolsheviks—and not a one.”
“It’s a big country” Schroeder said.
“Will someone tell me what Red Vengeance means and why you’re all so worked up over it?” Angst asked.
“How long have you been at the front, Angst?” Wilms asked.
“Since early August.”
“Well, that explains your ignorance.”
Angst became defensive toward the signalman. “So why don’t you enlighten me?”
“Red Vengeance is a frontline myth,” Schroeder interrupted, “a phantom T-34 that appears from out of nowhere, attacks, and then disappears. It’s known to inflict a lot of damage to any unit it happens upon. And there are few survivors, if any. There isn’t a tank or assault gun able to put it out of action. Not even Tigers have had any success, from what I’ve heard. Panzer crews have said that when Red Vengeance shows itself, your number is up.”
“Fata Morgana,” Wilms interjected.
“How do you know it’s the same tank?”
“No T-34 in the entire Soviet arsenal looks that miserable and mean. Besides, it has all the telltale signs. That inscription on the turret, for one.” Schroeder remarked.
“I saw something but couldn’t make it out. The lettering was too worn.” Angst said.
Schroeder nodded. “Worn from battle and taking hits that have no effect.”
“Do you know what’s written on the turret? What it’s supposed to mean?”
Schroeder made a face and shrugged. “Nobody knows for sure, Angst. Some poor devil got close enough to read it, but it was the last thing he ever did on this earth. ‘Krasny.’ And another word that can’t be made out.”
“Krasny is the word for red in Russian,” Angst said, more for his own edification than for the two escort grenadiers.
Schroeder nodded. “Red something. But what? Red Barricade? Red Factory? Red Star? The Bolsheviks name one goddamn thing after the other red. It helps to reinforce their shoddy principles, I should think. Some general coined the term ‘Red Vengeance,’ but I can’t remember who.”
“I think it was ‘Panzer’ Schulze. Or Hoth,” Wilms said.
“Could have been,” Schroeder said, unwilling to commit to either name. “The name is in Cyrillic, so one guess is as good as another. Besides, Red Vengeance is what it’s come to be known as.”
Angst did not know what to make of the story, or even if the escort grenadiers were having one over on him, although he doubted it. They were both very much afraid, and sensing this caused Angst to grow fearful along with them. It wasn’t enough that a Russian T-34 had them all in the crosshairs. No, it had to be something especially diabolical, to hear these two tell it. “I thought you said Red Vengeance disappears. It’s taking a long time to pull off that trick, don’t you think?”
Schroeder smiled crookedly. “It’s not finished with us yet.”
The sun was beginning to sink low on the western horizon when the powerful diesel engine of the T-34 started to rev. The sound electrified everyone inside the cramped, stifling hut. The grenadiers watched from the windows as the tank traversed on one track, stopped, and then started to move. They continued to look in anticipation as it drove in a northerly direction until it became obscured by dust and the clusters of shacks that comprised the pathetic little hamlet. Schroeder ordered Wilms to go out and keep it under observation. The signalman took the binoculars, hesitated for a moment, and ran out the door.