His thoughts now turned to the women he had known, although intimacies were few; quiet interludes at a café, sing-a-longs at the local beer garden. Even the women he had never met but remembered and were striking for one reason or another. The young brunette with emerald green gloves that traveled up her arms practically to her shoulders as she entered a theatre with her lover or husband; glimpses of others walking down the street, or in church where he studied the structure of their solemn faces and tried to imagine their bodies by the outline of their clothing. Strangers, yet etched deep in his memory. Finally, as he spread himself out, trying to avoid the roots that knuckled above the ground, he contemplated Falkenstein. He didn’t know what to make of the man whom he’d risked his life to find. Cold. Aloof. The major, a superior officer and undoubtedly a strong supporter, was tolerated as one would an attention-seeking lap dog. It was the reaction to the news of the impending retreat that surprised Voss the most. Subtle but unmistakable. What every grenadier saw as his salvation, Falkenstein regarded as a nuisance. He thought he was reading too much into it and judged the captain unfairly. Gottfried described the captain as thoughtful of the men under his command, Hiwis included, and he spared no effort in keeping them well supplied.
A steady booming sounded in the distance. The front, Voss was reminded, was not as far away as he would have liked. He felt oppressed by the enemy’s proximity; nonetheless, he yielded to the liquor and the fatigue of his body, and his eyes closed.
FALKENSTEIN
17
Angst had barely escaped the ordeal. Discipline crumbled as the T-34 persisted with constant shelling and machine gun–fire, and after the tank had found a way into the ravine, everything fell apart. They all ran, and the motto was “save your own skin and to hell with all else.” If someone fell, too bad; nobody looked back. Seidel and Wahl fell. So did Richter. Ganz and several of the panzergrenadiers from the escort were missing and presumed dead. During the confusion, Angst had lost sight of Lev and Mykola. He could not bear to think of what had befallen them. Daryna could no longer worry over the boys, and she was incapable of protecting them from harm. She ran for her life like the rest. Overcome by terror, the girl had lapsed into shock. By the time they were intercepted by the tank battery from the Twenty-Third Panzers, she couldn’t speak or even respond with gestures; she would only stare, blank and empty. Daryna had left the world.
When it was all over, there was no sign of the Russian tank anywhere. Schroeder explained, breathlessly, to the tank battery commander that Red Vengeance had been hunting them for the past two days. The tank commander wasn’t entirely convinced, but after listening to specific details and seeing for himself the terrified state the battle-hardened panzergrenadiers were in, he eventually believed enough to take some action. First, though, he had the squad of survivors brought to an aid station for treatment of minor injuries. Angst had the gash on his arm properly tended to and dressed, as it had begun to fester. Still considered fit for duty, he was released, as were the rest of them—Braun, Schmidt, Detwiler, Wilms, and Schroeder.