“Early this morning a concentration of enemy armor did try to force the issue, and a high number of casualties were sustained while trying to seal the breech.”
“And this has taken place near Dorznjanka.”
“That is correct. An incomplete battery of Mark IVs reinforced with a Ferdinand intervened. The reports we’ve been monitoring seem to indicate the enemy thrust was repelled for the time being.”
“Undermanned and outgunned, and still we manage to hold back the flood gates.” Falkenstein was elated.
“Nothing short of a miracle,” Pohl said.
“Miracles have nothing to do with it. Determination. Yet another example of how far skill and ingenuity can triumph over innumerable odds. You see, Voss, we have reason for optimism after all.”
“Skill and determination aside, Captain, I don’t know how long we can keep this up. The combat groups have only just begun to inch their way back. This corps area alone will have to force-march more than forty kilometers tonight to maintain schedule, and a Soviet rifle division is on the attack no more than ten kilometers from where we stand. The regiment in this sector, woefully undermanned, is barely holding its own as we speak.”
Falkenstein wasn’t listening to the lieutenant’s worries. There were other matters of far more importance on his mind. “Tell me, Lieutenant, have you heard any reports concerning a T-34 operating behind the lines, independent of an enemy armored group or task force? Anything at all. Rumors, perhaps?”
“No. Should we have?” The squadron leader, Captain Tanner, had placed the field telephone receiver down and regarded Falkenstein quizzically. He introduced himself. “Does this concern your orders, Captain Falkenstein? Because we are in short supply of the mobile reserves necessary to check every Russian unit that might find its way through the gaps in the line. And believe me, there are plenty.”
“I was simply curious, Captain. Other than this morning’s penetration…”
“Nothing has been brought to my attention. Who can be seriously interested in the whereabouts of a lone Russian tank at a time like this? Not Corps, surely.”
“When it concerns this particular tank, Captain Tanner, it interests me greatly.”
The squadron leader thought for a moment, and his face lit up in amusement. “You’re after the steel beast, aren’t you? Red Vengeance.”
Falkenstein nodded, solemnly.
“That is splendid. Good for you, Captain. Whoever puts an end to that nuisance deserves the Knight’s Cross. That’s what I think.”
“Medals hold no fascination for me.”
“Oh, I know, but still it impresses the ladies,” Tanner said jocularly. “Seriously though, I have always hoped to have Red Vengeance lined up in my sights someday. No one, to my knowledge, has ever spotted it from the air. An entire Geschwader devoted to killing tanks, and not one pilot has come even close. Something about it is indeed odd. I would not be surprised if Red Vengeance has camouflaged itself to such a degree that it appears more as one of our Panthers than a T-34, from the air, that is.”
“You should bear that in mind on your next sortie, Captain” Voss suggested.
“A splendid idea, Lieutenant. I will bear it in mind.”
“I believe the anomalous nature of the tank is far more complicated than either one of you perceives it to be,” Falkenstein said, sharply.
A shell landed nearby, causing the rafters, only inches above their heads, to shake violently as fine grit rained down upon them. Rattled, Lieutenant Pohl said, “One would think it safer at the front.” Voss ducked out of the bunker to see how the vehicles fared. Looking past the smoke, he could see the men’s ashen faces peering over the top edge of the crew compartment. A large crater smoldered some thirty meters away, and yet both the 222 and the Hanomag were covered with volumes of soil. Except for being shaken, no one was hurt. “Can’t the Luftwaffe do anything about those infernal guns?” he asked, upon reentering the bunker.
Captain Tanner smiled sadly. “Every attempt is being made, I can assure you, Lieutenant. Our efforts are hampered trying to keep the skies free of Stormoviks. Each day the Red Air Force grows stronger, more sure of itself, while we, on the other hand…”
Voss was chastened. “Captain, I did not mean to suggest…”
Tanner noticed Voss’s discomfort and waved it aside. “No offense taken. This base has served its purpose. Time has simply run out. Speaking of which,” Tanner looked at his wristwatch, “I have a mission to fly, and with any luck I’ll find a place to land before she runs out of fuel, preferably on this side of enemy lines. Good hunting, gentleman.” They shook hands, and the squadron leader swept out of the bunker with a flair that gave the impression he was already in flight.
“There is room on the personnel carrier, if you and your staff wish to leave, Lieutenant.” After Voss had said this he stole a glance at Falkenstein, expecting a negative reaction, but found him nodding in agreement.
“Of course. I could squeeze on at least one more man,” the captain said.
“Thank you, but we are staying. Lines of communication will remain open until the very last moment. I am waiting to hear from corps that all the wounded have been removed to a safe distance. Once the mines are detonated, and the enemy observers detect the smoke, the entire sector will come under an intensive barrage. We will all be in for something of an unpleasant experience, I should think.” Though he attempted to display an air of nonchalance, Pohl’s nervousness betrayed him; his voice quivered when he added, “At the risk of sounding inhospitable, Captain, you and the lieutenant would be well advised to get clear of this area while you still have the opportunity.”
The officers exchanged courtesies and wished each other good luck. None envied the other’s mission, as they all had too much to be responsible for and possessed too few resources to draw from. There was no time to lose as Voss and Falkenstein exited the bunker. The squadron leader’s JU-87 negotiated the mined runway and went aloft as the very last dive-bomber to leave the airfield. As it flew overhead, the wing dipped once, then it continued to gain altitude. Voss waved. The trucks were tearing away from the airstrip, leaving long trails of dust behind. Falkenstein ordered a heading of west by northwest. The drivers gunned the engines as the officers boarded their respective vehicles and sped off. They had entered a mad race that barely lasted the distance of two kilometers when a series of explosions alternated down the length of the runway. Seconds passed, and then the entire airfield erupted in a grid like pattern. One section followed by another went up in controlled blasts of fire, smoke, earth, and debris. Minutes later a rolling wave of drumfire commenced. The grenadiers hunkered down behind the walls of the crew compartment hands covering ears, heads between knees, teeth chattered. The hulking vehicle vibrated as the ground turned to liquid from the unrelenting cascade of falling shells. Two, three kilometers more, and still the vehicles continued to run the gauntlet as this brood of deadly configurations hatched out of the ground and loomed powerfully into the sky. The vehicles were buffeted by the shock waves from the explosions as the armored sidings were pelted with clods of earth, stones, and fragments of steel.
The barrage lasted for another twenty minutes. Once they were safely out of range, Vogel could rendezvous with the Hanomag. The two vehicles drew near one another and waited over an hour for the smoke and dust to settle and for everyone to get their nerves under control. Voss and Reinhardt inspected both vehicles to confirm that no damage had occurred and to make sure that the precious fuel cans had not been punctured. When visibility had improved, the vehicles changed direction to the south and wove carefully through the impact site. The entire sector had become cratered, like the moon.