Reconnaissance Group Falkenstein came to a halt at a ruined village alongside the rail line sixty kilometers southeast of Zaporozhye. The stop was demanded of the captain due to the serious need for maintenance on both the armored personnel carrier and the scout car. The overabundance of dust scoured the engines, and other than damage sustained in combat, the fine sandlike particles were one of the chief factors that caused every variety of vehicle to fall into disrepair. Hartmann, who made the request, was a knowledgeable mechanic and urged the lieutenant to pressure Falkenstein to pull over. He led the work detail, with Reinhardt and Vogel assisting. Schroeder claimed some mechanical aptitude and volunteered to help. Improvised filters had to be cleaned of dust, the crankcase drained and flushed, and fuel lines unclogged. When pressed for how long the job would take, Hartmann stated with confidence it would be no more than four hours. Falkenstein was not satisfied. “Have both vehicles ready in two hours. Is that understood, Corporal?” Hartmann agreed without exhibiting any sign of reluctance over the narrow time frame. Instead, he simply launched into the work.
After a short briefing with the rest of the crew, Voss went to speak with the engineer in charge of the railway demolition to learn any news on the disposition of the enemy in the immediate area and what the situation was with regard to their own forces. When he returned to where the vehicles were parked, he found that the captain had retired to a small brick building, once a schoolhouse, the only structure that remained after the fire had gutted the village. As hot within as it was outside, the classroom offered some shade. Falkenstein stood in the far corner, map case, binoculars, belt, and holster piled on one of several rickety school desks. “Have you anything to report, Lieutenant?”
“The technical sergeant told me all he knows, which is mostly founded on hearsay. Tolbukhin’s South Front has stalled in this immediate sector. The real action is taking place further to the south, as Twenty-Ninth Corps pulls back to Melitopol.”
“Anything else?” Falkenstein appeared overheated.
“Would you care for a drink of water?”
“Shortly. What more did the Reichsbahn commando have to say?”
“Only that they have too many kilometers of rail to tear up before calling it a day. The staff is on edge, having to work without adequate protection, especially from an air attack. I said we couldn’t oblige, as we were pressing on once the vehicles are repaired. The sergeant did recommend we not venture any further to the east, the situation being what it is, and that we should hug the designated Wotan Line as close as possible.”
Falkenstein grunted his approval. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Why don’t you take this opportunity for a short rest?”
“Yes, sir, but first I’ll get some water. I’m sure you could use a drink.”
“It is hot,” Falkenstein agreed. However, he still did not move; it seemed to Voss as though he was not about to leave the corner anytime soon. Undoubtedly it was heat stress that caused the captain to behave oddly; the heat along with the cumulative stress of the past several days. “Why hasn’t Gottfried made contact yet?” he suddenly asked. “It’s been days, and still not a word from him.”
“It may have taken longer for the lieutenant to organize a signals apparatus at his end. Don’t you have another contact at Army Group who might help?” Voss thought of the unnamed officer mentioned in the file.
“Yes. I made inquiries, but to no avail. Since the order went into effect, the primary focus is on the details of the retreat—everything from getting armies across the river to counting fruits and vegetables. This is not to mean our mission is not a priority—the individual in question assured me it was—only for right now, other matters have assumed more attention. I was assured any intelligence regarding Red Vengeance would be immediately forwarded.”
“There you have it then, sir.”
“Yes, but not Gottfried. He has a knack for separating the chaff from the true grains of intelligence. I would feel more comfortable with his interpretation of information. As it is, we have to rely solely on monitored field transmissions. The lieutenant may have been diverted to coordinate some other matter, and if that is the case, all we can do is go through normal channels. And I fear that will not serve us as adequately as I would want.”
Voss agreed, noncommittally, and again suggested they go together and get a drink of water. “There is no air in here, sir.” The captain followed his adjutant outside to where the men worked. The engine hood panels on the armored carrier stood open, and Hartmann, shirtless and covered in grease to the elbows, leaned into the engine well. Reinhardt lay underneath and allowed the oil to drain from the crankcase directly on the ground. Vogel and Schroeder were busy with the same on the scout car. Inside the crew compartment, Voss got the twenty-liter water can and two mess tins, which he filled. He reminded the men to watch themselves in the heat. Falkenstein drank deeply and held the tin out for more. Voss obliged him.
“Captain! Captain, look!” Khan raced over to the armored personnel carrier and pointed excitedly to the far side of the fire-blackened village, past the length of ravaged railroad track. Horses ambled slowly by, a small herd of about fifteen head, including two riders, a woman and a boy. Khan waved his arms and shouted in an effort to get their attention. “Stop them, Captain. We must buy a horse. The best of the lot.”
“Buy? I’ll appropriate the animal for you, if necessary,” Falkenstein said, amused.
Khan shook his head. “This is a good omen. We must do right. Some different time I would catch a horse in the wild. Better yet if the horse chooses me.”
“What are you waiting for? Get after them.”
“An offer in trade from you would be, how do you say, official. You come too, Captain.”
Falkenstein nodded his consent, and the Mongol ran to catch up with the herders, his expression of glee almost childlike.
“Lieutenant, gather something suitable, cigarettes, tins, and the like, and bring them along. It appears I will have to act as horse trader.”
“Right away, sir.”
Once Falkenstein had walked away, Reinhardt crawled out from below the undercarriage. “What on earth do we need a horse for, Lieutenant?”
“I don’t think this concerns us, Sergeant. I believe the captain is indulging the Mongol’s whim.”
Falkenstein was in the middle of negotiations when Voss arrived with the selected items for barter. The peasant sat on her unsaddled mount and uttered a word or two as the captain spoke lengthily, if haltingly, in Russian. Her head was covered with a linen scarf tied under the chin, and a young, if weathered, face regarded the captain hesitantly. By the sound of the proceedings, she was not at all keen on relinquishing an animal and explained that the authorities promised to make it worth her while if she rounded up as many strays as possible. Getting a herd safely across the river could earn her money and a few head of her own. She seemed undaunted by the difficult task that lay before her. The boy rode up beside the woman and eyed Falkenstein and Khan, especially, with caution. He was no more than twelve or thirteen, and the woman introduced him as her nephew.