“Perhaps there is a cool head and a steady hand among the crew, but I doubt it,” Voss replied. “I do have one question, though. Have you ever intimated your notions concerning the true nature of Red Vengeance to either Colonel Hahn or Major Beutel? Or anyone associated to this mission, your contact at Army Group headquarters? Have you ever revealed the demonic forces that you believe govern this machine?”
“Your question has no merit, Voss, but I will humor you with an answer. The officers involved are concerned strictly with results. They are not interested—indeed, they should not concern themselves with the notions or beliefs of their instrument, me, Hans Falkenstein, in achieving those results with success.”
“Just as I thought. Now, if you will be kind enough to excuse me, Captain, there are some details I need to attend to.”
A look came over Falkenstein that could be interpreted as one of either disappointment or loathing, Voss could not be sure of which. His voice flat, Falkenstein said, “As you wish, Lieutenant, see to your business.”
38
Reinhardt could barely concentrate on what Mueller was talking about. The young grenadier seemed very upset, and Monika Glammers stepped in to aid his account of what had occurred after they had sped off to the river. The detail under Corporal Schroeder’s command had eaten all the food, at least all that was cooked by the women. Once the stew was prepared, Monika and Mueller decided it was time to make the rounds with the intention of doling out a small but equal portion to everyone. Their first stop was the workers’ settlement. The senses of these men were sharpened like any hungry, feral animal. They came running, spoons and mess tins in hand. Monika was surrounded and was forced to serve up in the middle of the road. She hadn’t yet dipped the ladle when so many greedy hands grabbed the pot away. Mueller tried to maintain control but was pushed aside. Not until the corporal arrived was a modicum of order restored. There was very little that remained in the pot, so the corporal took the last for himself and Detwiler, who had stayed at his post. “Not the miracle of the loaves and fishes, was it?” Reinhardt commented. “Why didn’t you contact the corporal by field telephone and warn him you were on the way? You saw what those fellows are like.”
“Yes, Sergeant, only I thought it would save some time. After you’d gone, I thought an attack was imminent.”
Laid out on the bench were two tins of herring, chocolate, some rusks, and a tin of jam. The coffee was kept warm on the primus stove. “That’s the last of it, then?”
Monika Glammers nodded. “It’s not enough to feed the rest of you.”
The very least of our problems, Reinhardt thought. It was all so unimportant. Mueller looked sick with worry as he completed his report. If they only knew what might be in store for them…but Reinhardt did not say. He did not possess the language to describe what he had seen. In any case, on their return, Falkenstein had radioed the lieutenant and ordered strict silence on the exact nature of what was encountered by the river, for the sake of morale and to avert panic. Reinhardt could see that Mueller was expecting to be disciplined for his lack of foresight. Replacing Wilms on the tower would be suitable, for a while at least. But for now Reinhardt said nothing more about the matter; he merely left the assembly hall and climbed back aboard the Hanomag. The radio loudspeaker was turned on and crackled and hummed, but nothing of any use was being transmitted. Hartmann was seated on the right front bench and, with a small spool of wire and a ball of twine, was methodically fashioning grenade bundles. A total of twelve stick grenades were separated into three bundles of four grenades each. Reinhardt helped as the cylindrical bursting charge heads were tied together with wire and the caps at the end of the stick handles were unscrewed. Carefully, the double lengths of greased cord with a porcelain bead attached at the end were removed from the hollowed wood handles and looped together with a section of twine. Pull the twine, and all four beaded cords would activate simultaneously, the friction igniter on each of the four grenades. After a five-second delay, the explosion would be quite formidable. The blast might not stop a T-34, but it would definitely shake up the crew inside. Hartmann’s next chore was to make some petrol bombs. “I’ll have to scare up some bottles from somewhere.”
“There’s an empty jar inside the hall. We can start with that,” Reinhardt suggested. Hinges creaked as the crew compartment doors opened. It was the lieutenant. “How are you holding up, Heinz?”
The driver shrugged. “Getting ready, Lieutenant.”
Yes, of course, best to keep active, Voss thought. Put your mind into something, anything, to keep from dwelling on the events from this morning. “I’ll want that bow machine gun set up in the flak pit to cover our northern perimeter. Sergeant?”
“I’ll get on it right away.”
“In a moment. First, I would like a word.” Setting a grenade bundle to the side, Reinhardt rose from the bench and followed Voss out of the crew compartment. They had walked halfway across the square when the lieutenant offered him a cigarette. “This has been a strange business all along, hasn’t it, Dieter?”
Reinhardt grunted in agreement as he took the cigarette. Voss struck a match and lit it and the one he had taken for himself. “How long have we been together? You, me, and Heinz?”
Reinhardt thought for a moment. “Summer offensive last year. Voronezh.”
“Of course. My transfer to the reconnaissance arm of the regiment was made official just as we were about to take the city.”
“I remember,” Reinhardt smiled. “You were very cocky that first day. Me and Heinz didn’t know what to expect.”
“It was an exciting moment for me. I wanted to make a lasting impression,” Voss explained.
“It must have worked. We never asked for a transfer.”
Now it was Voss’s turn to smile. “Then we pushed further east by southeast across the dusty Kalmyk Steppe, fighting for our survival that entire time, during the long winter as Stalingrad became encircled and the Russians mounted an offensive that seemed unstoppable. A winter of cruel cold, snow, forced marches, and too many fallen Kameraden.”
Reinhardt remembered. “We were almost tossed into the Dniepr that time as well.”
“Indeed, but with von Manstein in the lead, we kicked our way back to the Donbas.”
“Thank God for the field marshal.”
“And here we are, another season with our backs to the river, and all our gains irretrievably lost. Von Manstein will think of something. We will get through it, somehow, should we live to see it.”
Reinhardt grunted again. “There’s no denying we’re stretched well beyond the limit.”
“And what about you, Dieter?”
“After what I saw this morning, I don’t know if I’m just going through the motions at being among the living.”
“That probably best sums up how we all feel. I had yet to make mention of it, but in view of subsequent conversations with the captain, I will now. Radio contact was established with Fortieth Panzer Corps earlier this morning. The captain was advised to fall back within the safety of the Zaporozhye salient. Our position is considered too distant and exposed, and there’s no guarantee we would receive any support in the likelihood of attack. As a matter of fact, a request for reinforcement or rescue would go unheeded, if we should remain here. The captain dismissed the advice without a moment’s hesitation. The destruction of Red Vengeance has consumed him to the extent that any reasonable consideration of the precarious situation we find ourselves in, or for the lives of the crew, is no longer a concern. We have made it through some bad scrapes together, Dieter, and I would like to believe that our judgment and actions have aided in the maintenance of a cohesive unit under our command.”