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Ivushkin watches with morbid curiosity as the tank falls off the bridge taking the German with him. The bastard is still smiling, blue eyes locked on him until he is out of view. Water splashes underneath and then everything goes quiet.
Nikolai feels empty. Disappointed. Angry. They won but he felt like they lost. By all accounts they should have been killed three times over, but they lived. He stares into the distance, frozen. He saw the Panther aiming, why the fuck did it miss?
Stepan climbs out and exclaiming that everything is over he brakes Ivushkin out of his thoughts. Ivushkin forces himself to smile victoriously.
“We have to go. The Germans are near.”
And Ivushkin goes. Without looking down he climbs into the tank and commands to ride on. They meet up with Anya, discard the tank and find shelter in a nearby village. Ivushkin feels weightless. Finally, no shackles, no shouting, no dogs, no hunt.
Their plan worked.
He should be content.
Yet the moment he lies down holding Anya safe in his arms memories of the duel invade his head. Jäger spared them. Jäger spared his crew three times over and spared Ivushkin himself when they shook hands on the falling Panther.
He didn't pull him down or throw him over. T-34 had one ammo, the Panther probably ten. He curses the German silently. Why did he spare them? Why did he allow them to leave? Mind abuzz it took a long time for Ivushkin to fall asleep and when he finally did he didn't dream of his homeland or of his mother. He didn't dream of the house he grew up in or of his childhood friends he missed. Even Anya with her sweet smile and warm touches never crossed his mind that night. Only icy blue eyes and a sharp wicked smile.
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Time passes.
Ivushkin parts with his crew and comes back home.
He feels a child again hugging his mother, tears falling down his eyes. She and his aunt instantly approve of Anya and they settle down. Summer comes and Ivushkin feels content. This was what he wanted wasn't it? He’s with his mother and Anya, back home, away from the war and death. He’s safe.
But as days pass he feels himself falling out. Or rather not being able to fit back in.
Sure he helps around and has some responsibilities yet he always feels like it’s not enough. Sometimes he freezes up or reacts violently to a random thing.
There are days he doesn't utter a word.
Most of the time he paces around.
It is ironic but in the place that he longed for the whole time he feels caged. Restless.
Anya doesn’t understand him. She fits in perfectly. And Ivushkin is happy for her. Really. She deserves it. He tries to do the same, but each night he goes to bed and dreams of the front. Of battle, adrenaline and action. Of piercing blue eyes falling off a bridge.
The books he owed do not speak to him. His room contains pieces of him he no longer has. He tries so many times but its pointless. He feels like he barged into a strangers life.
Two month after coming back home he goes to the nearest military base and signs up for combat. He’s accepted immediately and since everyone knows his story he’s positioned as a senior lieutenant. He will have his own tank platoon. The officer refreshes him on their military situation and Ivushkin feels hope course through him.
The tide has changed.
They are winning.
Americans already secured the Normandie and now everyone is pushing the Germans back in. He is given a new uniform and a document containing the location he will be sent to. Thumbing the uniform both hate and adoration flow through him. He will go back. Back to the corpses, the pain the blood. Back to the thrill, the fight, the front.
He says goodbye to mother and Anya the next day. Promises to write and come back when everything is finished. Mother cries and begs him not to go. Anya simply gives him a rueful smile. She sees it. Sees that he can’t stay.
Ivushkin kisses her one last time. Perhaps they will continue their relationship when he gets back. Maybe even marry one day. It’s a sad goodbye full of tears and promises. Yet as Ivushkin leaves for the train that takes him to the front he can’t feel anything but trepidation.
Thrill.
He meets up with his crew on the 3 day. They are not Stepan or Volchok but they are good men and they respect him. Then he’s brought to the platoon of tanks he will command and he feels himself smiling.
God he missed this. Several SU-76, a KV-1 and a T-34. Ivushkin feels euphoric.
They battle.
Summer changes to autumn, warm air is replaced by chill wind and snow. Each week they push the Germans further back, already on the Slovak-Polish border. The fights are thrilling and Ivushkin makes good use of his strategic education. His crew praises him for his tactics and cheers for their victory. Yet Ivushkin can’t help feeling disappointed. None of the fights can quite compare to the ones he had with Jäger. It’s simply not the same.
Until one is.
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It’s his 5th month on the front. His platoon, consisting of 14 tanks ventures into a clearing near a small village. Their mission is to destroy a block post to the east of there. Everything is going well. As far as they know there are no tank battalions here, the forces are collected further west. They are turning right when out of nowhere the tank in front of Ivushkin explodes. Ivushkin blinks, surprised at the sudden loss, but quickly snaps back.
There is someone behind them.
Ivushkin commands to separate. The first 4 Tanks would go on and complete the assigned mission, while Ivushkin and the other 10 tanks would circle back to the small village behind them and destroy the unexpected attacker. The village is small, halfway destroyed, but enough to be a good hiding place. He plans to lure the attacker in and then to surround him with a c-formation in the densest part of the village.
Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice screams at him that this feels familiar, this already happened, but Ivushkin firmly ignores it and commands to head to the village. He curses when he sees the next shot penetrating two tanks at once, leaving them uselessly fuming behind.
Fuck whoever is after them is good.
Really good.
A horrible smile tugs at his lips. Perhaps this would be the fight that he wanted. A challenge that so far only one man in his life could deliver. Shaking his head he forces himself to focus and barks orders to the other teams to position themselves around the village. They will destroy these fuckers.
Everything goes quiet.
He feels his crew buzzing with trepidation and something else. Something they hadn’t felt for a long time.
Fear.
The thing is the Germans were losing. They didn't have enough people. Simple as that. And as the tides of the war changed and the situation became more and more dire the morale fell. In the past few month Ivushkin and his crew fought a lot of battles, but nearly in every one they outnumbered the Germans immediately, pushing them back with their technique and power. The soviet army is inevitably moving forward in all its glory and Ivushkin and his crew feel its superiority. The red star a symbol of power on their uniforms.
But this?
This fight right now, where the opponent is ruthless and doesn’t flee in fear?
This resembles the beginning of the war.
When they nearly lost their own capital.
When the red army marched in still unaware of the opponents possibilities.
When they lost repeatedly.
Ivushkin sees movement to the left of the village and shoots immediately, but the tank is already gone. He feels a chill running down his spine. It’s as if he is the one cornered. Hunted. Adrenaline spiked fear flows through him. He grips the control harder.
He won’t loose.
At that moment he also realizes a strange yet hope-full fact. There is only one tank against them. He’s sure of it. The time between the attacks, the trajectory, the fact that they weren’t encircled yet. They only have one enemy. Whoever commands that tank is one hell of a madman if he is willing to go against 10 enemy tanks.
Ivushkin smiles.
He knows that madness all too well.
Informing the rest of the crew that there is only one enemy tank he commands to encircle it on the north-west side of the village.
“Hold distance! We’re cornering a wounded beast.” His comrades laugh at his remark but its tense. They feel the danger.
After all a wounded beast has nothing left to do but fight.
Moving to the assigned position Ivushkin observes the deserted village for any kind of movement. It’s quiet as a grave. He doesn’t like that one bit.
Where is that blasted tank?!
Thrashing his mind for an answer he forces himself to think. What would he do if he was on the Fritz’s place? The person inside the tank is clever. Devilishly so. He knows they are trying to encircle him. If it were Ivushkin he would try to fall back and attack again, regroup. But there is no falling back for the German. The other side of the village ends in a dense forrest and a lake.
What if- but no. It would be suicide. They’re not so desperate to do it are they?!
A possible move would be to try to squeeze through the middle before the circle gets too dense. It’s a deranged gamble yet if the German succeeds he would have a perfect chance of attacking them from behind.
He barks in the radio to turn but its too late. He sees the tank on his left get hit and 10 seconds after the one next to him explodes when the shell hits the tanks ammo. He curses the slow turn of the machines.
Swirling the turret to the left while they hide behind a barn he searches for the shooter.
There. The tank is already backtracking and hiding behind a building but Ivushkin sees the barrel retreat.
It’s enough.
He would recognize that barrel anywhere.
They’re up against a panther.
His brain begins rattling off facts. They were slower with their maximum speed being 53km whereas the panther had 55 but that factor didn’t matter in enclosed combat. The panther was smaller though and that allowed it more mobility between the houses. The panther could shoot 6 shells a minute but their crew was 5 man not 4 and that was always harder to control.
Ordering to change the direction he tells his men to shoot at all the buildings non stop. Usually he would try to use the bare minimum since it wasn't rare that they didn't have enough ammo plus he didn’t need to. But they are already down 5 tanks.
Meanwhile to his own team he commands to go out of the village as much as possible and then dive back in diagonally. It would give Ivushkin a better understanding of their positions and offer a chance to intercept the tank from behind, trapping it.
They would use the element of surprise.
Pieces of brick, mud and earth decorated the air mixing with smoke.
Yet the enemy is still nowhere to be seen.
The radio buzzes.
“Commander we noticed the enemy move 70 degrees north-east of the village.”
That meant they are going parallel to him.
He told the driver to get closer to the perimeter.
“We can confirm commander, we think we have him-” another team pipes in but then comm line goes dead and somewhere an explosion rattles.
Ivushkin contacts the former directly. “Coordinates?!”
“Last spotted 40 degrees north-east, wait spotted 45 degrees-”
The comm dies.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
Ivushkin feels rage and disbelief. That was the 7th. They were 3 left.
Anton, his driver cuts in.” Commander we’ve circled nearly 90 degrees east, this is the furthest building before a rapid turn and the supposed sighting of the German. Your order?”
Ivushkin contacts the tank parallel to them.
“Team number 65 we will intercept him at the same time when we come out from the Far East corner. Coming out in 3,2,1-”
The engine roars and Ivushkin holds tighter to the control, ready to shoot at any time. He sees tank 65 roll out in front.
His heart is beating loudly.
“Come out Mrazy.”
A shot echoes and the 65 crew are hit.
Ivushkin fires at the now retreating panther but the shell doesnt pierce the armor and ricochets.
Fucking German quality.
“Circle in on 60 degrees east. We’re gunning him down.” He tells the last crew.
Ivushkin smile grows wicked. He’s all eyes across the village when he sees movement and fires. The panther is hit but takes a sudden left and hides behind the church.
“I have you now bitch.”
Both tanks turn to encircle the church. The other team reaches it first.
“Commander we hit it again but-”
A rumble echoes through the village and earth flies up with pieces of church.
“Tank mines. They lured them in.”
Ivushkin shoots the second they turn the corner. At the same time they collide with something.
Head abuzz from the sudden stop he focuses on the visor.
The panther is right in front of them, pushing them back. They can’t move the barrel. The panthers turret is blocking it.
They’re at a stale mate. If they move back and try to shoot - the panther can shoot too. They are basically playing a metal version of sparring. Why? The panther is damaged and over exertion could damage it and endanger the crew. It’s pointless unless…
Ivushkin whams the visor in the other direction and scans the area behind them.
Mines. Someone threw mines behind them. They aren’t even hidden. The panther probably had someone go out and deposit them behind. Fuck.
“Anton hit thing with as much power as you can. We’ve got a minefield behind us.” Ivushkin commands to his driver.
The engine roars even louder, but the panther is still pushing them back. Everything becomes steamed and something beeps on the panels. Anton opens his mouth to shout: “Commander our-”
But in a second the battle is already over. The panther is fuming in front of them. The rest of the team caught up.
Ivushkin and his crew breath out a sigh of relief.
Yet before the coming tanks could finish the panther off he barks in the radio:
“Seize fire! I want to look that bitch in the eyes.”
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Finally climbing out of the tank Ivushkin sees his team piling up the Germans in a line and tying them up.
He’s a bit dazed.
Turns out the beeping sound Anton tried to warn him about was coming from their engines. Engines that were now destroyed, because the soldier that threw the mines around apparently also shot at their fuel compartment and while they were busy with the panther- their fuel successfully flowed out.
If their teammates arrived a second too late they would be dead. Pushed back on the mines.
Gunshots sound behind him and he whips his head behind to see the others dragging a bleeding body.
“That’s probably the one that sabotaged our fuel and threw the mines.” Anton comments.
But Ivushkin doesn’t care. The fresh autumn air pulled him out of his daze and he stomps to where the panther crew is being piled up, furious.
Nine tanks.
Nine fucking tanks gone, one sabotaged and out of fuel.
His platoon is crushed.
Four tanks left and only because they separated before. Still behind the rage and disbelief he’s impressed. Curiosity bites him, he wants to see for himself what kind of devil goes through with such a plan.
Stepping in front of the prisoners he observes every single one.
Some are struggling fruitlessly against their restraints. Some are trembling, praying. Except the man at the end of the line. The silhouettes are covered in sooth and dirt but Ivushkin notices the commanders outfit and cap even if its battered up and torn. Plus the calm posture of the last man gives him away. Standing still and looking into the distance as if the two men who are forcing him on his knees and tying his hands aren’t even there and he does it on his own free will.
Ivushkin shakes his head. He has to admit the Germans composure is remarkable.
Stepping in front of him alarms blare in Ivushkin head. Something is not quite right. The angles of the mans face, the posture. Yet Ivushkin ignores it.
“Name and rank.” He demands.
The German stays quiet, his officers cap blocking his face from view but Ivushkin still sees him smirk.
This bitch.
Ivuskin reaches out and violently yanks the mans face up by his chin.
“I said, name and rank, soldie….”
The words die on his tongue.
A pair of piercing blue eyes stares up at him. The same pair that disturbs his sleep. The same pair that fell of the bridge that day in Kreslice.
Ivushkin notices the scars now. Going from the mouth to the temple on the right side. He even feels their rippled texture under his fingers.
The scars stretch as the man begins to smile, parted lips revealing bloodstained teeth. The smile grows and grows until the whole face is mad, deranged.
Ivushkin is unable to move.
No. No it can’t be.
And then the man laughs, throwing his head back. It’s so sudden the men holding him nearly drop him loosing their grip for a moment.
The whole field is quiet, only the mans histerical laughter echoes around the clearing. It’s loud, obnoxious and crazed.
Someone calls for him.
“ Commander is everything alright?”
Yet it sounds distant, as if behind a fog.
Standartenführer Klaus Jäger.
Fell from 30 meters into a freezing river what should have been to his death. Crushed by a tank. And yet here he kneels, alive, laughing his head off so hard tears fall down his face.
Ivushkin feels himself smiling too.
Of course.
Who fucking else.
He doubts that man is even killable.
The German finally cools off.
Still chuckling he answers Ivushkin with a thick accent in Russian, surprising him again.
“Life loves irony, doesn't it?”
Ivushkin shakes his head but laughs. It is rather ironic. He crushed Jäger’s platoon and became a prisoner to the Germans. Now Jäger crushed his and fell prisoner to them.
“Take them. We will bring them to the rest of the prisoners at the base.”
The soldiers force the prisoners out and onto the truck that’s waiting on the side. It was called up from camp.
Turning away to his own team his gunner Kostya breaks the silence first.
“Commander, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Hah. If only.
“Not a ghost Kostya. A devil.”
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