The helicopters touched down and men dressed in familiar uniforms moved quickly away, three carrying burdens, three with strange backpacks, the others empty-handed, for now.
As had been planned, each Achgelis pointed in a different direction, enabling the pilots to take up the MG15 defensive machine-guns, ready to defend the landing site if necessary.
A swift discussion took place as the twelve men gathered on the fringes of the open area, their police officer contact gesticulating quickly but carefully. The group disappeared into the dark, swallowed up as they moved off towards the village.
Karl-Lothar Pohlmann waited until they were out of sight and then hefted the two small drums he had ‘appropriated’, keen to discover whether his new air force comrades would appreciate his efforts in finding a modest amount of petrol for their return journey.
Four of the Achgelis shared the extra litres greedily, their gauges not registering the modest addition.
As Savitch plunged ever deeper inside Greta Knocke, his other senses encouraged him to become more alert.
‘Engine sounds? This time of night? What’s that about? Surprise inspection?’
The yelp of pain as he drove hard brought him back to the matter in hand, the delicious thought that he had hurt the bitch arousing him even more.
‘If there’s a problem, Honin will deal with it and let me know.’
He became more vigorous.
The planning had been rushed, but thorough, the photo-recce work proving a real bonus to the Kommando unit.
In silence, they went to ground, permitting their commander to survey the ground up to, and the other side of, Route 192.
He tapped two of the men on the shoulders, and they immediately set to work on two others, each man carrying one of the heavy backpacks.
Both men also carried the Sturmgewehr-44 assault rifle, although theirs were different from the norm, being equipped with the Vampir infrared system.
The two soldiers stepped back having secured the packs, both sets of batteries now online.
Having seen the order from the Kommando leader, the machine-gunners had set to work powering up their own Vampir, this one attached to an MG42.
The work completed swiftly, the raiding party moved off on cue, crossing the road one at a time, each movement covered by one of the infrared weapons.
Moonlight started breaking through the high clouds and, just occasionally, enough light filtered down to earth to pick out the insignia of the Waffen-SS on the collars of the twelve men.
Moving slowly westwards, the two ST-44 Vampirs led the way, carefully sweeping back and forth, until suddenly one froze and gave the signal to halt.
Shandruk moved carefully forward, the point man’s hand indicating the direction of the sentry.
Another one of the Ukrainians responded to Shandruk’s silent order, placing his Gewehr43 on the ground and drawing a long blade. In a second, the man had melted into the darkness, only seen by those with the infrared equipment.
The point Vampir grunted at Shandruk, the only recognition that a man had died in the silence of the autumn Baltic night.
The group moved forward, one man pausing to retrieve the Gewehr, ready to return it to its waiting owner.
Buildings recognisable from their photos came into view, as the moon made greater efforts to cast its light on Fischausen.
Without instruction, the group became three separate entities, the two ST-44 Vampir soldiers moving to the rear of the NKVD barracks, the MG42 team slipping past them, and into the rubble of a large house to the south of the T-junction.
The larger group stole towards the Gasthaus, pausing only to attach something to each of the three BA-10 armoured cars parked on the road.
Shandruk risked a look through the shuttered window, a crack of light enticing him to make the effort. He was rewarded by the sight of two men drinking, whilst two more lay gently snoozing in front of an inviting fire.
Silently, he passed the information to the assault party of five, the three females and their escorts not needed at this time.
The group rose up and slipped around to the rear entrance, easing the door open, and entering the old Gasthaus.
Ignoring the sound of carnal pleasures that faintly drifted down from the upper floor, the five men prepared for the kill.
Kuibida, one of Shandruk’s old pioneer company, stood ready, hand on the knob, testing the action without turning it.
The signal came and the handle was turned, silently, the door pulled open to permit Shandruk to see the sleepers.
They still slept, and soon would sleep forever. However, for now, his priority was the two men mumbling over their cups.
A glance around the door brought him eye contact with one of the two drunks, contact that instantly sobered the NKVD soldier.
He went for his rifle.
The clack-clack-clack of the silenced Sten was lost in the sound of a dead body striking the wooden floor.
The other drunk turned, knowing he was already dead, but needing to see his nemesis.
The SS officer sent a burst into him and he knew no more.
Kuibida had quickly moved in, and was pushing his knife into the throat of the second sleeper before the last drunk slipped to the floor.
The front door opened, and in strode Kapitan Honin, still sampling a bottle, his eyes glazed with the alcohol so recently liberated from a nearby farm. He had been drinking from the moment they strung old Lerner up, to the moment he walked into his last second on earth.
A shout died in his throat, as Shandruk ripped him from crotch to breast with a ten round burst.
The sounds from upstairs became more urgent, the familiar rhythmic sounds of a man approaching the moment of release.
Shandruk slid a replacement magazine into his silenced Sten, and whispered an order to a soldier, who disappeared back out of the room to order the outside party into the house.
The three soldiers brought the females into the house now, setting them down as best they could, ready to perform their vital role.
The pace picked up.
Shandruk, Kuibida, and two others, mounted the stairs, the rest moved through the ground floor.
A door, invitingly ajar, permitted a look inside and silent entrance, where Kuibida’s knife found more work, the female guard slaughtered as she sat dreaming. He left the two young girls asleep for now, but let Shandruk know that he had found them.
The second bedroom had yielded nothing at all, except the uniform of an NKVD Major hung neatly on the wardrobe door.
Again, Kuibida tested the third door as Shandruk readied his submachine gun.
The door opened slowly, silently, revealing a scene of depravity, the soft, rounded curves of a woman’s buttocks being pounded heavily by a wiry naked male.
Immediately deciding that he could not shoot, Shandruk gestured to Kuibida, who almost leapt across the small space.
Savitch groaned and squealed, his orgasm complete and intense, his semen pumping inside the compliant woman.
Savitch groaned, but he could no longer squeal as a sharp blade penetrated his windpipe and sliced his jugular.
He fell to the ground, blood spilling everywhere, his eyes wide with the horror of his approaching death, his hands desperately sealing the cut in an effort to stave off the inevitable.
Greta Knocke, naked, dirty, and sweaty, turned to look at the dying NKVD officer.
There was something there that made the man very afraid, and his panic intensified.