As they approached the nearest Achgelis, those with German Army torches switched them on, the red lenses identifying them as friends.
Greta Knocke insisted on seeing both her daughters aboard their craft, partly to reassure them, and partly to reassure herself.
Behind them, things started to go wrong.
For once, Shandruk had not been the efficient killer.
Regaining consciousness, the wounded Soviet gunner pulled himself up, using the Maxim mount for handholds, the pain causing him to nearly pass out.
Crucially, he made no sound.
In the clearing beyond, the Achgelis helicopters started up, warming their engines ready for the flight home.
Red torchlight flitted through the bushes and undergrowth, as the wounded gunner squinted in the direction of the noise.
Pöllman moved, revealing his position.
Startled, the wounded gunner pressed his triggers, and the Maxims burst into life.
The retired police officer was killed immediately, his upper chest, shoulders, and head struck numerous times by the 7.62mm bullets.
Through the bushes, one red light went spinning away as it was struck by more lead, the impacts sending it into the air, and throwing its dying owner to the earth.
One more burst was fired into the clearing, a few bullets striking one of the Achgelis, but causing no great damage.
Three bullets hit flesh.
The MG42 gunner acted quickly. The grenade was in his hand almost as swiftly as the thought spurred him into action. Retiring late, along with the Vampir gunners, he heard the sound of the AA gun, and knew it had to be stopped quickly.
The stick grenade struck the nearest water-cooled barrel, and dropped into the lap of the dead female loader.
It exploded, the blast throwing up a crimson spray, noticeable, even in the darkness.
Again, the gunner escaped death, but it was purely temporary.
His spine was severed, and he dropped lifelessly into the gun pit, his pain gone. He had no understanding that his lifeblood was draining from his shattered legs and ruptured buttocks.
The last four SS raiders moved into the clearing.
Shandruk’s wrist was on fire, a single bullet having nicked it on its way through the clearing.
It was just a scratch, but one that reminded him of its presence every second.
But, for now, he had other serious concerns.
Greta Knocke lay at his feet, her lifeless eyes slowly being obscured by blood seeping from the horrendous facial wound. The unforgiving bullet had then blown the back of her head off.
A second bullet had struck her in the abdomen, but she was already dead by the time it had exited from the small of her back.
“Blyad!”
No time for remorse or ceremony, Shandruk and one of the Vampirs grabbed the corpse, and bundled it into the waiting Achgelis, following Greta Knocke into the interior as the helicopter took off, the third to rise from the field,
Below them, Fischausen was awake and petrified, the remaining civilians, woken by gunfire, aware that buildings were burning and that men had died in the night.
The last of the Achgelis’ touched down and switched off, plunging the base into an uncanny silence, punctuated only by the sobs of young girls coming to terms with the death of their mother.
Törget was there to meet the special force, and to welcome the Knocke’s to Sweden.
Confronted by the grief of two inconsolable girls, Per Törget found himself out of his depth for the first time in his life. His decision to bring a female doctor and nurse rescued him, and the two girls were gently lead away by the two medics.
Quickly discussing the mission with Shandruk, he discovered that it was the finger of fate that had reached out and touched Greta Knocke that night, and that nothing could have been done.
Moving away, and leaving Shandruk to tend to his men, Törget entered the communications centre, where the operator sat ready to send his pre-arranged signal, seemingly a routine military base report.
He accepted the change to the signal without thought, not understanding that those who received his transmission would see the report of a generator problem as a mission failure.
“SS bastards?”
“It seems so, Comrade Polkovnik.”
The Army Major beckoned forward three of his men carrying a blanket, heavy with some inert load.
They spilled the contents at the feet of NKVD Colonel Bakhatin, roused from the comfort of his lodgings in Königsberg to travel to Fischausen and investigate the disaster.
GRU Colonel Witte had travelled the same road, only minutes behind, similarly tasked.
Both men examined the corpse of a man clad in SS camouflage uniform, a single gunshot wound in the throat, the cause of his death, now mainly obscured by the beating his corpse had sustained at the hands of vengeful NKVD security troops.
Another blanket arrived, bearing the shattered body of the local police officer.
“It seems that he wandered into the firing line of one of the AA mounts. However, we have found police fire buckets set out in a pattern on the field to the east of the village, so it is possible he is not the innocent that we believed him to be.”
Another line of thought to explore later, the two Colonels looked at each other and agreed on the point.
Another body arrived, this time dragged from the landing area. The SS soldier had been struck by four, possibly five bullets.
Looking up at the Major, the two senior officers waited for him to continue.
“It seems that they had a machine-gun set up there,” he indicated a ruined building at the T-junction.
The dead bodies of the NKVD security squad had been cleared away and laid out, ready for burial.
“We have found numerous German casings there.”
He turned, catching the two Colonels off-guard.
“There we have found signs of other groups waiting at the rear of the barracks building, and at least four of the NKVD unit died there.”
The GRU officer was there for something completely different, but could not show his main interest. Perversely, Bakhatin was not privy to the true nature of matters at Fischausen, as he was a recent arrival in Königsberg
Witte took the lead. Rather than force the Major’s hand, he tried to gently steer him in the direction he needed.
“So, two buildings caught fire. The NKVD barracks and that one there. What is that?”
“Good question, Comrade Polkovnik. I had assumed it was the officer’s quarters, but that was here,” he indicated the building directly opposite the smoking ruin, which had once housed the NKVD security force.
“Why did you assume that, Comrade Mayor?”
“Because that is where we found both officers. The fire was very intense, Comrades.”
There was no need to be more forthcoming, each man there had seen his fair share of death.
“The bodies of the military personnel have been recovered, and placed ready for burial.”
Witte looked back at the line of covered Soviet corpses, his mind totally alive and waiting for the next words.
“We assumed the women were German whores, so we quickly buried them over there.”
He indicated a freshly turned patch of soil beside the destroyed gasthaus.
“Women, you say Mayor? Why assume they were whores?”
“Apologies, Comrade Polkovnik, the NKVD unit here did not have female soldiers, so there seemed little alternative.”
The GRU officer hesitated, then took the plunge.
“I will need to see the female bodies, Comrade Mayor,” the NKVD Colonel’s head swivelled at lightning speed.