The commander moved to the side of the young werewolf.
Taking a wet cloth from the more junior Soviet officer prisoner, he wiped the soldier’s brow, leaning forward to whisper in the soldier’s ear.
The moaning stopped immediately, and Jungling prepared himself.
A knife opened up both his wrists.
Lenz, showing remarkable and unusual tenderness, recited words known to everyone present, and held the dying man’s hand until the life went from his eyes.
“Ich schwöre dir, Adolf Hitler, als Führer und Kanzler des Deutschen Reiches, treue und tapferkeit. Wir geloben dir und den von dir bestimmten vorgesetzten gehorsam bis in den tod. So wahr mir Gott helfe![4] Seig heil, Otto. Wiedersehen.”
Patting the dead man’s chest, he stood as quickly as his damaged ankle permitted, and ordered the two prisoners to bury the man where he lay.
Mikki and Nikki, their real names of Mikhail and Nikanor long since forgotten by their captors, set about digging a shallow grave for the cadaver.
There was not a day that went by without they wondered why they were still alive, as they had seen the Werewolves kill and murder their way through Southern Germany without compunction, hesitation, or scruples.
At first it had been the Red Army, but now, with the obvious reverses in fortune for the USSR, it was, apart from the occasional wandering group of Soviet soldiers, the Allies who received the full attention of SS-Kommando Lenz.
The MP unit had spread out in professional fashion, covering the woods to either side, road front and back, leaving two vehicles to disgorge their crews and close upon the silent ambulance.
Hanebury’s unit had responded to a possible sound of gunfire in the area, moving around the countryside until the lead element had spotted the medical vehicle sat on the roadside… bonnet up… silent… suspicious…
‘Just not right.’
Hanebury waved his men to either side, eight men responding, moving wide of the ambulance, but keeping constantly focussed upon it.
Stradley moved forward with Corporal Gardiner close at hand, the both of them touting Thompson sub-machine guns.
Moving up to the rear of the ambulance, they exchanged silent gestures and determined their course of action.
Stradley held his weapon in his right hand and reached for the handle. Gardiner offset himself from the likely line of fire, just in case.
The door opened slowly, allowing light from the idling halftracks to flood the inside of the ambulance, revealing its awful cargo.
Hanebury and Rickard closed up immediately.
“Goddamned fucking massacre, Top. Even a fucking nurse, for God’s sake!”
The First Sergeant cast his eye over the pitiful sight and could only agree with Stradley’s assessment.
“Two shots reported, Roger?”
Rickard and Gardiner dragged out the first body, that of the driver.
“Not him.”
With slightly more reverence, the two pulled the stiff body of the nurse from the vehicle.
The next body spoke volumes with its silence.
“Single shot in the head.”
As did the next body.
“And again.”
“The report said two shots… we have two here.”
Hanebury’s statement required no response.
The two NCOs moved aside as others from the unit closed in to assist.
“Bury them here, Top?”
“Not yet, Sergeant.”
Jerry Ringold, the unit’s unofficial medic, waited for the rest of the words to come.
“Set Bragg on that engine. See if he can get it going. According to my map, there’s a hospital a’ways up the 7312 here.”
A quick recheck of the markings suggested the ambulance did not belong to the unit on his map.
“If we can get it running, we’ll take ’em there. Hustle Bragg up… I don’t wanna hang around longer than necessary.”
Hanebury and Stradley moved to one side, casting a professional eye over the dispositions and actions of their men.
“Thoughts, Rodge?”
“Bunch of commies bounced the truck… would have taken it, but it didn’t work… killed them off to avoid detection… had to shoot a couple… they bugged out on foot, heading for Moscow.”
Hanebury nodded, acknowledging some of it as true, but believing there was more to it.
“Maybe so, Rodger, but maybe not. The two guys shot… both wounded… but clearly lighter wounds than the other poor bastards on the stretchers.”
Grabbing his chin, the First Sergeant thought aloud.
“Driver gets the chop, as do the doc and the nurse. The two stretcher cases too, but not the two guys… single shots… not pistol… distance shots I reckon, not close up… pistol or a knife would have been used.”
He was on a roll now.
“No, distance… they grabbed for something, out of range of the knife guy… no, guys. The cover party did the shoot. Two shots, two kills… sniper rifles.”
Stradley could now see the scenario as clear as Lucifer.
“Smacks of military organisation, not the raggedy arsed survivors we’ve run down of late.”
Jerry Ringold strode up but waited for Hanebury to finish.
“Jerry?”
“Top, pockets rifled, medical supplies all gone. Quick deaths across the board. Single stab, cut, or bullet. Bragg reckons he can fix the engine easily enough… some worn cabling shorting out, that’s all.”
“Thanks, Jerry. If Bragg’s sure, load the poor bastards up again.”
Ringold doubled away.
“Rodger, watch over this. I’m gonna call this in.”
Hanebury moved back to his vehicle, where Nave was waiting with a thermos of hot coffee.
“What gives, Top?”
Hanebury went through his deductions, in between sips of the real stuff, prepared just the way he liked it.
“So we going up there?”
Nave gestured to the hillside behind his commander.
“Nope. We’re gonna get the ambulance going and take the bodies to the facility over at Bräunisheim.”
He swilled back the last of the coffee, and gestured at the silent hillside behind him.
“Why would we go there anyway?”
Nave frowned in genuine puzzlement.
“You mean you haven’t seen it, Top? See here.”
Moving around the vehicle, Arthur Nave moved towards the wood’s edge, his flashlight picking out marks that were now obvious.
“See here, Top. Many feet, spreading out from this point. There’s a strange mark too… regular… like every other step distance, if you look close… like a dragging foot possibly?”
Hanebury looked closer, even prising the torch from Nave’s grasp.
“Goddamnit.”
“I only saw it cos I went for a pee, Top.”
“Uh huh.”
“Reckon it’s where they come from, not went, Top.”
“Same as… how many you reckon, Art?”
“Hard to say, Top. Reckon fifteen… twenty tops.”
Hanebury was looking up at the dark wood, wondering if enemy eyes were upon him already.
He shivered involuntarily.
“Right, Arthur, get the vehicle started up.”
In seconds, Hanebury was at Stradley’s side, filling him in on developments.
His decision was assisted by the sound of a six-cylinder gasoline engine roaring into life.
“Rodger, change of plan…take your boys, get the bodies outta the ambulance… bury them quickly… right here… then take all the vehicles… leave me the ambulance… move down until you’re clear of the valley to…,” Hanebury picked a point on the map, “Here… and set up for all-round defence… and stay alert.”
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