The remainder were split between the units that would be deployed outside the perimeter of the hospital.
Hanebury’s vehicles rallied below the height, and he got his unit mounted in record time, before they moved off, heading for their allocated line of march down Route 1229.
Stradley’s force was already heading down the 7312, in the direction of Altheim.
Those that were the hunted had regrouped and concealed themselves on the side of a sharp rise that oversaw a small valley, some two hundred metres off the Ettlenscheisserweg, one kilometre north-east of Lonsee.
It was the rally point that Lenz had originally selected, and it proved an excellent spot for him and his men to hide up, although the lack of a close water supply was not in the location’s favour. However, there was one only five hundred metres to the southeast, which made the site almost perfect.
Well-concealed by the thick canopy of trees, the undergrowth was lush and welcoming and, despite the numerous small paths used by forest workers, a large area away from the beaten track proved perfect for the Kommando to rest and recuperate.
The report from Weiss regarding the military presence in the camp, and the subsequent foray precisely to the position the Kommando had occupied was met with silence, although every man was aware that their commander’s decision had undoubtedly saved them from a difficult situation.
“Thank you, Unterscharfuhrer. I’ve set the guard… now get some sleep. We’ll move to the southeast when it’s dark.”
Weiss’ men needed no second bidding, and they soon joined the lucky ones from the main body, curled up on soft vegetation, and dreaming of a time when they could sleep in a bed with sheets and pillows.
The old man carrying the saw and axe stumbled and cursed.
“Verdammt!”
Lenz, having taken himself off to one side, had fallen into a deep sleep, from which the man’s shout had swiftly dragged him.
Gripping his PPSh tightly, he tried to orient himself, seeking the source of the noise, trying to establish the level of threat to his well-being.
Despite his years of service, his heart pounded, making a tangible sound in his throat.
Something broke underfoot, immediately jerking his head off to the right, where a man emerged from behind a large trunk.
He eased the Russian sub-machine gun out of the way and found the handle of his combat knife, a wide flat-bladed and double-edged weapon he had taken from a dead hand in Yugoslavia.
Silence was a key requirement of the Kommando, and he planned to kill the man without a single murmur.
The German woodsman stopped and examined a lofty trunk, clearly assessing everything about the tree.
Finally, he lit up a cigarette, and looked around to choose a felling path.
The man did a double take, noticing Lenz lying in the undergrowth.
Lenz placed a finger to his lips, and stood up, trying to appear as unthreatening as a man wearing a camouflaged jacket and holding a large knife can appear unthreatening.
The woodsman’s eyes widened at the SS insignia apparent on Lenz’s camouflage jacket, and the other insignia and medals clearly in display where he had opened the jacket up before falling asleep.
Lenz walked forward, looking around in case there was more than one.
“Kamerad, you are local?”
“Yes, yes, Herr Offizier… Bruno Weber… I live just back there…”
The woodsman turned his torso to point at his hamlet, less than a kilometre to the south, his eyes seeking something else in the undergrowth.
Sharp metal protruded from the side of his neck before the woodsman even suspected that Lenz had covered the three metres between them.
The entire blade had made the journey through the man’s flesh, the metal buried guard-deep from one side of his neck to the other.
Taking the dead man’s weight, Lenz carefully lowered the corpse to the ground as he continued to survey the area.
A figure rose out of nowhere, then another, then there were four.
The last one still kept his rifle lined on his target.
Unterscharfuhrer Uwe Weiss gestured at his men, and they spread out around the killing area, protecting their commander.
The rifleman relaxed and turned outwards, keeping his eyes focussed and his senses alert.
Weiss did not salute; the Kommando was well past such things.
“Hauptsturmfuhrer, you’re unhurt?”
Lenz recovered the blade from the woodsman’s neck, having to put a steadying foot on the head to get enough purchase to wrench it free.
“I’m unhurt, thank you, Unterscharfuhrer. Explain?”
“We didn’t know you were there. We watched him… thought he was walking past, so I decided to let him go… then he didn’t, and spotted you.”
Weiss shrugged his shoulders.
“He made a bad decision.”
Sliding the blade into its scabbard, Lenz could only agree.
Taking a last look at the corpse, he posed the real question.
“Bad luck for him… but will he be missed?”
It was a rhetorical question, his mind already made up to move the Kommando as soon as possible. That would depend on the balance of their physical needs against his interpretation of the likelihood of discovery.
There was also another factor to consider.
“How’s Jensen?”
“He’s feverish and the leg is undoubtedly infected, Hauptsturmfuhrer. Emmering’s had to gag the poor bastard to keep him quiet.”
Lenz took a moment to himself.
‘He needs medical help… but what can I do…’
His face set.
‘You will do what you must, of course!’
“Let’s get back and get the boys moving. I want distance between us and this place as quickly as possible. Get your men to hide the body.”
Lenz moved away, leaving Weiss to organise the disappearance of the evidence.
The three men made a reasonable scrape in the ground and dragged the corpse into it, shovelling the earth back again, and adding rocks and undergrowth for good measure.
Weiss admired the men’s handiwork and decided that the body would not easily be found, at least not until they were well away from the area.
On the verge of leaving the site, he decided on one last look.
Immediately, his senses lit off, the senses of a combat veteran, honed in the hardest schools that war can offer.
He dropped to his knee, bringing his ST44 up in readiness, his eyes searching for some clue to the presence that he felt.
His men responded in kind.
Eyes moved from left to right, ears strained to catch the tiniest sounds, and bodies tensed, ready for immediate action.
There was nothing.
No sound.
No movement.
Nothing.
Weiss rose up and relaxed his grip on the assault rifle.
“I thought I heard something… obviously not. Let’s go.”
The small group moved off in military fashion, leaving the small space to the trees and the dead.
Peter Weber hardly dared breathe, the tears streaming down his face, but the grief he felt at watching his father murdered controlled, simply to preserve his own life.
He waited for what seemed like a lifetime before heading away, as best as his one leg and crutches would allow, heading to warn his family that the SS were back.
The Kommando was up and ready to move.
Lenz and Emmering finished a private conversation, and Emmering quietly called for the SS soldiers to listen, and detailed an order of march.