“Handy hock, you fucking Krauts”
The medical infantryman practised his recently acquired German.
The two men in brown looked at him with great concern as they slowly raised their hands.
“C’mon, you kraut fucks, handy hock!”
“It’s Hände hoch, you idiot.”
He looked at the MP Corporal and spat derisorily.
“Yeah well, what-fucking-ever, corp’ral…handy hock, you sons of bitches.”
He looked back at the MP to see if his bravado was having an effect, but saw something else written large upon the man’s face.
“Cover them… don’t shoot them… ok?”
Not waiting for a reply, the MP was off at the run, returning quickly with a Sergeant from his unit.
“Reckon you’re right at that, Smitty.”
The senior NCO strode forward, addressing the taller of the two men.
“And who the fuck are you then, pal?”
His question was greeted with a blank expression, as Nikki could speak no English.
The sergeant turned his attention on the other man, conscious of something about the ragged uniforms that he couldn’t quite work out.
“What’s your name then, eh?”
Mikki, slowly dropped his hands, watched every millimetre of the way by a growing number of American onlookers.
“I are Mayor General Mikhail Gordeevich Sakhno.”
He nodded towards Nikki.
“You am Polkovnik Nikanor Klimentovich Davydov.”
Lenz had kept the two Soviet officers alive since the ambush in Ainau Woods, all those months previously, although they had expected death every single day.
The two were swept up in the move back to the hospital, where the wounded received the best of care, and the two former senior commanders of the 10th Tank Corps ate their first decent meal since August the previous year.
Army intelligence personnel arrived, and the two Soviet officers were quickly whisked away to another place, where impatient men waited with important questions.
[Author’s note – The exploits of SS Kommando Lenz exceeded the efforts of any other Werewolf unit, or, as is often suggested, all other Werewolf units put together.
Without a doubt, the feat of keeping the unit active and fighting-fit was unique in Werewolf history, and SS Kommando Lenz proved a major thorn in the side of the Soviet forces in occupation.
However, true to his oath and mission, Lenz opposed all foreigners on his soil and, unlike a number of other clandestine units, waged war on Allied and Soviet soldiers equally.
Their war ended on 15th June 1946.
Only Emmering and Schipper survived the battle, although Emmering did not survive the night, dying of his wounds on the stroke of midnight, despite the best efforts of the hospital surgery team.
Schipper regained sufficient health to be tried for his membership of the SS Kommando. He was hanged as a war criminal on 24th December 1947 for his part in the murder of Bruno Weber, as witnessed by the man’s son and heir, and for his collective responsibility for the slaying of ambulance personnel on the road to Bräunisheim.
Lenz and the rest of his men lie somewhere in the valley to the southwest of Bräunisheim, buried in an unmarked communal grave on the final day of their resistance.
The debate on honouring him and his troopers has now faded away, bringing no positive result for the family and friends of the fallen members of SS Kommando Lenz. A temporary effort, built near Ainau, was heavily vandalised within a week of its erection.
In the end, it would appear that their countrymen would prefer to forget the efforts of Lenz and his men.
The 2nd Special Platoon, 16th Armored Military Police Battalion, 16th US Armored Division was not reconstituted, and the surviving personnel found themselves distributed between the remaining units in the 16th Division.
Hanebury, Collier, Shufeldt, and Nave were all evacuated stateside, and none would ever actively soldier again, although Nave remained in service until the war’s end, and Hanebury went on to a career in US law enforcement, achieving the position of Chief of Police before retiring.
In 2016, the surviving members of the unit will gather in the village of Bräunisheim for what will probably be their last reunion.
Corporal Arthur Nave [93], First Sergeant Richard Shufeldt [96], and Captain Rodger Stradley [96] are the last survivors of Lucifer’s platoon.
Chapter 157 – THE MASKIROVKA
Hateful to me as are the gates of hell, is he who, hiding one thing in his heart, utters another.
The engineer looked smug and questioned the naval officer once more.
“Satisfied now, Comrade Kapitan?”
Captain Second Rank Mikhail Stepanovich Kalinin was partially satisfied that the site was clearly fit for purpose, and partially annoyed that he had not been able to wipe the constant smug look off the abominable civilian’s face by finding it.
“It’s well hidden, I’ll give you that, comrade.”
The obnoxious man chuckled and gave the order to put in to shore.
“We shall impress you even more when we get inside, Comrade Kapitan.”
The launch moved close into the land, but Kalinin maintained his close watch, occasionally raising his binoculars to examine a straight line, or a curved one, anything that could give the base some form to prying eyes.
He saw nothing of note, save nature flourishing, untackled by man.
The boat grounded and the engineer led the way, splashing his way up to the beach, before turning to wait for Kalinin, the triumph of his achievement writ large on his face.
Kalinin dropped into the water and looked around him, assuming that the boat had grounded near to the site that was the object of the morning’s search.
The old boathouse caught his eye immediately, as it had on the run in, and he used the proximity to examine it more closely.
It was simply an old boathouse.
Morsin, the engineer, waited patiently as Kalinin used the steadiness of the beach to scan the coastline to the north and south.
‘Nothing.’
“Perhaps you would like to look from up there, Comrade Kapitan?”
Morsin indicated the hill and the rough stone steps set in its front edge.
By way of an answer, Kalinin set off with a will, determined to leave the civilian floundering in his wake.
Reaching the top first, the submariner took in his surroundings, first with the naked eye and then with the powerful naval binoculars.
He had been part of the planning of the facility, so had some idea of what he was looking for, the size and extent of it, but there was nothing even close… and yet here it was… apparently.
The engineer arrived, seemingly on death’s door from his climbing exertions.
He placed his hands on his knees and took his time to recover, every second of which Kalinin used to find the damned facility.
Reluctantly, he dropped his binoculars to his chest.
“I have to say, Comrade Engineer Morsin, the camouflage is excellent. I cannot see it, I cannot sense it… there seems to be nothing at all of interest for kilometres around.”
Morsin held up his hand as he gulped in volumes of oxygen.
“It is how we were ordered, Comrade. There… should be nothing to alert Allied observation, either from… the air or from the sea.”
Kalinin nodded, happy that, wherever it was, the facility would not be detected.
“Fine, the job is clearly excellent, Comrade Engineer. Now, let us go and inspect the damn thing. Show me… where is it?”