A Ukrainian junior NCO, the foremost of the silent killers, stumbled in his haste to get at the two men, bringing down the man behind, granting the Russians a temporary reprieve.
The Marine rifleman worked his bolt, but the action proved stiff, and the weapon remained silent.
Untangling arms and legs, the two fallen Ukrainians picked themselves up and moved forward, with fatal consequences.
Without warning, the Lance-Corporal sprang forward at the precise moment that the silenced Sten opened fire, perforating the Ukrainian NCO’s back with half a dozen bullets, and dropping him lifeless into the snow.
Shocked at his error, the gunner did not continue to fire, granting a second stay of execution to the Soviet rifleman.
Sergeant Demchuk turned his attention from Dudko to the two marines, placing a pair of his remaining bullets in the side of the nearest man’s head.
Low power or not, the .22’s ripped through delicate brain tissue, killing the man instantly.
The HDM moved to the surviving marine and clicked.
‘Mudaks!’
The Soviet bayonet is not a throwing weapon, but the desperate man got lucky, and the point caught Demchuk in the left eye, burrowing deep enough to drop him instantly to the ground.
Grabbing up his PPSh, the surviving Russian screamed a warning to his comrades, pulling the trigger without a meaningful target in his sights.
Frozen urine, deposited by himself some time beforehand, the act of a man wishing to remain in cover as he exposed his genitals, had virtually cemented the trigger and bolt in place, rendering the weapon useless.
The Sten gunner, now recovered from the shock of his terrible error, ended the marine’s resistance.
The survivors of ‘Sestra’ dropped into the new position and caught their breath.
Corporal Tkachuk, now in charge, was a steady man and rapped out orders.
“Grab the HDM and the HT from our Demchuk, and get him into cover.”
He grabbed an old soldier by the arm.
“Do what you can for him, Roman.”
Lance-Corporal Roman knew exactly what was expected of him.
Tkachuk gestured at the kneeling Russian, softly moaning on the snow path ahead.
“Get that in here out of the way… and kill the fucking bastard.”
Men moved off quickly to do the tasks.
The Corporal accepted the HDM and HT without a word, noting that Roman was not moving the wounded sergeant.
Two men dragged the bleeding Russian by his arms, leaving a small red smear behind all the way to the edge of the bunker.
“Fuck me, Pjotr. This one’s an officer!”
The stroke of luck was accepted, although the price had been high.
“Don’t kill him. Gag the bastard…plug his holes… tie him up… you’ve got a minute.”
His radio message had to convey everything so that Shandruk could make a decision.
“Tato from Sestra. New position taken. Two men dead,” as he spoke, the corpse of his Sergeant was dragged past, confirming his suspicions, “One wounded enemy officer in hand. Over.”
“Tato, out.”
Shandruk carefully placed the HT on the edge of the position, his mind working overtime.
‘There’s no alarm yet… so why change anything?’
The HT was back in his hand.
“Tato, all units. Proceed with plan.”
‘Sestra’ was supposed to be outside number ‘Eight’, the largest building on the site, positioned at the end of a line of structures that were assumed to be barracks. Building ‘Seven’ had been the one whose open door had surrendered the presence of both Reynolds and the Russian officer to O’Farrell’s observation, and was to be visited by ‘Sestra’ after the larger structure.
Improvising, Shanduk contacted ‘Babushka’, and ordered two of the four men providing rear security to double up to ‘Sestra’, and bring up their numbers; ‘Sestra’ was ordered to hold and not move into Building ‘Eight’ until reinforced.
The Ukrainian leader justified the change in timetable in exchange for a full assault team on ‘Eight’.
“Brat. Ten, empty. Ammunition store, torpedoes and such… over.”
“Tato, out.”
Jenkins’ stock went up again, as she and her Sergeant had suggested that, given its location, ‘Ten’ was most likely to be a store for submarine replenishment. That meant that ‘Brat’ would be moving onto ‘Eleven’ more quickly, which Shandruk was happy to permit.
None the less, there was something that was troubling the commander, and he made a decision that went against everything that had been put in place.
“Tato, Mama. New orders… take Twenty-three and Seventeen… send the MG42 to me… over.”
Kuibida was surprised by the order, but acted immediately, dispatching the machine-gun team, and moving his own men up towards building ‘Nine’.
‘Twenty-three’ had not been spotted originally, and its existence was only found when Jenkins’ Sergeant went back over the film evidence for the umpteenth time. Even then it was difficult to be certain, but the ‘whatever-it-was’ got a number, just in case.
“Tato, Brat… did you understand… over?”
“Brat, out.”
Men from the Brat group were already moving into Building ‘Eleven’, where more naval personnel lay ripe for the slaughter.
Dedushko’s silent killers moved on to ‘Seven’, dealing with a half-conscious man in the latrine, before moving through the hut with deadly efficiency.
From the cover of ‘Nine’, Kuibida sent a group of four men forward, their classic group for small and silent assaults, infra-red and silenced weapons covering the two edged weapons leading.
As they approached target ‘Twenty-three’, it materialized into what was very obviously a camouflaged structure. The grass and snow-covered building was suddenly revealed for what it was. The door frame became illuminated from inside as a light was switched on, and the silence was broken by the loudest of belches, as an occupant stirred to answer a call of nature.
Whilst the building was a store room, a guard had been placed in the building to reduce pilferage, and it was the guard commander who had awoken.
The man opened the door, clad in a greatcoat and already exposing his genitals, so as to rid himself of his weighty burden in as short a time as possible.
He saw death approaching and shouted loudly…
… and briefly…
The leading Ukrainian drove the commando dagger home with all his force, knocking the man off his feet. With his assailant lying on top of him, stifling any further noise with his free hand, Lieutenant Masharin died quietly and quickly.
The second attacker leapt over the mass of arms and legs and into small hut, where he stabbed twice into something that was just starting to stir from under thick blankets; fatally so.
Evancho, one of the covering men, laughed loudly, creating more noise, but did so deliberately. To add to the consternation in the ‘Mama’ group, the quick-thinking man shouted in Russian.
“Get back in here and shut that fucking door, you clumsy fuck!”
At first, Kuibida wanted to throttle Evancho, the idiot, but quickly understood the man’s reasoning, and nodded his agreement.
Less than sixty metres away, a marine on guard, wrapped in a greatcoat and blankets, was reassured by the outburst. He closed his half-open eyes, cradled his SVT rifle closer, and dropped back off to sleep.
‘Mama’ moved on and immediately ran into another unexpected obstacle.
Kuibida raised his clenched fist and the group melted into the ground.
Whispering to his second-in-command, he gestured at some lumps to the right.
“Blyad. I think there’s actually three locations here, Konstantin. See there? One… two… three?”
“You’re right, Sturmscharfuhrer. Our little bird missed two… look there.”