Wilf estimated that the soldier looked to be no older than twenty. He judged the soldier to be a similar height to his own. The double-edged fighting knife was now in his right hand: the Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife, his favourite weapon. He didn’t relish using it, but from his experiences in the Falklands, he knew it was an effective weapon and a relatively silent method of securing a kill. Taking one step at a time, nudging anything aside with his toecap that he felt would make a noise if stepped on, he moved closer and closer. Less than a metre, the soldier humming away to himself, drawing on his cigarette, the red glow lighting up his young face, oblivious to the stalker that was close behind him. A twig cracked, and the sentry pushed himself off the tree, not sure what he had heard, stubbing out his cigarette in panic in case it was that bastard of a sergeant doing his rounds.
Wilf didn’t hesitate. He sprang forward, clamped his left hand over the sentry’s mouth, crushing his face, pulling the man’s helmeted head tight into the crick of his own neck and shoulder. His right hand pulled back, gripping the commando dagger, and he slammed the blade deep into the soldier’s kidney. He felt the young man tense, desperately trying to open his mouth in response to the terrible shock that resonated through his entire body. Wilf pushed the guard past the soldier’s own webbing and the seven-inch blade bit deep into his body, using the man’s own weight to assist him. As the soldier started to recover from the shock, Wilf withdrew the blade and slammed it in again, before withdrawing it and slicing across the soldier’s throat, sliding it in a saw-like motion to cut through the gristle, severing the trachea. Not once did his hand move from the man’s mouth. The killing was silent, and Tag came forward to help Wilf lower the body quietly and drag the dying man under cover. By the time they had pushed him against the wall of the building, he was dead. They stripped him of any documentation in his possession, perhaps helping to identify the unit; then left him.
“Nice one, Wilfy, but now we’d better fucking move before he’s missed.”
Wilf didn’t need any encouragement. He collected his kit and led them both back to the edge. A quick scan showed the area was clear, and they ran, hunched down, across the open concrete ground to the main building. They both felt exposed as they moved south along the side of the building reaching the corner where they could see the communications vehicles spotted earlier. There was no one around. The men who manned it were probably sitting in the box-body or even asleep somewhere. The humming of the generator was masking any noise they might make. Turning the corner, Wilf moved west, looking for an entrance, a window, somewhere that would give them a view inside the building. Very soon, they turned another corner and were creeping north on the other side, some trees providing temporary cover.
“It’s going to be at the other end, Wilfy.”
“Yeah, I know, a real pisser. We have to be quick. Any minute they could be looking to change their sentries.” He checked his watch: two-fifteen. “If they change on the half-hour, we have fifteen minutes.”
“Let’s go then.”
This time, Tag took point, and they moved as swiftly as they dared along the full length of the building, slowing down before they reached the north-west corner. On their way, they saw another guard patrolling along the length of a one-metre high wall that ran along the western perimeter, and four more manning the double gate that closed off the entrance. North of the building an array of military vehicles were parked up; spread over a large area, cam-netting draped over them to hide the recognisable shapes from the air. There were box-bodies, a couple of troop carriers and a scattering of MTLBs, a T-64 and two BMP-2s. Engines could be heard starting up, and soldiers were in the process of de-camming one of the BMPs.
Tag indicated they move back and hissed in Wilf’s ear, “This is a fucking Div HQ all right, and they’re getting ready to move.”
“It’s not a main though. It’s not big enough.”
“You’re right, probably a Forward CP.”
“We need to make it quick. It’s five minutes to the half-hour.”
The two men backtracked, turned left around the end of the building, watching the communications truck as they moved past it. At the far corner, they halted, and Tag peered around the corner. They would need to stick close to the building for about twenty metres before crossing over to where they had left the dead sentry.
Tag was about to signal Wilf to move when they heard the shout.
“Vasily… Vasily.”
“Fuck, Wilfy, they’re going to discover he’s missing pretty damn soon.”
A door banged open from the Ural-375. They too had received orders to pack up and move out.
“We need to move sharpish, Wilf. We’re buggered if we hang around here.”
“Vasily, ты где?”
“What’s he shouting, Wilf?”
“No idea.”
“I thought you spoke Russian.”
“So did I. We’ll make a dash for it. Straight for Badger and Hacker.”
“Vasily, ты где?”
Bent over low, the two men sprinted for the location where they had left the two others, time becoming critical now.
“Vasily. Kто это?”
“Shit, run!” yelled Wilf. They sprinted, a 100 metre dash to the wrecked box-bodies and another ten would see them in the trees, their boots pounding on the hardened ground as they raced for cover.
“Kто это?”
“Kто это?”
Crack, crack, crack.
A three-round burst tore up the ground to the side of the running men just before they whipped round behind the trucks, giving them a breather. Within seconds, they were in amongst the trees and in the prone position ready to return fire.
There were more shouts from the direction of the building, and additional clamour from the direction of the communications vehicle.
“We go east,” called Wilf. “Badger, Hacker, take out that foxhole and follow us. We’ll wait for you by the track.”
“Roger.”
“Go.”
Badger and Hacker quickly made their way behind the foxhole. One of the soldiers was standing on the edge looking towards the direction of the commotion; the other was inside, his gun at the ready. Badger, using a garrote dragged the choking soldier out of his hole, while Hacker slit the throat of the other. The Soviet conscript soldiers didn’t even hear them coming and died not really knowing what the war was all about in the first place. The two men weaved through the trees and met up with Tag and Wilf. They all followed the edge of the trees to the north before dropping down into a gully running east. Fifty metres found them at the track.
Wilf called them together. “This gully continues east. After 200 metres, it splits north and south. We go north, get to the outskirts of Lehrte, then run east back to the railway line. Yes?”