by Silent Draco
Part 3
2050, 20 Jun 45, Base Gold Four, American Zone of Occupation
“Colonel Sellers, pleasure to see you and colleague again!” boomed Colonel Novoshenko. His face grew long as he added, “But news with ill wind have you? Comrade Lieutenant Simirov, your radio said, and some of his men?”
“Yes, sir – we’re not quite sure what happened, but they had some type of incident. We found their bodies … and, Comrade Colonel, we carefully laid the Lieutenant’s body out with dignity on the grass. We checked him and his men for ID, so we could give you a casualty report.” Novoshenko read the proffered report and list, and pulled slowly at his chin. “This looks unusual, in a way that I must report to higher headquarters. Ten, officer and men, you noted? And this German national, a ‘Johannes Schmidt’ like Ivan Ivanovich, what was he doing there — and what did he do?!” The last phrase cracked like a rifle bullet.
“That’s something we also want to know. We did our patrol on both sides of the Zone boundary, as we’re authorized, Comrade Colonel, and found this mess almost at our 5 km limit. We touched nothing, except to let the Lieutenant’s body down with appropriate respect for a fallen soldier. The Kraut? He was there, about three-quarters dead or so. I was lucky our medic could bring him around. Looked like someone tried to strangle him.”
“Da. Da, and you take pictures, I will have all your negatives and pictures! This German, has he come to his sense yet?”
“You’ll get full copies, Comrade Colonel, just like our missing French friend, all by the book. The Kraut came to when he got here; shot of uppers and some hot coffee, but he’s shaky. We asked the basics, who he was, papers, what he was doing there. We got name, serial number, discharge date, and then he keeled over again. Something about coming west to find an aunt and uncle, and grandmother. Something about tea with grandmother again?” “Tea for Grandmother, I believe,” added Griffin, “the fellow was in rather poor shape. The pep-up might have toppled him right off, what, eh?” He excused himself, “Right, I’ll organize the medico and the German, and perhaps a bite for the road as well.”
“It grows dark, but I have searchlights to view the area now. Bring the German and your medic … if you please, Comrade Colonel Sellers?” Novoshenko smiled as politely as he could, with three teeth missing. “You mentioned no guard at location, or taking custody of weapons, and nothing must be hampered … handled. I have here,” waving an envelope, “orders to investigate espionage and sabotage against soldiers of Great Soviet Union! I will not wait for capitalist trick to change game!”
2150, 20 Jun 45, near Eisenach
Colonel Novoshenko was taking no chances, thought Colonel Sellers. We have our usual details and an extra security team, but be brought … looks like an engineer detachment and a full company of infantry! Chances with whom, I wonder? “Colonel, this appears to be the turn- off we need,” he yelled, gesturing to his left. “There’s the yellow flag we put in the tree.”
Novoshenko snapped orders at the company officers. The engineers set up a generator and the searchlights, and soon the area looked almost like day. The infantry company deployed around the site, out of the lights, with a reaction platoon near the vehicle park. He looked with approval, turned to the Western officers, and shrugged. “Security. We don’t know who or what may be here, in the dark. So, had captain set up for surprises. Now, we examine!” He gestured curtly to his official team, and they began at the west side and moved east. Simirov’s body waited to last. Griffin murmured to Sellers, “Surprises of all sort, one imagines. I had a word with Collins about some of our own. I only hope the Pathfinders haven’t all scarpered off east.” Sellers grumbled “Yeah, I sent the same message up my chain, but we’re on their side of the line, and it’s their rules. I hate away games.”
The Soviet team looked uneasily at the dead soldiers, but carried on stolidly. Novoshenko directed half the lights to shine on Simirov’s body. In the brighter light, he swore profusely and the remainder of his team blanched. One squad of the reaction platoon looked at the commotion, and at least half furtively crossed (or attempted to) themselves at the sight. Simirov was not just hung; he had been completely eviscerated, in what looked like two separate steps. And there was more, or perhaps less, on his back.
“Sellers! Griffin! Why you not say this! Our brave Soviet son, tortured to death! Nie,” peremptorily waving off explanation, “bring German here, now!” Rogers and the medic walked Johannes slowly over. The German was still in a daze; looking in confusion at the searchlit area, he began to fade again. Novoshenko gestured; at the medic’s reluctant face, he repeated angrily, and beckoned to the captain. With two crisp orders, a reaction squad locked in magazines and chambered rounds. The medic sagged, and prepped Johannes for another shot. “I don’t know how long this will work, Comrade Colonel, or if it’ll kill him, … sir.” Sellers kept a straight face; if the Russian realized how much Silent Insolence was just used on him, he’d be out a medic and no explanation given.
Novoshenko took the medic’s slow and reluctant reply as deference to a senior officer, and peered intently into Johannes’ face as we became more alert. “Nein, NEIN!” he screamed, looking around, “No sounds, No SOUND!” The Soviet grabbed his arm, twisting slightly, and began questioning. “Who are you really, Johannes Schmidt? Party man? Black market, Werewolf!?” He ripped the man’s shirt open, glancing away with disappointment. “Not SS. No scar, no tattoo.” He noticed the favored leg; stepping on that foot, he twisted the arm more and demanded “Speak! Who are you really! What are you doing here, what did you and your wreckers do?”
To be continued!