Peno, Eastern Front.

8th December 1941, 3:25 p.m.

German territory.

Winter.

“Both Kaiser and Reich hear not our cause, Heia Ho

We shall be our own court of law, Heia Ho...

The same lawbook for every man, Heia Ho

From the Prince down to the farmer-man, Heia Ho”

- Extract from a German folk song

Karl Tesdorpf glanced over the outskirts of Peno. Situated around a broadening of the Volga River, large enough to be called a lake, the town of Peno was built surrounding and across a peninsula into the river. The shape was too unusual to be natural, but given the age of the architecture in Peno, or that which had not been destroyed, it looked to Karl as if it was just an unexpected coincidence.

The town was an important route over this part of the Volga and a highway into Ostashkov, which was situated some thirty kilometres distant behind Russian lines. Even without that, Karl could see the importance the Army placed on it based on the defences surrounding it. The barrels of anti-aircraft guns peeked over the crenellations on a pair of towers that had stood as long as many German cities. Houses in the outskirts of town had been excavated and their material rebuilt into trenches and redoubts to resist bombardment. Shattered roofs and cratered walls indicated prior attacks, although which side had done the damage Karl couldn’t tell.

Checking over at Oryl beside him, borrowing Karl’s pair of field glasses, he was impressed, although he wouldn’t tell Karl that. The Russian had displayed unanticipated endurance in the march, pushing ahead of Karl at points through the snow. It wasn’t unsurprising that he had survived to this point, although he did seem hesitant to take the lead in their march. There was likely some past issue interfering there but given the man’s reticence to share, Karl didn’t want to press further.

They had run into some trouble finding shelter on the first day, Oryl managing to find one of the few barns that were still occupied, but some hurried Russian from the pair of them, mainly Oryl, and the offer of some food had managed to convince the skeptical farmer that they weren’t going to kill him and allow them a safe sleep in a detached space in his barn. It had been cold, but with blankets and hay they had survived the night.

Now, late in the day on the 8th, they were overlooking the Western side of Peno. Specifically, their sights were set on the road heading into it from German territory. There was a checkpoint outside of town watching for incoming vehicles - a key point in Karl’s plan, which he was narrating to Oryl.

“So the biggest part is that they wouldn’t have told their troops about me. Most people wouldn’t know information like that. So if I show up brazenly, they won’t anticipate it.”

Oryl nodded. “Why not make it look like a Russian attack? I can shoot at you if you want it to be more convincing.” He shouldered his rifle with his good arm, his grin a little too eager for Karl’s liking.

“No. That will make them worry about a breach in the lines and investigate. If it’s natural, they won’t look as far into it.”

Oryl nodded. “I don’t like this plan, but I do like that you’re the one doing it instead of me. Are you ready to head out?”

Karl shook the snow off of his outer jacket, now outside his undershirt as it should be, and nodded. “Until I next see you. All going well, I should come back down this same road with everything we need.” He passed his bag to Oryl, who heaved it onto his good shoulder with his own pack.

With their plan set and everything set up as well as it could be, Karl strode into view of the checkpoint and brazenly ahead, labouring through the snow in his boots. He new that behind him Oryl would be staying out of sight and getting to somewhere safe. He had the rest of the day to get out, before the Russian left to find shelter.

The soldiers manning the checkpoint were bored as expected, lazy eyes scanning the horizon for vehicles moving out of the woods. They didn’t see Karl until he was within earshot, at which point they scrambled for weapons. At least they didn’t sound an alarm in panic.

Karl bent over once he reached the road, coughing. It wasn’t forced either. The long march from Rzhev had truly sapped his strength, and he was hoping for an easy ride out of here. But for that to happen he needed to do a proper job here and now.

He came up the the checkpoint and saluted the soldiers, who snapped a surprised gesture in response. “Sir?” one of them managed.

Karl eyed them down. A young private and a grizzled old corporal, the two left together to learn the ropes and temper each other. “Soldaten,” he asked. “Is this town Peno?” His mother tongue felt smooth to his lips after all the Russian he had been speaking.

That snapped them from their reverie, at least. “Indeed it is,” the corporal managed. “Can I ask your name and unit?”

Karl gave him a half-hearted officer stare. “Hauptmann Karl Tesdorpf. Of the 30th Infanterie-Division, stationed in Demyansk. Has Untersturmführer Braun not returned? I was travelling with him from Rshev when we crashed and were separated in the storm.”

The two glanced at each other. “No, but we have been expecting him back. We will bring your report to the Sturmbannführer. If he has not returned already, there is little that a search party could do.”

Karl’s pulse of relief was followed by a moment of concern. Holger’s death being reported was good for him. It was the one thing that regular soldiers might have heard about that could blow open his story, but thankfully the news had not yet been spread. Perhaps the SS superiors were still deciding how to spin the story.

The concern was due to the presence of such a superior SS officer. Karl had been under the impression that there were very few SS located in Peno, but apparently some of their command elements were.

“In the meantime,” Karl asked, “I believe that the Untersturmführer had been holding my effects for me while I was away from my unit. Might I be able to visit his offices and get those reclaimed?”

The corporal nodded. “Certainly. If you have a word with his assistant you can discuss the matter.”

“Then gentlemen, shall we set off? I am eager to warm my bones and get some proper food.”

The two soldiers eyed each other, sending silent threats at each other through their glares. Finally the private gave in to the older corporal, accepting charge of Karl. “This way, sir,” he said, stepping out of the guardhouse. “I’ll bring you to the Hauptmann in charge of the watch.”

Following behind the soldier, Karl kept his eyes out for anything that might be useful. He noted few soldiers outside, and the few that were looked tired and hungry. Supply lines must be stretched to breaking.

The damage to the town wasn’t as extensive as it appeared from the outside. More intact buildings could be found the closer one got to the centre, culminating in the old town hall and church, the centre of German administration. Beyond that was the rail station, which the Germans had left intact but which was only connected to a severed line further West.

The town hall was an ancient building built in the shape of a U, one wing adorned in scaffolding. A dome on top of the centre was currently adorned with the pale results of the recent storm, as were the rest of the roofs, but a few patches of red brick tiles shone through to complement to carved grey stonework making up the rest of the building.

Karl was led to a windowless office in the town hall while the soldier, private Durnoff, spoke to his superiors. He didn’t hear what the two had to say to each other, but the soldier did look relieved when he returned. Karl’s guess was that the other captain was also not a fan of Holger and hadn’t chewed out the soldier for the news. Feuds between the Army and the SS were often churning just beneath the surface.

The soldier brought him to a waiting room with two chairs. He took one, the private who had come in with him taking the other.

They were joined after a short minute by an SS section leader, out of breath as if he had run there. He burst into the room with a question. “You say you were in a crash with the Untersturmführer? And he went missing afterwards?”

Karl nodded. “I take it you are one of his men?”

The soldier took a moment to slow down. “Yes, hauptmann. My apologies, but the Sturmbannführer has not returned from an inspection of the front lines. You will not be able to report to him until he returns.”

Karl scowled, hiding his relief behind a facade of annoyance. He wouldn’t have to talk his way through the questions of a clued in SS officer. “What do I do about my belongings, then?”

The section leader hesitated. “I believe we were holding them until your matter was resolved. Did the Untersturmführer speak to you about it?”

“Yes, and I have agreed to assist, which is why I was travelling here. Why, did Holger not inform you? Scharführer… Bering?”

The section leader shook his head, hesitant to respond. Karl seized the opportunity. “In that case, I believe you should take that request up with the Sturmbannführer. It isn’t my place to say what information can and can’t be shared - working so closely with Holger you certainly understand. In the meantime, could I ask for my effects? I have sat in these clothes for more than a week, and I believe they are due for a change.”

The section leader considered his position. “I suppose that is acceptable. Very well, Hauptmann. If you wait I shall retrieve your belongings for you, along with a list of what was seized.”

Karl settled back. He had won. “Might I ask for somewhere to wait for the Sturmbannführer’s return? How long do you expect he will be?”

“Within the hour, perhaps. I believe, private, your troops sent word to him? He should be on his way back.”

Karl nodded. “Then I shall await his return. And what about the quarters?”

“That shall be arranged,” Bering said. “If you wait in the Untersturmführer’s offices upstairs, I believe that will be acceptable.”

Karl graciously accepted and was led upstairs again. After a few minutes his belongings were brought in by privates and left for him to check over. He set to the task with glee, and not a little haste.

The soldiers had mistook some of his effects as army issue gear, in particular a canteen and mess tin he had received from his brother, but most of his equipment was here. He loaded it all into his standard issue pack, ready to move out. He confirmed the map of Cholm was there and secure. It was what he came for after all.

A glance across the office indicated it had been stripped. Perhaps that indicated they had known that Holger was already dead, or perhaps that meant that there was information here they didn’t want out of sight. Karl flicked through a few drawers but found nothing but blank paper, which he happily pocketed for his own purposes. No sense leaving the good stuff for the SS.

With a glance around the room, he had everything he needed. All that was left was to get out of the town and away from the SS.

The private outside the door put that option out. He was in the army’s and some of the Wehrmact’s trust for now, but that one private wouldn’t stand for him against a Major, nor could he ask him to. He wouldn’t ask it of his own men.

Glancing around the walls and roof, he could see no other obvious exits unless he made a lot of noise making one. That left the conspicuous option, which he didn’t want to take but may be forced to.

Peering out the window, it looked over a vehicle depot and impromptu stables. There were only a handful of horses present, the rest he imagined fallen to the savage winter. But there were plenty of motor vehicles and not many people minding them, so it wasn’t the worst option for an escape.

That said, unless they had been warmed up there was no sense in trying to take them, as they wouldn’t start anyway. There would be heaters sitting in the guard posts but it would take some serious deception to get access to those.

First things first, Karl removed his officer cap and the extra padding he had added around his ears and took out the stahlhelm he wore into battle to replace it. The cap made him too conspicuous, and with the helm at least he could pass a distant inspection as a regular soldier. He also took the chance to

He considered stealing the uniform from the guard outside his door, or knocking him out and walking out another way, but it was too risky with the number of soldiers inside the town hall.

Glancing through the window, he tried to spot a vehicle that he could safely steal. As he looked out, he spotted a motorcade passing by the gatehouse and approaching the parking bays squashed between the body and two wings of the building. Two motorcycles ridden by German troops escorted a black, full roofed Volkswagen with all the windows closed.

Karl stepped against the wall away from the window to reduce his silhouette from the carpark. The sparse leaves in the tree outside hid the rest of his silhouette. He gazed down upon the approaching vehicles, unsure about what to expect. Perhaps this was the return of the Sturmbannführer.

As the cars pulled up, however, the occupants turned out not to be military men. Two men in grey civilian clothes, trench coats and stiff, almost ironed hats, strode from the car. A pair of soldiers from the town hall hurried to meet them and close the doors behind them, bowing their heads in respect.

Karl kept his eyes on them. He had an inkling who they were, throwing their arms around and complaining about the Russian cold. He had seen their like around Lübeck before he had set off to war, chasing down civilians and making families disappear.

The question was what the Secret State Police were doing in Russia, and whether it had anything to do with him. As one of the policemen paused in his discussion with the soldier to stare up at the room that Karl was currently in, the latter suspicion was ratified.

The four men walked inside, barking some orders to the soldiers accompanying them. They turned their engines back on and stood around the gateway at the front of the lot, awaiting the return of their charges. The car likewise sat with its engine idling, the driver still inside. The group must have been wanting to make a quick turnaround.

Karl had to be quick, as the secret police would be upstairs within minutes if they came to speak with him. He heaved the window open, gusting cold air into the office. A leap into the tree later, and he was on a natural ladder down to ground level, hands grasping at branches as he stepped down the back of the tree.

As he reached the bottom the brancher grew thinner, so he dropped the last metre, bending his legs to absorb the impact and the noise.

The two motorcyclists were wandering around the lot, doing their best to stretch their legs after what Karl could only assume had been a long ride. There was a soldier watching the approaching road from the gatehouse, but his attention was in the other direction so Karl didn’t need to worry about him. The driver inside his car was hidden behind the windows, so it was difficult to tell where he was looking, and there was also the threat of being spotted from any of the windows surrounding the courtyard.

Altogether, it was not going to be easy to get out without being noticed. He doubted he would be recognised by the escorts, but he had no idea who the driver might be or what sort of knowledge he might be privy to.

He snuck around the outside of the courtyard, hiding behind cars and staying out of sight of the driver, into a position behind the stables. There, he took out one of the pieces of paper he had borrowed from the offices he had just left. He then flicked a lighter he had pulled from his personal effects.

Nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing happened. Shaking around the lighter, it was still liquid but he realised again just how cold it was. If he left this lighter out in the snow it might freeze, so of course it would be harder to get the energy necessary to set it alight.

He shook the lighter around, hoping it still held enough warmth from where it was held inside. Once he tried to flick it again, he was awarded with a flickering tongue of heat.

Holding the paper to the lighter, he waited for a handful of seconds until it caught. Not satisfied that the fire wouldn’t die out, he moved the lighter around the area for a few moments until the paper was well and truly alight. It would not burn for long, but burn it would. Then he dropped the paper in an open window of the stable, making sure it landed near one of the horses.

He snuck back around to the other side of the parked vehicles and finished in the shadow of a cart. He checked the window he had left open back above him, expecting something to come out of it any moment now.

A whinny from the stable was followed by a crash, and then the sound of hooves on stone. The other four people in the lot looked over. Karl started to move out of cover towards the parked motorcycles.

The guard by the gate and the two escorts stepped towards the stable, one of the escorts reaching for his weapons. Another distressed whinny came out - perhaps the fire had died. Too early for Karl.

He stepped out of cover and strode towards one of the parked motorcycles. He swung his leg over it, pulled on a pair of goggles and gunned the engine. Then all hell broke loose.

A shout of outrage came from the upper floor as someone spotted the open window. The two escorts heaved opened the double doors to the stable, coming face to face with a distressed mare prancing around inside. The gate guard span and saw Karl pull away from the other vehicles, straight towards him.

The guard dove to the side and Karl roared over the spot he had been standing seconds ago, passing the gate from behind the gatehouse. In another vehicle he would have had to wait or smash through, but the motorbike gave him enough mobility to squeeze through against the wall before ending up back on the road.

Hearing the roar of an engine behind him, the armed escort turned around and drew his pistol. He managed to chew through two shots but both went wide into the wall of the town hall. Lucky for whoever was on the other side, the thick stonework blocked the bullets.

And then Karl was away, around a corner and out of their range. He left behind the two escorts scrambling to right their other motorbike which Karl had knocked over and the driver, who had made it out of his car at the last second, shouting at the two on the top level.

Karl grinned beneath his wind goggles despite the icy wind threatening to tear the flesh from his gums. He was off, just another officer on a joyride as the unlucky soldiers truding along the side of the road wished they could be in his position. His smile went dark again when he thought about the side of his position they didn’t see.

At least he hadn’t had to kill anyone this time.

That relief was drawn short as he heard another engine behind him, further back into town. The escorts were on his trail.

He made a left towards the outskirts of town, back to the road he had first come out from. The engine sounds faded for some time, but as he reached the outskirts of town they came back again stronger.

He blew past the checkpoint in the gap, cutting a short path between the two layers of sandbags across the road and surprising the corporal he had left behind a short hour ago. The soldier stood there, uncertain whether to shoot or let him pass, until the next motorcycle blew through, this time carrying three people.

Karl rode some time out of town, stopping at the crest of a hill and idling his motor waiting for the escorts to catch up. The did so, some fifty metres away from him. Shouting distance.

He got off the bike and they did the same, hands near their weapons. He held his own out in a gesture of peace. “Let us talk! I don’t want there to be any violence. That is not why I stopped here. We are all Germans here, we can talk this out previously.”

One of the two stepped forwards. “You are Hauptmann Tesdorpf, are you not?”

Karl held his thoughts for a second, before deciding to reply. “I am.”

“Then we must bring you in to stand trial for your crimes against other German soldiers.”

And at once, Karl realised who they were. Field policemen. “And what defence am I able to give?”

“Any that is reasonable,” the other called out. “Or that would be the plan. But for now, that is not our job.”

Karl frowned. “And what is your job then?”

“Right now, to find you. Which we have done. You could not go far on such an empty tank after all.”

The two returned to their motorbike, the second calling out again. “We will be nearby. I hope for your sake we will not be needed.”

As they increased their distance, Karl turned to the black car rolling up the hill. It stopped nearby and the three occupants disembarked, their footing unstable on the icy ground without proper boots.

“Mr Tesdorpf,” one of the two from the back called out. A scar stretched from his chin to his lower lip, giving one side of his mouth a snarl. “You can’t run far from us.”

“Not that I know who you are,” Karl countered, anticipating a monologue. If he bought time, he might be able to get out of this. Plus the longer they spent in the cold, the more uncomfortable they would be.

“Perhaps not. But we know you and your family quite well. A shame they don’t respect the regime like you have, and you as a loyal citizen were corrupted and now have to suffer on all your behalfs.”

Karl glanced at each of them, taking in their characteristics. Close cropped hair, pressed uniforms. Poor imitations of soldiers, and ill prepared for the cold to match. “And how do you propose I suffer?”

The three glanced at each other. “We suggest you redeem the dishonour you have brought through service to the fatherland. Time in a forced labour camp, perhaps. Or service to the Party in some other form. Disciplining the rest of your family and devotion to the cause could also redeem you.”

“And what if I decline?” Karl asked, squinting at a reflected glint in the corner of his eye. He eyed the three of them, watching their eyes. Two of them stared at the third, the one with the glasses. He had been the driver. And as his eyes narrowed Karl knew he had made his decision.

The three Gestapo reached for their weapons at the same time he did, although he managed to draw first. His gun was out and pointing at them as the three police let out gasps of pain, clutching their hands and the guns in them. He fired three bullets, a report of their death in triplicate. One shot fired after the other, each one hitting their mark. Three bodies lay on the icy road as the echoes faded away.

“Never,” said Karl as their pained grunts and gasps started to die away, “Touch metal with bare flesh in these temperatures. They will freeze together on contact. Wear gloves at all times.” Instead of taunting them further, he hurried to the motorcycle to check the fuel. As the field police had said, the fuel was almost out. There was no way he would be able to take it to Cholm.

A click by his ear made him freeze. One of the Gestapo, ignoring his fatal wound, had dragged himself back to his feet and walked over in complete silence. Karl had to admire his willpower, as much as the blood ran backwards through his veins in trepidation. He could see the man’s gritted teeth turning down his scar even further through the corner of his eyes.

“Don’t you dare lecture me, angepisst Verräter,” the officer said, holding his hand and gun just out of Karl’s reach. Karl’s breath came thick and fast, his mind spinning in circles while trying to resolve himself to the imminent threat to his life. “You will die alone, and nobody will mourn…”

The rifle shot took out the officer’s shoulder, his arm dangling loosely as the tendons holding it up snapped. The second shot took him in the chest, throwing him back on the ground motionless and cooling in the winter air.

Karl looked around, easing the trembles from his hands. It was never a healthy experience to be so close to death, even with comrades backing him up. He turned and nodded to Oryl in the trees.

The field policemen, watching from a distance, turned and started to drive back to town.

“We ran out of petrol, so the Gestapo went on without us,” one called. “It’s a shame the Staatspolizei were the ones with the spare can of petrol in the back of their car.”

“Weren’t you going to arrest me?” Karl asked, feeling the question worth tempting fate. He glanced over the dead secret police. Six now had died at his hands. He made sure to remember their faces. He would do that much for them at least.

The field police didn’t respond. Looking back to the road, Karl saw that they had headed back into Peno.

“Thank you for you assistance back there,” Karl called to Oryl, switching back to Russian as the other man stepped out of the trees to the side of the road. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” Oryl nodded, and Karl continued. “Help me get this vehicle ready to go. Fuel is in the back of the car. If we take it we can be in Cholm by tomorrow.”

Karl bent down to the three bodies, searching through them. He found exactly what he was looking for. In the breast pocket of each of the bodies was a metal disk on the end of a chain. One side was emblazoned with a Reichsadler, an eagle holding an oak lef and a swastika. The other side was marked with the words - Geheime Staatspolizei, and a four-digit number. The Gestapo warrant, and most importantly one that didn’t identify the agent’s name and face, just their number.

“Perfect,” he muttered to himself.

Meanwhile, as Oryl stepped over to work on heaving the can of oil out of the car and emptying the chilled material into the motorbike’s tank, he muttered something off to the side, too quiet for Karl to hear. “No. I am the one who should thank you.”