Robert Craven - Get Lenin

Brandt and Kant froze for a split second before diving onto the ice. Olga was already returning fire and a storm-trooper crumpled into the snow. Bullets landed around her. In quick succession she eliminated four anti-aircraft personnel before they could target the people on the ice. With tracer fire streaking around her, she stayed put until the gunners stopped moving. She turned her attention back to the SS troopers; dropping onto her chest and making herself as small a target as possible. She coldly dispatched two more in quick succession.

Kincaid was already aboard with Regan, and Schenker and four armed SS soldiers bundled the embalmers into the hold.

The flying boat’s engines revved, blowing equipment and Brandt’s unit across the ice. Brandt watched Schenker give a cheery wave before closing the aircraft door.

Covering Olga, Kant’s MG-34 started blasting, causing the half-track’s radio antennae to collapse into it. Kramer stood alongside him, targeting the cab, killing the driver and his passenger. They then concentrated on its front tyres. The half-track’s bonnet slumped into the slush with a sigh.

A bullet had penetrated the fuel tank, forcing the remaining storm-troopers out from its protection. Sliding across the ice to Brandt, Bader and Hauptmann pointed toward the carriage as cover. Kramer and Kant half-ran, half-slid, across the ice backwards, shooting. Bader, using Schultz’s radio as a make-shift sledge, was already trying to source a bandwidth now that the jamming had stopped.

The flying boat was accelerating down the ice with the fighter aircraft in tow. Two fighters were already airborne ahead of the behemoth. Amid the whistling bullets, Brandt was desperately looking for an escape route as he scrambled back from being blown down the ice toward the carriage. Ordinance whizzed past him, sending up clouds of snow around him. The carriage offered some protection but they could hear one of the ME-109s coming back around for a sortie.

From its open doors Olga, Koheller, Kramer and Voight were giving Kant and Kramer covering fire. The half-track was now ablaze and its ammunition popped and sputtered like fireworks.

Kravchenko couldn’t believe his eyes. The SS were shooting at their own troops. He didn’t feel any compassion toward the men on the ice. He was impressed though with the speed the small one put the anti-aircraft crews down; one shot, one kill.

He spotted some SS heading out onto the ice out of her line of vision. They were setting up a heavy machine gun with belt-feed bullets. Then he made a decision: the Germans on the ice might be of help to him having been double-crossed.

He lined up his PPSh-1941G, bracing his back against the tree, and opened up with it. The two soldiers writhed under the withering fire, blood pooling across the ice. He surprised two others, shooting them in the back. He stepped toward, the burning half-track slowly, Almost coming face-to-face with another SS trooper, he opened fire from a few feet away.

The scream of a fighter plane beginning its attack run filled the air and an ME-109 swooped past, its on-board cannons blazing. Brandt’s unit crouched, shooting upwards. The fighter's bullets clattered off the carriage, scattering the unit. One of them had been hit and wasn’t moving.

The fighter banked hard, swinging around for another run, the pilot visible, adjusting his sights.

Kravchenko dodging the ammunition crackling all around him, pulled the dead bodies out and sat into the anti-aircraft gun. Knowing absolutely nothing about it, he managed to crank the barrels upward and point roughly in the direction above the carriage.

Fumbling and squinting through the sights, he found and squeezed the trigger. The ME-109 swept into the hail of bullets, shuddering under their impact. Gracefully it began to pitch upwards, smoke billowing from the engine housing. Moments later gravity took over and the plane descended without the pilot baling out. The dull thud of metal hitting earth and a plume of black smoke marked the plane’s end.

The flying boat was now airborne, its immense skis jettisoned onto the ice below. They landed like giant’s footsteps. It banked gracefully to the right like an albatross, followed by the swift fighter aircraft protecting it. Lenin was leaving his motherland on the first stage of his journey to Berlin.

Kravchenko stood watching the flying boat gradually shrinking in size. He cut a piece of white cloth from the winter tunic of a dead SS trooper and, wrapping it around the muzzle of his machine gun, he slipped down the bank onto the ice, waving it as a flag.

Brandt and Kant walked out to meet him, Brandt motioning Olga not to shoot.

Kravchenko could feel sniper's eyes on his face, chest and legs. Death would be instant, painless and, at this moment, almost welcome.

They stood facing each other Putting his machine gun down slowly, Kravchenko reached into his tunic and produced an ornate gold cigarette case. He offered it out to the two haggard-looking Germans who accepted two cigarettes and lit up. They then offered him a light.

The erstwhile enemies stood without saying a word. In the space of three hours Kravchenko had lost his unit and his mission at the hands of these men. For their part, the Germans had been cruelly betrayed, now isolated, and they were all thousands of miles away from home. The snowfall was getting heavier, muffling the sound of the burning half-track.

Kant broke the silence. ‘What do we do now?’

Kravchenko didn’t speak German, but got the gist.

Brandt inhaled the strong tobacco and reached out to shake the Russian’s hand. ‘Danke,’

Kravechenko just nodded.

During his time in the Spanish Civil War, Kramer had learned Russian as a Brigade Commander. He translated for Kravchenko as he spoke to Brandt. In three hours every Russian soldier within a hundred mile radius would be descending on this location. Then he’d be hunted down along with Brandt’s unit. The Russian High Command would not look kindly on their prize possession being snatched so easily.

Brandt studied the man opposite him. The Russian was unusually tall with tightly cropped red hair, deep-set brown eyes and a few days' stubble. He was in his late-thirties, possibly early forties. The slashes and chevrons on his tattered uniform told him that he was Special Forces — NKVD. He would be formidable if he decided to up and leave and take them on as a guerrilla. He was professional enough to accept that a few hours earlier his unit had been killed and lucky to be alive.

Brandt admired this, the Russian quality of accepting the worst at face value and moving on, his priority now being to stay alive which was Brandt's priority too. His hand had a make-shift bandage over a deep cut and he was suffering from lacerations and small burns to his face. In the half-light he looked like a heavy-weight boxer who’d gone ten rounds with Joe Louis and lost. Brandt, Kant and Bader sat in the carriage with him and Olga. She regarded him with barely disguised contempt. ‘Why did you save us?’ she asked.

Kravchenko paused. Her accent was Chechen and he noted her eyes blazed with hatred. He had to turn this back to his advantage. He was gambling on the Germans wanting to square the ambush with the SS Captain and the civilian with the flying boat.

‘I was tempted, very tempted to let you finish each other off, but I thought the only chance of getting out of here alive is with us working together. To be honest, it all happened so fast I wasn’t really thinking, luckily for you,’

Olga’s steely glare didn’t waver. She didn’t trust him. She would watch and wait, then strike. Until Chechnya was free she made it her mission to hunt every Russian down she met and kill them. She recognised Kravchenko’s rank and unit. Her mother had been raped in the 30s by the NKVD hunting down local insurgents. During her ordeal the woman had hidden Olga and her sisters under the living room floor. Her father, returning from the market, had beaten the woman in rage and humiliation. The elders of the village convened and the option of stoning her to death for adultery was suggested before Olga’s grandfather intervened. He took Olga, her sisters and mother up into the hills to his village and gave them sanctuary. As soon as she was able, Olga had mastered her sharpshooting, learning from her grandfather, spending days in the surrounding forests hunting. She discovered she had a natural talent for taking life. As soon as the opportunity arose she was going to cut the Russian’s throat. Looking into her coal-black eyes, Kravchenko knew this also. He gave her the slightest of nods — try it, you’ll regret it . Her gaze remained steady and accusing.