The Third Reich:Shadows of the Golden Eagle

Chapter 154: The Way Out...No Way Out

Gustaf and Herrmann had barely made it out of the mansion alive. After a brutal fight with the guards, they smashed through the front gate with their battered truck, tires screeching as they sped down the gravel road.

Suddenly, both men looked at each other at the exact same moment.

"Haven’t we forgotten something?" Gustaf asked.

Herrmann’s eyes widened. "Oh..."

At the same time

"Hah... hah... hah..."

Josef’s heavy breathing cut through the night as he powered through the freezing water. The Black Sea was merciless, its icy grip biting into every muscle.

"Fuck this goddamn sea!" he roared, spitting out saltwater. "It’s so fucking cold!"

In the distance, the faint silhouette of a little wooden house stood on the shore, growing smaller with every stroke. Josef kept swimming, cursing between gasps.

"Those little bastards..."

Another breath.

"Just... leaving me here..."

And so, Roter Schatten – Plan B was successful.

One third of the main-mission was complete. Gustaf and Herrmann had managed to fight their way through the guards and smash the truck through the mansion gate, disappearing into the night. For now, they had to lie low, stay quiet, stay hidden, no unnecessary risks.

The others, however, still had a lot of work ahead of them. Or perhaps... they had already done it.

Two hours earlier, somewhere on the outskirts of Kiev

The city lights had long faded behind the thick wall of trees. Only the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant call of night birds broke the silence.

Creak.

"Have you heard that?" one of the men whispered, freezing mid-step.

"Hm?!"

Creak.

A flashlight beam sliced through the darkness as the two guards moved cautiously toward the sound. Their boots sank slightly into the damp forest floor.

"What is it? An animal?" the first man asked, raising his Kalashnikov a little higher, finger hovering near the trigger.

"Probably," the other muttered, sweeping his flashlight left and right. He shook his head, annoyed. "Just some damn deer or stray dog. Come on, the night is still long."

He groaned and turned to leave.

"Yes... it is."

An unknown voice spoke calmly right behind him.

Before he could react, a strong hand clamped over his mouth. A cold blade slid across his throat in one motion. Blood gushed hot and fast from the deep wound, spilling down his chest. His eyes widened in shock as he tried to scream, but only a wet gurgle escaped.

From the corner of his eye, he saw his companion already collapsing to the ground, a dark figure crouched over him.

The flashlight fell from his weakening fingers and hit the mossy ground, its beam spinning wildly before going still.

And so the night continued... long and bloody.

While Gustaf and Herrmann were already racing away in the stolen truck, and Josef was fighting the freezing Black Sea, two other members of Roter Schatten were carving a merciless path through the Soviet military base on the outskirts of Kiev.

Skozeny and Seiler, clad in black combat suits that blended perfectly with the night, moved like shadows between the barracks and watchtowers. Behind them stretched a river of blood.

They had slipped past the outer perimeter twenty minutes earlier. Since then, every guard who crossed their path had met the same fate.

Skozeny wiped his knife on a dead soldier’s uniform and signaled Seiler with two fingers. They moved forward again, sticking to the darkest corridors between the buildings. The base was large, but poorly lit, exactly as their intelligence had promised.

Another patrol turned the corner ahead. Three men this time.

Seiler raised his suppressed Tokarev pistol. The exact weapon favored by NKVD exucation squads. Two quiet pfft-pfft sounds cut through the night. The first two soldiers dropped instantly. The third had just enough time to open his mouth before Skozeny was on him, driving the blade up under his ribs and twisting once. The man’s eyes bulged, a final gurgle escaping as he slid to the ground.

"Clear," Skozeny whispered, barely audible.

The lesser officers died first.

Skozeny and Seiler slipped into the barracks one by one. Quick, silent shots to the back of the neck while the men were still sleeping. The suppressed Tokarev TT-33 pistols made almost no sound. Each victim twitched once and went limp. Then the bodies were dragged roughly onto the floor and arranged with foreheads pressed to the ground, arms slightly behind their backs, the classic NKVD execution posture from the Great Purge.

Spent 7.62×25mm casings were deliberately left scattered around the bodies, glinting faintly in the dim light.

"He seems to be awake still?" Seiler whispered, as he saw the thin line of light streaming from beneath the door.

Skorzeny nodded silently, pressing his back against the wall beside the doorframe. He held up two fingers, then pointed at himself and then at Seiler.

Seiler drew his suppressed Tokarev TT-33 and gave a short nod.

He kicked the door open with one powerful motion.

General Konstantin Konstantinovich Rokossovsky sat at a small wooden desk, still fully dressed in his uniform, reviewing a stack of overnight reports under the weak glow of a single desk lamp. The legendary Marshal looked up, his piercing eyes narrowing the instant the door flew open.

Before he could reach for the pistol lying on the desk, Seiler was already behind him. A gloved hand clamped brutally over Rokossovsky’s mouth, yanking his head back. The marshall struggle almost freeign himself.

"On your knees, traitor," Seiler growled in broken Russian.

Rokossovky eyess widend as he begun to understand a terryfing truth.

He struggled and struggled, with the same defiant strength that had carried him through years of NKVD torture in 1937. But Seiler was stronger and faster. He forced the Marshal down onto his knees on the wooden floor.

Skozeny stepped forward calmly, pressed the cold barrel of the Tokarev firmly against the base of Rokossovsky’s skull, right at the nape of the neck.

"You are no Russians."The marhsall mumbled under Seiler’s hand.

Then his life was over too.

Rokossovsky’s body jerked once, then slumped forward. His forehead hit the floor with a dull, final thud. Blood began to pool slowly beneath him, dark and viscous under the lamplight.

They arranged his arms behind his back exactly as they had done with the others.

Seiler placed the forged documents from the "coffer" beside the body: an official-looking NKVD order dated that very night, listing Rokossovsky as "enemy of the people" and participants in a military conspiracy against Comrade Stalin.

"Let’s get out of here, the sun will rise soon," Skorzeny whispered. Seiler nodded silently.

A few minutes later, a knock sounded at the door of the Marshal’s office. Then another.

"Marshal?" a voice called from behind the door. Slowly, it was opened.

"Marshal, I brought the documents you..." The young soldier paused as he looked downward. His boots were standing in a crimson liquid that was already soaking through the fabric. Slowly his gaze moved forward... until it landed on the corpse.

"Oh my God!!" the young soldier screamed, shouting loudly for help. But it seemed no one heard him. He stood alone in the officers’ barracks, surrounded by fallen ghosts.

The thick crimson pool slowly expanded across the floorboards, dark under the weak lamplight. A single drop of blood fell from the edge of the desk with a soft plip...

Berlin

In a dimly lit, smoke-filled office, Paul raised a crystal wine glass. He swirled the red liquid gently, a faint smile on his lips.

"Soon..."

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