Near Zhitomir, the Ukraine
Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
Wednesday June 5th, 1940
’Achtung, sewing machine!’
‘All vehicles off the road and stop!’
Although the Luftwaffe had cleared the skies of Soviet aircraft in the first two days of war, there was one air threat that wouldn’t go away; low sniffing Polikarpov U-2 biplanes who would hug the ground at night to strafe and bomb laagering Germans. Although thousands had been destroyed on the airfields with the other, more capable planes in the Soviet inventory, with a production run of close to 40 000, there were bound to be lots of the annoying little machines to spare. The "landsers" had quickly christened them as “sewing machines” because of the less than impressive sound from their engines. III
Abteilung had received bombs and machine-gun fire every night since the invasion. It made for bad sleeping, even if they had taken no damage so far. Still, this was the first time the air alert had been given at day and when in road column.
Aside from the sewing machines, they hadn’t encountered any resistance at all since the second day of the war and the advance had been lightning-like. Following in the wake of Guderian’s 2nd
Panzergruppe, the
Leibstandarte would reach Kiev in a day or two, barring any surprises from the Russians. Guderian himself would cross the Dnepr north of the big city, while Hoth’s 4th
Panzergruppe was driving into the Dnepr bend at breakneck speed.
Skorzeny jumped to his feet to have a clear view over his column of halftracks. The landscape was depressingly flat – green fields stretched far, far in all directions until they met the blue sky at some very distant point. He looked around for the approaching enemy plane, it would probably come from the west to hide in glare of the dropping sun – it was already late in the afternoon… there!
‘There!’ But there was something wrong with the engine noise, it sounded far to powerful for a sewing machine… He raised his Zeiss binoculars to take a look.
‘Hold your fire men! It’s a Storch!’
The Fiesler Storch was a German liason and spotter plane that was often used by higher officers for their personal transport. General Rommel was famous for personally doing his recon in his Storch.
The aircraft descended over the column, flying along its length, then past it at lowest altitude and kept dropping.
‘He’s going to land!’
Haputsturmführer Meyer shouted, pointing at the long stretch of straight dirt road ahead.
‘Evidently, but he’s an idiot!’ Skorzeny replied. ‘We haven’t gone there yet. There could be anything; mines, snipers, a battalion of Red Army troops waiting in ambush or a very horny babushka…’
The Fiesler Storch made a bumpy landing a little strech down the road and came to a stop. The little planes were famous for being able to land and take off on short runways. The door opened and a man obviously wearing a
Feldgrau German uniform with an officers cap climbed out.
‘Let’s go greet this boy!’ the Austrian SS-man ordered, waving his own halftrack forward. The PAK 38 it carried in tow slowed it down until it was back on the road, then they made good progress and reached the idling Storch just as the officer lit a cigarette.
‘Günther! You black-hearted son of a bitch, what in the name Satan’s iron-shod dick are you doing here?!’ Skorzeny shouted down from the halftrack. ‘I thought you were in Arabia?’
Duhrn smiled. ‘Lovely to see you too, Skorzeny! Well, I was in Arabia, but I had to leave in a hurry when I heard of the speed you men were moving with. I don’t believe anyone expected you to reach Kiev in the first week.’
‘Well, there are no Russians to stop us, so why the fuck not? What do you want anyway, Günther? We’re a bit busy, if you know what I mean.’
‘What I want from you is very simple. What I hope to gain… well, that’s more complicated.’
‘Make it quick. You’re holding up our advance.’
‘Right. Have you ever heard of the State Historical Museum of Kiev?’
‘Not bloody likely.’
‘Didn’t think so, it's brand new. Anyway, it’s on Starokyivska Hill, one of those neoclassical monstrosities Stalin seems to be so fond of where they've collected all kinds of “Relics of the Russian State”. And there is one in particular that I’m interested in.’
‘O boy, here we go again!’ Skorzeny sighed, rolling his eyes. ‘What is it this time? A magical amulet from the Great Horsefuckers of Old? The mummified
Schwanz of Ivan the Terrible? What kind of disgusting old trinket do you lust for now, you sick fuck!?’
‘Nothing so exotic’, Duhrn answered, repressing a smile. ‘It’s a book, an ancient tome. I believe it was brought to Kiev either by survivors of the Rus-Byzantine war of the X century or by refugees seeking shelter in Kiev after the fall of Constantinople to the Turks in 1453 AD.’
‘Rare, eh?’
‘Very. You see, it is a Greek translation of an Arab manuscript going by the name of “Al-Azif”, although the translated version is more well known as the “Necronomicon”. It was banned in Byzantium already in 1050 AD, and it is said not a single copy of this edition is known to exist since the Salem witch trials in the XVII century.’
‘But… then they can’t very well have one here, can they?’
‘I have sources that say otherwise. Anyway, when the Russians realise that the city will fall, they’ll probably stuff the best things from the museum in a railway car and park it somewhere “safe”; the objects could be lost forever! Before that happens, I need a company of elite troops to drop on the Red Square, occupy the Museum and hold it until our troops arrive. Then I can search for the book in peace.’
‘No. Absolutely no fucking way in Hell, Günther. Each time I give you a hand, a whole lot of my boys end up dead. But we’re at war now, and I suspect it will be a long one, we can’t afford that kind of waste. I’m not doing it.’
‘Maybe this will make you change your mind?’ Duhrn said, casually giving Skorzeny a document.
Skorzeny read it. ‘The
Reichsführer-SS orders that all aid should be extended to bearer of this document… blablabla… signed: Heinrich Himmler. Not bad Günther, I had one of these myself some time back, but it was signed Adolf Hitler.’
‘Well, you don’t have one now. What do you say?’
Skorzeny crossed his arms over his chest in a stubborn gesture. ‘I’ll help you, but my men won’t. If you have any troops of your own, I’ll lead them for you. Deal?’
‘Good enough. I had a company of
Sonderkommando Hexen troops flown in from Wewelsburg just in case you took that position. They’re holed up in an airstrip at Novohrad, waiting for us. Jump in and let’s do it!’
‘Right, like those pansies will fight like Waffen-SS troops! Are we going in with parachutes?’
‘Glider.’
‘Crap! Meyer! Let go of your pecker right this instant!’
‘Yes,
Sturmbannführer?’ The PAK platoon captain was in the same flatcar, just inches away from his abrasive commander. To judge from Skorzeny’s bellow, he had forgotten about that entirely.
‘You’re in command until further notice. We have orders to move into Kiev and secure the city, so you come look for me and
Sturmbannführer Duhrn at the State Historical Museum on Starokyivska Hill right in the middle of the city. Odds are we’ll need your help rather desperately. Questions?’
‘None.’
‘Fine, now go like the clappers and don’t stop for anything, and if some Russians try to stop you, then rape their asses and move on, you get me?’
‘We’ll make you proud,
Sturmbannführer!’
‘See that you do. Heil Hitler!’
Without more ado, Skorzeny grabbed an MP-38 and some ammo from a weapons box and jumped down from the halftrack. Within minutes, the green fields of the Ukraine shrunk below him as Duhrn piloted the Storch back west towards Novohrad.