If you don't remember look up chapter 82-87. Especially 86 and 87.
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Shush.
The sharp sound of wind pierced through the field, followed by a light shriek. From between the mildly frozen grass, a large bird ascended, a mouse in its beak, still moving desperately. As the eagle flew away, a large farmhouse became visible beneath it, and inside lived some of the most wanted people in Poland.
"They are coming," Leon said quietly. He did not need to hear the engines yet. He could feel the vibration in the floorboards through the tip of his cane.
Mikhailiv checked the chamber of his captured MP40. "How many?"
"Enough to make it interesting," Leon replied. He turned away from the window, his face illuminated by a single flickering candle. "Remember, survival over everything else. We just need to burn the bridge behind us."
The group of men, around a dozen forming a half circle around Mikhailiv and Leon, nodded one after another, all equipped with either Polish or German weapons, ready to fight.
"It was only a matter of time after all," he murmured, looking through the gap in the lamellas.
Truck after truck came driving through the tall grass field, leaving behind a path of destruction. The grass bent left and right, making way for the tires.
"Three trucks, probably full of Gestapo," Leon said, turning around once again.
"Assume positions."
The men nodded before spreading out through the house.
Then suddenly a large explosion echoed. From outside, a large fireball shone through the gaps of the lamellas, illuminating Leon's face partly. A devilish smile formed on his lips.
"My greetings, German bastards."
Outside, one of the trucks was flung through the air, rotating like a falling asteroid, almost hitting another truck that managed to evade the blazing wreck at the last moment. The remaining two arrived with shouts of orders coming from them.
Leon once again peeked through the gap, seeing a tall man jump out of the truck, looking around and barking orders. Suddenly the man's eyes stopped in his direction. It was as if their gazes met.
"No way, he can't see me, can he?" Leon whispered.
Then suddenly his eyes widened in terror as he retrieved his head and stumbled backward. His free hand flew to his forehead, which was now covered in blood.
"Bastard," Leon whispered, still shocked, when suddenly a horrifying sound erupted.
"Machine gun!" Leon shouted, immediately recognizing the sound of the German MG34, but it was too late. In the nearby open living room, where two of his men were leaning against a large shelf placed before the window, bullets suddenly pierced through. The two men were riddled, their blood spurting everywhere across the wooden floor, their screams opening the battle.
Tens of holes now riddled the shelf and the wall behind it, letting thin streaks of light into the dark house.
"Fuck, Marcus, Robert," Leon cursed, trying to reach them, his voice crackling.
Now gunfire began from their side as well, from the kitchen, from the upstairs bedrooms and bathroom. Everywhere they sat and shot desperately.
Leon too sighed heavily with emotion, before grabbing the submachine gun of one of the fallen men, the grip partly drenched in blood.
He slid over the large dining table, crouching behind it, his gaze remaining fixed on the door.
BAM.
The wood burst open under a heavy kick, shouts coming from the entrance. Gestapo men after Gestapo men stormed inside, their submachine guns raised.
Leon closed his eyes for a moment. Everything suddenly slowed down.
"Fucking Germans!" he shouted, raising the muzzle over the edge of the table.
He squeezed the trigger, spraying the three Gestapo men who had entered first with bullets. They raised their guns and fired a short barrage, but that was all their reaction time allowed. Most of their bullets were flung into nothingness, only a couple striking the table.
They themselves were riddled, now lying dead on the ground, while Leon panted heavily, clutching his shoulder where one of the stray bullets had hit him.
Under heavy breathing, he managed to get up, his cane striking the wooden floor in a rapid rhythm as he hurried toward the stairs leading into the cellar.
"Time to go!" he shouted.
After a moment, the men upstairs came down. All but three had decided to stay behind, buying them time to flee.
Quickly they made their way downstairs, the old wooden steps creaking beneath their weight. There it was. Where normally a concrete wall would have stood, a blasted-open hole now gaped, a narrow tunnel leading into darkness.
Leon gestured for them to move.
"You too, Mikhailiv!" Leon said sternly, when suddenly a large explosion shook the house from above.
Leon clenched his teeth and pushed Mikhailiv forward.
Mikhailiv looked at him with wide eyes, then nodded distantly and crouched into the small tunnel, quickly making his way through it. He kept trying to look back, but he could not see anyone. Perhaps it was because of the darkness, or perhaps because the tunnel behind him was truly devoid of any movement.
While the others advanced, Leon had indeed remained behind, mounting something at the tunnel entrance. With a final twist of his fingers, he stepped back as gunshots filled the space above him, German voices echoing everywhere.
A Gestapo guard came running down the stairs. Thankfully, Leon reacted fast enough, firing the last of his magazine into the man's stomach. But that was sure to alert the rest.
Especially that man, Leon thought, quickly crouching into the tunnel. From behind, he could hear German voices and see flashlights flooding the empty cellar.
He closed his eyes once he deemed it far enough.
"Please don't bury me," he whispered, pressing a small device in his hand.
An explosion erupted behind him, flinging dirt and stone forward into the tunnel. The light from the dim cellar lantern vanished, and Leon was still there.
He smiled, then quickly turned forward again, crawling as fast as he could.
After some time, he saw light at the end of the tunnel, familiar voices coming from that direction.
"We can't just leave him. He is still in there!" Mikhailiv shouted angrily.
"Yes, but..." another man argued.
"But I am here," Leon answered, his head poking out of the tunnel into the dim sunlight filtering through the trees.
"Leon! Thank God!" Mikhailiv shouted, embracing him.
"Don't attack me like this, I am still wounded," Leon joked, before his demeanor grew cold once again.
"Quickly, we have to reach the truck. I can already see the bridge," Leon said, pointing in a certain direction.
The group made their way through the forest, everyone turning their heads from time to time, nervously checking for Germans.
"I heard Prague is a majestic city," Mikhailiv said, adjusting the heavy strap of his pack. He was asking about their next destination
"I heard that much too," Leon answered.
Then, beneath a stony bridge along a dirt road, hidden behind thick greenery, stood a rusty German military truck they had salvaged.
Mikhailiv quickly went around the back, checking.
"It's all still there!" he shouted toward the rest.
"Great. Then let us get out of here," Leon nodded.
The group quickly freed the truck from the greenery and drove it forward, revealing it from under the bridge.
They were around a hundred meters from the bridge, testing whether the engine was still working. One after another, they boarded the back of the truck, while Mikhailiv sat behind the steering wheel.
Leon was the last one to climb on, but he suddenly stopped mid-step and slowly turned around.
There, on the same old stony bridge, stood the same man he had seen before. The same one whose impossible shot had almost pierced his skull and killed him.
He stood at the edge of the bridge, his leather coat fluttering lightly in the wind.
Leon suddenly felt cold, perhaps because of the increasing wind, or perhaps because of something else. Their eyes met for a brief moment. Then he saw more Gestapo men running down the hill.
Quickly he turned and boarded the truck. The tires began to rotate, grinding against the dirt, while Heydrich remained standing on the bridge.
"Vermin. I will decimate you, just like today, until none of your little group remain," he whispered, turning toward the incoming men.
"Fetch the trucks."
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Tomorrow a double release for the Finale
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