The world beyond the makeshift hospital was chaos. The German advance wasn't a clean arrow on a map anymore — it was a flood. Men, tanks, and smoke rolled forward like a gray-green tide.
Koba and his small team cut through the madness like sharks. They ignored orders, maps, and formations. They moved with purpose, eyes fixed ahead.
His group was strange — two of his men, Murat and Ivan, and four German stormtroopers led by Sergeant Klaus. Somewhere along the way, Klaus's respect had turned into something close to worship. Koba wasn't just a commander to him now. He was a prophet.
Oflag 17 wasn't much of a camp. More like a wound on the land — mud, barbed wire, and rotting wooden barracks. Guards had fled. Prisoners wandered aimlessly. German looters dug through the storage sheds.
Klaus scanned the scene, rifle ready. "This is a mess," he muttered. "Finding one man here? Impossible."
"Nothing's impossible," Koba replied. His tone was cold, certain. "It's just a matter of incentives."
He strode into the camp, grabbed a random Russian prisoner by the collar, and held up a can of German beef.
"Food," Koba said in clear Russian. "For information."
The prisoner froze. His eyes fixed on the can like a starving animal.
"I'm looking for a man. A professor. Old. Glasses. A chemist."
Blank stare. Koba nodded at Ivan. "Next."
They moved fast — trading food for answers, sifting through the desperate crowd. Then, finally, luck struck. A thin man, maybe a student once, whispered:
"Ipatieff. The chemist. They said he was dangerous — kept him in the solitary block."
He pointed at a small brick building at the far edge of the camp.
Koba tossed him two cans. The man dove after them.
The solitary block was empty — almost. One cell was barred from the outside. Koba didn't waste time. He kicked the door open in a single blow.
Inside, a man blinked at the sudden light — frail, bearded, eyes bright with fear and hunger. Vladimir Ipatieff.
He flinched as Koba stepped closer, expecting a bullet.
"Professor Ipatieff," Koba said softly, his Russian smooth and academic. "Don't be afraid. You're not my prisoner. You're my new colleague."
Ipatieff stared, confused. "Colleague? What do you want from me?"
Koba smiled — not kindly, but knowingly. "The Tsar's men wanted you to build bigger bombs. The Germans would have you make poison gas. They all see your genius as a tool. A cage."
He leaned closer, his voice lowering. "I offer you freedom. A real laboratory — everything you've ever dreamed of. No generals. No politicians. No limits. You decide what to build."
The professor's breathing quickened. Hope — fragile but real — flickered in his eyes.
Koba pressed the final hook.
"I don't want you to solve problems, Professor. I want you to invent them. I want to see what a mind like yours can create when nothing holds it back."
It was a devil's offer — and Ipatieff knew it. But the devil was offering paradise.
Before he could speak, gunfire shattered the air. A burst of rifle shots — then the wild cries of Cossacks.
"Ambush!" Klaus shouted. "Cossacks! South side!"
Koba moved instantly. He grabbed Ipatieff's arm. "Stay with me!"
Outside, chaos reigned. A band of Don Cossacks, half-bandits by now, had swept in from the woods. German soldiers were scrambling, shouting, firing wildly.
Klaus and his men held a rough line, returning fire in bursts.
"We need to pull back!" he yelled. "North gate!"
Koba glanced that way. Fifty yards of open ground — a killing field. Klaus and his men were pinned, doomed if they stayed. To save them meant risking everything — including Ipatieff.
The choice took half a heartbeat.
"Murat! Ivan! West!" Koba snapped, pointing at a collapsed section of the fence. "We're leaving!"
He shoved the professor ahead. "Run!"
As they bolted for the fence, Koba looked back once — just once. Klaus was staring at him, realization dawning in his eyes. Then came the storm of bullets. Klaus went down, his body jerking under the fire.
Koba didn't slow. Didn't flinch. He and his men vaulted the broken wire, dragging Ipatieff into the trees. Behind them, the last of the Germans fell silent.
In the forest, they stopped to breathe. Ipatieff leaned against a tree, shaking, pale as chalk. His eyes met Koba's.
He understood now.
This man — this strange savior — would sacrifice anything and anyone for his goals.
And Vladimir Ipatieff had just become the most valuable goal of all.