"Good morning."
"Good morning. Your papers, Colonel."
Maler exhaled slowly, barely daring to breathe. He stood directly behind a large man whose collar tabs marked him as a Red Army Colonel.
Slowly, he glanced sideways. Baumann still looked terrible, pale, with a faint layer of sweat on his forehead.
Everything now depended on the man in front of them.
Colonel Ivanovich.
"Ahem." The Colonel cleared his throat loudly. The grim guard in front of him caught the sharp scent of alcohol immediately. Open disdain filled the man's eyes. The other soldiers in the hallway shook their heads almost imperceptibly.
"My papers... yes, the papers," Ivanovich muttered, fumbling clumsily in the breast pocket of his far too tight uniform.
"Here we are," he said with a broad, overly cheerful smile, handing the documents over.
The guard examined them carefully. He knew the Colonel, but he checked anyway.
"And these two?" the guard asked, nodding toward Maler and Baumann.
"My adjutants."
"Their papers?"
The question sounded almost innocent, but a short line had already begun to form behind them.
"Well... you see... there's a small problem," Ivanovich said, drawing out the words as he pulled out two soaked papers. The strong stench of alcohol rose sharply, nearly making the guard gag.
For a moment the guard hesitated, clearly debating whether he should inspect them anyway. Then he decided his pay wasn't high enough for that kind of trouble.
"Go... GO!" he barked, waving them through impatiently.
His eyes flicked to Baumann.
"Fucking ill as well," the guard muttered, shaking his head.
Ivanovich slowed his pace slightly and glanced over his shoulder.
"This is where we part," he murmured quietly. "I won't be seen with you any longer."
Maler gave a short nod. "Understood."
For a brief moment the three men stood close together, just another cluster of uniforms in the busy corridor.
Ivanovich's eyes moved between them.
"The toilets. Eastern wing. Ten minutes," he said in a low, firm voice. "You don't show, you're on your own."
Baumann let out a quiet breath. "Ten minutes."
Ivanovich gave a faint smirk and adjusted his coat. "Try not to die before that."
Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the stream of officers.
As soon as Ivanovich was gone, Maler and Baumann exchanged a quick glance. For a second they just stood there, almost stunned.
"It actually worked," Maler whispered, disbelief clear in his voice. "I can't believe how easily he got us through."
Baumann nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. A small, relieved smile touched his lips.
"Yeah... that was smoother than I expected. Maybe this won't be as hard as we thought."
Maler took a steadying breath and gave a short nod. "Ten minutes. Let's not push our luck."
Baumann let out a quiet breath and straightened up, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
"Yeah," he murmured. "Let's move."
They stepped forward, merging into the steady flow of officers and soldiers moving through the corridors of the Kremlin. Boots echoed sharply against the polished floors, a constant rhythm that filled the vast hallways. Voices overlapped, clipped Russian commands mixing with low conversations.
Maler kept his gaze forward, his posture stiff, controlled. Not too fast, not too slow. Just another pair of officers with somewhere to be.
"Left," he muttered under his breath, barely moving his lips.
Baumann didn't respond, only adjusted his course slightly as they turned into a narrower corridor. The noise dropped off immediately. Fewer people. Fewer eyes.
Better.
Or worse.
A pair of NKVD officers stood at the far end of the hallway, their dark uniforms unmistakable. One of them glanced up as Maler and Baumann approached.
Baumann felt his heartbeat spike.
"Don't look away. Don't stare."
"Just walk."Maler whispered.
Baumann's steps slowed for a fraction of a second, then steadied again.
The NKVD officer's gaze lingered on them, sharp, probing. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight through the fabric of their uniforms.
Then someone behind them called out in Russian.
The officer turned his head, distracted.
Maler didn't waste the moment.
"Now," he whispered.
They passed.
Only when they turned the next corner did Baumann exhale.
"That was too close," he muttered.
Baumann's gaze shifted left.
Maler followed it. His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes sharpened.
This was it.
He slowed just enough for Baumann to fall half a step closer.
"We're in position," Maler murmured.
Baumann swallowed. "You're sure?"
Maler's hand moved briefly to the inside of his coat, fingers brushing against the folded paper hidden there. The last piece of their briefing.
Just four facts.
He spoke quietly, his tone controlled.
"Second corridor, eastern administrative wing."
Baumann nodded slowly.
"Office belongs to Senior Lieutenant Orlov. NKVD."
"And at exactly twelve… guard rotation."
Baumann exhaled quietly. "How long?"
Maler's eyes lifted to the clock mounted at the far end of the hallway.
11:58.
"We have thirty seconds inside," he said.
Baumann gave a short, humorless huff. "Of course."
They walked on, neither speeding up nor slowing down.
Every second mattered.
11:59.
The guarded section came into clearer view. Two NKVD men stood in front of a reinforced door, rigid, unmoving.
They passed the first intersection.
11:59:30.
The air itself seemed to tighten.
One of the guards shifted his stance slightly, glancing down the corridor. The other adjusted his gloves.
11:59:50.
Maler's breathing slowed.
His world narrowed.
Steps. Distance. Timing.
"Get ready," he murmured.
Baumann flexed his fingers once.
11:59:55.
A door further down opened. One of the guards turned his head.
11:59:58.
A voice called out behind them. Sharp. Annoyed. The NKVD officers responded instinctively, half-turning.
12:00.
Movement.
Clean. Synchronized.
Both guard stepped away. For a brief, fragile moment, their focus broke. Their formation loosened.
There it was.
Thirty seconds.
"Now."
They slipped inside the room.
"The fourth and last piece," Maler said quickly, his eyes darting to the large shelves lined with carefully placed files.
"Number 2, row 25."
"Quickly, search!" Maler hissed, his finger running along the wood as he counted.
Baumann moved immediately, stepping to the adjacent shelf, his hands already scanning the labels. His movements were fast but controlled, forcing precision over panic.
"Row 21… 22…" he muttered under his breath.
Maler's finger stopped.
"Here."
"Put it inside!"
Baumann moved instantly. He pulled out a neatly folded paper and slid it between the pages, pressing it flat before pushing the file back into place.
A thin layer of dust drifted down.
For a split second, everything was still.
Then....
A loud sound cut through the silence.
Both men froze.
An alarm.
Maler's head snapped toward the door.
"…What the hell?" Baumann muttered.
Shouts erupted in the corridor outside.
"Evacuation?" Baumann guessed.
Maler moved immediately. "Doesn't matter. We have to get out of here."
They slipped out into the hallway.
Chaos.
Doors opened everywhere at once. Officers stepped out, some irritated, others clearly unsure what was happening. Voices overlapped, orders clashed with questions.
"Move!"
They adjusted his pace instantly, blending into the flow. Not too fast. Not too slow.
Baumann followed, keeping his head slightly lowered.
"They're looking for us," he murmured.
"Probably" Maler replied quietly.
They moved with the crowd, letting themselves be carried along the corridor, past intersections, past guards who were now more focused on controlling the evacuation than checking faces.
The entire wing was emptying.
"East wing toilets," Maler said under his breath.
They arrived quickly.
Baumann's steps slowed.
"…Maler...."
Three men stood near the entrance to the lavatories.
Two NKVD.
One Red Army.
Ivanovich.
His cap was gone, uniform half open, one arm twisted behind his back as an NKVD officer held him in place. His face had lost all color.
For a split second, his eyes lifted.
And found them.
Everything froze.
Recognition hit instantly.
Maler saw it. The exact moment it clicked.
Baumann tensed. "Don't—"
Too late.
Ivanovich's expression broke.
"There!" he shouted, his voice cracking but loud enough to cut through the entire corridor.
"THEM!"
The NKVD officers turned immediately.
Maler was already moving.
"Run!"
Baumann didn't hesitate.
"STOP THEM!"
The corridor erupted.
People scattered, some ducking, others pressing against the walls as Maler and Baumann forced their way through.
Shots rang out.
Too close.
Maler grabbed Baumann's sleeve and yanked him left into a side corridor just as another bullet tore past.
Baumann was already panting heavily when Maler made a decision.
"Window!"
Baumann didn't even question it.
With one sprint they clashed against the window, Maler first, then Baumann, both men crashing through the frame and dropping out into the cold air.
It was only the first floor.
They hit the ground hard, rolling on impact over the stony surface to bleed off the force.
Baumann let out a sharp grunt as his shoulder scraped against the ground, but he kept moving.
Maler was already up again.
"Go!" he snapped.
Shots clashed on the stones besides them, some little stones cataplting intot he air.
A shot strifed Baumanns arm, opening a small wound.
"Shit!"Maler cursed, loudly the big red Kremlin wall towering before them.
"We have no choice, we climb!"
Shots cracked into the stones beside them, fragments jumping into the air.
A bullet caught Baumann's arm. A shallow tear, but enough.
"Shit!" he cursed.
Maler didn't slow. The Kremlin wall loomed in front of them.
Massive. Vertical. Final.
"We have no choice," Maler snapped. "We climb!"
Baumann nodded once.
Another shot slammed into the ground behind them.
They reached the wall in seconds. Maler jumped first, boots finding rough stone, hands grabbing whatever grip he could.
Up.
Baumann followed immediately, gritting his teeth as he pulled himself up despite the pain in his arm.
Shots kept coming, but sloppy now, losing angle.
Too close. Not precise enough.
"Faster," Maler barked.
They climbed hard, no rhythm, just raw force and urgency.
Behind them, shouting flooded the courtyard.
Suddenly Maler tore open his eyes.
He had almost reached the top, when the support under his feet shifted.
He slipped.
"Baumann!" he called out, his voice breaking mid-word as his body went weightless.
His hands clawed at air, boots scraping stone but finding nothing. For a split second he locked eyes with Baumann above him.
Shock.
The ground rushed up.
CRACK.
Maler hit hard.
Not clean. A brutal impact against stone.
A sharp sound ripped through the air as something gave way in his right leg.
He didn't scream. Just a tight groan through his teeth.
Baumann froze at the edge. "Maler!"
Their eyes met once again.
Maler shook his head in defiance, as if trying to find a way out of his fate.
There was none. He knew it.
Baumann tried climbing back down.
"Don't!" Maler snapped immediately, voice strained. "Move!"
"This is unfair! Why is it you and not me! I was the slow one! I was the weak one!" Baumann screamed, more shots hitting the wall beside him.
"Survive, Baumann. Survive and get back home!"Maler nodded.
Baumann shook his head too, water filling his eyes. Although he had known the man only for a few weeks, they had grown unbreakably close through everything they had endured.
Tears ran down Baumann's cheeks as he grabbed stone after stone above him, every movement more strained than the last. Every time he looked back down, he saw Maler sitting there, still, almost calm, forcing a faint smile as he pulled out a small pistol.
Maler too tilted his head up one last time, smiling faintly at Baumann before looking toward the soldiers rushing in below.
"I completed my duty… I did," he whispered, his voice breaking as he raised the pistol, his finger trembling.
He fired a few shots down the wall.
The return fire came instantly.
Maler's body jerked as impacts hit him, the pistol slipping slightly in his hand.
For a moment he just froze, breathing shallow, eyes still open.
"So this is how my story ends…" he whispered.
His gaze drifted upward again, almost searching the sky above the Kremlin.
Baumann was already gone.
"…but how will the rest of this story end…"
His breathing slowed.
Then stopped.
His eyes closed.
He died.
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