It was with mixed feeling of hope and guilt that Harald sent the two girls off on their mission. Of the part of his squad still with him, they had adapted best to actual combat; he had to take it as an article of faith that they would meet them at the rendezvous point. After they had filed out and down the street, the Sergeant waited at the shop entrance for a minute to put some distance between the two groups, before waving his remaining two soldiers out. They were clearly nervous and unarmed too; the squad would have to stop at the armoury before risking a move northward. As they slunk down the road, Harald opened up communications with Krauss and Varrot once more. **'You guys still there? Another change of plans, we're running out of time. Head northward ASAP and begin scouting for a motorpool. The Imperials have probably left a few trucks or APCs out there and we need transport. Procure if possible and camp out somewhere in the bocage, otherwise meet us at the grain silo. We'll be there in thirty, Harald out.'** Static interference obscured any response they may have given, so Valk knew if they had received the message or if they were even still... Thrusting the thought from his mind, Harald set himself on the task at hand; arming his squad and getting the hell out of Rinneheim.


The trip across town hadn't been easy on the Captain. Two minor gunshot wounds, a bayonet to the thigh and carrying Bons for over an hour had taken a toll on him. At nearly sixty, he decided, Tarquin was getting a bit old for this shit. **'Corporal are we... nearly there? This is near the edge of the city bu...'** His voice trailed off as the two militiamen froze and took to cover; whatever they had spotted was enough to spook them. A tank perhaps? Finding himself with an unpleasant feeling of uselessness, the Captain relieved Bons of his sidearm and bayonet. If push came to shove, Meulemann could take a few Imperial soldiers with him. The Corporal had gone prone, sighting down his rifle with the Private feeding him information. An enemy sniper by the sounds of it, covering the route across the road yet out of line of sight... a problem then. The four of them waited for several long minutes, with Krauss unwilling to let the sniper go and unsure of their own safety if they dared cross over.


In the end, Meulemann took it upon himself to deal with the threat. Propping the still unconscious Bons up against a wall, he quietly took his leave of the two militiamen, who were still engrossed in watching the sniper's movements. A five minute detour later and the old man was on the other side of the street, working his way slowly toward the offending building. Suddenly a gunshot rung out above. _Damnation, a second one..._ Lucky that he had taken this chance; had they tried to cross the street without taking out both snipers they would have been cut to ribbons. Nevertheless this was a prime opportunity to show the young ones how to punish the foe. It didn't take long to infiltrate the building as he picked the lock with his appropriated bayonet. The fools hadn't even posted a lookout on the ground floor; if this had been _his_ unit, then heads would have rolled. He crept upstairs, taking his time to locate the sniper by the sound of his breathing and the odour of dry sweat. Wishing he could sigh, Meulemann drew himself up as he took long, slow steps toward his prey; the poor boy was clearly a rank amateur, probably a conscript. His situational awareness was lax, his self-discipline ragged... Tarquin almost pitied the lad as he pulled him into a choke hold and opened his throat with the bayonet. Once the body had stopped convulsing he took the time to loot it clean before setting up his newly acquired rifle on the other windowsill, sighting directly on the other sniper's unknowing head. He pulled the trigger.