1941, Northern Ukraine

They finally stopped in one of the Ukrainian villages. It was empty, only a few old and helpless people remained in these war-torn areas. They could stop here until they reached Zhytomyr. Ecke slowly got out of the Opel, immediately a cold autumn wind pierced him. He wrapped his black coat tighter around himself and ordered his men to reconnoiter the area, to see if any partisans were hiding there. He himself stood under one of the trees, smoking a cigarette. His scowling forehead and gaze fixed on the vast Ukrainian fields indicated that he was clearly lost in thought, analysis something intently with this cunning mind of his. He slowly pulled a small piece of material out of his pocket, probably torn from some clothing, and now he looked at it with that searching gaze as if he wanted to read something from it. This was the only clue he had about one of those partisans who had been constantly tormenting his unit. He clenched his fist tighter. He had to catch that clever little mouse that was hitting them so skillfully over and over again. He had to win this game... As he was thinking this, he suddenly caught a glimpse of movement in a nearby birch grove.