The destination is in the woods on a low hill, with a smooth dirt road leading to the top of the hill, and at the foot of the hill is a medium-sized Polish farmstead.

The Poles practiced serfdom for a long time, and it is said that until the mid-nineteenth century, Polish landowners were exploiting their serfs. Most of the Polish farms in the area were built in that era, so they still retain traces of the serfdom era to a greater or lesser extent.

The truck passed a half-buried farmhouse with a barn of golden-brown granite, with walls made of locally sourced yellow-brown granite strips, heavy and dilapidated wooden doors inlaid with reinforced iron bars, and a herringbone roof covered with a thick layer of snow, with only the bark tiles exposed at the corner of the eaves.

Although the house looks old now, it can be seen from the building materials and craftsmanship used that the family that built the house should have been quite wealthy.

Sweinbach saw a Polish peasant woman with her head and face wrapped in a scarf, standing by the well at the front of the house, carrying an old bucket in her hand.

Seeing the officer of the Ministry of Internal Affairs in the cab of the truck, the peasant woman was stunned for a moment, then turned around with a bucket and ran into the house.

"This woman probably thinks we're here to get their man." Gref said to Sergeant Krent with a smile.

Perhaps even Gref himself did not realize that the term he used at this time had naturally become us.

"Is this a common thing here?" Krent grabbed a handful of fried beans in his hand and threw one into his mouth when he asked.

"Two months earlier, people from almost every village had been taken away, and they were all sent to the Gulag, who were said to have helped the Polish partisans." Gref replied. These are also his hearsay, and Ukrainians are very interested in this kind of gossip.

The truck turned a corner and drove up the dirt road up the mountain, which is only two or three hundred meters above sea level, but the area is not small at all. Gref said that the slopes were originally covered with dandelions, but unfortunately the season is not right, and only a thick layer of snow can be seen.

At the top of the hill was a dense forest, which looked to be at least fifty years old, and the truck continued along the slightly dimly lit forest road, when suddenly it became clear that there was a clearing in front of it, and in the middle of the clearing stood a huge building in the classical style.

"It's finally here, and this is Villa Andrik." Gref stopped the car in front of the house.

"Turn off the engine and get out of the car." Sweinbach ordered Gref and opened the door on his side.

It is a beautiful classical-style building, with four Doric columns erected by the Greek temple-like main entrance, beige paint on the exterior walls, and decorative alabaster carvings between the tall windows. Structurally, it is a square bungalow with a large and soaring roof, which means that there is also a loft of no small size.

Sweinbach had seen the building before he set out, and it was originally owned by a man named Gregory. Vavelovich. Built by Andrik's Russian aristocracy, his family owns the farmstead at the foot of the mountain, which was built as a summer holiday home.

The Russian aristocracy was very fond of vassal elegance, and they had always tried hard to get closer to their relatives in Western Europe, but they were still often regarded as dirt buns by each other. And once the Russian landlords have accumulated a fortune, the greatest pleasure is to build a large amount of land on their own one-third of an acre.

Baron Andric had worked hard for this holiday villa, the architect was hired from Italy for a high salary, the interior and decoration materials were all purchased from France and Switzerland, the furniture was the most fashionable in Europe at the time produced in Naples, and he also specially customized all kinds of cast iron supplies and crystal chandeliers from England. As a result, before the villa was built, the Andrik family was almost bankrupt.

The Baron did not survive to the day he moved in, he died of a sudden pneumonia, and the work was eventually completed under the supervision of the Baron's only son, Briac, but the following month after it was completed, Briak died in a riding accident.

The villa was then mortgaged by Briak's widow to a private bank in St. Petersburg at a high price, but before the bank could be auctioned off, the First World War broke out.

Even the house prices in Warsaw in Poland were plummeting at that time, let alone such a country house, which was indeed built in such a chic way, that the banker simply ate it himself, ready to live in for the family members to live in on vacation.

At that time, no one imagined that this war would be fought so fiercely, and no one would have imagined that the mighty Russian Empire would collapse into pieces.

The bank went bankrupt before the end of the war, and the bankers died in a street riot in the October Revolution that followed.

Then a Lithuanian businessman won ownership of the house from the banker's son in a game of cards, but his family was then shot dead during the nationwide purge, allegedly because he had financed Denikin.

From then on, the house became the property of the Soviet government, but the Soviet Red Army suffered a crushing defeat in the Soviet-Polish War, and even the house and land were confiscated by the Poles.

The Polish government confiscated the Soviet "enemy property" and sold it for public auction in Warsaw. A Polish landowner bought this beautiful villa for 20,000 zlotys and renovated it for about the same amount of money.

At the outbreak of the Thirty-Nine War, it is said that the landlord's family lived in this house for three generations, and the Red Army took over the house immediately after the capture of Brest, after which the Pole was never heard from again.

The Soviet government reclaimed the lost state property, but no one has ever taken it over, and some of the administrative procedures are said to be taking place in Moscow, with the result that the house has been vacant since last October.

"I've heard about this house, and it's said that it's cursed by the devil, and that the people who live in it are doomed." Gref looked up at the soles of his boots, then rubbed the mud on the tires.

"There are fresh footprints on the ground, divided into two groups, searching this house." Sweinbach raised his fist and made a tactical gesture to his men.

The SS special operators immediately took their weapons and aimed them at the four windows in front of the room, before the two submachine gunners took cover and rushed to the gate.

Just as the submachine gunner was about to kick the door, the elegant oak door suddenly opened from the inside, so that the non-commissioned officer's waist was broken.

I saw a middle-aged man dressed as a Polish farmer, walking out of the door with his hands raised.

"Sergeant Sweinbach, you arrived earlier than scheduled." He is fluent in German with a slight East Prussian accent.

"Did you kill the "robin"? Sweinbach asked, the muzzle of the gun still pointed at the other man's body.

"Don't make a fuss, the robin is waiting for you in the house. The man lowered his right hand and touched the cotton coat's arms, then took out a wallet.

"Safety." Sweinbach laughed, raised his left hand, and made a tactical gesture to disarm the guard.

"You came early, and you scared us all, which you owe last time." The man pulled out two bills from his wallet and handed them to Sweenbach.

"We got a car on the road." Sweinbach rubbed his fingers over the banknote and then shone it into the sun.

"It's real money, why don't you trust me like this." The man punched the sergeant hard in the shoulder.

"Who made you have so many criminal convictions. This time it was an important cargo that we needed to go out during the day. Sweinbach put the pistol back in its holster and followed the man towards the house.

"Crent, it's up to you to take care of this place now, set up a guard around the perimeter, and don't let anyone approach." The SS sergeant turned to his subordinates and ordered, then he pointed at Greif.

"You come with me, citizen Greif."

"Who is this? It seems to be a new face. The man asked in a whisper.

"The driver of this car."

"Soviet?"

"It's Ukrainian."

"Why didn't you put him—" the man scratched his finger at his neck, "It's not quite your style." ”

"I think this guy can be of a lot of use, don't worry, he's basically ours now." Sweinbach and the man conversed in German, glancing back at Greif.

"How could it be changed to this place, what happened to the village last time." Sweinbach changed the subject.

"Don't mention it, let the robin tell you later." The man replied with a depressed face.

After entering the door is a huge vestibule, which can still be seen to be once magnificent, with a beautiful wool carpet on the hardwood floor, but unfortunately someone dug up a small piece in the middle, perhaps for this reason, this carpet has been preserved.

The furnishings in the living room had also been damaged, the velvet cushions on the couches had been cut, and it seemed that someone was trying to find something inside, and a mass of padded brown horsehair was abruptly exposed.

At this moment, on this broken sofa, there is a young woman in a woolen winter coat, holding a cup of steaming black tea.

"Good afternoon, Sergeant Sweinbach." The woman greeted with a smile.

"Good afternoon, robin." Sweinbach sat down in the chair across from the woman.

"Hundred tongues, you go up and replace the nightingale." The robin said to the man.

"If you have time, Baiyu, can you find this kid a pair of warmer pants?" Sweinbach pointed his thumb at Gleb, who was standing on the side, and the young driver's face turned red.

Previously, Gref was so frightened that he wet his cotton pants, and finally he still had the canvas cargo pants he wore when he was working in the carriage, and the Germans also gave him an extra pair of spare breeches, and it was better to have an engine to heat it in the cab, but now he really can't bear it when he runs outside.

"Okay, you talk slowly, you come with me." The man patted Greif on the shoulder, then strode out of the antechamber with the driver.

"New here?" The woman looked at Gref's back.

"It's the driver I just found on the road, and his story is very interesting." Sweinbach began to tell the story of Ukrainian smugglers.

"I can't trust him for the time being, I need to test him for a while, but you've got me in trouble, I've got enough work on my hands." The robin put down the teacup and brushed the sideburns next to his ear.

"It's up to you to decide this place anyway, but he'll need him to send us back to the border later." Sweinbach pulled the cigarette case out of his pocket.

"Are you afraid that I will quietly dispose of this little guy?" The robin looked at the SS sergeant with a smirk.

"I'm just making a suggestion, time is limited, let's get down to business." Sweenbach lit the lighter: "What exactly is the cargo this time?" ”。

"You're not going to ask me why I'm in such a hurry to let you come?"

"Ah, that's my second question." Sweinbach said with a smile.

"It's all in that box, and unfortunately I can't tell you what's inside. All I can say is that this thing is very important, and it should be sent to the Imperial Intelligence Service before the Soviets even notice it. Mockingbird said, pointing to a corner of the hall.

Sweinbach had actually noticed the suitcase in the corner when he first entered the door, because it really didn't look like the original items in this room.

It was a large leather suitcase, about the size of a suitcase, which was very old, the leather had turned dark brown, and two leather straps reinforced with rivets held the box firmly in place.

"Here's the key to the box." A small key was tossed high and flew towards the SS on the opposite side.

"Very delicate gadgets." Grabbing the key, Sweinbach glanced down and slipped it into the inner pocket of his coat.

"By the way, I wanted to ask just now, why did you change the location of the joint, what about the original village?" Sweinbach asked.

"The village chief's son was released from the prisoner of war camp, and the bastard wanted to denounce us to the Soviets." Robin said coldly.

"What happened then, did he go and tell him?"

"I'm still sitting here drinking tea, what do you say?"

"You killed that bastard?"

"Well, to be exact, the whole family has been killed, although the villagers have no opinion on this, but that place can't stay after all." The robin held his chin in his hand with a helpless expression.

"What a brutal bird."

"What's your opinion on that?" The woman squinted at the sergeant.

"Ah, no, once in a while, I sigh." Sweinbach stood up.

"It may seem like there's still some time, but there's always a good idea to start early." The SS sergeant said with a smile.

"You're not waiting for the driver?"

"I can already hear his footsteps." Sweinbach raised his arm and saluted.

"Hey! Reinhart! ”

"Be careful on the road." The woman didn't get up, just lazily raised her hand.

Gref strode into the hall and changed into a pair of chunky blue tweed breeches, a style common in rural Russia.

"I'll get two people to carry the boxes, and you should almost evacuate." Sweinbach tilted his head out the door.

"Thank you for your concern, Sergeant Sweinbach." The robin picked up the teacup again.

"Wait a minute." At this moment, a young girl rushed into the living room.

"Nightingale, what's going on?" Robin looked at his assistant suspiciously.

"I just got the news on the radio that there is a battle on the border line, near the village of Buskapin." The girl reported.

"Hell! Is this in your plans? The robin looked up at the SS sergeant, who shook his head decisively in denial.

"This is a problem, the Red Army will definitely mobilize troops to block the border, and in this case you will not be able to cross the river safely." Robin frowned.

"No, we still have a chance." Sweinbach made the opposite.

PS: It's finally over.,Big chapter.,Ask for votes.。

Thank you all for your support, and the author will continue to work hard.