First
From a large house, next to a barn, a Nazi platoon commander walked out towards the back to check on a half-track full of mines and ammo. In the dark, he drove his heal through the grass. He saw past the field of barley where his men were occupying a mansion. Next to that mansion was another with second platoon. All he wanted was to get back inside and enjoy the imported Polish women. But he was stuck with the duty of checking in one the ammo every two hours. Rather, on those two hours, he couldn't decide what disturbed him more. Either the fact that it was a nuisance to his fun night or that he had to see the withering field stretch only about 300 square meters at best.
The officer's foot kicked against something on the ground. It was too dark to make out what it was. From the numerous times he kicked it afterward, it felt like a rucksack of some sort. Reaching to grab a flashlight, a clanking noise was heard.