A BTR-60 rolls along the Bavarian country side, cruising at around fifty kilometers an hour down a dirt road. The day is full of life, the birds are out chirping, and a few farmers look out from their pasture as the vehicle plays its' tape loudly.
"You ever wonder why they just stop what they're doing and stare at us?", the gunner asks down to the crew, dipping down out of his post, manning the turret. Down below, one of the squad members lays comfortably resting against his seat with his eyes shut.
"It's not our duty to ask stupid questions..", the driver says, hunched over the wheel as he maneuvers through the windy road.
Standing back up and getting a new sense of the vicinity, the soldier manning the turret notices a few men in the distant tree line casually walking wearing rucksacks in the shade. Not thinking much of it, he glances back forth, watching their locomotive swallowing up the empty road.
"Why do we bother patrolling these dead roads anyways?", the man half asleep asks, keeping his eyes shut.
"Just to remind to locals that we're around.. I'm not complaining. I get to drive this thing more ten times more than my mother gets to drive her car. Just be glad you're not walking.", the driver peers over his shoulder, taking his eyes off the road for a few moments.
The man in the passenger seat reaches over, swatting the driver's shoulder, "Keep your eyes on the road you dope, if you want to be driving more than your mother.", speaking in almost a threatening tone.
"Oh, don't you be a hard ass n—"
Suddenly, a blast sends the BTR's front upwards before it tumbles to the right, landing on its' side as an explosive device goes off below the APC's chassis.
The Soviets in the APC go nearly deaf, shell-shocked from the loud bang. As they gather their bearings, they'd notice the driver's out cold, his head bleeding on the steering wheel. The gunner's torso is bend awkwardly as its' been pinned between the ground and the rest of his body in the hatch. He didn't move.
A rustle from the bushes, and out comes a squad of casually dressed Germans with jackets, or simply shirts and their pants held up by suspenders. Of the four, one of them carries a M3 Grease Gun with a short stock, another with a double-barrel shotgun. The third and forth both carried AK-variants with their stocks disassembled.
Speaking up in German, they man holding onto the Grease Gun comments, "Fuck, we've made a real mess out of things... plans are fucked.", looking to the body wedged in the upper hatch, expressing his doubts, he says, "I doubt the side doors will just open."
"No kidding.. we can't flip that car back up in time. There's no way.. The plan relied one-hundred percent on a clear hatch-way.", spoke up a man with a Hessian dialect, pointing out, "I bet this is already going through their radio.. we should leave immediately."
One of the two with the AK-variants hurries on over to the hole blasted in the bottom of the APC. Speaking in German, they'd ask in a feigned enthusiasm, "What's happened? Anyone alive in there? What should I do?"
The hole was too small and jagged to crawl through, but a voice did respond, "I'm-.. I'm bleeding bad! Please, get me help! Get me out of here!", in a panicked voice.
The German responds, "Don't worry, —I'll go get help!", giving a few quick brushes of his feet against the ground outside, giving the impression of haste.
The German lets out a sigh before returning to the group. Outside of hearing range, they'd comment, "Look, they're wounded bad, if we finish them, they'll start looking for us.. if they think it was just a bomb planted for some time, they might not be so thorough, let's leave it like this.. we will find a better target."
A few nods are given between the group before they slink back into the shrubbery, dispersing into the countryside.
About fifteen minutes later, a response team is arrives at the location of the flipped BTR-60.
The perpetrators of the bombing were never discovered, and considered at large.