Outskirts of Kursk — February 9, 1942
The morning had been born silent.
No gunfire, no artillery whistling, no fighter trails in the sky. Only the creaking of steel on frozen earth, the heavy breathing of tanks climbing hills and sinking into ditches. The frozen mud cracked like dry bone beneath the tracks.
Falk's Tiger led the advance, followed by the Panther and two modernized Panzer IVs. All bore freshly repainted emblems, reinforced armor, and tense crews.
—There are craters everywhere —Ernst reported over the intercom.
—Not from artillery —Helmut added, peeking out the side hatch—. They're from mines. Ones that already went off.
The ground looked like a field of scars: deep pits, rusted wires, iron stakes driven into the soil like shattered spears. Beyond that, crossed steel structures meant to break tracks. Behind them, trenches in zigzag—empty... or maybe not.
—They've been preparing this for months —Falk muttered.
—And waiting for us for months —Brunner added from the Panther, his voice tight.
Lukas, at the controls, drove slowly. The Tiger moved like a beast that sensed a trap.
Falk raised the hatch and stood, scanning the horizon. Smoke smeared the sky in the distance, but no gunshots yet. Just the tense silence of a storm about to break.
He spoke into the platoon radio, connecting all five tanks:
—Listen up. All of you.
Silence.
—Today begins the battle the Reich has waited two years for. And yes, it will be brutal. You all know that.But I know one thing more: today, we won't lose anyone. Not today! I swear it, for every man we've already lost!
A shaky "Jawohl!" came from one of the Panzer IVs.
Then another, firmer, from the Panther.
And finally, five voices—five crews—shouted in unison, shaking the cold:
—Jawohl, Herr Hauptscharführer!
Falk slammed the hatch shut.
—Lukas, slow and steady. Stop at two hundred meters. I want to see what the hell they're waiting for before they open fire.
The march toward Kursk had begun.And the first bullet had yet to fly.