June 1944, near Orsha, Soviet Union (now Orsha Belarus)
The Soviet artillery fire pounded the German lines, shaking the ground beneath Lukas's feet. He crouched behind a crumbling wall, his heart racing as he scanned the horizon for signs of enemy movement.
Their unit was in disarray, struggling to hold back the Red Army's relentless push. Lukas's squad leader, Hauptmann Müller, shouted orders, trying to rally the troops.
Lukas peeked over the wall, spotting a Soviet T-34 tank rumbling toward their position. "Panzerfaust!" someone yelled.
He grabbed a nearby anti-tank rocket launcher and prepared to fire. The T-34's guns swiveled toward him, and Lukas launched the rocket. It hit the tank's side, sending flames licking up the armor.
As the tank crew bailed out, Lukas felt a searing pain in his leg. He stumbled back, realizing he'd been hit by shrapnel. Müller rushed over, helping Lukas to safety.
"Medic!" Müller yelled.
The medic arrived, applying a tourniquet to Lukas's wound. As the sounds of battle receded, Lukas's vision blurred. The medic's voice was the last thing he heard before everything went dark.
Lukas slowly opened his eyes, groggily taking in his surroundings. He was met with an eerie silence, and the realization dawned on him that he was alone. His head pounded, and his leg throbbed with pain. Memories of the intense battle and his injury flooded back. He mustered the strength to assess his situation.
As he struggled to sit up, Lukas noticed he was in an abandoned building, likely a temporary shelter for wounded soldiers. The medic's bandage on his wound was a testament to the hasty medical attention he received. But now, he was alone, with no sign of medical personnel or fellow soldiers.
Panic set in as Lukas realized the gravity of his situation. He had no clue where he was but he knew the fact that there were no soldiers meant the battle had been lost and he abandoned. He needed to move, but his injury made every movement agonizing. Lukas knew he had to head west, away from the Soviet push, but the journey seemed insurmountable.
With a newfound determination, Lukas began to plan his escape. He would have to navigate through unfamiliar terrain, avoiding enemy patrols and finding medical help. The thought was daunting, but Lukas steeled himself for the challenge ahead, knowing his survival depended on it.
Lukas gritted his teeth, each step a searing agony. He'd been walking for hours, his injured leg screaming in protest. The landscape blurred together – fields, forests, and buildings all merging into a haze of pain and exhaustion.
As night began to fall, Lukas spotted a small farmhouse in the distance. He stumbled toward it, hoping to find shelter and possibly medical attention. The farm was abandoned, but Lukas found a small barn with hay and a water trough.
He collapsed onto the hay, his leg throbbing with pain. Lukas knew he needed to clean and dress the wound, but his supplies were running low.
As he checked on his wound, Lukas heard the distant rumble of artillery fire. He had managed to cut behind the Soviet front lines, a smile almost formed on his face until he came to the realization that he was deeper into the Soviet Union. He had temporarily been able to escape Soviet capture but now what?. He had no plans or knowledge about his environment. He stood up, packed what he could and with the pain in his leg getting worse, he continued his journey and limped for a while until he could no longer feel his leg.
He dropped to the ground, thirsty and starving, and gazed up at the sky. "Is this my punishment?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. His vision blurred, and he surrendered to his exhaustion, letting the darkness wash over him.