The rumble of German tanks echoed through the smoke-filled battlefield. Each tank was followed by waves of infantry three companies in all, each with armor leading the charge. Their objective was clear: break the fortress and crush the Soviet defenders.
"Demolition team!" Major Gavrilov shouted. Under a hail of small-arms fire, several small groups leapt from the trenches, moving toward the German tanks.
A demolition team usually consisted of five men. Three were the blasters, armed with rifles and carrying explosives: satchel charges, grenades, and occasionally anti-tank bundles. Some went without rifles to move faster. Two were cover personnel, equipped with PPD-40 submachine guns, tasked with suppressing the enemy and assisting the blasters if necessary.
This was a job for the bravest soldiers. Ordinary men froze at the sight of tanks. Dmitri, known among the men as a "coward," felt a strange relief—he would not be on the front line throwing explosives.
Through the trench's front sight, Dmitri watched the demolition teams. They were veterans, using shell craters for cover, then sprinting forward in bursts. German fire was heavy, but only a few men fell. Most reached the first line of cover, scattered across the battlefield, a hundred meters ahead.
The tanks slowed, wary of hidden explosives. German crews were not "afraid of infantry," but their visibility was limited. Soldiers hiding in craters or among corpses were difficult to spot, and a single misplaced charge could immobilize a vehicle.
A Panzer III, marked "No. 3," swung its gun barrel and obliterated a Maxim machine gun nest with a thunderous boom. Bodies and pieces of the heavy water-cooled M1910 machine gun flew across the trench. Its steel baffle and conspicuous barrel made it a prime target for German tanks.
The other two tanks paused as well, targeting Soviet machine gun positions along the trench line. This was not a mistake—it was German tactical brilliance. Tank guns were designed to engage grouped or fortified targets at range, not scattered infantry. The demolition teams were a threat, but their dispersed movement made them hard to hit with direct fire.
"Da-da-da!" bursts of MG-34 fire from accompanying German infantry pinned down the teams. Several men fell before reaching the tanks. The advance continued methodically: tanks moved, infantry followed, and the trench line was probed at every point.
Above, Luftwaffe fighters swooped in. Messerschmitt Bf 109s strafed the Soviet trenches, bullets tearing through mud and sand. Dmitri dropped, rolling into the corner of the "Z"-shaped trench. Stones and dirt sprayed across his face as bullets whizzed past.
Looking back, Dmitri saw bodies littered where soldiers had just been—hands and feet still twitching, blurred by blood and smoke. Okunev was lucky, breathing heavily and pale, lips trembling.
"You all right?" Dmitri asked.
"I… I think so," Okunev replied, eyes wide, as if studying Dmitri's instincts and wondering how he knew where to hide.
It was simple, pilots flew straight and parallel to trenches during strafing runs. Bullets traveled predictably, and cover facing away from the aircraft offered some protection. Bombs followed the same logic. Dmitri had learned it quickly, without thinking.
He helped Okunev crawl to safer ground, peeking over the trench edge.
Under the coordinated German assault—tanks, infantry, and airpower—the Soviet defenders were in grave danger. Trenches were suppressed, firepower neutralized, and the tanks advanced with near impunity. The demolition teams could only slow them temporarily. Each tank rolled forward methodically, every distance tested by grenades or rifle fire, but casualties mounted with every step.
Some demolition teams still lurked in craters or behind bodies, explosives in hand. Their presence forced the tanks to advance cautiously, but it was only a matter of time. Soon, German tracks would crush the trenches, and the cold steel and bayonets of infantry would follow.
Dmitri felt the weight of the inevitable. The fortress might collapse entirely, and some men had already begun retreating, rifles abandoned in the chaos. Boris had even stumbled back toward the rear.
Dmitri forced himself to stay. Escape would bring the wrath of the German army, the Soviets, and the judgment of history. There was nowhere to run.