The shriek of the shells tearing through the polar night drowned out all other sounds of battle in an instant.
The Soviet infantry, swarming thickly behind the T-26 tanks and preparing to surge into the trenches of Hill L, never heard the whistle of death approaching from their rear. In their mind, their own heavy artillery battery had long since fallen silent following that massive explosion.
BOOM—!!!
The twenty-one-kilogram OF-462 high-explosive shell struck like a red-hot sledgehammer dropped from the heavens, landing with pinpoint accuracy in the very center of the Soviet charging column. The instantaneous fuse detonated the moment it touched the earth, spraying over two hundred shards of jagged steel. For a fifteen-meter radius, space itself seemed to warp.
This single shot was a total subversion of the battlefield.
The Soviet tidal wave was hacked in two. The fanatical roars of "Ura!" were instantly shocked into terrified wails by the sudden explosion at their backs.
On Hill L, the pressure on Niemi's position vanished. Though he had no idea what had happened, his survival instinct took over, and he roared at the top of his lungs, "Fire! Push the Russians back while we have the chance!"
However, the crisis on the heights was far from over.
While the three T-26 tanks were startled by the fire from behind, their drivers, staring down the muzzles of the NKVD barrier troops, had no choice but to grit their teeth and press forward. Since Walter had taken all the grenades and Molotov cocktails with him, the defenders on the hill were utterly defenseless against these steel monsters.
Boom! Boom!
The tanks fired their cannons point-blank, obliterating the thin earthen breastworks. Several Finnish soldiers tried to rush forward to jam the treads with their bayonets, only to be stitched into sieves by the tanks' machine guns.
"Lieutenant! The tanks! They're going to crush them!" the clerk wailed by the artillery piece.
Through the periphery of the Eye of Death, Walter saw the carnage on the hill with terrifying clarity. Niemi's position was being devoured piece by piece. If those three tanks reached the summit, it was all over.
"Adjust the traverse! Aim for the tin cans!" Walter bellowed, his hands white-knuckled as he wrenched the adjustment wheels.
A heavy gun like the M-30 wasn't designed for anti-tank duty, but its massive caliber and payload operated on a much more brutal logic. Against the paper-thin armor of a T-26, "armor penetration" wasn't even necessary. A near-miss alone would generate enough kinetic overpressure to shatter internal components, and the internal organs of the crew.
A direct hit would reduce the tank to a crumpled soda can.
"Open the breech!" Walter's eyes were shot through with blood.
"Up!"
For the second shot, Walter made a micro-adjustment to the azimuth.
BOOM—!
The shell, trailing a red tail of light, slammed directly into the rear flank of the lead tank. The resulting shockwave flipped the T-26 onto its roof; its treads spun uselessly in the air for a moment before being consumed by a secondary ammunition explosion.
"Yes! Again!" the cook roared.
The third shot followed immediately.
Using the Eye of Death, Walter locked onto a predicted position. The shell struck almost vertically atop the turret of the second tank, the weakest point of its armor. The entire vehicle collapsed like it had been stepped on by an invisible giant, turning into a pile of warped scrap metal as fire geysered from every seam.
The destruction of two consecutive tanks finally sent a bone-chilling shiver through the last Soviet driver. He realized that Death wasn't waiting on the hill, it was behind him.
"He's moving! He's zig-zagging!" the clerk shouted nervously through the observation slit.
The final T-26 displayed a desperate will to live. The driver began a frantic serpentine maneuver, using burning wreckage and undulating craters as cover while constantly shifting between reverse and forward gear to mess with Walter's lead.
"Fire!"
Boom!
The fourth shot missed, hitting the ground ten meters to the side and throwing up nothing but a wall of mud.
"Dammit!" Walter slammed a fist into his thigh.
"Fire!"
Boom!
The fifth shot was another near-miss, failing to stop the tank as it closed in on the Hill L command post.
Walter's palms were slick with cold sweat. He looked down; there was only one shell left in the crate.
"Last one, Lieutenant," the cook's voice trembled. His arms were convulsing from the high-intensity loading.
By now, the last T-26 had reached the edge of Hill L's trench. It came to a halt, its barrel lowering slowly until it pointed directly at the final bunker where Niemi was stationed.
BOOM—!
The deafening crack echoed through the night sky of the Isthmus.
The 45mm tank shell struck the semi-subterranean bunker squarely. The log supports, already weakened by the earlier heavy shelling, snapped instantly, triggering a massive cave-in of frozen earth. In his peripheral vision, Walter saw the Maxim machine gun tossed into the air amidst a spray of dirt and stone.
Walter's hand on the lanyard shook violently. He couldn't help but close his eyes.
"Lieutenant! He's turning! The bastard found us!" The clerk's piercing scream dragged Walter back to reality.
Inside that T-26, the Soviet crew seemed to have fallen into a post-slaughter bloodlust. Instead of retreating, they had gone completely feral. The turret spun 180 degrees with a manic grind, pointing its slender barrel directly at the burning Soviet artillery camp.
Screech—creak—!
The treads bit fiercely into the frozen soil at the edge of the heights. The last tank, like an enraged boar, dove down the slope. Abandoning its infantry cover, it charged at full speed toward Walter's gun position.
As it charged, it swerved violently across the snow. The driver was trying to break the heavy gun's lock-on, while the 45mm cannon on the turret spat fire continuously through the bounces.
Clang! Clang!
Two tank shells slammed into the mud near the M-30. The resulting shockwaves tore the already burning Soviet tents to shreds, sending sparks flying onto Walter and the cook.
"Son of a—!" the cook wiped the soot from his face, a look of madness in his eyes. He scooped up the final heavy HE shell, their very last chip in this gamble.
"Open the breech!" Walter opened his eyes again.
By now, his vision was entirely flooded with crimson. The overdriven Eye of Death was giving him a splitting migraine, but he couldn't stop. Facing that high-speed, firing tank, he had exactly one chance.
Clang!
The breech slid open, and a suffocating smell of scorched metal wafted out. The cook used the last of his strength, as if lifting a mountain, to ram the OF-462 shell into the glowing-hot chamber.
Clang!
Walter's hands locked onto the wheels.
Five hundred meters... three hundred meters...
The tank was diving, its barrel bouncing up and down. The driver was clearly a madman, using the gravity of the slope to accelerate, closing the distance to the heavy gun that had wrought such destruction.
"Just... DIE!"
Walter let out a soul-shattering roar in his mind.
At the exact moment the tank rolled over the frozen Soviet corpses in the snow, Walter caught a fraction of a second of physical stagnation. No hesitation. No doubt.
Walter yanked the lanyard.
BOOM—!!!!!
It was likely the most earth-shattering sound of the entire night.
Firing at a near-zero-degree point-blank trajectory, the M-30 howitzer unleashed a burst of violent energy capable of tearing the very air apart. At almost the same microsecond, the T-26 fired its final 45mm shell.
Two bursts of flame crossed in the narrow space.
In Walter's vision, the 122mm HE shell looked like a meteorite slamming directly into the tank's frontal armor. For a T-26 with only 15mm of protection, this wasn't a "penetration," it was total pulverization. Upon contact, the upper half of the tank, the turret, and everyone inside disintegrated instantly in a sphere of orange overpressure.
However, the Reaper's scythe swung for Walter as well.
The 45mm shell from the Soviet tank landed less than five meters from the M-30's carriage.
BOOM—!
A massive shockwave accompanied by a searing heatwave hit Walter in the chest like a solid wall. Walter felt a piercing ring in his ears sharp enough to puncture his soul; then, all sound vanished.
The blood-red vision before his eyes began to shatter under the violent vibration. He saw the cook being tossed into the air by the blast like a helpless leaf; he saw the clerk with his mouth wide open, screaming silently.
Then, all color drained away, turning into a stark, blinding white. The ringing in his ears shifted from sharp to low, finally fading into a deathly silence.
His fingers slowly went limp, releasing the scorching lanyard. His body slumped onto the soil, blackened by blood and gunpowder.
…
After an unknown amount of time, the edges of his vision began to soften. A faint, dull white flickered through the chaotic haze of smoke and mud. Then, a hand wearing a coarse wool glove roughly brushed away the scorched earth and debris covering Walter's face.
"Walter! Wake up!"
The voice sounded incredibly distant, as if coming through a thick layer of ice, ethereal and unreal.
Walter's eyelids fluttered, prying open a sliver with great effort. First, he saw the billowing black smoke. Then, a face leaned over him, one made stern by the bitter cold and gunpowder, yet etched with deep anxiety.
It was Simo.
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