Sudetenland — July 1940
It wasn't a shell.It wasn't a mine.It was a damned culvert.
Falk's Panzer IV came to a halt with a metallic groan on a rural road between Brno and Jihlava. A poorly shaped turn, a hidden slope—and the left-side suspension cracked with a sharp snap.
"It's dead," the mechanic confirmed. "At least for this week."
Falk said nothing. He climbed down without a word. It wasn't their first disabled tank.But this wasn't a Panzer. It was his Panzer. His steel home.
"Are we getting reassigned to infantry?" Lukas asked, still hoping someone would say no.
"No. They're assigning us a 38(t)," Helmut reported, reading a brief dispatch. "Czech. Ironic."
The new tank was small. Almost… nimble.But it wasn't a Panzer IV. The engine sounded off. The turret turned faster, but the gun was narrow—fragile. The steel felt thinner.
"Feels like a music box on wheels," Ernst muttered.
"More like a mobile coffin," Konrad added, checking the periscope.
Falk didn't reply. He climbed into the commander's seat. Everything was out of place. Different controls. Cramped interior. No long-range radio.
"They've lent us a weapon but taken away our voice," Helmut said flatly.
The first patrol was quiet. Too quiet.
Silent towns. Avoiding eyes. A sign nailed to a door in red paint: "The Reich is not our home!"
Further along, a Wehrmacht column made way for them without a salute.
"They see us as a Czech toy wearing German insignia," Lukas said, bitter.
"They see us as wolves with no teeth," Konrad replied.
At a narrow intersection, a shot rang out. An ambush. A rifle shot took down an SS sergeant on a motorcycle just behind them. He dropped like a sack.
Falk ordered the formation to close ranks. The Panzer 38(t) turned with surprising speed.
"House to the left, second floor," Helmut reported.
"Konrad."
One shot. Precise. The impact tore through the facade. Screams. Then silence.
It wasn't a battle. It was a whisper of war.But the little tank did its job.
That night, they returned to base caked in mud.
"It's not home," Ernst said, tapping the side of the tank. "But it didn't kill us."
"Don't underestimate it," Falk replied. "Sometimes the machine matters less than the crew."
No one answered.
But the 38(t), at least, was still rolling.