Synopsis:

After the brutal Ukrainian campaign and the battles that culminated in Kyiv, the Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler is no longer the same. Battered but not broken, its armored core regroups in France just as the push toward Moscow grinds to a halt beneath the weight of winter—and of strategic doubt. No one knows exactly where the war is heading… except for a few.

As Falk Ritter and his crew receive a new long-barreled Panzer IV, still bearing the scars of the Eastern Front, a new destination looms: Africa.

In a sudden redeployment, part of the division is sent to reinforce the Axis campaign in the desert, where the forces of Rommel, Italy… and Spain—under the command of General Yagüe—are advancing toward Cairo, Palestine, and beyond.

But under the scorching sun, there is no shelter for the conscience. Among ancient ruins, dust storms, and enemy fire, Falk and his men must adapt to a different war—without snow, without trenches, but with the same shadow of death… and even more questions left unanswered.

History marches on. The Reich expands. But war, as always, moves faster.

Ukraine — 25 km west of Uman, July 1941


The smoke was still visible on the horizon.


The T-34 burned slowly, as if refusing to finish dying. Around it, the Leibstandarte unit had established a defensive perimeter. The infantry remained silent. No one spoke of victory. They simply breathed… and confirmed they were still alive.


Inside the Panzer IV, the atmosphere was heavier than its armor.


—"I've never seen anything like that," Ernst said, breaking the silence.


—"Me neither," Konrad replied without looking away from the sight.


—"What the hell was that armor?" Lukas asked. "We hit it twice in the front and didn't even scratch it."


—"A new design," Falk murmured. "Faster than a KV, tougher than a Panzer. And with a gun that didn't give us any chances."


—"It outclassed us," Helmut said coldly. "In everything."


Hours later, Falk walked toward the command tent. Dust covered his shoulders, and his uniform smelled of burnt fuel.


Inside, Albrecht awaited him by a spread-out map. He greeted him with a dry gesture, no formalities.


Falk stood straight, discreetly. His voice was low and measured.


—"Engaged with previously unidentified enemy unit. A tank. Low profile, sloped armor. Superior to the Panzer IV in mobility, firepower, and resistance."


Albrecht studied him in silence. Then he asked:


—"Destroyed. But only after full tactical maneuvering. Two side hits. The front was useless."


Albrecht stepped toward the map. He marked a red line near a crossroads.


—"Wounded. Evacuated. Did not resist after engine failure."


Falk took a moment. Not to think, but to gather words that were more than just routine.


—"We won through experience. Not technical superiority. If this repeats on a larger scale… this campaign will cost more than expected."


—"Change of tactics. No underestimating mobile positions. And above all… don't trust our armor."


Falk thought of the smoke. The jolt of the shot. The figure climbing out of the other turret, blood on his face.


Albrecht didn't press further. He simply jotted something in his notebook.


—"Go rest. The war's only just begun."


Falk saluted, turned on his heel… and disappeared back into the dust.


That night, inside the Panzer, Ernst said quietly to no one in particular:


—"No," Konrad replied. "It was the first."


—"The first one that looked us in the eye… and didn't move."


Chapter 11 - Chapter 10: Echoes of the First Shot