Outskirts of Kiev — July 1941
The city loomed in the distance like a dark stain on the horizon.From his position, Falk could see it without truly seeing it.He only sensed its size. Its history. Its weight.
They were deployed along the slope of a hill, under sparse tree cover. There were no orders to advance yet. Only to prepare. Reorganize. Wait.
—"Ammo loaded," Ernst said, sealing the hatch after the last shells went in.
—"Radio's clear. No interference," Helmut added. "HQ is focused on coordinating heavy artillery."
—"And the infantry?"
—"On foot. Moving slow. Tired."
—"Like everyone else," Konrad muttered.
Lukas was polishing the forward optics with unusual focus.
—"You cleaning that thing or prepping it to kiss the enemy?" Ernst joked.
—"I want a clear view when it starts," Lukas replied without looking up.
Falk stood at the hatch, silent. Watching Kiev.
The hum came like a vibration. Then grew into a distant roar.
They all looked up.
A squadron of German fighters ripped through the clouds at speed, followed by heavier aircraft—Dorniers, Heinkels.Behind them, as if in furious reply, Soviet fighters rose from some unseen airfield.
—"Dogfight!" someone nearby called out—unnecessarily.
Falk didn't move.
Men on the ground watched as if witnessing a duel of gods: contrails crossed, gunfire streaked, flames burst. A German fighter was hit—spiraling down in smoke. A Soviet one exploded mid-climb.
—"Looks like a dance," Helmut said.
—"An elegant slaughter," Konrad corrected.
Then came the bombs.
Not on them. On Kiev.
From their position, they could see the first plumes of smoke rise. Buildings struck. Explosions shaking even the earth beneath them. A factory in flames. A shattered train station. The sky, once pale blue, turned orange.
—"They're clearing the path," Falk said.
—"Or burying what's left," Lukas murmured.
No one clapped.No one smiled.
It was only the beginning.
The city still stood.But the sky had already broken over it.