It’s the beginning of chaos.

The deep thumps of the harsh concussion shatter the once peaceful stalemate of nothing. The first two thumps are chased by several more before the tear of the MG34 begins to rattle the defenders' positions. Felix throws another stick over their ditch, which lands perfectly in a sandbag formation. A scream boils out, but it falters when the bomb explodes. Graeber lobs another grenade over the ditch. Another house this time. It booms, causing a fire as the building coughs our black plumes of smoke.

Rapid gunfire starts coming from inside the village. Felix is the first one to pop his head over with his rifle. He shoots at someone and works the bolt, firing again. Graeber follows the example and does the same but hesitates when he notices not just army men but villagers too. Someone is writhing in pain on the ground, outside of military fatigues— wounded from a bullet and not s grenade.

Schnieder’s little ambush has caught this entire village off guard, and a slaughter is unfolding within. Graeber trains his eyes for firearm holders and plucks two Russians stumbling out of a smoke-coughing hut. Felix ducks down to reload, and soon Graeber is doing the same. Schnieder burps out a dozen bullets with his MP40 and tells them to advance with a barking voice. He’s first out of the ditch. Graeber points his knife-equipped rifle and advances wearily forward. Someone comes running out of the buildings. It’s another villager that Felix flattens with one bullet. Graeber hesitates and finds a good target, but the intensity of the fighting becomes more pronounced the deeper they go, making identifying the enemy complex.

They walk over bodies, some still breathing, as they make their way to where they suspected the main **** of the defenders was. Instead of shouting at them to drop their weapons, Schnieder unleashes a storm full of angry metal bees into their unaware backs. There have to be about two dozen Russians in their sandbag positions. Once the soviets discover they’ve been outflanked, some of them drop their rifles, but this doesn’t stop either Felix or Schnieder, who drop them with robotic efficiency.

Graeber isn’t sure when he started shooting, nor does he remember even hesitating, but as ordered, there were no prisoners. Outside, a dusty cloud of combat envelopes around gray tunic and black harness systems. Suddenly the air becomes stale with ****, and the stink of it comes over his sense of smell. The gross moaning of the wounded comes from everywhere. Schnieder climbs down into where that latest firefight just ended. “Felix!” He shouts. “No prisoners!”

“Ja! Feldwebel!“ Felix carefully advances towards the pile of wounded with this bayonet already poking to see which of the Russians will react. Graeber makes a face and looks away as he listens to Felix complete his orders. “You motherless bastard communists!!”

Graeber trails off alone— the Russians have seemed to have scattered, but, likely, there are still some of them in hiding. Lukas, at least he assumes it is Lukas, fires a like of bullets somewhere inside the village. The steady stream of lead forces a handful of Russian soldiers to run to a different position. When they spot Graeber, they raise their Mosins, but his reaction forces him to point his rifle with deadly precision first— with a loud and single crack, he manages to hit true. It’s dead center, even with the imbalance his bayonet brings with it being attached to the end of his Mauser.

Instead of resisting, the other Russians drop their rifles with their hands high in the air. “ya podchinyayus!”

One shouts in a high voice. Graeber comes over slowly, his rifle still raised. “Was? Was hast du gesagt!?”

“Surrender! Surrender!” The same voice repeats.

“Halt den Mund!” Cold sweat drips down his forehead. The voice belongs to a woman, the smudge of combat dirties her features, but there’s no denying the gender that speaks for the group.

“You’re surrendering?” Graeber says. He watches the girl as the gears in her brain turn, translating his words.

She nods. “Yes. We surrender!”

The girl’s accent is terrible, but it makes him more sympathetic towards their situation. “How do you know German?”

“Mama,” she says. “She was German.”

He considers the thought, but she continues. “Don’t kill us. We surrender.”

They watch his rifle as it sways. “What am I going to do with you people?” Another gun fight erupted behind him. The others are closing in, and Graeber’s time is running thin.