Another attack, but with combined arms.

“What a way to start Friday!” Felix swallows as if near orgasm. “Did you see that Stuka? Oh, my God!”

Lukas chews on the insides of his mouth, fixated on the cluster of buildings that should have been bypassed and ignored— but now is the attention of a small Panzer unit and a select few Luftwaffe dive bombers.

“Shut up, you damn idiot!” Schnieder barks, falling in rank with another Feldwebel. Their MP40 now differs in quality. Schnieder is an old officer compared to the man he’s beside now. “Everyone, fix bayonets!”

Graeber’s stomach flips as he and everyone else fix their rifles with their pokers. Emil, who had been rotated for this combat mission, rushes over to Lukas and Graeber. He regards both of his friends before doing the same.

The sound of metal latches hooking and the rumble of war is constant. Felix yelps for his assistant gunner and jogs down the line.

“Where were you?” Lukas says to Emil.

“Not far from the front. I was taking a piss when some private came running up the line saying we got a mail from home,” Emil shakes his head. “Then some asshole started yelling that we were going to start the ****.”

“And you believed him?” Lukas asks.

Another JU-87 comes down to drop a devastating payload into a building. A plum of debris kicks out while the structure falls into itself. Following the bomb was a high explosive round from a nearby STUG, kicking up the earth around it.

Emil laughs, louder than some of the cannons. “Are you telling me you’d deny the evidence?”

Lukas looks down bashfully. “It was quiet until a few minutes ago.”

“I’d rather fight than march or skirmish…or deal with civilians. The 6th Army is meant to grind up the enemy,” Emil spies at the factory— the knocked out tanks and dead infantry. “We’re so close to winning, my friends!”

“How careless these Russians are,” Graeber remarks. “Why don’t they just give up already?”

“Stalin,” Emil says. “It’s Stalin who’s forcing them to die for nothing.”

Lukas is silent, but he agrees that the Soviets are better off dead or surrendering. Emil is about to say something else, but Felix returns with seven others and the order to advance is given…

…as smoke billows out of the office area, a man stumbles out with a Mosin. He’s confused and has no idea that three men are waiting for him. Graeber and Lukas shoot him, but Emil waits for a possible second.

The “possible second” stays in the concealment of the office and blindly shoots into the general direction of the Germans. Rounds pepper the walls and the posters. A bullet ricochets off the wall and strikes Lukas’s helmet, making him duck into cover.

“Throw another grenade!” He yells.

Graeber pulls a stick grenade from Emil’s webbing and preps the bomb before tossing it into the office. There’s a yelp on the other side, but the grenade is hastily thrown back.

Graeber sees the bomb and screams, kicking it back before falling into the same room as Lukas. The hallway bursts with a heart-pounding thump. Graeber stands up and pokes his head out, and sees the second Russian doing the same. Before either of them can shoot, Emil takes a snapshot and blows a hole through the Soviet’s head.

“Danke,” Graeber says.

“That was too close,” Emil gasps. “Fuck!”

There’s still fighting all over, but it’s impossible to know what’s happening in their section of the factory. “How’s Lukas?”

“I’m alive,” he gets behind Graeber. “Are they dead?”

“I think so,” Emil grimaces. “Do you have any more grenades?”

“That was the last one,” Graeber feels his harness for maybe another one but finds nothing.

“Who has a pistol?” Lukas says, switching rooms, so he’s with Emil.

“I’m out of ammo with it,” Emil asks. “Where’s yours?”

“It was shot through before we got to the factory. It saved my life, though.” Lukas pats Emil to swap places with him. “Graeber?”

“Lost my Walther,” he admits and thinks of a lie. “I think I left it somewhere at the last stop.”

The truth was, he hadn’t seen it since he was in Poland in Julia. But, he wanted to believe that he misplaced it when going through Ukraine or somewhere in Russia.

“That first guy you shot,” Emil chased. “What did he have?”

“A garbage rod,” Graeber sighs. “That second one had a papasaw.”

“What happened to that one fellow with us before we got inside?” Emil thinks.

“Dead,” Lukas confirms. “He got shot through the head a few steps away from the hole we dove into.”

“Damn!” Emil curses. “What should we do?”

“Maybe skip the room?” Lukas wonders.

Emil shakes his head, running into the same room as Graeber. “We can’t leave our flank completely exposed to a possible third threat!”

As his squamates bicker, Graeber fidgets.