Horribly. Tanks have penetrated the defense.

Graeber brings his hand to his chest and takes a deep breath. The gravity of the situation from earlier dawns on him all at once. How did he manage that shit show? He closes his eyes and then wipes his face with his palms.

The column splits in different directions suddenly, and Dieter slows down. The ruckus makes him jolt, and he looks out his window. “What is it this time?!”

“I don’t know!” Dieter cries out. “I’m just following—“

The truck before them bursts into flames as a loud BOOM claps the air. The truck and all of its contents splattered all over the place. Someone in the back wails out in pain as the cabin jerks to one side.

“Shit!” Graeber sees a T34 tank with its chassis green. It sticks out obviously in the white field, but there’s nothing between it and the six— now five trucks in the open. Graeber reaches for the wheel as the cannon shouts again. Another truck is struck, and the same scene plays out, only closer.

“Should we go back!?” Dieter cries out.

“We’re closer to the next base,” Graeber pulls the wheel, and the entire truck lurches, feeling as though it’s about to tip over to its side. “Hit the gas and drive around it!!”

Dieter slams his foot down on the gas pedal and the truck protests before lurching again. Everything is thrown back as a third truck explodes. Graeber places his hands on the dashboard, kicking the floor with his boots as he sees the turret adjusting. He should have figured the Russians didn’t just attack one small segment of the defensive line; there’s no telling how many tanks are running free right now.

“Go, go, go!!”

There’s off-hand commotion everywhere in the back. Both soldiers in the driving cabin suspect it’s their last seconds alive when the tank snaps at them with a bark louder than anything around them. However, the earth beside their truck blows up with a harsh thump and violent break as it misses.

“Other direction!” Graeber commands. “Zig zag! Zig zag! Snake around it!”

Dieter struggles to follow the orders but does it through a scream as they drive past the tank. Chaos has erupted not just in the main cabin but also in the back, where the wounded men have pieced together what is happening.

The whole truck shivers as the cannon pops again. Another miss, but the high explosive payload bursts the earth in front of them, knocking frozen crust and dark earth all over the window shield. Graeber watches in horror as the tank starts to grind towards them, giving chase to make sure it doesn’t escape.

“Los, los, los!!”

Graeber sees an orange dot zip from the cannon turret as it fires again. The mirror he was using to watch the scene is taken off as the gunner of the attack misses another time.

“Just put more space between us and the damn tank! Get off the road if you have to!” Graeber adjusts himself on his chair and peeks at the rear, eager to see what the tanker is doing now. Instead of seeing the cannon being used in anger, he sees the yellow flashes as the secondary weapons are unleashed— what prevented them from being used before wasn’t known, but as the bullets rattled the interior of the truck, he felt the tires popping and heard the men screaming before they went limp.

The tank started to close in, and Graeber noticed Dieter had gone pale suddenly. His belly was torn, and his uniform was turning red. The turret adjusted as it chased; Graeber closed his eyes and sat down.

“Fuck,” he mumbled. “Dieter, I think we’ve done all—“

The earth rumbles violently, knocking the truck off track and back on the road. The ride smooths while everyone in the back (everyone still alive, at least) cheers.

Between the cries of joy are the words “Luftwaffe.” Graeber presses his face against the window and screws his eyes upward, spotting two fighters circling the clear sky.

The joy is short-lived. However, as the truck slumps to the shoulder of the dirt road, Dieter crashes into the ditch and falls to his side. Graeber reaches for him and pulls, finding the body unresponsive to his touch. Even hidden by the torn uniform, his belly is obviously shredded by the metal hornets that punctured the truck.

The joy in the truck's bed faded hours ago, and now the wounded were attempting to riot. Graeber got out of the truck and surveyed himself. He found no extra holes, but it was stained with Dieter’s gore. Graeber saw the Russian tank and the blasted German trucks. He didn’t linger, though. He made his way toward the driver's seat to unbuckle Dieter.

The rear of his ruined Volkswagen went silent when they saw Dieter, the child who had just learned how to walk in boots. His body joined the others in the back…

…

…

The truck limps to the next defensive position. It’s only a little better shape than the last one— but it’s another mix of units. Waffen SS with speckled helmets, white coats, and dusty faces. It is here Graeber sees the other vehicles left over from the surprise attack. Medics rush out, but a few other soldiers accompany them. They leave the lines up but at least covered on the side of the road.

He finds his way inside a large building where he assumes the central command structure is resigning. Clean officers are inside, conversing with each other over steaming mugs and loose papers from Germany. It was hard to comprehend that, only 10 minutes away, his convoy was being decimated.

“Graeber?” A voice so familiar it sounded fake as he spoke out.