Urban interior of Kiev — August 1941
There was no warning.
One more street. One more block.Another corner that looked empty.Until it wasn't.
The Panzer IV advanced at a steady pace, flanked by a German infantry platoon. They had already crossed half the city from the southern flank, bypassing abandoned barricades and the occasional sniper shot. The bombing smoke still drifted high above. The advance was slow, but continuous.
—"Too easy," Konrad muttered.
—"Don't say that," Lukas replied, like it was a cursed spell.
It was as they turned a narrow corner flanked by apartment blocks—Shattered facades. Glassless windows.And then, the trap snapped shut.
A Molotov cocktail flew from a third floor.It hit the Panzer's side.Flames that did no real damage—but blinded them.
Rifle fire. Bursts. A grenade exploded just ahead of the infantry line.
—"Ambush! Crossfire!" a German sergeant shouted.
The Panzer halted instantly.
—"Contact!" Helmut yelled. "Multiple points! Three buildings!"
—"Konrad, right side! Ernst, HE loaded!" Falk ordered.
The cannon turned and fired. The shockwave tore through rubble. An upper floor collapsed.
But it wasn't enough.
Another Molotov landed on the tread. Lukas cursed. The armor held, but the flames and smoke blocked visibility. From a basement, a short Soviet 45mm gun appeared like a wolf's mouth.
It fired. Partial impact.
—"Not again!" Ernst growled, gritting his teeth.
Konrad fired back with fury. Second shot. The basement was sealed in flame and stone.
Infantry was falling back in disarray. Some went down. Others ducked into broken doorways. The Soviets didn't shout. They just fired—accurate, unseen.
—"Damn it, they're fighting like ten times their number," Helmut spat.
Falk didn't answer. He ordered a half-block retreat, a new angle. They fired once more into the main structure. Flames grew. Bullets faded—but not entirely.
Half an hour later, the fighting eased. Only then could they escape the trap.
They had survived. But they knew this was Kiev.Not a city taken.A city desperate.One that—even dying—still bit back.
Falk removed his helmet. Held it a moment.Then said quietly:
—"If this is the prelude… what comes next will have no name."