Western Breach — Sector 9KJanuary 29, 1943, 7:20 p.m.
The fighting had stopped.
Not for lack of enemies, but for lack of breath. Those still standing did so by instinct, not strength. Smoke still curled in spirals over the craters. The Tiger was smoldering. The mud still boiled. The air was unbreathable.
But it was silent.
Falk sat on a broken crate. Beside him, Ernst was bandaging Helmut with a strip torn from a Soviet uniform. Konrad was sharpening a knife on the broken blade of a bayonet. Lukas was asleep, head resting against the Tiger's hull.
The encircled soldiers had gathered nearby. They no longer looked like ghosts. Just soldiers. One of them—the same who had asked about the Leibstandarte—spoke in a hoarse voice:
—We never stopped believing... not entirely.
Falk looked up.
—When?
—When we saw that Tiger standing alone... and then saw its crew come out on foot and keep fighting without bullets. I thought: if those men are still fighting, then Germany still lives.
No one replied. No one had to.
Another of the encircled, younger, his face bandaged, an unbolted rifle slung over his shoulder, knelt beside Falk.
—Now that the breach is open... will more come?
Helmut, still pale, gave a tired smile.
—They're already on their way. Armored divisions. Romanians. At least one artillery battalion. They'll bring food, clothes... and tobacco.
The young man lowered his head. He began to cry, silently. Not from sorrow. From having survived long enough to believe again.
7:38 p.m.
A radio operator, caked in mud up to his neck, ran between smoking bodies with his backpack set slung across his back. He stumbled twice, but never let go of the handset. He reached the Tiger's position and shouted:
—Where is Commander Falk Ritter?
Falk raised a hand without standing.
—Here.
The operator approached and plugged in the cables. He crouched. Waited.
Static.
Then a voice:
—This is SS-Obergruppenführer Dietrich. Report. Now.
Falk took the mic.
He looked around:
The Panther was scrap.
The Tiger, a steel colossus turned to stone.
His men, covered in mud and smoke, were still breathing.
And the encircled… were still there, alive, standing.
He brought the mic to his lips.
And said:
—Mission accomplished. No casualties.
A few seconds of silence.
Then static.
And at last, for the first time all day… peace.