Approach to Kursk — February 10, 1942
The sky didn't wait for the cannons.
When Falk's platoon reached the final tree line before the combat zone, the ground trembled not from engines, but from the roar overhead. The Luftwaffe was arriving like a clenched fist.
First came the fighters—sharp, fast, slicing the air like blades. Then, higher and heavier, the bombers in formation. Dozens of them. Dornier. Heinkel. Junkers. Their silhouettes darkened the pale winter sun.
—Look at that… —Helmut whispered from the Panther—. Feels like 1940 again.
Falk looked up from the Tiger's hatch. Brunner did the same from his Panzer IV.
—It's the last time we'll see them fly without trouble —Falk said.
Then came the blasts.
From the other side of the horizon, the Soviets opened up with anti-air batteries. Black dots rose like fists of smoke. Explosions surrounded the bombers in mid-descent.
—God... —Lukas muttered—. They're flying straight into hell.
A Dornier was hit. It spiraled down and crashed beyond the treeline, engulfed in fire. Another kept flying despite holes in its wings. A Heinkel dropped its payload just before a column of flame consumed it.
—There go the bombs! —Ernst shouted.
The distant ground lifted in tongues of dirt and smoke. Soviet defenses burned, but didn't disappear. For every bunker hit, another seemed to rise. Dust blanketed everything.
The surviving planes turned back. Some returned smoking, others with gaping holes in their fuselages. But they returned.
The soldiers below watched them with a mix of awe and bitterness.
—It wasn't enough —Brunner murmured—. They're still there. They're moving...
From the Tiger's elevated hatch, Falk lifted his binoculars. On the horizon, through the haze and debris, the Soviets were still there: reorganizing, reinforcing, waiting.
—They've bled… but they're still standing. Just like us.
He put away the binoculars and shut the hatch. The sky's roar was fading.Soon, the roar of steel would take its place.