"This is Fort Brest! This is Fort Brest! We're holding the line! Repeat we're holding the line! And need reinforcements!"
...
The radio operator continued sending distress signals, but no response came. The radio crackled, but no useful information returned.
Major Gavrilov, stationed near the radio, frowned deeply. He didn't understand what had gone wrong. This was war, the opponent was the Germans but where were the other Soviet units? When would reinforcements arrive? Where's the airforce? What was the next step?
Every question hung unanswered, and the uncertainty weighed heavily on him.
"I think this is a local operation," Instructor Artur said, stepping beside him. "The fortress is a key transport hub. The Germans want it as a springboard into the Soviet territory."
"We cannot be certain, Comrade Artur," Gavrilov replied quietly. "The only thing we know for sure is that we are in a dire situation. And qe need reinforcements."
He paused, then added, "Of course, this cannot be told to the soldiers."
Gavrilov strapped on his armed belt, stepped out of the basement headquarters, and strode along the ruins toward the front lines.
The Soviet defenders watched him expectantly, hoping for good news.
All except Dmitri. He knew there would be no good news. Even if there was, it would be false hope.
"Comrades!" Gavrilov called out, scanning the soldiers. "Here's the news first we have not been able to establish contact with our superiors!"
The troops stiffened, their hope flickering.
"But," Gavrilov continued, shifting his tone, "this is not insurmountable. We have already repelled several German attacks. Which proves that they are not invincible or are they?"
The implication was clear: even remnants of Soviet units in the fortress could withstand the enemy. Elsewhere, stronger units must be faring better.
The soldiers nodded. They understood that their garrison was irregular at best engineers, administrative troops, and support units not front-line combat troops. They assumed the German advance was being repelled elsewhere by proper Soviet divisions.
Only Dmitri knew the truth. Outside the fortress, Soviet forces were being decimated. On the first day alone, they lost 1,200 aircraft, 800 destroyed immediately after takeoff. Within ten days, thirty infantry divisions were annihilated, and seventy more lost over half their strength.
"So," Gavrilov continued, "do not lose hope, comrades! Perhaps their radios are down, or they are occupied elsewhere. But I believe… if we hold out until tomorrow, our troops will counterattack and surround the Germans from the outside. Just survive until then!"
The words inspired the men. Holding out until tomorrow became a shared goal.
"It's not so difficult!" Okunev said, glancing at his wristwatch. "We've held for five hours. The Germans haven't broken us. Tomorrow… just a few more hours like this and it's over!"
"No, Okunev," Dmitri interjected. "You're underestimating the situation."
"What do you mean?" Okunev asked.
"The battle isn't nearly over," Dmitri said quietly. "We should prepare ourselves mentally for a long siege."
Okunev laughed. "Oh, Dmitri, don't be so pessimistic! We are soldiers we face battles all the time, right?"
Dmitri said nothing. Even if he explained the reality, no one would believe him. Worse, revealing such knowledge might make him a suspect, a spy. So he stayed silent.
But even silence could not save him from the dilemma that pressed on his mind.
The fortress was surrounded. The Germans could maintain the siege for weeks, even months. Brest would eventually run out of supplies. Staying meant waiting to die. The only hope was a breakout and the sooner, the better.
A few days ago, a breakout was possible. The German encirclement was not yet tight. Beyond the fortress to the north stretched dense forest. Any soldier reaching it could evade the German army. But the defenders did not know this. They waited, hoping for reinforcements. By the fourth day, the chance for escape had narrowed dangerously.
Dmitri fidgeted in the trench, trapped between two impossible choices. If he warned the fortress of the encirclement, he could save lives but risk being labeled a German spy. If he stayed silent, he would merely delay the inevitable deaths of everyone inside.
At that moment, two communications soldiers emerged from the traffic trench. One raised his head toward Shuerka.
"Private Dmitri?"
"Yes," he replied.
"The major wants to see you."
"Me?" Dmitri blinked in surprise, wondering if they had mistaken him.
"Yes," the soldier said, eyes sharp. "Hand over your weapon."
Before Dmitri could react, the second soldier disarmed him, checked his gear, and unfastened the military thorn pinned at his waist.
Okunev shook his head helplessly. "Good luck, Dmitri… my friend."
Nearby soldiers whispered and muttered, suspicion and contempt clear on their faces:
"I knew this one was trouble."
"The instructor's been watching him for a while."
"Coward."
Some even spat in his direction. Dmitri's chest tightened, but he said nothing. Despite knowing more than any of them, he could not reveal his knowledge.
All he could do was take it one step at a time.