The drive to doorstep

August 15, 1942 13:00 hours :

The sun was up, bright and hot in a pale blue sky. Dust swirled around the columns of the advance guard as they plunged onward, East into the vast Russian steppe. Their objective- a series of small worker's farms on the outskirts of a large industrial city.

Dust covered the columns like black soot. Human beings were unrecognizable, only goggled, non-human forms perched atop turrets and APCs. Hatches were open, as the heat was well nigh unbearable, allowing fine dark dust to coat every surface, every inch of the armored behemoths.

Hans attempted to clear his goggles of dust as he bucked to and fro from the gently rocking of the SPW 250/1 halftrack. Having removed his goggles, his highlighted eyes appeared ghostly and surrounded by a dark mask. Around him, somewhere amidst the clouds of dust, he glimped some of the units under his command along with his accompaning tank support, in wedge formation.

"Better than walking, no ?" came a playful shout from inside the halftrack's cabin, barely audible over the din of the vehicle's motor. Peitor emerged from further below and proffered his canteen.

"We could be going in circles, for christ's sake. If the scouts wanted to play a terrible trick on us we'd never know !" He grinned and took his friend's proffered canteen with relish and took a small swallow. "Argh ! Even the water tastes brackish. I might need a new aide- You'd think that an aide of mine would have the sense to at least fill it with vodka or something less nasty" Hans grinned as he handed the canteen back.

"I'll take your advise under consideration, Admiral" Peitor quipped, taking a small sip himself before stowing the bottle away in the corner of the halftrack.

"Yes, it is as if we are at sea here- a dry, brown, unending sea." Hans shook his head and thought to himself "What I would do to see the forests of my farm now. On a cool, clear autumn day, when the cool breeze whistles through the pines..."

From out of the sea of dust directly in front emerged what appeared to be a destroyed tank, causing the halftrack to turn abruptly, tossing the contents of the HQ staff to one side of the halftrack. Ghostly lumps, barely visible in the swirling dust indicated the remains of mangled trucks, tanks, and bodies of men.

"Apologies, herr Major !" The assistant driver shouted over the din of the halftrack's interior. "You'd all better hang on, we are approaching the point where the Luftwaffe smashed a Russian column coming out to counterattack the bridgehead yesterday. The scouts ahead report a large quantity of destroyed materiel. In this dust it may be a bit difficult to dodge them all easily."

"Understood." Hans shrugged his shoulders resignedly, more irritated at being torn out of his reverie than by any irritation from the rough ride. Seeing that clearing his goggles were a lost cause, he put them back on as they were. His whole world became one of swirling dust, the din of the motor, and the swaying of the halftrack.