A thousand incidents make a battle.

August 16th, 1942

The small village that had existed since the time of the Tsars was systematically undone in large chunks, thrown up in the air, and scattered like a angry child's playtoy. The waves of Stuka bombs plastered the ramshackle buildings, scattering their human and non-human contents all over the place. In a few minutes, a place that had survived the centuries was torn apart, and along with it any thoughts of resistance.

Many of the surviving miltiamen did all that they could do- they fled. The doomed who were left behind put up a grim, futile resistance. They knew only one thing- to take as many enemy with them as they could amidst the cheerfully colored fields of sunflowers. The damned do die hard and a thousand incidents do make up a battle....

A mortar halftrack took a mortar round that burst just above the crew compartment. The vehicle was unharmed, but contained a pulpy, wettish mass of red offal, which the eminantly practical grendiers quickly removed to get the mortar working again....

A large group of Russians burst from the tall fields of flowers, bearing down on the HQ troop. They were gunned down like nine-pins by the MGs of the security detachment, none getting closer than a hundred yards of their intended victim. Later it was noted that they didn't have a single rifle amongst them, only a few pistols and grenades.....

Grendiers were taken by surprise when a female radio operator lept from a trench and split one of them open with an entrenching tool. Revenge was swift and savage, and even afterward, the grendiers admired the shattered corpse with the beautiful flowing blonde hair......

A young grendier was terribly shaken by the way he had to put down a screaming raving horse pulling a wagon. The shattered, bloody remains of the wagon's driver and his passengers he had gunned down with his machine pistol didn't move him at all, however......

Lying on the outskirts of the ruined village, lay the defenders of a dug-in defensive position, as if fast asleep. A nearby large bomb crater nearby told of the concussion that washed over these poor unfortunates. Ever afterward, the Grendiers referred to the location of the village as "Ivan's Rest"......

The 1st platoon was taking fire from a trenchline at the edge of the village. One of their halftracks burned merrily in the road, dangerously cooking off ammo and creating such a feroucious blaze that the platoon could not continue its assault in that direction. In addition, their respected commander lay astride his halftrack, rolling in agony as he bled to death from a stomach wound. Near him were two comrades who were shot down trying to pull him to safety. In what can be considered a charitable act, his adjutant put him down with a single shot. Taking command, he led the platoon around the flank of the trench, where no mercy was exacted upon the unfortunates they found there....

A thousand incidents make a battle... And a billion incidents make up a war......