Western Egyptian Desert — December 13, 1941
The sun didn't rise—it fell, like a searing weight on the column. Falk's Panzer IV crawled forward, swallowing dust behind the supply trucks. It wasn't mud like in Kyiv, but the sand crept into every hinge, every joint of the tank. Treacherous. Dry. Alive.
—You don't sink here —Ernst muttered—. You roast.
**
At the forward outpost, they were greeted by a mixed force: tanned Italians, weathered Spaniards, tired Germans. They shared shade, silence, and bitter cigarettes.
—You don't see the enemy —said a Spanish legionnaire—. But they're there. Sometimes you hear the engine at night. Or find a trail in the sand where there wasn't one before.
**
By late afternoon, with the sun turning the sky to copper, Helmut raised his voice from the radio:
—Movement. West. Fast. Light armored vehicle.
Falk didn't ask questions. He climbed up to the hatch and raised his binoculars. In the distance, between folds in the terrain, a silhouette emerged: small, agile, long antenna, turret rotating. British.
—Recon unit —said Konrad, already at his sight—. Probably a Daimler or Humber.
—Do we fire? —asked Ernst.
Falk hesitated. It was their first contact. But war doesn't wave hello—it reacts.
—Fire.
**
The first shell tore through the air like a held breath. The enemy vehicle swerved, but the second shot struck the rear. A brief explosion. A burst of fire. Then smoke.
There was no time for celebration. Just the radio.
—Enemy unit destroyed. Area clear.
**
Lukas brought the tank to a smooth halt. Dust swirled around them.
—So this is how Africa begins?
—No —Falk said—. This is how it tells us we're already here.
**
That night, while the men tried to sleep on the hard sand, María's medallion hung inside the Panzer, swinging gently with each gust of desert wind.
And in the silence of the dunes, the echo of that first shot still seemed to ring.