Outskirts of Berlin, Germany
April 1st, 1945
06:00 AM

"Gott in Himmel!" A young SS boy named Horst complained as he picked up the body of another young boy killed in his platoon's last skirmish with the Red Army. "This stench is disgusting!" He dropped the limp body in the anti-tank ditch made by the Russians before his battalion took the position. A German King Tiger Tank rolled over the dead bodies filling the ditch. Suddenly the tank stopped. Why did they stop? Horst asked himself. The tank commander popped out of the tank and strolled first over to the commandant of Horst's company, spoke to him, then walked over to the wondering boy. Immediately after coming to attention and saluting the officer with the Nazi party's salute, Horst was struck in the face by a hand in a rubber glove.

"Boy! Didn't your commandant tell you?"

"Tell me what, sir?" Horst asked. He was not one to question authority. While speaking to the officer, Horst recognized his rank: Obersturnfuhrer, a rank above his. He could tell this man, however older and higher in rank, was green to the field.

"Do not salute or come to attention in in the presence of an officer! Russian snipers like to look for officers. In fact, all snipers do. You of all people should know that." The man was right. Horst was a sniper in the Waffen SS. "Now, what I was going to tell you is that you are to be joining me and my crew on a mission."

"Just me, sir?" Horst replied hoarsely. He was dying for a drink of water, but the only liquids around were oil and blood. Horst was sure as heck not going to drink those.

"No, you and your squad are to assist me and my crew in a quick guerilla warfare style attack, then withdraw. Got it, boy?"

"Ja," Horst replied.

"Good. Gather your squad, tell them the mission and then meet me in my tank." With that, the officer was gone.

Horst did just that. On the way to the tank, a shot rang out. Everyone hit the deck and took aim with their respective weapons. As Horst looked through his scope, he began moving it. The cross hair landed on the tank commander. He was slumped over but was shaking relatively.

"Itzhak!" The young sergeant crawled up to Horst. "I want you and your squad to shoot anything that moves, got it? I'm going to check out the commander," Horst commanded.

"Yes sir!" Itzhak told the others the orders and gave his commander a clear. Quietly, Horst moved over to the tank and took a look at he officer.

". . . Sir?" Horst pulled the commander's body closer and saw why he slumped. A quite highly skilled Soviet marksman had shot the commander right between the eyes, an amazing feat for any sniper. Machine guns started rattling, and the German boy looked up and saw what his men were firing at. Three squads of Russian infantry just emerged from the woods and started a firefight. The body of the tank commander was thrown out suddenly, and a startled Horst looked inside the tank. The others in the tank had pushed their commander's body out. Horst jumped inside the tank for quick protection against small arms fire. "Well, good morning, men." Horst turned his head to the periscope used to sight targets for the tank. Looking in it, a gleam of metal caught his eye. He moved the scope and saw a Red Army T-34 tank turning it's turret toward him. "T-34s! Get out!" Horst grabbed his rifle, jumped out of the tank and sprinted to his men to get ammo.

"What?" An unsuspecting German popped out of the tank only to see three tanks fire at him and ultimately kill him and the crew.

Horst looked on in horror. A King Tiger tank, Germany's strongest tank and Horst's men last hope, had just been obliterated.

"Sir! Sir! . . .Sir?" One of Horst's men was shaking Itzhak to the point where one could not recognize him.

"Get out of here, men! Fall back! Out here there is no cover at all, so get your butts back to Berlin!"

"Yes sir! Heil Hitler!" They yelled as they ran back to the capital.

"Sir?" The private was still shaking Itzhak. Horst turned around to see how the battle was going, and he saw a Soviet squad flank one of his only 3 MG42s. Looking a bit more to the right, he saw Itzhak. Abruptly, Horst stopped and began sprinting to his friend.

"Go on ahead of me! I'll catch up!" He yelled to his men. BZOO . . . BOOM! A shell came in, apparently Horst was the target. But the young German ran on, oblivious to the shells landing next to him. As he neared Itzhak the shells began landing ahead of him.

"Sir!" The private yelled.

"I'm coming, Itz —" Horst was cut off by a shell. BZOO . . . BAM! The position where Itzhak previously was exploded, with Horst only 10 feet away. The impact of the shell threw Horst into the sky, and he landed in an abandoned foxhole. The scope was knocked off of his Mauser 98K Carbine, and Horst was unconscious.