El Alamein — December 20, 1941, night
The Panzer IV sat motionless, a smoking stone in the middle of the desert. Around it, the battle had stopped roaring. Not because the war was over, but because this day had gone silent from sheer exhaustion.
Inside the tank, the five men didn't speak.
Ernst slowly cleaned the casing of an unused shell. Not because it needed cleaning—just to have something in his hands.Helmut had turned the radio off. He simply stared at the blinking light on the panel, as if his thoughts flickered in rhythm with it.Konrad, leaning against the gun breech, kept his eyes open… fixed on something only he could see.Lukas held María's medallion between his fingers. Not squeezing, not releasing. As if the mere touch was the only thing that still made sense.Falk, at the hatch, breathed deeply—but quietly. His face hardened by heat, tension… and a strange, quiet gratitude.
The battle had passed very close.Too close.
They all knew it.None of them said it.
Clinging to the steel that had shielded them, not one bore a scratch on his skin.But inside… there were marks.Invisible scars that none of them yet knew if they were wounds… or blessings.
The tank was still intact.So were they.And in that corner of shared silence, the miracle wasn't celebrated. Only accepted.
**
Outside, the desert breathed.Inside, the silence was enough.