Rear Lines — Egypt, December 23, 1941
It had been less than forty-eight hours since El Alamein, but for Falk and his crew, time was no longer measured in days. Only in battles… and the silences between them.
The temporary leave wasn't much. Three days away from the front. Just enough to wash their uniforms, sleep under a roof, or simply sit without hearing the hum of a radio calling for covering fire.
**
They were at a small rest post set up near a dry oasis. A large tent, a handful of makeshift benches, and cheap wine in repurposed canteens. In the distance, the screech of tools could be heard repairing other tanks. But not here. Here, for a moment, they weren't soldiers. Just men.
**
Lukas held a new letter. It had arrived that very morning. The ink was shaky, uneven, but unmistakably Spanish. María's handwriting.
—Another one? —Helmut asked with a tired smile.
—Yeah. I barely understand half of it —Lukas replied—. But I read it anyway. Like a song.
Konrad nodded, sipping slowly.
—Better that than waiting for news… from no one.
**
Ernst pulled a photo from the inner pocket of his jacket. Three children, a woman, and a man with large hands.
—My youngest brother had a birthday. He probably doesn't even remember me.
Falk, sitting on the ground with his back against a spare wheel, said nothing. But he was listening. He always listened.
**
—And you, Falk? —Konrad asked after a while.
—I don't get letters —he answered.
—Family?
—Gone. Dead. Or just stopped waiting.
There was no awkward silence. Just understanding.
**
Helmut scratched the back of his neck.
—And after this? When it ends?
—This? —Ernst echoed—. This doesn't end.
—No. But someday it'll stop. Or they'll pull us from the tank. Then what?
Lukas clutched the medallion beneath his shirt.
—Then… we go back with whatever's left.
**
Falk looked up at the sky. Same sky. Different dust.
—Until then —he said—, we're alive.And this leave… it's not freedom.It's just borrowed time.
The others nodded.No one raised a glass.But the moment remained. Like an invisible photograph, just for them.
**
Three days.Then they'd climb back into the Panzer.Into war.Into the inevitable.
But that night…that night was theirs.