Egypt — December 26, 1941, at dawn
Leave was over.Not with an urgent order or sirens. Just with the passing of the sun, the weight of the calendar, and the murmured words of a supply officer who didn't meet their eyes:
—Time to go back.
**
Falk was the first to stand. He said nothing. Buckled his belt, adjusted his sidearm, and picked up his pack. The Panzer waited at the edge of the camp, coated in dust as if it had never moved.
Lukas carefully folded María's letter and slipped it into his uniform. Then he walked to the tank, placed a hand on the armor, and let it rest there for a few seconds. As if saying hello. As if asking it to hold one more time.
Konrad checked the periscopes. Ernst, the ammunition. Helmut, the frequencies. No one spoke. But each of them knew what the others were doing.
**
A soldier from the Afrika Korps, who had shared their tent, shook their hands as they passed.
—Good luck —he said.
—Always need it —Falk replied.
**
As the sun rose in the east, the Panzer IV roared back to life. They crossed the dry oasis, turned south, and took the path back to the front. The dunes no longer looked calm. The shadows were shorter. The air felt heavier.
**
Inside the tank, only one voice broke the silence:
—Are we going back to the same place? —Ernst asked.
Falk didn't answer right away. He was watching through the hatch, where the horizon was beginning to fill with distant smoke.
—No.—We're going back to the only place that exists for us.
**
And on they went.Through dunes.Through tracks.Through memories not yet finished.