The dust hadn't even settled from the bombing when the first enemy rounds began to whistle past. Falk slammed the hatch shut with one hand while shouting:
—"Contact front! Trenches at eleven o'clock! Light British tank behind the second ridge!"
The Panzer's roar drowned out any reply. Konrad was already loading the shell. Helmut rotated the turret with the precision of a man who no longer needed to think. And then they saw it: a Stuart tank poking its gun through the wreckage of a freshly bombed position.
—"Fire!" Falk ordered.
The shot rocked the entire tank. The shell struck just beneath the turret. The British vehicle burst into a dirty flare of oil and metal.
—"Confirmed kill!" Ernst called out from the secondary sight.
Falk didn't wait.
—"Advance! Left flank—Spanish infantry moving in! Don't let them get around us!"
While others waited for orders from above, Falk was already executing the plan. Auftragstaktik in its purest form: he knew the objective, he knew how to get there, and the rest was his to decide.
To his right, a Panzer from 3rd Section got caught in a poorly covered trench. Machine-gun fire from a British position tried to pin down the exposed driver. Falk didn't hesitate. He moved his tank at an angle, using the hull to shield the other vehicle, and fired two more shells into the resistance nest.
—"Target neutralized!" Konrad shouted while reloading. "We just saved their asses!"
The advance pressed on. Dust was fire. The bodies, silhouettes in flame. Falk didn't waste words. He threw himself into the thick of it without complaint, without pause. He knew it was expected of him. He knew that if he didn't do it—no one would.
A barrage landed just meters away.
—"You alright?" Helmut asked.
Falk, eyes locked on the enemy line, simply answered:
—"We're not deep enough yet."
And he slammed the throttle forward.