Synopsis:

After the brutal Ukrainian campaign and the battles that culminated in Kyiv, the Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler is no longer the same. Battered but not broken, its armored core regroups in France just as the push toward Moscow grinds to a halt beneath the weight of winter—and of strategic doubt. No one knows exactly where the war is heading… except for a few.

As Falk Ritter and his crew receive a new long-barreled Panzer IV, still bearing the scars of the Eastern Front, a new destination looms: Africa.

In a sudden redeployment, part of the division is sent to reinforce the Axis campaign in the desert, where the forces of Rommel, Italy… and Spain—under the command of General Yagüe—are advancing toward Cairo, Palestine, and beyond.

But under the scorching sun, there is no shelter for the conscience. Among ancient ruins, dust storms, and enemy fire, Falk and his men must adapt to a different war—without snow, without trenches, but with the same shadow of death… and even more questions left unanswered.

History marches on. The Reich expands. But war, as always, moves faster.

The explosions had stopped, but the air still trembled.


Falk's platoon advanced through the smoldering ruins of what had once been a British strongpoint. Torn sandbags, shredded gear, the burned-out remains of vehicles and fresh craters still steaming. The enemy had stopped firing. Only the echo of what had been a brave defense remained.


—"No. Someone's still there," Falk replied, eyes fixed on the distance.


An entire British company emerged from the rear trenches. Helmets dusty, uniforms torn, some wrapped in field bandages. They carried no weapons. Their hands were raised—serious, composed. Not afraid, but resolved.


Falk halted the Panzer and climbed out through the hatch.


The rest of the crew dismounted too. Some held their weapons ready, others simply watched. No one fired. No one shouted. Only the desert wind and the sound of boots approaching.


The officer at the head of the column, a captain with a weathered face and calm eyes, stopped a few meters from Falk.


—"Captain Harold Vickers. 2nd Company, Royal Northumberland Fusiliers," he said in English.


Falk didn't reply immediately. He climbed down from the Panzer slowly and approached—no weapon drawn.


—"Falk Ritter. Zugführer, Leibstandarte," he said in steady German, firm but not arrogant.


—"My men did what they could. There's nothing left to give. I don't regret fighting."


Falk looked at him with an expression that was neither harsh nor admiring. It was… contained respect. As if he'd seen this moment a hundred times, and knew not everyone handled it with dignity.


—"No one will ask you to," Falk replied.


He lifted his arm and gestured to Helmut and Konrad.


—"Tend to the wounded. Water for everyone. Treat them as prisoners, not as cattle."


The British soldiers seemed to relax slightly—but none smiled. There was nothing to celebrate.


Vickers gave a brief nod. He didn't say "thank you." He simply held Falk's gaze.


When he climbed back into the Panzer, Helmut asked quietly:


Falk sat, closed the hatch, and replied:


Chapter 64 - Chapter 63 – Silence After the Storm