German

June 1941. You're walking through a foreign land, still believing the war will be over before autumn. Dust, soot, and the empty eyes of prisoners—you've only seen all this during training exercises. Victory seems so close.

But everything collapses in the first Russian village. The air, filled with screams, becomes thick and heavy. You see your comrades, with whom you shared bread yesterday, herding women and old people into an old barn. Among them is a girl clutching a rag doll to her chest. Her wide eyes meet yours, and in them lies a bottomless horror that pierces you through and through. In that moment, you understand: you are not a conqueror, you are an executioner.

Suddenly, someone's hand grabs you roughly by the shoulder. Lieutenant Vogel. His face is pale, and his voice trembles, betraying fear. "Schultz, to the car!" he breathes. "Report that the mission is complete."