Chapter 3

09 July 1941

Brest-Litovsk, Lechia

7th Tank Division

"Bring all forces to combat readiness!", came the order through the radio. With it all staff officers came to an abrupt halt as they processed the string of words that formed the Invasion Directive. "Operation Orlov is to commence at zero four hundred hours date tenth."

The officers ran to their stations with papers flying about and bodies flailing as each man hurtled out of the Headquarters building their staff in tow attempting to keep up with jackets, briefcases and rucksacks. It was still noon so the streets of Brest were relatively bustling under the Soviet occupation which lead to quite the onlookers of the local Lechi populace when dozens of Ruthenian military officers poured out of the structure and into their GAZ-11 staff cars. 

"Drive! Quick to the tanks!", yelled the winded Brigadier General to absolutely no one as his staff officer was still hurriedly loading the boot. This prompted the Ruthenian man to roll his eyes and take a moment to breath, composing himself to affix his staff cap as well as braided rank insignia.

"Sir?", said the officer as he climbed into the driver's seat and pressed the key into the ignition.

"Hurry it up! We need to ready the men."

Barely hours later the thousands of the Division were at haste and in quite the hurry. Mechanics were blackened with grease and oil repairing the vehicles and getting them into a state of battle readiness. Individual soldiers poured sweat and tears as they carried cans of gasoline and diesel to their tanks which the deposited into the fuel tanks in a limited fashion. 

Munitions were carried over the shoulders or under the arms, trailing beads of sweat from the foreheads of the exhausted tankers. Whether they hoisted tank rounds, machine gun ammunition, individual weapons or even cleaned and checked their personal weapons every man was at work. The Division had to be on time as the Directive came from the General Secretary himself which was the absolute last person the officers and soldiers of the Red Army wanted to disappoint. Indeed every soldier of the largest army in the world had the Great Terror barely four years prior still fresh in their minds.

"Captain Borodin.", announced the Gunner of the tank as a the former climbed into the relatively spacious turret through its angled "V"-shaped backdoor bathing the interior in the warm lamplight. "Just cleaning my optics, can't miss a shot with this cannon."

"With a shell from this gun you needn't hit the enemy directly it's so devastating.", chuckled the Loader in the right corner of the turret completely obscured by the huge breechblock he was cranking on. "A bit stiff, I'll need to fetch gun oil for it."

"Can anyone give me a hand with this?", said the second Loader as he stood atop the engine deck with a shell at his legs. "Last round. That makes twelve in total."

"Where's the rest?", asked the perplexed commander.

"We're only allotted this many to make up for shortages in other units. Its all bunker busters.", said the Loader glancing at the brass propellant charges loaded separately from the main shell at his feet. "I tried to get at least one or two smoke shells but command big turrets have claimed the most of them."

"Chort. What did I expect. Good job, tovarich.", said the commanders patting the soldier on the shoulder as he leaned partially out the turret to grab hold of the brass shells. "Where's our drivers?"

"They went to get extra cans of Diesel to fill up the tank.", said the loader as he grunted lifting the 40 kilogram shell into the turret thereafter wiping his brow. "Speak of the devil."

"Bad news Commander.", said the Driver as he climbed up the side of the tank, Co-driver in tow with a slight limp.

"Get in. Operation's in two hours.", said the Commander checking his worn wristwatch - a gift from his father when the former deployed years ago. Surely enough the pair shimmied on the fenders over the tracks past the enormous turret which sat squat atop the hull. They accessed the interior of the hull via a single roof hatch over the Co-driver's machine gun position with the Driver entering first.

"There's not enough diesel to completely top up the tank. Extra fuel trucks haven't arrived yet."

"Most likely delayed by the priority fast tanks and newer T-34s since they guzzle up fuel."

"I heard Konev hoarded the Division's ammo and fuel for his units up north."

"You're sure it wasn't just Tukachevsky meddling again in the Reserve Front."

"We're also lacking a few tools for fixing the tracks and transmission."

"At this rate we'll have to salvage off of disabled comrade tanks. Is there anything we're not short of?"

"Supply officer gave me an extra revolver. So I traded it for cigarettes with a gunner from Tank Number 4 I think he's a Gezmeki."

"Stupid! You could've played roulette with it or even saved it for yourself!", laughed the gunner while putting the hand icon of a gun to his head.

"Excellent start to the Operation.", sighed the commander while rubbing his face. He soon climbed out of the roof hatch, the cold morning air blowing the lamplight to a frantic dance. "Vanya! Sargent Vanya!"

"What is it, Borodin?", said the apparent commander as he turned around from beside his tank having to look pretty far up as Borodin was roughly 5 meters off the ground standing atop the tank's turret, making him the tallest man in the division.

"What's your status on fuel and munitions?"

"We're looking at a three-quarters full tank and fifteen shells of fragmentation. Our Degtyaryov rounds are also limited plus none of the radios are receiving either we just can't seem to get them to work."

"Christ Pantokrator.", sighed Borodin. "Okay it's too late now but when we have time we'd gladly trade for some of our G shells for your OF shells."

"Sure, tovarish! You'd have to collect them among the ruins of whatever we end up destroying along the way!", laughed the commander as he climbed into his towering heavy tank.

Borodin just clicked his tongue as he again entered his tank, swearing on his Patron Saint as he closed the hatch and locked himself and the five man crew into the steel beast. With the driver starting the ignition, the 12 cylinder diesel engine grumbled to life, sputtering pathetically before spewing out it's thick black smoke. The rest of the surrounding armor followed suit as each vehicle weighing nearly 50 tonnes lurched forward, crushing whatever gravel or nature in their way, such was the lumbering behemoth of the Kliment Voroshilov Heavy Assault Tank.

The tanks were in a staging area outside of the city of Brest, but the locals could see the billowing grey smoke and hear clear as day the hundreds of tank and truck engines. As if to confirm their worst fears of yet another coming war even the jaded Lechians, so few in their number since the Goths and Ruthenians came, were afraid that their precious livelihood and peace would once again be threatened. Soldiers in leather greatcoats, red insignia and weapons drawn entered the city with trucks and cars all yelling, "All local populace is to evacuate the city and head eastwards further into Krasnaya territory!"

Planes flew overhead. They rushed at low altitudes and just seem to hang in the air laboriously at higher ceilings. Whether they were Yakovlev fighters, Ilyushin attackers or bombers they all flew westward as if they were migratory birds following the warm summer climate. Even these hundred of machines couldn't drown out the sound of the displaced peoples as they left behind their dear homes in tears, swept with grief and lost for words but to carry on.

- .... . / --. .-. . .- - / - . .-. .-. --- .-. / ... .- .-- / - .... . / -.. .. ... .--. --- ... .- .-.. / --- ..-. / -- .- -. -.-- / - .- .-.. . -. - . -.. / .- -. -.. / .--. --- .--. ..- .-.. .- .-. / -.-. --- -- -- .- -. -.. . .-. ... / -.-. .-. . .- - .. -. --. / .- / .--. --- .-- . .-. / ...- .- -.-. ..- ..- -- / .-.. . .- ...- .. -. --. / - .... . / .-. . -.. / .- .-. -- -.-- / .. -. . .--. - / .- -. -.. / ..- -. .--. .-. . .--. .- .-. . -..

"Driver halt!", yelled Borodin into the fighting compartment which brought the KV tank to a standstill among other KV tanks it towered over as they were of the small turret version.

"We've reached the staging area for Operation Orlov.", said the Co-driver as he read the map in the dim lighting of his hull station. "This must be Grójec, south of Warsaw."

"But aren't we right inside of Gothic territory? Why would command order us so to advance so deep?", said the loader noting the dilapidated and ruined buildings of the small Lechian town through his periscope.

"Indeed I'm sure were pretty much at war with the Goths now. That's what Orlov is about yes another territory grab."

"We're avoiding the main highways so we're burning diesel at an even higher rate traveling across country like this. Lucky we were refueled halfway thank Christ."

"Alright crew it's about time I debrief you all on what orders we've received from high command."