“TARGET THAT BUILDING, TWO O’CLOCK, HIT IT…NOW!” The 50mm gun from the Panzerkampfwagen MkIII tank belched cordite as it recoiled. With a deafening explosion, the high explosive shell hit its target sending clouds of debris reeling into the air, across the already rubble-strewn street. “HIT IT AGAIN, FIRE!” Another recoil meant another explosion, sending dagger like shards of splintered wood and glass soaring through the dust. “HOLD FIRE, HOLD FIRE!” Waffen SS Sturmbannfuhrer Karl Von Kurst held his right hand up as the twelve grenadiers crouched behind him prepared to assault the building to the right of them, a building full of Reds. The dreadful Russian winter had once again seen their metal helmets painted white, their SS lightning runes still standing proudly, openly visible on each side. Now, the battle hardened men in their dirt strewn, heavy, fur lined parkas, which had given such welcome protection against the Russian winter, were ready to engage in heated, brutal battle once again.
