The three German tanks had split into left, center, and right, each supporting the infantry advance. The Panzer on the right had been disabled by Dmitri's Molotov cocktail, leaving a visible gap. With the enemy so close—less than a hundred meters—the Soviets suddenly had an opening for a countercharge, hand-to-hand combat now a real possibility.
Major Gavrilov seized the opportunity. He raised his pistol and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Comrades! Follow me! Forward!"
"For the Motherland!" the soldiers responded, leaping from the trenches with bayonets fixed. They charged toward the German infantry, weaving around Dmitri and the smoldering wreck of the disabled tank, plunging into brutal close-quarters combat.
Dmitri stayed where he was, unable to move. The exhaustion, adrenaline, and fear weighed too heavily.
Yet his presence—or absence—no longer mattered. The Germans had not expected a counterattack. Even a localized assault on the right flank now threatened their tanks' effectiveness. As Soviet troops closed in, the Panzer III flanks were suddenly exposed.
The tanks could not safely fire without risking friendly casualties. Soldiers from both sides were tangled together. Machine guns and main guns could only risk hitting their own men if fired indiscriminately.
The solution was desperate. Some Soviet soldiers threw explosives directly into the tank chassis, or climbed the hull to lob grenades through hatches. One by one, the German tanks were destroyed or abandoned, engines smoking, turret barrels frozen in place.
Soon the German infantry began retreating in disorder, leaving behind corpses and a few who raised their hands to surrender.
"Dmitri! Dmitri!" Okunev stumbled toward him, kneeling, shaking with fear. "Comrade… wake up Comrade…"
"Okunev!" Dmitri propped himself up on his arms.
Okunev's eyes widened in disbelief. After a stunned moment, he punched Dmitri's shoulder lightly and laughed. "You're still alive! Lucky bastard!"
"Of course!" Dmitri replied, nodding. "But we need to get back to the trenches, or we're not safe yet."
"What do you mean?"
Dmitri didn't answer. He grabbed Okunev and pulled him back toward cover. As soon as they ducked into the trench, German artillery shells landed behind them, reminding Okunev of the battle's constant danger.
Even this was predictable. The Germans had well-coordinated combined-arms tactics—artillery covered retreating units and demonstrated continued strength.
After the fire paused, Okunev handed Dmitri a cigarette, freshly rolled and still sticky with saliva.
"What is it?" Dmitri asked and accepted the cigarette without hesitation. At a time when death and destruction surrounded them, worrying about saliva was absurd.
"I barely recognize you!" Okunev lit a match for both of them. "You're… different, Dmitri. You avoided dive-bombing, strafing run, and you... you blew up a tank! Dozens died attempting what you just did, and you did it alone."
"It was your bottle, Okunev." Dmitri said.
"Oh? True," Okunev laughed. "I deserve partial credit!"
"Of course." Dmitri grinned. "How should I report it? 'Report to Major Gavrilov: the Molotov cocktail I used was stolen from the officers' mess by Comrade Okunev'?"
"Stop joking!" Okunev groaned. "You'll get a dispatch sent to deliver ammo just for that."
Dmitri coughed, smoke catching in his throat, then laughed.
A messenger appeared, saluting Dmitri. The young soldier's awe made Dmitri curse silently—German snipers could see this too.
"Major Gavrilov ask you report to headquarters!" the messenger said.
Okunev patted Dmitri on the shoulder quietly. "Remember, don't mention the wine bottle."
Dmitri smiled. "Don't worry. It stays between us."
On the way to headquarters, Soviet soldiers shouted congratulations.
"Well done, Comrade Dmitri!"
"Great fight!"
"You burned the enemy tanks, bravo!"
Meanwhile, back at headquarters, Major Gavrilov faced the captured deserters. The instructor was enraged.
"A disgrace!" he bellowed. "Unprecedented! Scum like you—worse than the traitor we executed!"
"He is not a traitor, Comrade Artur!" Major Gavrilov interrupted firmly.
"What?" the instructor demanded, narrowing his eyes.
"Dmitri is not a traitor." Major Gavrilov said. "He proved it with courage!"
"You mean he killed a few enemy soldiers?" the instructor sneered.
"No, Comrade Artur!" Major Gavrilov said, cutting him off again. "He blew up an enemy tank. We launched a counterattack successfully because of him. Without him, this fortress might have fallen. He saved all of us."
A pause. Major Gavrilov's eyes hardened. "If he is a traitor, then I need such a traitor."