The church stood on the eastern side of the Central Fortress, its dark silhouette rising against the night like a silent guardian of the doomed stronghold.
Choosing this location as the breakout point was no coincidence.
Its height and thick stone walls provided natural cover, shielding the area from direct observation by German forces positioned to the west. Even if the enemy detected movement near the river, their artillery—fired from the western sectors—would struggle to achieve accurate targeting.
The church itself would act as a barrier, disrupting line of sight and reducing the effectiveness of long-range bombardment.
More importantly, this crossing point offered a direct path to the mainland.
By crossing the Bug River here, Soviet forces could avoid the need to move through the exposed West Island and South Island, where multiple crossings would have been required under enemy fire.
It was risky—but it was their best chance.
Under the cover of darkness, Commissar Fomin and Major Gavrilov led their combined forces toward the church. The column moved quietly, shadows blending into shadows. Among the soldiers were civilians—women and children, the families of those stationed in the fortress.
Their presence changed everything.
These were not trained fighters. They were dependents—wives, daughters, sons—caught in the violence of war. Most of the officers who should have been with them were absent, away on routine summer training exercises when the war began.
Which meant… many of these families had already lost the men meant to protect them.
Dmitri noticed their condition almost immediately.
Many were barely dressed, still wearing thin nightclothes or hastily thrown-on garments. The war had begun at dawn—around four in the morning—when most had been asleep. There had been no time to prepare, no time to gather belongings.
They had simply run.
The children stayed close to the adults, their small hands gripping sleeves or skirts tightly. Their eyes darted nervously, wide with fear and confusion.
They didn't cry.
That was what struck Dmitri the most.
They were silent. Too silent for children.
While the soldiers prepared their weapons and equipment for the crossing, Dmitri reached into his backpack and pulled out a small packet of biscuits—part of the ration issued before the operation. Supplies were limited; even bringing what little they had was difficult under these conditions.
He didn't think much of it at first.
But the moment the biscuits appeared in his hand, he felt it—dozens of eyes fixed on him.
He looked up.
The children were staring. So were some of the adults. Their expressions weren't demanding—just… hopeful. Desperate.
It took Dmitri only a second to understand.
Conditions in the Central Fortress had been far worse than in Kobrin Fortress. Food had been scarce—almost nonexistent.
Without hesitation, Dmitri pulled out all the biscuits he had and handed them over.
The children rushed forward, grabbing them quickly, tearing open the packaging with trembling hands. They stuffed the food into their mouths almost immediately.
And yet… they remained quiet.
No shouting. No crying.
Just soft murmurs of thanks.
Dmitri watched in silence, a strange heaviness settling in his chest. Some of them couldn't have been older than eight… maybe younger.
War had forced them to grow up far too quickly.
"Not keeping anything for yourself?" Okunev asked from beside him.
Dmitri glanced at him and replied calmly, "Are you sure you'll live long enough to eat everything you're carrying?"
Okunev paused for a second—then laughed.
"You've got a point."
Without another word, he took out his own rations and handed them to the children, Matvey followed.
Then another soldier.
And another.
Soon, it became something unspoken—an act of quiet unity. Soldiers, hardened by battle, sharing what little they had left.
For a brief moment, humanity pushed back against the brutality of war.
"Rofeyev!"
Major Gavrilov's voice cut through the moment.
A soldier snapped to attention several meters away.
"Take a few men and inform Comrade Artur—it's time to withdraw!"
"Yes, Comrade Major!"
Rofeyev quickly gathered a small group of signalmen and disappeared into the darkness.
It was a reminder of another weakness.
Despite its industrial strength—despite producing vast numbers of tanks and weapons—the Soviet Union still lagged behind in communications. Radios were scarce.
Coordination relied heavily on runners, signalmen, and visual signals.
It was inefficient. Dangerous, and often deadly.
Not long after the signalmen left, the night was shattered.
A deep, monstrous roar tore through the air.
It was unlike anything Dmitri had ever heard before.
If ordinary artillery sounded like thunder, then this… this was something far worse. It was as if the earth itself had erupted. A second later—
BOOM!
A massive explosion lit up the sky in the direction of the bridge. A towering column of fire and debris shot upward, illuminating the entire Central Fortress in a blinding flash.
The ground trembled violently beneath their feet. Even at this distance, the shockwave was unmistakable.
"What was that?" Major Gavrilov demanded. "What kind of weapon is that?"
Commissar Fomin stared into the distance, his face grim.
"That…" he said slowly, "must be the so-called 'super shell.'"
"Super shell?"
"The Germans have been threatening us with it," Fomin explained. "They claimed they had super-heavy artillery capable of destroying the fortress in a single strike. We thought it was propaganda… a bluff meant to force surrender."
He paused, watching the distant flames.
"It seems we were wrong."
Dmitri, however, knew exactly what it was.
A 600mm heavy mortar—one of the largest artillery weapons ever built. Originally designed to break through the heavily fortified Maginot Line, it had found a new purpose here, on the Eastern Front.
Its shells weighed over two tons.
When they struck, they didn't just destroy—they erased.
Before anyone could recover from the shock, another roar split the air.
BOOM!
A second explosion erupted, closer this time. Heat and debris surged outward like a storm. Instinctively, everyone dropped to the ground.
"They have more than one!" Gavrilov said sharply.
"How can you tell?" Fomin asked.
"These guns take time to reload—at least several minutes," Gavrilov replied. "Those two shots came too close together. That means there are at least two of them firing."
He was right.
The German heavy artillery battalion had deployed multiple super-heavy mortars for this assault.
Fomin exchanged a quick glance with Gavrilov.
No words were needed.
Gavrilov stood immediately.
"Breakout—now!" he ordered.
There was no time left.
Preparations were incomplete. The instructor's unit had not yet returned. The plan was not fully in place.
But none of that mattered anymore.
The enemy had escalated the battle.
And every second they waited increased the risk of total annihilation.
Dmitri felt it too—that creeping sense of dread.
Something was wrong.
He replayed the plan in his mind.
If everything had gone as expected, the Germans should have been focused on Kobrin Fortress in the north. Their forces—and their artillery—should have been directed there.
So why…
Why were these massive shells striking the Central Fortress instead?
The answer came quickly.
Too quickly.
A barrage of artillery followed, shells screaming through the air before crashing down around the eastern sector. Their target was clear.
The church.
Dmitri's heart sank.
The deception had failed.
Or worse—
It had been exposed.
Amid the chaos, figures suddenly emerged from the darkness—signalmen dragging wounded soldiers toward them. Their uniforms were soaked in blood. Some barely conscious.
"Where is the Instructor?" Major Gavrilov demanded, rushing forward.
The lead signalman, breathing heavily, replied.
"Comrade Major… the Instructor isn't coming."
Gavrilov's expression hardened.
"You mean… he was killed?"
The signalman shook his head.
"No, Comrade Major."
He hesitated for a moment, then spoke the words that froze everyone in place.
"The Instructor… deserted."
Silence fell.
"He fled," the signalman continued, "to the German lines… with several men."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Even the distant explosions seemed to fade.
Major Gavrilov stared at him, disbelief written across his face.
"What…?"
The word barely escaped his lips.
But deep down— they all understood what it meant.
The Germans hadn't discovered the plan by chance.
They had been told...