Within seconds they had encircled our force and began to unleash grenades and Molotov cocktails.
Outside its cone of fire, the MG42 did nothing to deflect this attack. Russian light vehicles rolled in behind with support fire.
The Russians had charged the flank of our battle line, wielding submachine guns and sprinting forward at an alarming pace. Through the snow and fog we heard it: “Oorah!” Looking back, we should not have rested on our laurels, but should have flushed the Bolshevik out from all sectors. Returning to the town centre victorious, we secured it with Machine Gun and Grenadiers. Taking advantage of these points would undoubtedly aid out efforts. “Victory Points” had been marked out all across the map, as well as some fuel and ammo caches intelligence had discovered. Secure all of the bridges in the sector with infantry squads and wait for the bulk of the Ostheer to arrive. Steel, fire and death flowed into Kholodny that winter day. What started out as a light skirmish between scattered infantry soon escalated into clashes between armoured cars, a dance between tanks and an all out menagerie of machine guns, armour and artillery. The name was Kholodny Ferma and the Ruskies were already there. Were it not for high command’s orders to secure the small, I would have never heard of this place. The destination was some unknown road, of some unknown village in some unknown part of Russia. We were the first boots in the snow for the German army.
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