Dmitri steadied himself and reached into his coat pocket for a match.
But panic struck immediately—the matchbox was soaked in blood and crushed. In crawling under the cover of corpses, he hadn't noticed it.
He wiped it off as best he could, pulled out a match, and struck it. A thin wisp of blue smoke appeared, then fizzled out. The matches were damp, completely useless.
Even this tiny wisp of smoke betrayed his position. On a battlefield like this, any smoke or fire can mean someone is preparing to attack.
Veteran German soldiers spotted it immediately. Bullets clacked against the earth around Dmitri.
"Damn it!" he cursed under his breath. After all his planning, he was nearly undone by a single match.
A grenade landed nearby, sending mud and scraps of debris flying like rain. Dmitri rolled into a crater for cover.
Major Gavrilov shouted over the chaos, directing covering fire from nearby DP-27s. "What are you waiting for? Throw the Molotov!"
Dmitri's frustration grew. Flames were everywhere on the battlefield, yet his side had none. Only a tiny spark, such a bad luck his having.
Then he noticed a corpse lying on its side. Impulsively, he checked its jacket pocket. No matches—but there was a Soviet soldier's ID card and a small Bakelite cylinder.
Dmitri recognized it immediately: every Red Army soldier carried these according to People's Commissariat of Defense Order No. 138. They were meant to track casualties—one paper stayed with the body for burial, the other went to the authorities.
Soldiers called it the "Punishment Medal" for superstition's sake; many discarded the papers, keeping the plastic tubes for matches, tobacco, or sewing needles. Dmitri's luck held—the tube contained matches.
Now calm, he struck one and lit the Molotov cocktail. He made a feint throw and quickly ducked—bullets hissed over his head. The moment the fire subsided, he sprinted toward the tank.
Bullets chased him like rain. Originally, Dmitri had planned only to get closer to the Panzer III and throw the cocktail, as Major Gavrilov had ordered. But now he reconsidered.
He needed precision. A Molotov cocktail does not simply burn the tank unless it hits the engine compartment, fuel lines, or exhaust, causing the engine to overheat or catch fire. From the side he was at, he would have to arc the bottle perfectly over the turret to hit the rear armor.
Dmitri had only one Molotov cocktail—one chance. Failure meant almost certain death.
He analyzed the tank no machine guns covered its rear, only the coaxial guns beside the main cannon and the bow gunner. The Panzer III's turret rotated slowly; a fast, low throw could land behind it without immediate retaliation. The side of the tank itself provided cover from German infantry fire.
Decision made, he ran directly toward the tank. Under gunfire, bullets spitting and ricocheting off the trench walls, he dodged, ducked, and crawled.
Soldiers on both sides paused, watching the impossible. Dmitri crept alongside the iron beast and hurled the Molotov cocktail at the rear armor.
With a sharp "peng", the bottle shattered, gasoline igniting instantly. Flames licked the tank's engine compartment. A German crewman poked out to return fire, only to be engulfed in the fireball, waving frantically and screaming.
Dmitri didn't pause. Using the tank as cover, he retreated toward the Soviet trenches, the flames licking the air behind him. Every step still carried danger—from German riflemen and machine guns, and even from panicked Soviet soldiers.
Suddenly, his foot caught on a corpse. He stumbled, crashing to the ground. The tank turret swiveled toward him, black barrels aimed directly at his position.
Dmitri closed his eyes, certain this was the end.
Then came a "boom". Black smoke erupted from the tank's rear, followed by a burst of fire that consumed the engine compartment. The Panzer III stalled, wheels spinning uselessly, trapped in a growing inferno.
Dmitri opened his eyes. For a fleeting moment, the battlefield seemed to freeze—the killing machine had been halted by nothing more than a bottle, fire, and courage.