The church had been built to last.
For a brief moment, it seemed like it might actually survive the bombardment. Its thick walls stood firm against the explosions, holding together like a stubborn soldier refusing to fall.
But that moment didn't last.
With a deep, cracking groan—like bones snapping under pressure—the structure finally gave way.
CRRRRACK—BOOOOM!
The collapse started from the base and tore upward. Stone walls crumbled, wooden beams snapped, and the entire building folded into itself. The tall spire at the top broke off and crashed down, stabbing into the ruins like a broken spear, still standing at an angle as if refusing to completely surrender.
For a second, everything went silent.
Then the consequences hit.
With the church gone, the Soviet troops crossing the Bug River lost their only cover.
Now they were exposed.
The German artillery didn't hesitate.
WHOOOOOSH—BOOM!
Shells screamed through the air and slammed into the river.
Columns of water exploded upward—ten, twenty feet high—crashing back down like collapsing walls. The calm river transformed into chaos in seconds.
The Bug River was no longer water.
It was a battlefield.
Rafts were torn apart instantly.
Some were shredded by direct hits.
Others were flipped over by shockwaves.
Men were thrown into the water like rag dolls.
"Help! Help me!"
"Comrade! Don't leave me!"
"AHHH....!"
Cries filled the night, but they were quickly drowned out by gunfire and explosions.
Machine guns rattled from the opposite bank.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Bullets whipped across the water, cutting through men and wood alike.
Bodies began to float.
Some still moved—struggling, reaching, gasping.
Others didn't.
Within minutes, the river was filled with debris.
Broken rafts.
Floating rifles.
And bodies.
So many bodies.
Major Gavrilov tried to organize a rescue.
"Pull them back! Get ropes—move!"
But it was impossible, every movement drew fire, every attempt to help only added more casualties.
Another shell landed nearby.
BOOOOM!
Water and blood sprayed into the air.
The rescue effort collapsed.
When the shelling finally slowed…
There was almost nothing left.
Out of more than two hundred men who had launched the crossing, only a handful—maybe a dozen—managed to swim back.
Most of them were wounded.
Some collapsed the moment they reached shore.
Others just lay there, breathing heavily, staring blankly into nothing.
Then came a new sound.
Engines.
From the opposite bank, headlights appeared one after another.
Trucks, motorcycles.
More German reinforcements arriving.
Their silhouettes moved quickly, efficiently—like a machine locking into place.
The trap was now complete, Major Gavrilov didn't hesitate.
"RETREAT!"
The order cut through the chaos, it was the only logical decision, there was no point continuing.
Trying again would only mean more death.
But as the soldiers pulled back, a question lingered in everyone's mind.
Retreat… to where?
Kobrin Fortress was already lost.
The Germans had taken it, that meant one thing, they were completely surrounded.
The surviving troops regrouped inside the Central Fortress, taking shelter in the basement of the officers' club—one of the few places that could still offer protection from artillery.
Inside, the air was suffocating, thick with the smell of blood, sweat, and damp concrete.
A small hand-cranked generator hissed in the corner.
HSSSSSSSS..
Its weak light flickered through a single chandelier, casting long, shaking shadows across the room.
Soldiers sat or leaned against the walls, No one spoke, their faces were blank.
Not calm.
Not focused.
Just… empty.
From deeper inside the basement came other sounds, Doctors shouting orders, wounded men crying out in pain.
"Hold him down!"
"We need bandages—now!"
"He's losing too much blood!"
At the center of the room, a wooden table stood under the chandelier.
Commissar Fomin paced back and forth in front of it, his boots echoing softly against the floor.
Major Gavrilov stood still beside the table, staring at a map.
Looking for something, anything.
An escape.
Dmitri sat against the wall, clutching his rifle tightly.
His hands didn't move.
His eyes didn't focus on anything.
He couldn't believe it.
He had truly thought they could escape.
That his knowledge—his ideas—could lead them out of this.
But instead…
Things had only gotten worse.
Before, at least, the two fortresses could support each other, Kobrin Fortress and Central Fortress—separate, but connected.
Now?
Over a thousand people were trapped in one place.
Soldiers, Women, Children, No supplies, No water, No way out.
"Dmitri!"
The voice snapped him back to reality.
Major Gavrilov.
Okunev nudged him.
"He's calling you."
Dmitri stood up quickly and ran over.
"Comrade Major… I'm sorry," he said. "The plan failed. This is my fault."
Gavrilov shook his head immediately, "No, Dmitri. This has nothing to do with you."
Seeing Commissar Fomin's curious expression, Gavrilov added,"He's the one who came up with the breakout plan."
Fomin nodded slightly.
Then he stepped forward.
He adjusted Dmitri's collar, patted his shoulder, and said, "The Major is right. Your plan was good. We almost succeeded."
He paused.
His expression hardened.
"We failed because of a traitor." Gavrilov spoke again.
"I didn't call you here to blame you. I want to know—do you have another plan?"Dmitri hesitated.
Then slowly shook his head,"No… Comrade Major."
He wasn't a real commander, he didn't think that far ahead, and deep down, he knew, there was no plan left.
Commissar Fomin spoke quietly, "Then we have only one option… we hold our ground." Gavrilov nodded.
Everyone understood what that meant, technically, surrender would make more sense.
There was no escape.
No reinforcements.
No supplies.
Continuing to fight would only lead to more deaths, but they were Soviet soldiers and surrender…
Was not an option, Suddenly, a loudspeaker crackled from outside.
KRRRZZT—
Then a voice echoed through the fortress. "Soviet soldiers! Lay down your weapons and surrender! Your lives will be spared!"
A pause.
Then
"Otherwise, more heavy artillery will be used. You have one hour." Silence followed, then.
BANG!
A gunshot echoed inside the basement, Everyone turned.
A soldier lay on the ground.
A rifle beside him.
He had used his toe to pull the trigger.
In his hand, he still held a photograph… now stained with blood.
Commissar Fomin exploded in anger."What happened?! Why didn't you stop him?!"
The nearby soldiers stammered,
"We didn't know…"
"We thought he was just stretching…"
But the truth was simple, If someone truly wants to die, no one can stop them.
Major Gavrilov stepped forward, his voice was firm.
"No more of this!"
He looked at the others. "That is cowardice. If we die, we die fighting. Kill as many enemies as you can before you fall. That is how a soldier dies!"
"Yes, Comrade Major!"
Voices answered, but weakly, because deep down… Everyone knew.
After death—
Nothing matters.
Just as Gavrilov turned away—
A voice spoke up, weak, but clear.
"I cannot agree… Comrade Major."
Everyone looked, It was one of the wounded, Lying on the ground, Barely able to move.
"Let me end it… like him." Gavrilov froze,For the healthy soldiers, there was still a choice.
Fight.
Run.
Hope.
But for the wounded? There was nothing.
Gavrilov slowly looked at the medic, the medic lowered his eyes… and shook his head.
No medicine.
No equipment.
No way to save them.
Only one outcome remained.
Pain and then death, The silence that followed was heavier than any explosion.