We hear the crawlers closing in. A T-34. They must have seen us, Tiny whispers. - Stay low until it is right here, then we run! The horrible clattering of the crawler comes closer and closer. I know this fear, creeping up the spine. It will mean certain death if they run just one second too soon. How we get up, I don't know, the legs move automatically. The tank wiggles over the hole and crushes everything in it. Then it rumbles on.

It is freezing 38 degrees. Stalingrad, the winter of 1942-1943. A chilling wind sweeps over the plains, slinging ice crystals into our faces. We are marching past thousands of frozen bodies. The SS-general is marching in front of the convoy, silently and withdrawn. He is angry. We realized that a while back. A fanatic who wishes to die in battle. And the SS-general wants to take as many to die with him as possible. "MOVING STUDY IN THE STALINGRAD CAMPAIGN...

Porta struggles to keep the heavy tank between the marching soldiers. One moment of inattention, and he will bulldoze an entire company. An enormous fireball strikes the bushes in front of the vehicle. The panzer soldiers jump head first from the tanks for cover. With frightened eyes and beating hearts they lay in the sun, waiting for death. A great wall of fire rises towards the sky. - Stalin organ, Heide mumbles terrified. Porta speeds up the engine. The tank plows through sun and water. They are near Moscow, 1941.

A special command from the convict regiment, wearing Russian uniforms, take over four Russian T-34 tanks. Remote reconnaissance far behind the Russian lines in Caucasus. The year is 1942. Hour for hour, the tanks roll eastward. Several times, Russian departments challenge them. We follow the soldiers in their desperate struggle to find their way back to the German lines. The distances are great, the friends are few and death is always right behind them.

The Legionnaire swings the MG-muzzle. The smoke eats its way into the officers’ stomachs. They drop to the snow-covered ground, coloring it red. Bestial shrieks sound from the woods as a wave of fur clad soldiers storm out. They are near the Finish-Russian frontline. The machine guns snarl till the magazines are emptied. Old Man’s platoon, with Tiny the giant and Porta in the lead, fights a rough battle behind Russian lines.