The snow lies thickly on the Russian steppes. Bitterly cold winds shriek across the battlefield. It is so cold the engines of some of your tanks have seized. You are losing more men to frostbite than to Bolshevik bullets. Then, darkening the hills in front of you, waves of Russian troops supported by T-34s sweep toward your lines.
Mortar fire rains down.
Your infantry huddle in foxholes, cringing behind whatever shelter they can find. The enemy tanks open fire. Flames geyser skyward. Smoke pours from the wreck. None of the crew escaped the conflagration.