The smoke of Seelow Heights still hung heavy over the plain, thick with the smell of spent gunpowder and scorched earth. The Red Army had paid dearly to break the last German defensive line before Berlin. Commissar Natalia Morozova sat in what had once been a farmhouse, now half collapsed from shellfire. A lantern flickered beside a table strewn with casualty reports and bloodstained maps. Outside, the sounds of boots marching mixed with the rumble of tanks crawling west.

She rubbed her temples, staring at the red arrows drawn toward Berlin. Her overcoat was torn, her hands black with soot and dried blood.

A junior lieutenant entered, saluting stiffly. “Comrade Commissar, orders from Zhukov’s headquarters."

She turned to him and gestured for him to be at ease.

"Alright then Comrade. Inform me."