The fury of battle had died down. Now weary, haggard, bundle-laden refugees slipped out of the forests, bent into the icy wind and snow, plodded across the pitted battlefield. Before them lay Gorodok the "Little Town" charred, ruined, stinking of dead flesh and gunpowder.
A few miles to the south guns boomed. Day & night, Red cannon shelled Vitebsk, 15 miles away, and its "escape railway" to the west. From the city and the railroad came the dull, angry answer of German salvos. Things were going badly for the Wehrmacht,...
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