Three days later.
The soldiers on the Breslau Fortress yawned in the warm morning light, leaning against the parapet, chatting about the harvest at home and women.
It wasn't that they were negligent—there were tens of thousands of troops ahead, separated by the Oder River. No battle would ever break out here.
A sergeant turned, preparing to urinate outside the fortress, but suddenly froze in place and said to the soldier beside him, "I—must be seeing things. Is that a cannon?"
The other soldiers laughed and walked over, but before they could even peek outside, they felt a tremor underfoot, and the two were knocked down by flying shards of stone.
The delayed roar of cannons finally reached everyone's ears.
"Alarm! Enemy attack!"
The commander of the fortress watched through his telescope as dense masses of Austrian soldiers and flashes of artillery appeared on the eastern side, his face darkening.
