Stalingrad. The road is nowhere. Matveev A.A.

The end of the summer of 1942. The Germans are eager for the Volga. The front is cracking and, it seems, is about to burst and fly to Tartarara. But the front commander can not do anything, he can worry, and not so much for the dying soldiers and for Stalingrad, but for himself. In September, he made a fatal mistake - he looked at how tank for the help of enemy infantry divisions came up. And the momentary successes of the beginning of the month turned out to be a failure and brought only unjustified losses. Everything hangs in the balance, and, most importantly, he himself.