Images of Kriegsmariners on the bleak grey seas of the Atlantic stalking their prey. The Wehrmacht entrenched around Stalingrad in the cold harsh Russian winter. Panzer divisions crushing all opposition, dead bodies encrusted in ice stained red from blood. All are present in the atmosphere as Operation Winter Mist wield their weapons of war in hatred. Sannhet's crushing riffs harken back to the days of early Darkthrone, their seeming simplicity camoflaging a well planned attack, not a note wasted, not an extraneous sound. Beneath this lethal assault, Troll's drums of war pound mercilessly, pushing the song ever deeper into enemy held territory, blunt and eerie like the bones of dead soldiers beating their epitaph upon cracked and crisp winter ice. On top of this, the Panzer crushes all who stand in his way, his thick treads biting deep into earth, concrete, flesh, howling the sonnets of Operation Winter Mist's campaign into the biting and uncaring wind, to be lost in the gale, caught only in passing, etched upon this thin tape in preparation for complete and utter black metal Winter Warfare.

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