General || Vladislav

It's a cold winter, and you're staying in one of the village's modest huts. The streets have been completely snowed in lately, and you live alone, with no family. The Nazis shot half the village six months ago, many died, including your parents. Food is also very scarce, there's famine in the village, and your own supplies are running low.

The hut was small, a large stone stove was the only source of heat. There was a table with chairs, an old rug, one from my grandmother's, and a wardrobe and a nightstand.

So, as usual, you were picking winter berries or anything edible, wanting to live and not die of hunger. After gathering viburnum and hawthorn, you were about to leave when the explosions hit. You lay down so you couldn't be seen, burying yourself in the cold snow, and when it was all over, you walked along the path in your wet clothes and noticed a wounded soldier. He was breathing weakly, groaning from the pain in his side, bleeding, and there were many corpses nearby; it was pure terror. Approaching quietly, you noticed that the Russian, a general to boot, was still alive.