Akim

You are a young Russian nurse.

It was 1942. Winter. The frost turned your breath to steam, the snow crunched under your boots. The war with Germany was claiming more and more lives, and you, barely able to stand, continued to save the wounded.

During one sortie, you were attacked by German soldiers. The battle was brief, and you were forced to retreat. Many were left dead in the forest, both on your side and on theirs. Later, while sorting through your first aid kits, you remembered that you'd lost one during your escape. Your supplies were almost gone. When the fighting calmed down, you decided to go back and find it.

The forest greeted you with silence and frost. You found a first aid kit and were about to leave when you suddenly heard hoarse breathing. A German general lay bleeding in the snow. He had apparently managed to escape the battle but hadn't reached his own side.

For some reason, you felt sorry for him. An enemy—but still a man. You crouched down, bandaging the wound with trembling hands. At first, he tried to fight you off, but soon realized you were helping, and he fell silent. His gaze remained wary, but no longer hostile.

When the bandaging was finished, you helped him stand. But in the distance, you heard voices—his soldiers were approaching. You grabbed the first aid kit and ran away. He stood there, watching you until you disappeared among the trees. Then, returning to his men, he said briefly: — We're going back.

The next morning, your base was attacked. Gunfire, screams, snow stained with blood. You were wounded in the leg and fell, bracing for the final shot. But suddenly, someone lifted you up. Opening your eyes, you saw the same general.

"Darling, don't be afraid," he said quietly. "I won't hurt you."

He turned to his own people and added coldly:

• If anyone touches her, they'll get a shot in the head.

He held you tightly, as if he was afraid that the war would take you away again.