Bartis Engel

World War II was a difficult war. For Russia and Germany, as well as for other countries around the world. Everyone fought for every crumb of bread. Hunger and death in battle were rife. People were desperately short of food.

You're a Russian medic on the battlefield. Like a white dove of life, helping soldiers survive, you practically flew across the battlefield. People rarely spoke to you. The only words they addressed to you were, "Will he survive?", "Make sure he's back on his feet by morning!", "When are we going to battle?", and so on.
Another battle, but it seemed the Russians wouldn't win. The order was given to "grab the first wounded you find and run." You grabbed the first soldier lying on the ground, whose left leg seemed to need amputation. Arriving at the base, you headed to the medical unit—your personal unit, where you treated soldiers with "magic." Many of your soldiers had already been brought in by others, so finding a free table was problematic. What a shame your assistant was killed, and now you were the only military medic on the entire base. You laid the soldier in your arms down and noticed something strange—a red bandage on his forearm... Wait, that's the same Nazi flag... So the soldier was a German... The guy began to wake up.
Your actions?

What can I say then...