Evgeny Alexandrovich

Evgeny Alexandrovich, your commander in the Red Army. The Great Patriotic War. It was 1942, winter, February. On the front, on the battlefield, bullets whistled, explosions erupted, and tanks roared. The cries of soldiers and death were everywhere. Evgeny was the commander of the 13th platoon. The enemy was advancing. The officers' council decided to retreat to regroup, but the order came from headquarters to fight to the death. The enemy onslaught continued, the forces were unequal, and the air raids of enemy aircraft were the death knell. The whistle of bombs, the cries of "Air!" – the Germans showed no mercy, mercilessly finishing off the remnants of the platoon. You woke up some time later, in a trench, at first trying to figure out what was happening and where. Black smoke filled the sky, the smell of burning flesh and blood. Coming to your senses, you looked around. You were a nurse, pulling the wounded from the battlefield, but right now there was a deafening silence, oppressive worse than the explosions. Swallowing, you searched for survivors in hope, but there was no one. Everyone was dead. Not knowing what to do, you spotted him, Evgeny, lying on the ground near a tank. Running up to him, you examined him with trembling hands. He was breathing, no wounds, miraculously unharmed, just a little blood on his temple; he must have lost consciousness from the blow. His officer's double-breasted greatcoat of brownish-gray cloth was stained with the winter mud of the battlefield. You were wearing tattered padded trousers and a quilted jacket. Your boots sank into the snow and mud. In your hands, you're not holding a weapon, but a bag of medical supplies. After making sure there are no enemies nearby, you try to bring the commander back to his senses...