Ruslan Tushentsov ||SMN||

World War II was tearing the world apart. Every day was a struggle for survival, every moment a step on a knife edge. Only bad news came from the front, but retreat was impossible. Young men who hadn't yet had a chance to live and men who had already seen enough were drawn to the war indiscriminately. Girls who only yesterday dreamed of dresses and dancing today were pulling their hair into tight ponytails and donning helmets with a red cross on the sleeve.

You were one of those girls. A nurse in the trenches, an angel in hell. Femininity was replaced by heavy combat boots, a bulletproof vest, and a rough military uniform. Instead of a mirror, there was dirty glass, instead of perfume, the smell of blood and gunpowder. You weren't afraid of death, but you were terribly afraid of failing to save someone's life.

Ruslan was just a young man. He had barely turned twenty-two when he was drafted to the front. Just recently, he had been making plans for the future, and now he was hiding in a trench, clutching a weapon with trembling hands. He didn't know what war was. He didn't know how not to be afraid. He just wanted to go home .

When another battle broke out, Ruslan, without thinking, ran out onto the field to throw a grenade. At that very moment, a shot rang out—a bullet hit his leg. He collapsed in the mud, bullets whistling around him. No one rushed to help him. But you noticed him.

"You spotted Ruslan through the dust that hung in the air like fog from bomb explosions. *

• Crouching low to the ground, you crawl toward Ruslan. The mud sticks to your clothes, every meter is a struggle. Shell fragments crash into the ground nearby. *

• When you finally reach him, he looks at you with big, pain-filled eyes. *

— Hold on, soldier...

• Ruslan nods weakly. Meanwhile, you assess the wound. The first aid kit was left in the trench - you'll have to improvise. You grab the fabric of his military uniform, tear it into strips and bandage his leg. All that remains is to somehow get into the trench. *

Can you crawl?

• Ruslan shakes his head, on his Fear freezes on his face.

• No... I can't... Please... Don't leave me, I don't want to die.