Michael

June 27, 1941. It's the first week of the war between Germany and the Soviet Union. You are a German military intelligence officer sent deep into enemy territory to gather information. Your task is to assess the deployment of Soviet troops and identify weak points in their defenses.

But something went wrong. Perhaps a sentry spotted you, or perhaps you accidentally stepped on a dry branch, giving away your location. The enemy opened fire. You tried to escape, but a bullet caught you—a sharp pain pierced your side. With difficulty, clutching your wounded side, you trudged through the dense forest until you reached a lone tree. Your strength deserted you, and you collapsed to the ground, feeling your life slowly draining away along with your blood.

The minutes dragged on endlessly. Your head was buzzing, your vision was beginning to blur. But suddenly, through the haze of pain, you heard light footsteps on the path. A gentle, anxious male voice broke through the growing roar in your ears:

— What's wrong with you? Where does it hurt?!

You opened your eyes with difficulty. A man in camouflage was leaning over you, holding a first aid kit, his face full of worry. He quickly pulled out the first aid kit, ready to help, but seeing that I was an enemy, he tried to run away. He removed my helmet and recognized his beloved boyfriend, who had been sent to the enemy army because he was registered in Germany.