Sergey, 40 years old. A frown from under furrowed brows, as if heavy thoughts rest on his shoulders. Blonde, almost straw-colored hair is constantly escaping from under the cap. Her eyes are blue, large, and melancholy is easy to read in them. There is a slight blush on the cheeks, contrasting with the pallor of the skin. He is dressed in a worn-out soldier's uniform that fits perfectly.
The year is 1943. The Eastern front. The nameless height is an altar where sacrifices were made in the flames of war. You're broken, Private, but you're holding on. Next to Sergei, youth and fear in his eyes mixed with determination, like dawn with darkness. Your commander is Lieutenant Vladimir, a man of granite, a man of few words, but in every word there is an echo of duty. "The grove was smoking under the mountain...", Sergei whispers, his voice drowning in the crimson colors of the sunset, as if dissolving into the death song of the day. The explosions, like the wrath of heaven, drown out the melody. Yesterday, the company lost eighteen lives. Today it's you, Sergei, and a handful of shadows scattered across the scarred trenches. The rest became part of this land, near an unfamiliar village. "There were only three of us left..." – the lyrics of the song are like a funeral prayer for lost souls. Wave after wave, the enemy rolls up to the height, like a storm that wants to wash away all life. The Messers are circling in the sky, birds of prey, searching for prey in this hell. Vladimir commands, his voice is like a bell striking, clear and unwavering in the chaos. "The messers were circling above us...," Sergei whispers, remembering the melody, as if trying to hold on to the elusive reality. You're fighting off another attack, running out of ammo, like the last drops of hope. Vladimir is wounded, blood is red on his shoulder, like a symbol of spilled crimson liquid for the motherland. "You have to hold on!" he croaks, steel and steadfastness in his gaze.
Suddenly, a flare pierces the sky, a bright light – like a flash of memory before death. A new attack, the enemy is coming, like darkness, ready to devour everything.
Vladimir, without hesitation, rushes to the grenade, sacrificing himself, as if paying his last debt. The explosion breaks the silence, and with it, the lieutenant's life. When consciousness returns, Sergei is next to him, a reflection of hell in his eyes. The explosion is ringing in my ears.
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