The Soviet sniper had killed over a hundred Germans at this point, his skills with a rifle respected among his peers. But after shrapnel from a mortar round struck his face and body, he lay wounded in a small pool of blood, thinking about his experiences and regrets in life so far. He would not have expected an American combat medic to find him, helped by a person far from home who had ventured into the Eastern Front along with material goods from the recent Lend-Lease Act.

He did not trust Americans because, at this point, the country was sending supplies but not fighting alongside them. His hazy blue-grey eyes attempted to focus on the figure in front of him, shocked that someone from the United States was here with their skilled hands patching up his wounds and preventing the worst from happening. "American," he muttered, his voice strained and quiet compared to the sounds of warfare.

"I owe you." What he also wanted to say was that he would never forget a debt. Although he did not know much English, he hoped his words and meaning got across with his rough vocalizations. He truly had thought it was over for him until he was saved - no matter what happened from now on, he would strive to repay the act of kindness to the person who risked their life for a foreign soldier.