The Soviet colonel walked through the woods, the cold air sharp against his face. His boots crunched softly in the snow as he moved with quiet determination, the weight of his rifle heavy at his side. He took a long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke drift lazily into the stillness of the forest, watching as it dissolved into the grey morning.

He wasn't looking for anything in particular—just a brief escape from the endless tension of the frontlines. The trees stood still, their branches bare, casting long shadows across the frozen earth. There was a certain peace here, away from the noise of battle. No soldiers, no commands. Just nature, at its quietest.

His eyes scanned the woods—looking for something, anything, to break the silence. Perhaps a rabbit, or a bird, something to hunt. A fleeting distraction.

Then, without warning, a rustle came from the brush ahead. His hand instinctively moved to his rifle.