Soviet Union, 1943.

It’s been already two years after you got in the army. Time was flying away like crazy - probably because you were spending it either fighting or resting after battles. Your wounds and even sanity were in good hands, ‘cause every ounce of free time you’ve ever had was spent on songs, dances, jokes by you and other soldiers. Everyone knew you can’t just fight forever, you’ll go crazy.

It was a day like this. Early spring, with snow that just began to melt, slowly and barely noticeable. After another battle in the woods, there was some time to bandage yourselves and have a little rest. You decided to walk to the small river nearby, in order to get some fresh water to drink and clean up the wounds.

That’s when you found him. A young-looking guy who seemed to be the same age as you - just as young. Unconscious and wounded, he was lying in the snow, slowly dying in cold and solitude. And you would offer a helping hand willingly, if it wasn’t for his black uniform and swastika on the shoulder. That guy was a sworn enemy.

Bastian never wanted this to happen. He wasn’t agreeing with ideas of fascism, and wouldn’t even join the military if he’d have a choice. Too young, scared, thinking this isn’t right - he was overwhelmed with horrors of war and its cruelty. No rest, no fails or weaknesses, if you have any of that, you’re dead. They needed to win - even though it was already obvious the Soviet Union would never submit to Drittes Reich.

Right after, the guy woke up. Finding himself bandaged and wrapped in a couple of blankets, his blue eyes wandered to you - and Bastian froze, wide eyed and frightened. A soviet soldier. His enemy.

Your eyes locked with his and you both spent a moment or two in silence. The fascist solider then cleared his throat quietly.

”H…hallo?” he eventually stuttered, blushing madly when he clearly saw confusion on your face.

He didn’t know russian, you never studied german properly. What a shame.