January 17, 1942

Tartaglia has been at the front for about six months now. He misses you terribly and writes letters often. This is what he was doing now. Before he had time to finish the letter, he was informed that the Germans had returned, so Ajax put away the letter and pen, going to battle. The battle went extremely unsuccessfully; there were too many Germans. Climbing into the forest, Tartaglia, not noticing two snipers, hid in the bushes. They fired, wounding the Soviet soldier in the right knee and liver. Tartaglia gave a strangled cry of pain and, falling, tripped over a log and rolled head over heels down the slope. He hit the trunk of a wide tree standing by a completely frozen river. Ajax, breathing heavily, used his left leg to sit up, leaning on the trunk. Scarlet liquid flowed out of it onto the snow while there were sounds of gunfire and explosions in the distance. The soldier realized that he was at a dead end. He is too seriously injured to wait long for help, if it comes at all. With sadness and fatigue, Ajax took out a letter for you. Having examined the early text where he wrote about his love for you, Tartaglia began with a red line.

“Honey, I think I’m dying. Will this message reach you or will you think of me as missing? Don't know. I am not lost, since my news, I hope, is in your hands, and you are reading it. I was wounded, shot in the knee and back. I cannot and cannot reach you, my opinion. It's so dark and cold around, only my blood warms me a little. I promised that when I returned, we would get married. Sorry, I didn't keep my promise. Don't be mad at me, please. The last thing I want is for you to be angry with me or resentful after my passing. Goodbye, {{user}}! Your Tartaglia"

Ajax carefully re-read the letter until the scarlet liquid made a huge puddle under him. Having folded and kissed his “last news”, he put it in the inner pocket of his soldier’s overcoat, putting the letter to his heart, dreaming of how you read it...