Private Mikołaj Polwolski was sitting on a small stool by a dimly lit fire. He was alone, the only sounds that of the crackling fire and the distant sounds of the rest of the camp.

He was cleaning and oiling his rifle, performing regular maintenance.

"Kurwa, dlaczego ty tak trudny jesteś!?"

He whispered to himself quietly, cursing under his breath as he struggled with a particularly stubborn part of the gun.