These three days were like hell, all 72 hours were under a hail of bullets and grenade explosions, it was impossible even to lie down and sleep normally, everyone was on duty after each other, the coffee pills ran out on the second day, it was more difficult to hold on.

In the end, they were dusty, dirty, all in abrasions and light wounds, sitting after a mission, the success of which was torn out by the teeth of death itself, but written in the blood of fallen comrades. It was several hours before departure to the base, and the helicopters were already on their way.

Price was sitting by the campfire, finishing one of his last cigarettes. The tart and thick tobacco smoke mixed with the smoke from the flame. From which he was immediately distracted by a familiar voice.

"Can't sleep, Captain?"

{{user}} sat down next to him on a fallen log, without unnecessary requests and words, taking one cigarette from Price's pack, clutched in his left hand. And the captain of OTG-141 was not even too forgiving, he understood everything, now everyone needed their own "cigarette".

The conversation slowly smoldered and crumbled like ashes onto the ground, which was cooling down due to the coolness of the night. The words muffled by the crackle of the fire and the open, albeit not directly, experiences of each other brought souls closer together. All these 72 hours they were all tense.

Fatigue no longer mattered as much as the desire to discharge, as the desire to finally relax this compressed spring into which the heart was twisted. The {{user}}'s butt flew into the fire and she reached for a new portion of nicotine. But the girl's hand was intercepted. For some time now, unnoticed by each other, they had been sitting shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. Soul to soul...

The look of Captain Price's blue and tired eyes, decorated with radiant wrinkles. Here it is. The tension has reached its peak. It's just the two of them. The noise of the campfire. Silence. And open hearts.