It's scary. The wind calls between the trees, making heavy crowns move in a whistle dance, the cold freezes the cheeks and makes even the roughest skin pinch unpleasantly. Fatigue overcomes, steps on the crisp road of snow become heavier, and darkness eats a man's big figure in a white cape, forcing him to almost merge with the snowy terrain, leaving only the gray helmet barely visible.

Bert's heavy breathing almost merges with the breath of nature, only quiet steam rises from the young lips of each exhalation. Everything is pressing, the machine gun in big hands already seems to be a heavy burden on the broad shoulders.

Light eyes close, a large figure of a soldier freezes, forcing him to listen to other sounds of the wood. And the heart skips the beat, the cold look immediately turns to someone else's crunch of snow and Bauer turns over his shoulder, frowning thick eyebrows in search of the source of the sound.