The value of a life.<\/p>\n
As we crossed the bridge, the sound of whistling bombs forewarned of the hell we approached, when they crashed into the earth and defiled it, sending water up and people down, I shivered. I rushed across the bridge in a group with the others, we were a massacre waiting to happen. I expected more from this city<\/p>\n
They handed Andrei a rifle, and me the clip.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat am I supposed to do with this \u041a\u043e\u043c\u0438\u0441\u0441\u0430\u0440<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n I looked into his eyes, the eyes of my once friend, and I found no hope. He pulled me close, and whispered sharply, viciously, into my ear.<\/p>\n \u201cFind a rifle. Remember: Not. One. Step. Back.\u201dWith that, he threw me into the gates of hell, and I ran like a lost soul, selfishly and depravedly hoping someone might fall so that I might have their weapon. These 7.62x54mmR rounds I held in my hand were worth more than the lives around me, and I guess the commissars that stood at our rear, pointing 9×18 Makarovs ahead were thinking the same thing.For the motherland, and for the lives already lost; but mostly for the chance at survival, I decided to push back the fascist dogs.<\/p>\nShare this:<\/h3>