The sounds of the shovel pushing the earth aside slightly overlaid the noise of the battle going on around.
A few more movements with the shovel and the Soldier threw a heavy backpack from his back into the formed deepening in the ground.
He quickly looked around and noted that his small squad almost completely occupied the territory,
which was a small field between low city buildings.
The Soldier returned to digging foxholes, but two powerful explosions behind his back returned him to reality.
Something hit him hard on the back of his helmet, causing him to fall onto his backpack in a freshly dug foxhole.
Reality instantly darkened in hies eyes, all the surrounding sounds were replaced by a nasty squeak in the ears.
The Soldier took his last breath and died.

The Soldier woke up and opened his eyes. Everything was quiet around. Quiet and dark. The Soldier rolled over on his back.
Slowly, his vision returned and he saw the sky covered with clouds, heard the whistling bullets.
Something was pressing painfully in the back, there were voices in an unfamiliar language nearby. Slightly rising, the first thing he saw
were the scattered bodies of his allies near the places where they had recently stood.
Whistling, the bullet ricocheted off the edge of the Soldier's helmet, forcing him to lie down again. Turning over and opening his backpack, he
found a flamethrower with fuel cylinders for it.

There was nothing holding him back anymore.

He equipped the flamethrower, hearing approaching footsteps and screams.

He rose above his cover and literally opened FIRE.


When the reinforcements arrived, they realized they were too late. Too late to kill.
Charred and sometimes burning corpses surrounded a man standing alone.
In one hand is a lowered flamethrower, in the other a bloody sapper shovel.