At the rise of the moon, when the earth was enveloped in darkness, Zaitsev and his comrades returned to their positions.
A group of soldiers huddled together was dismissed by an officer, leaving the path to the special forces headquarters tent clear. From a long distance away, they could already see the tent door curtain being lifted, revealing Captain Danilov waiting for them sitting on an ammunition box. Judging by the half-burnt cigarette butts scattered on the ground, he had probably waited for a whole day. Because of this and other reasons, his mood was terrible with a mix of anger, depression, and anxiety in his eyes.
Disastrous.
That was the thought of both the captain and the snipers. The small troop departed with 15 men, but almost half did not return. Seven of their comrades had unfortunately become the trophies of the enemy's elite hunters.
A sense of defeat filled their bodies, spilling out into the air, and even the aroma of fried sausage became tasteless.
"Captain"
