The man slowly opened his eyes from the exertions of the bright scorching sun that was blinding him, causing him to squeeze shut. His body ached and his head was splitting as if someone had beaten him mercilessly with a hammer yesterday. He tried to remember what had happened in the last hours, but only fragmentary images - darkness, water, fire - came to mind. Vague images flitted before his eyes like morning fog that had not yet cleared.
He was brought out of his semi-conscious state by a shadow and light hands that slapped his cheek. 'Wake up, wake the fuck up!' - came the commanding voice, and the man finally came to his senses. He raised his head, but all he saw in front of him was a sandy beach surrounded by a boundless sea. He still didn't realise what was happening and shifted his gaze to a figure in a red uniform standing nearby.
"Who are you?" he asked, trying to collect his thoughts.
"I am your commander," he answered, not taking his eyes off the horizon.
The man who was still standing took a deep breath and sat down, staring at the sea, as if trying to make sense of the situation. "Do you remember when we shovelled out?" he asked, glancing at the tall man beside him.
He just shook his head, his face also expressing bewilderment. "I don't remember either. But we got out... That's the other question," what's next?» he said with a slight twinge of pessimism in his voice.
«Our forces are apparently defeated. And no one knows how long we've been lying here,» the commander added, scanning the shore. Suddenly their stomachs churned and they both looked at each other. 'I should eat first,' his companion said, and the man nodded, happily agreeing with his fellow misfit.
«What's your name, fighter?» said the commander, getting to his feet.
«Davis,» he replied, standing up and shaking the sand from his clothes.
«I'm Dunter. Let's get acquainted,» the commander said, a note of confidence in his voice.
The men scattered along the beach in search of something to eat, exchanging glances from time to time so as not to lose sight of each other. Half an hour later two small crabs and a scattering of berries of unknown origin lay before them. They gingerly looked at the find and decided that it was worth the risk - the food might be poisonous, but in order not to poison themselves, they decided to roast everything to a crispy charcoal crust.
To the tired and hungry people, even this burnt-out bitterness seemed to them the most delicious dish in the world.
They had eaten a little and calmed down a little, but soon they were again in gloomy thought. At last Dunter spoke first, and the question of what to do next came up again.
«Shall we move from here?» Davis grumbled unhappily.
«Yes, but where to?» Dunter asked curiously.
«South,» Davis said confidently, and Dunter looked at him in surprise.
«Explain...»
«What is there to explain? We were in the northern group. It makes sense that all the survivors would head south to their own group,» Davis said, spitting into the sand.
Dunter thought Davis's conclusions were logical. He himself had thought of moving south, but it seemed that he would not be able to shine his intellect in front of his subordinate, at least not today.
«Maybe we'll find some of our own,» said the grenadier with hope in his voice.
«Yeah, or locals,» Dunter grinned.
«Well, that can be fixed,» said Davis, stroking his hand. Davis said, stroking his axe with his hand, but Dunter just wiped the sweat from his forehead. 'It's foolish to hope for anything now. It's just luck.'
After a little rest on the cool sand, the two men got up, gathered their belongings and set off on their adventure. Each step was given to them with unusual heaviness, but with each metre they overcame, a flame of hope flared in their hearts that ahead of them awaited a chance for the sought salvation.
...
Sure, let's change the dialogue format to '-'. Here's an excerpt with the changes:
The tired man paced the winding tracks, hunched under the weight that pressed on his shoulders - whether it was fatigue or the weight of responsibility.
He had survived, and the thought brought him some joy, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of bitterness at his recent defeat. The battle they had lost in a landslide continued to thunder in his mind, and the memories of the burning city wracked his temples with a hellish ache.
He looked back at his soldiers - 478 tired, wounded and angry fighters marched in front of him. Each one of them was filled with despair, and yet determination. He was leading them into the unknown, and this feeling attracted him and frightened him at the same time.
The moment he was rescued, the remnants of their squad, as well as any survivors, tore their way out of the city. Along the way, they encountered several other squads, and a dozen lone soldiers fleeing in that chaos.
Everything around them was screaming for their imminent deaths. If it hadn't been for a sudden blow to the rear from out-of-nowhere cuirassiers, his unit might no longer exist.
But these were matters of the past; he could not go back to change anything. They had been moving through dense forests for almost twenty-four hours, gradually passing into swamps, and back again, like ants writhing on their backs despite nothing.
The soldiers' strength was at its limit. Fatigue was all they had left, and it seemed only the will to live gave them the strength to keep going. Not a single one of them even made a peep - they all knew that stopping was equal to death. That was the general rule among the survivors; everyone was well aware that even a single moment of weakness could be fatal.
And they kept going and going, and when people began to simply fall to the ground from fatigue, he gave the command to stop. The group turned round on a small hill covered with lem. The officer posted sentries and sent out scouting parties, and he himself, exhausted, fell to the ground. He closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh air, but he had no idea that they were already being watched.
They kept going and going, and when people began to fall to the ground from exhaustion, he gave the command to stop. The group turned around on a small hill covered with forest,
He set up sentries and sent scouting parties ahead to investigate the immediate surroundings. Survival required vigilance, and given recent events, every second rustle could turn into an attack.
The officer himself, exhausted to the limit, fell to the ground. His body demanded rest, but his mind wouldn't let him relax. He closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh air, feeling his lungs fill with oxygen, but his mind remained alert. He lacked sleep, and the shadows under his eyes were treacherously appearing deeper and deeper. At this moment, he didn't even realise they were already being watched.
The images and sounds of the recent battle flashed through his mind like a terrible memory he didn't know how to pay for. The fight, the melee, the desperation. It was a reminder that they were sandwiched between fire and a wall of fire, and every life he had managed to save now felt like an unsustainable burden.
The group of soldiers, meanwhile, were seated in a clearing covered in greenery, listening to the rustles of the forest that surrounded them on all sides. Dawn was creeping through the foliage, dispelling the morning mist, but there was something unsettling about this morning. Tension could be felt in the air, and every movement, every shadow gave the soldiers goosebumps.
The silence was broken by the constant twists and turns of the forest, as if hiding something important from them. Suddenly one of the scouting parties came back to them, and the confusion on their faces filled the men with anxiety once again. At that moment the officer who had risen realised - even now the evil doom did not even think of letting them go.
The scouts' words were vague and confused, but one thing was certain and unequivocal: they were already being followed. The officer felt his heart shudder at the thought. He looked again at the hill and the men sleeping on it, too tired to even be alarmed. Each of these soldiers had endured much suffering; each had been full of hope, but now they seemed defenceless, like victims in the eve, of an impending storm.
Their faces were calm, keeping calm only in their sleep, but this calmness was deceptive. The officer's military instincts told him that this silence was nothing but a portent of the coming storm.
He raised his eyes to the sky, perhaps for the last time, and saw the clouds slowly gathering, wrapping the horizon in grey veils. The sun's rays broke through them, creating eerie shadow patterns on the ground. The officer knew that these silent signs portended something bad. He wished the sky and stars would add up to predictions of hope, but right now they only emphasised his fears.
"Get up!" he said loudly, forcing his voice to sound confident, though a sense of panic grew inside. - We need to get ready!
The soldiers had to leave the dream world, and their faces, still clouded with sleep, began to take on an expression of wariness. A responsible silence enveloped the hill for a moment, then there were rustlings as everyone began to realise the seriousness of the situation. The officer realised that this was no time for hesitation. It was necessary to act, it was necessary to protect those who remained.
Gathering his thoughts and preparing himself for the inevitable, he looked around the group. Now he knew what was truly to be done. They had to rally together and fight for their lives while there was still a chance. Each of them deserved a chance to be saved, and he, as their commander, had no right to be weak.