Commander came to our trench and entered the bunker where we were taking care of the wounded. He had to pass the field, clouded with smoke, covered in darkness from the dirt that could be smelled in the air. Mud followed his boots as he had to pick his steps, running through the craters, jumping over the barb wires and dead comrades that were stuck on it.
He took his helmet off and swiped the sweat, mixed with the black dirt and fumes of battle. Swiftly he tossed his eyes around, and grinned from the sight of mutilated uniforms on young soldiers bodies. A candle light across the room rose his attention and he went straight for it.
– What is the body count? – he asked, catching breath, while nervously playing with his helmet in hands.
– Minimal. – I said sarcastically and without interest of who was standing above my head and blew the smoke, putting down the cigarette while numbers of dead pilled on paper.
– Good, because you are going back to battle. – he said and made me turn towards him, clutch my fist and sign in despair.