Everyone could see that those faint traces of life were slowly draining away from the wounded soldier's dimming eyes.
"Will we... win...?"
This was the last sentence left in this world by the soldier whose entire chest cavity had been blown apart. He never got to hear Fran's answer. His pupils dilated as his body convulsed violently.
Fran knelt in the mud, gripping that filthy, gradually cooling hand in a deathlike clasp.
He really wanted to tell this soldier, and everyone present, that not far behind them the Front Army had already concentrated the strength of more than a dozen divisions, and that a large number of units were still racing here under the stars and moon.
He also wanted to tell them that the Front Army had a plan that would make a man's blood boil.
