Editor's Choice
When the night fell, dark and chill, and the enemy artillery took a break, private Kopach grabbed his spade and a sack and beat his way through the forest plantations to their abandoned positions.
Carefully, he wormed into the trenches and started digging.
Frozen soil, hard like granite, crisped against the iron. On the rainy nights, murky waters sometimes reached his thighs as he kept digging, brushing the dirt away with his hands and meticulously freeing the petrified bodies from the tight earthly embrace.
An archaeologist by profession, he knew that someone, somewhere, was waiting for them, dead or alive.
Carefully, he wormed into the trenches and started digging.
Frozen soil, hard like granite, crisped against the iron. On the rainy nights, murky waters sometimes reached his thighs as he kept digging, brushing the dirt away with his hands and meticulously freeing the petrified bodies from the tight earthly embrace.
An archaeologist by profession, he knew that someone, somewhere, was waiting for them, dead or alive.
