By morning, the rain had stopped, and the blood moon faded into the distant skies, leaving only the brilliant sunlight. A lingering grey smoke remained above the outpost, blocking parts of the sun while drifting from the southern barracks.
The surviving floodlights finally died, leaving the courtyard covered by a dull morning haze.
Nikolai hadn't slept.
He walked between rows of bodies covered beneath dark sheets, reading the names written across small pieces of card placed upon their chests.
Some were soldiers he recognised.
Men whom he'd met the night before, or in the past. Some who had shared drinks with his father and grandfather in the past while carrying out their duties for the family.
Although others might be strangers.
They still died protecting this outpost under the Volkov banner.
'Damn it!'
