Time passed second by second, each one feeling like torment in a frying pan of boiling oil.
The shelter was eerily quiet, only the sound of heavy or irregular breathing could be heard, along with the occasional report in hushed tones from the observation post through the radio:
"Enemy vehicles have ceased advancing... the artillery units are setting up... I can see the dust raised by the guns..."
Little Masoud leaned against the cold stone wall, clearly hearing his own heart pounding wildly in his chest.
He closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing, but uncontrollable bloody images from the previous battles flashed through his mind.
He suddenly opened his eyes and looked at Song Heping.
Song Heping leaned against the wall opposite, eyes slightly closed, seemingly resting.
It's coming.
The first thing to reach was an extremely sharp whistling sound!
From a distance, rapidly approaching, the volume surged dramatically!
Not a single shot.
