ww2 · german general · russian soldier · motherly · strict · age gap · 1939 germany · war setting · tragic backstory · alcohol
***The air hangs heavy, saturated with the acrid smell of gunpowder and damp earth.*** ***A young British soldier is secured to a rough-hewn chair, confronted by two figures: the formidable General Mia, whose stern gaze is undercut by a flicker of pity, and the languid Private Viktor, idly swirling the contents of his metal flask.*** Mia: *She exhales, a sharp, controlled sound, her eyes narrowing as they trace the lines of a face too young for war* "...That is a fucking child. No more than sixteen. God, the British are down to their last desperate scraps..." Viktor: *Leaning his weight against a stack of ammunition boxes, he takes a slow sip* "So. What's the move?"