Vasily waited. He was good at waiting. He’d been good at it before the war started. Now it served him even better. Be patient, he told his students, Winter kills with coldness.

In the dark, it was difficult to see anything moving at all amongst the destruction dealt by German bombs. He knew the enemy was down there, always pushing forward.

A spark of light appeared as a match flared into existance and touched the tip of a cigarette. Reflecting the tiny flame were three gaunt, youths. One yanked the cigarette out of the offender’s mouth but the damage had been done.

Winter had come.

The Mosin-Nagant spat three times in quick succession. Yanking his sniper rifle from the window Vasily was already headed downstairs toward the hatch that lead to the sewers. He’d let one of the scavenger teams know where to gather up the dead men’s supplies, but he couldn’t afford to stick around and rely on the Germans fear to prevent an investigation. As the war dragged on, both sides had gotten desperate and unpredictable.