O Quarto Desastre Nunca Acredita no Dilúvio de Aço!

“Andreosha, Andreosha! Wake up, are you alright?”

In the haze, Andrei felt someone shaking him, and a violent headache surged through his skull, forcing a groan from his lips.

“Ah, stop shaking me, my head hurts! Is there any water?”

Driven by pain and an unbearable thirst, Andrei murmured instinctively. At once, he felt someone pressing a canteen to his mouth.

Without hesitation, he took two gulps, and the pain in his head eased slightly. As soon as he opened his eyes, he discovered he was curled up in a cramped space resembling a foxhole.

Wide-eyed with surprise, he saw beside him a blonde girl dressed as a nun, kneeling and supporting his head, pouring water from the canteen into his mouth.

Meanwhile, several soldiers in steel helmets and gray uniforms, rifles cradled in their arms, watched him nervously.

“Captain Vorontsov, you’re finally awake! Damn, I nearly lost my life dragging you into this hole!”

A bearded veteran cursed a bit, then looked at him with worry and asked, “How are you? Did the shell shake your brains loose?”

For a moment, Andrei didn’t know how to respond. In truth, he hadn’t yet figured out what had happened; his mind was a fog of confusion.

He remembered only that last night he’d attended a school reunion, seen his first love from high school now married, drank a few too many in his melancholy, and passed out on the way home.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in this foxhole, surrounded by dirt-streaked soldiers and a nun.

Looking down, he realized he was wearin