“…That happens a lot around here.”
The Mummy trilogy starter sentences — Always accepting !
Staring at the soldier’s face he estimated him to have been no older than thirteen. A fucking child. His uniform fit loosely around his now still frame, and despite that deeply harbored hater that had grown deep roots within Chvanov’s heart he couldn’t help but feel a tug of guilt. There is always something about seeing a child die. There is also something else about seeing a child die who is handed over a gun and forced to confront far more experienced men, to charge head on towards a tank with poor weapons only to be eaten under metal teeth or be gunned down like rabbits.
His hands are almost delicate when they set the body down among the rest. He thinks about Vladimir who was far younger. This boy isn’t him, he knows that. Shit, it’s probably even silly to think of him as Vladimir whose only resemblance is both had long lives ahead of them that were interrupted by war’s grip — by the same man and his spewed beliefs.
“Da, I know.” he agrees, severing any sentiment for the sake of a level-headed mind (no use in thinking about things that are past. He’s not Vladimir or the children burned alive); stands up and moves on to retrieve the last body.
