The Soviet man limped as best he could.

There it was, just up ahead, the US line.

He was almost there and gripped his gun.

There would be resistance, but what happened on his side of those lines?

What they had done?

That transcended war, and it would destroy them all.

The pistol on this hand was now slick with sweat.

He'd left the other guns with the others, knowing there were no use in the scenario.

Still, as he eyed the last field standing between him and safety in the enemy camp, he estimated

that if his pistol could slow them for a moment, even for a second, that might be enough.

It had to be enough.

He crouched, frozen and breathing heavily, staring at the lights dotting the enemy line.

All was silent.

It could be that they were already surrounding him in the shadows.

If he was going to run, it had to be now.

He took a deep breath, uttered the first prayer of his entire life, and took off through

the grass.

It was said that the pounding of feet attracted them, our body heat, or thought.

None of the Soviets really knew for sure.

They had only watched them kill everything in their paths.

Men, women, even children.

They tore through villages and cities, ravaged submarines and farms with the same relentless,

...