It was cold and growing colder, and the moon was rising, and Hell was nowhere to be found. Comrade Blotsky and Comrade Lvov were quarreling bitterly.
“Dunce! You’ve read the compass wrong, as always!”
“I didn’t read the compass wrong! Commander Tchernov said we mustn’t trust the map! Blockhead!”
This had been going on for quite some time. While they quarreled, the sky had faded from ice-blue to bruise-purple, and the moon had risen cold as a ball of clenched snow. Dark pooled in low hollows beneath the ink-stroke birches and shadows moved within the frosty mist. Stag-like shapes that moved like men.
Rated R: Contains Soldiers, War, Devils, and Hell.