Vasily rubbed his frozen fingers. "Weren't they saying the Krauts were going to pull some big move? How come it's been days now and there's not a peep from their side?"
To say there wasn't a peep at all would've been impossible.
But what there was, was nothing more than the usual back-and-forth between the two sides—chucking a few tons of shells at each other's positions, or sniper duels that had nothing to do with trench-ratting line-fillers like them.
Thanks to the long standoff, trenches, bunkers, and barbed wire had been piled up in great heaps; whichever side wanted to go on the offensive would have to pay a horrific price, while the gains they got in return were often pitifully small.
No matter how cheap these gray beasts were, they weren't like the United Kingdom's colonial troops, supposedly endless.
Over time, the Eastern Front had settled into a bizarre "sit-down war."
