A prayer, people, for the boys in the dugouts, for those who keep the sky on their shoulders, in the cold dugouts, on the muddy paths, with a hard glow in the right eyes. To pray quietly, honestly, in pain, so that everyone will survive and win, so that among the shells in the bright field, God will add spiritual strength to them. There, under fire, where "birds" tear through the sky, where every moment is a line between the worlds, the brave soldier is immersed, under the roar of the cannons and the winds. For those who sleep in armor and with a machine gun, who insisted on silence in the houses. Pray, people, that our soldier returns home with faith on his lips.