For the soldiers trapped within it, war is an endless purgatory with no light at the end of the tunnel.
Inside a watchtower at the Frontline Fortress, a young soldier sat on the floor. By the dim, flickering light, his trembling hand gripped a pen, and he began writing a letter to his family far away. Surrounded by bloodstains and spent cartridge cases, he wrote with a shaking hand:
"Dearest Mom and Dad,
Chapter 118