The urge to exhale washes over him. To take one big breath, to alleviate the pressure. But Ivan knows that if he does, he will die. The temperature hovers just above freezing. His warm breath, rising into the cold air, would turn into vapor and alert the killers. They are already inspecting the bodies of the men just shot, ensuring they are dead by firing a control shot at those who still show signs of life. He hears one of the Russian soldiers say, “Он умрёт сам!”