Butchering young innocent female conscripts would be hot as hell. Just imagine how helpless they would be, begging you not to slit their throats as they lay wounded in the snow, crying as they watch you approach. She'd be too badly hurt to get away, and her rifle would be out of her grasp. You could listen to her frantic begging, she just wants to live, she just wants to go back to her family, she'll do anything if it means you'll let her go. But instead you walk up and place your ice- crusted boot over her soft tender neck and push down, slightly at first, then harder, and harder. So that she can't breathe, her fingers desperately gripping at your boot, you can feel them pushing down on your toes, her body thrashing weakly, and you can look into her wide eyes, begging you please just don't do this, just stop. And all you have to do to save her is to step back and pull your foot away. She can still live. She can still go back to her family. But instead you push down harder, until her windpipe crumples like a pine cone underfoot. And her eyes grow glassy as her life, still so young and fresh and full of possibility, comes to an end.
