天越来越冷了,呼啸的寒风把树木刮得东倒西歪,他的单衣单裤也在风中摇摆。穿还是不穿?他问自己。下意识地摸了摸背包,还是摇摇头,把胳臂环抱得更紧。不穿,不穿!才下了决心,一个喷嚏喷涌而出。他偷偷扫视了一眼,还好,风大,战士们都在弯腰急行军,没人朝这边看。他赶紧揉了揉鼻头,挤出鼻涕向下一甩。不巧,手磕着腰间坚硬的驳壳枪和手榴弹,火辣辣的疼。他对着手哈了口气,解嘲地笑笑:还好有痛觉,手没冻僵。但脚好像不是自己的,木木地在冻地上挪动。 The sky is getting colder and the whistling wind blows the trees all the way down, and his unlined trousers are swinging in the wind. Wear or not wear? He asked himself. Subconsciously touched the backpack, or shook his head, the arms encircle more tightly. No wear, no wear! Only determined, a sneeze spewing out. He secretly glanced at it, but fortunately, the wind, the soldiers are bending down the march, no one looking to the side. He rubbed his nose and rubbed his nose and squeezed his nose and blew it down. Unfortunately, the hands knocking on the waist hard shell gun and grenades, hot ache. He started to hate, mockery to smile: Fortunately, there is pain, no frozen hands. But the feet do not seem to be their own, wood moving in the frozen ground.