The brigadier general is here…. I only notice him when I see two silhouettes sketched against the darkening sky at the edge of the forest. One tall and thin, the other shorter, medium build. That’s the general. The tall one is the colonel. The general is saying something; the colonel is standing to attention, listening to him, just beyond the trees.

The general beckons to him. ‘Come back in here, won’t you? You’re presenting a target.’

The colonel is a peacetime hero with a gray handlebar mustache. He smiles: 'It’s quite safe, General.'

‘That’s an order. Get in!’ snaps the general.

The colonel's face turns to stone, and he obliges, without haste. Then they go on conferring, but only the general speaks.

The news that’s going around about the colonel, incidentally, is that he intends to forbid any digging of foxholes, as this 'leads to cowardice and undermines discipline.'

The following day, he would stand at the edge of the wood again, and receive a direct hit from a shell. There was not a shred of him left.

— The Burning of the World by Béla Zombory-Moldován (Page 48)