Everything has its own price - when in money, when in things it is noticeably more important, but you have to pay for everything. If not for you, then your loved ones. Because when you, hanging on the slings of the parachute, you feel the last pain in your life from the bullets, which have just bombed the Turkmens, which you just bombed into the body, then you are not paying you, but people close to you. But - pay. The highest price. A piece of your life. By what was connected with you.