On the Dobruja front, the Russian side was already overflowing with wounded and sick, and the problem of insufficient logistical support had once again been laid bare.
Previously, the Russian army's extraordinarily high death rate had somewhat eased the strain on logistics, but as the number of wounded continued to pile up—
At this point, even if the Russians devoted every single logistics worker to caring for the wounded, it would not be enough. This so-called care amounted to little more than barely sustaining their vital signs.
Food to eat, water to drink, and, if they were lucky, a little alcohol and tobacco—this was all Russian wounded soldiers could receive.
As for actual treatment, that was practically a fantasy. The Russian army was desperately short of military doctors—or rather, it had no real military doctors at all, relying almost entirely on temporary conscription.
As mentioned before, in the nineteenth century, being a doctor was a respected—or rather, highly prestigious—profession. None of those people were willing to risk their lives at the front and live such a miserable, bitter existence.
So every time, the Russian army simply rounded up country doctors and physicians from occupied territories to make do.
If the residents of Dobruja and South Serbia had once held even the faintest expectations of the Russians, it was because they were both Slavs and shared a common enemy.
But during the period of Russian occupation, those illusions were smashed to pieces.
There was no other reason than the outstanding "quality" of the Russian soldiery. Even with the Tsar personally overseeing them, the Russian army had swept through Wallachia like a pack of wolves, making people flee at the mere sight of them.
After the Russians' repeated ravaging and the baptism of war, the locals had long since come to hate