Location Unknown
Time Unknown
Day before first contact

Vasilyev gave out a low groan. He opened his eyes and patted around his head, finding no injuries. He looked around him to see the stirring forms of the other three Spetsnaz soldiers. He reached for his AUG A3, finding the grip and pulling it towards him, cradling it on his chest. With his weapon firmly grasped in his right hand, he used his left hand to roll over onto his chest, before repositioning it to help him stand. When he did so, grasping onto the bench at the side (now the roof) of the Mi-24, he could finally survey his surroundings.

He had been lying on the left side of the Mi-24, which was now apparently the floor. The helicopter must have been overturned in the crash. Another overlying question filled his head: Why had they crashed? He had heard a mention of a cruise missile over the radio in English, and then a massive shockwave has rocked the tiny aircraft. The helicopter had then decided to imitate a carousel and spin towards the ground, at which time he – and the others – had been thrown around like pinballs. It was a miracle they were not all dead, least of all unharmed.

Around him, the others were getting to their feet.

“Chert voz'mi!” Novikov cursed.

“Shut the hell up!” Sergeant Petrov hissed at the private.

“Sorry, sir.” The chastised soldier replied.

Petrov looked up towards the 'ceiling', at what was once the right side door.

“Come on,” He said. “Let’s get this open and get outside.”

Together, the soldiers began to push up on the door. It pushed open and to the side, sliding open along side of the wrecked helicopter. Petrov slung his rifle and pulled himself up, stopping to give a hand to the others. Once they had all gotten out, Petrov went to the front to assist the pilot and co-pilot while the others observed their surroundings.

“Well, shit.” Vasilyev sarcastically muttered. “I didn’t know Moscow had a snowless forest inside of it in the middle of winter.”

“It doesn’t, sir.” Private Novikov stated.

To their left, the door of the gunner’s seat suddenly opened. Out crawled the gunner and Co-Pilot, Bogdanov. He dusted himself off and looked up at them.

“Where the hell are we?” The co-pilot asked as the cockpit hatch opened on the pilot’s area. Sokolov quickly scampered out, before turning around to collect his gear and weapon.

“Not a fucking clue.” Kozlov said, jumping down from the top of the crashed helicopter.

“Wherever we are, it isn’t Moscow. There’s not enough goddamn snow.” Petrov dryly remarked.

"There is no snow at all, Sergeant." Vasilyev said in reply.

Both Sokolov and Bogdanov began to grab things from inside the cockpit, ranging from survival gear to their sidearms.

“Are we done?” Kozlov asked impatiently as he waited for the pilots to stop inspecting their weapons and gathering their things.

Vasilyev frowned, before shaking his head and turning towards the group. “Since we don’t know where we are, gather whatever supplies you can. Make sure they’re survival-oriented: we might be here a while until rescue comes. We’ll be on the move, so be sure to leave clear markings and tracks.”

“Good thinking.” Petrov said, nodding in agreement.

The soldiers quickly stripped the Mi-24D of everything they could find that would benefit them. Novikov went so far as to grab two 9A4172 missiles from the ordinance pods, disarm them, and store them using a strap on the outside of his pack.

"What do you plan to do with those?" Sokolov asked the private, gesturing towards the rather large pair of missiles that the private had picked up.

"Shoot them off if I see any trouble." The private replied. "I can use a remote connection to trigger them. It'll kick like a mule, but it's enough to scrap anything we find."

Sokolov internally winced at the thought of carrying all that weight, but the private didn’t seem to mind. And in any case, it would be useful if they encountered a tank.

There was a PKM beside a swing-out mount meant for it to attach to by the cargo door, which Petrov happily - and carefully - lifted out of its' cradle and slung over his back, along with two 100-round boxes of ammo for it.

Overall, the soldiers and pilots were heavily armed, and weighed down with enough equipment for almost any task, sans repairing their destroyed helicopter. Or building one of their own.

With a motion of his hand, Vasilyev waved them away from the wreck of the Mi-24 and into the woods, moving towards what he presumed was south, given the direction the sun had been moving.

Together, the group set off.

The six men slowly walked through the forest, the trees around them reaching into the sky. The sun shone down on them constantly, and the entire place seemed to be trapped in spring, rather than the dead of winter.

After fifteen minutes of walking, Lieutenant Vasilyev called for a halt. The group sat down and started to shift around their things, getting them into more comfortable positions.

So far, their rations had been counted, and found to be about twenty days total, thirty if they stretched them. Vasilyev knew that moral would be a problem if they were stuck out here, but also knew they were bound to find civilization of some sort eventually. After all, strange weather or not, it was still Russia: Villages abounded in large numbers.

After all, Vasilyev mused as he leaned against a tree, they could not have traveled very far.

Author's Note

Original chapter 2 completed on 6/20/2013 - 927 Words
Original chapter 3 completed on 6/21/2013 - 550 Words
Both rewritten and combined on 7/7/2014 - 964 Words