Dimitri was cold, more than cold in fact. The chill seemed to penetrate to his very bones, unrelenting and unmerciful. The sharp bite of General Winter’s cruel breath tearing through the ill-fitting hand me down fatigues he’d been supplied with and reaching to his very core.

With a groan he slowly rises, rubbing the back of his palm against his eyes to clear the snow that’d built up over his lids, else they freeze shut entirely. Half blinded he reaches out to his sides desperately seeking his ushanka and scarf.

After a few moments of struggling he finally manages to open his eyes fully, blinking a few times to clear the blurriness.

With sight regained he easily locates his fallen head and facial wear, slightly off to the right and partially buried by snow. Groaning in annoyance he first grabs his ushanka, brushing the snow off its top and placing the light brown hat emblazoned with the ever watchful red star upon his head. Releasing the ear flaps with a quick tug and retying the string connecting them to hold beneath his neck.

With that done he grabs his scarf, quickly brushing off accumulating snow and wrapping it so it covers his neck and lower face.

Finally settled he takes a moment to observe his surroundings, eyes filling with desperation and dread as he takes in the endless and undisturbed white wasteland that seems to stretch infinitely in every direction. While behind him lay a cruel looking mountain, covered in twisted jagged rocks that look more akin to spikes than stones.

‘By god, where am I? Where is everyone? How am I still alive...?’ he thinks to himself, desperately seeking a single thread of... anything to cling to.

Anything aside from the snow and the rock.

After several moments of standing still he grits his teeth, spinning once more towards the mountain range behind him.

“Anywhere else is better than white hellscape, I suppose...” he grumbles to himself, voice barley above a whisper.

Grabbing his old AK-47 from the ground and slinging it over his chest for easy access he starts to head towards the mountains.

Almost in a daze he takes the first few steps, slowly at first and on wobbly legs before the blood begins to circulate again and allows him to resume a rapid pace.

‘The alarms... even the Americans stopped firing their artillery. Am I dead? Is this a purgatory for those that have killed?’

He grimaces to himself at the thought.

Pausing for a moment to gaze at his reflection in a nearby formation of ice he sighs at the man that stares back.

A poorly kept goatee with shaggy brown hair and his eyes... his mother had once told him that the eyes were the gateway to the soul and in his green eyes he saw only pain.

Frowning and turning away he continues to walk, pushing the thoughts that troubled him to the rear of his mind.

‘Survival comes first.’

For hours he walked, the cold’s relentless assault continuing to slowly batter away at his senses. Rock after jagged rock he passed, in the faint hope that he would find some sort of shelter to survive the day.

He didn’t want to think about the night.

Pausing for a moment he takes out his canteen, unscrewing the lid and scowling at the contents.

‘Frozen solid.’

With a sigh he returns it to his belt, returning his eyes, and feet to the path before him.

Dimitri continues on in a similar fashion for another two hours, scowling at his surroundings, grumbling to himself and doing anything to not think about the cold. His army issue rags being barely enough to keep him from freezing to death, but hardly enough to keep him comfortable.

After a few more minutes he spots a small side path, looking more closely he spots the faint trace of bootprints in the snow. Hope starting to fill his body he takes off along the side path, making sure to maintain careful footing though.

It’d be a shame to trip and die so close to rescue after all.

The crunch of snow and his own heavy breathing are what greets him as he arrives at the end of the path.

An opening in the side of the mountain, large enough to fit three men standing abreast and the boot prints lead inside!

Dimitri makes to enter before he pauses.

‘Just to be safe...’ he thinks, while unslinging and readying his AK, checking the contents of the currently loaded magazine.

‘Full.’

He grins and cautiously enters the cave, the falling sun at the correct angle to light up at least the first few feet.

After a few more hesitant steps he removes the flashlight generously provided to he and all similar to him in profession by the ‘generous’ Soviet government.

After two failed attempts to turn the damned thing on he finally smashes it against a nearby wall, grinning as a flickering light begins to be projected.

‘Nothing like Soviet engineering.’

Slowly he pushes deeper into the cave, following the boot prints that have been left on the dusty and snow covered floor.

Eventually he comes to an intersection, frowning as the bootprints lead down both paths.

‘Well, as they say. Right is Right.’ he thinks, letting out a half hearted chuckle and heading down the mentally designated passageway.

Another five minutes of walking pass as the walls seem to close in further and further, the young Russian starting to have regrets about his decision.

Almost on the verge of turning and trying the other way the tunnel abruptly ends. Instead of endless grey rock his visions is filled with a large entrance leading into a cavern with a ceiling that reaches so high he cant see the end of it.

Eyes focused on the trail he finally finds the end of the prints, dread filling his heart as he spots a worn boot. Slowly his eyes travel up the rest of the figure. Torn white fatigues with a shoulder patch emblazoned with a worn American flag. A dead mans eyes wide open in surprise at some unknown terror and three gaping bullet holes in his chest.

Dimitri stumbles back, raising his rifle for a few seconds before scolding himself and lowering it again.

“I suppose...” he mutters to himself, scowling as he approaches the body.

He grabs one of the fallen mans boots, tugging on it for a few moments before the boot finally comes loose.

“Close enough to fit... thank you for your kind donation, comrade.” he says as he removes his own poor quality and ill fitting boots and dons the fallen soldiers instead.

Dimitri grins, his feet already feeling leagues better after being freed from the crushing tomb known as ‘surplus’ footwear.

He goes to strip off the fallen mans canteen and backpack as well, before he freezes a dreadful and familiar sound filling his ears.

The sound of a handgun being cocked.

Author's Note

Here is the first proper chapter!

About halfway through I started to feel really tired and I think it shows, but I’ll fix any issues in the morning. I wanted to get this chapter done by tonight to meet my personnel deadlines.

Hopefully you enjoy!

Anyhow, next chapter will be much longer and we’ll finally meet our other two characters.

Feel free to leave your thoughts below!