Frank Mitchell
Everything started to come back to him. The blurriness was beginning to fade away. A sound of wind breezing through gaps of concrete was the only sound as of right now. He couldn't make out the rest, for that second where he begun to wake up. That and his own breath in his ears. It was all faint still, much like his vision was. There was little light from what he could tell. If anything, he thought he was dead...Where was he?
Frank tried to recollect everything. Everything that had happened up to now...He joined the Army? No...Too far back. It was today, today that it happened. Or was it yesterday? Did he even hold any signs of life to have the capability to judge the measurement of time? The visions flashed in his mind as a blurry image again. He could see them. The team. The French Operators who were with them...Sous Lieutenant something...Raio, that was it. Sous Lieutenant Raio. He lead this task. But what was the task? He thought harder, remembering the third party terror group here. They had an explosive...The W.T.O. showed up...The explosive went off.
He remembered seeing the building crumble around him. High up in the tower, there was little to do to prevent what had happened. It tilted, causing multiple friends and foes to topple out the sides. The world seemed to have shaken around him, stirring panic and confusion as those who were unaware were now aware. He remembered the second office complex colliding with the one he was within, and seeing concrete merge into one. Something had fallen on him on the way down, hadn't it? Or had he been stabbed with debris?
The vision began to clear up. Frank could make out a flash as it cleared. Through a crack, he could hear the sounds of an electrical wire, hinting towards the colossal destruction they had faced. Eyes of his weary head darted around slowly, looking around to recollect his bearings. There was only concrete and metal around him. A few passages and openings, but nothing else. His hearing began to return to himself as a distant voice came from his head. It grew louder, and clearer, as the ringing paced itself down.
"Hotel Charlie One...Hotel Charlie One...This is Golf Whiskey Four, do you or any of your team respond or hear this message, over?" It was a familiar name, Hotel Charlie One...Of course, Raio. He was quite infamous as a French officer, and provided a lot of combat experience and skill to assist in the French Side of the War. Frank felt his hand slip down onto where his radio was. He lifted it from the locked position, only to see a cracked screen and disfigured buttons. His radio was broken...But where the sound was coming from was still unknown. That was until he looked to his left.
A torso, arms, head and hands, poked out from underneath rubble. A woman, who looked young and fresh. She wore the M.D.F. path, alongside a French Flag. A dried stain of blood laid around her, as her radio only showed static. Frank, still almost mindless to his actions, looked to her more. Moving a hand, he shook the body. No response. Yet, with that being enough to prove she may be no more, he continued to shake her shoulder. His face looked blank, blunt with a few cuts and scraped across it. After two minutes, there was no response. Frank lifted his head, and flopped it to his right.
There, his rifle sat. It had no magazine, but it was there nonetheless. Looking down to his leg, he saw the holstered pistol. The handgun still looked loaded, even from the simple sight of the handle. It was time to get moving, from what he could tell. Lifting his head up, he attempted to move, only to yell out in pain.
"Gah! Piss!" He forgot to remain incognito, but that was out of the question to him. He continued trying to move, over and over. No progress was made. He could move his leg, but it was simply sore, or in pain. It didn't look broken, nor did it feel broken. The more he tried, he could feel it getting stronger. Yet it was still not enough. Upon his frustrating shuffles, he saw his wrist. A military watch read the time...4:31am. He'd been sat here for two hours? It began to frustrate him...Why was this debris so quiet? Where was everyone, besides this one dead acquaintance beside him. Someone who he had worked with only two hours before. Was everyone dead? Some of him hoped so, the other didn't. If so, the W.T.O. would not have the survivors to take him in this slightly injured state...But he didn't like being alone...Not out in No Man's land.
With that thought dug deep into his mind like the shrapnel-like concrete into the woman's back beside him...He pulled himself to a sitting position, and continued to make small amounts of grunting and mumbling. He wanted to get up. He needed to get out. Before anyone, or anything, was to find him.