[hr][hr][center][h1][color=662d91]Alexander Polawski[/color][/h1]
[img]http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--ajfUwE6Xck/UgACmdSNkgI/AAAAAAAAAlI/KE4-NTjPy2Q/s1600/de+niro.gif[/img][/center]
[hr][center][b][color=662d91]Location:[/color][/b] Outside Eden, Golf Course: 8 treeline
[color=662d91]Skills:[/color]Navigation[/center][hr][hr]

Radio silence had been enforced just prior to the small squad splitting up, and Alexander was certain that also applied to talking then and there. But oh man how much Alexander wanted to swear and curse at the world right then. He felt like an idiot sitting there flat on his ass, stuck in the snow-covered underbrush like a racoon trapped in a snare. And he was getting real sick and tired of it. [color=662d91]"Fine, if you want it the hard way..."[/color] Alexander whispered under his breath, holstering the Colt he'd taken earlier and taking his fireaxe. He was not going to give up.

Alexander hooked the end of his fireaxe on some vegetation nearby and pull his butt out of the underbrush. Finally standing upright again, he tried to pull his feet out as well. No luck, they were still stuck. This was when he got real tired of the bullshit, and started hacking and cutting himself free from the underbrush trap. And alas, he was free! But that raised the question actually; was that simply an unlucky placed piece of vegetation, or somehow a trap put there by Eden? Not that he had time to elaborate on it, since time was ticking by. 

Back on his feet, it was possible to get a better look around him. As he looked out through the treeline and out on the winter-wonderland golf course, Alexander tried to make a mental path; he was not going to fall flat on his face/arse again. Not that it was easy, far from it. It was difficult to discern which patches of melting snow was safe to run across and which would certainly hinder him. Difficult, but not impossible, as Alexander slowly but surely found...a...way...

The village was engulfed in flames. The jungle was engulfed in flames. The people, the women and children were all engulfed in flames. The young soldier, with his green helmet, rolled up sleeves and radio strapped on his back stood in complete shock with what could only be described as the seventh Circle of Hell unravelling before his eyes. Sergeant Jackson emptied his M16 into a young woman running towards him, not giving a damn if she was a danger to his men or not. Bunker and Holey both lay dying by his own side, blood pooling around their bodies as they cry out for their mothers. And the soldier? 

Alexander stood in a state of shock, cluthing the radio in his left hand and an half-empty M1911 in his right. He wanted to scream. He had to scream. But no sound could compare to that deafening storm of Hell. And Alexander was in the eye of the storm, not able to do a damn thing.