Nothing

Five

The sniper has travelled for some time now. He forgets. But he doesn't forget his past. He tries not to.

Supplies are limited, which he realizes. He's tried to conserve them. He's also attempted to stay in the brush of forests, as it would be easy for planes overhead to see the speck of a person travelling on the snow below. But he hasn't seen any for a while.

The bad part was that a field was coming. A large field. Nicknames the 'Death Field', due to being the graveyard of thousands of men, women, and more.  It stretches for kilometres, and breaks off into a valley. After crossing the valley, you come across the Mountains. "Graveyard of Armies", as it was a popular spot for ambushes. And, since the war began, some 'creatures' were rumoured to have appeared.

And he stops.

He didn't realize this. His heart dropped.

He was at the Death Field sooner than expected. Speak of the devil.

Out of pure desperation, he looks for another way. But the Death Field is the only way back home. The safest way to cross it was by plane, and he did not have that. He stops frantically searching and lowered his head, hearing only his breath.

He didn't want to cross the Death Field. It was called that for a reason.

After a few minutes of standing at the forest line, he gathers up his energy. He will make it across the Death Field. He just had to be fast and careful. And observe his surroundings, often.

Inhaling the exhaling, he set off. If he was going to cross the cool, snowy field, he was going to do it now. And good timing, as well. It was going to become dark in a while.

The time's passed fast. It felt like minutes, but it was hours, in reality. It wasn't dark yet. He slowed down for a moment to catch his breath, moving his gaze to the ground around him. The land is vast. He's just going a random direction, and hoping that it gets him to the valley.

Suddenly, there's a whistle. Not a bird whistle.

It's distance. But it's getting faster. And closer. It sounds like it's..what direction..behind him?

Without hesitation, he turns around.

There's something in the air, on fire and smoking, flying towards the Death Field. He realizes, it's a plane. Or a flying craft. Then he threw himself to the ground, after a few seconds at staring at the craft. He hoped it would not crash upon him.

It flies over him. Upon closer inspection, he sees it is spinning out of control, and looks to be damaged. Then he realizes, that it is not one of the allied craft. No. It is one of their crafts.

The craft lowered itself to the ground, small pieces already beginning to fleck off. He slightly raised himself from his position, curiosity taking over.

The craft hits the ground. It isn't very pretty, nor quiet. Upon contact, one of the 'wings' splits off, flinging itself even further away, towards a lone tree in the field. It stops rolling as it crashes into the tree.

He turns towards the main craft, which was slowing to a stop on the ground, slightly lurching over as it stopped.

He stood up fully this time and moved towards the craft. Perhaps he could find supplies on there? Was it worth the risk, even? Maybe, but war was about risks, he was told.

As he approaches, the main part of the craft, the body, blows up into flames, sending smoke into the sky. There is a cracking noise.

He backed up as the craft appeared to lower into the ground, before the ground broke completely, water splashing up into the air. The craft sinks quite quickly.

Wait. Water?

The sniper takes notice that there was water under some of the snow. A lake, perhaps. He had never been in the death fields itself, and never knew of the lakes here.

On the other hand, he couldn't check the cockpit for supplies.

Or perhaps, there could be something else?
With a wary glance at the remaining smoke, he set off in direction of the tree, where the large, oddly shaped wing had landed. Maybe he could find something there. Maybe not. But it was worth a try.