Snow slowly opened his eyes. A bright blue sky greeted him. He could hear birds calling in the distance. He tried to sit up, but for his body screamed in protest. The last thing he remembered was the plane going down, and now it seemed he was in a field. He could see smoke on the edge of his peripherals, and tried to lift his head. More pain, but he must power through it.
A heap of burning metal was surrounded by tiny figures, but he recognized his comrades even from this distance. He tried calling out, but his cry escaped his lips as no more than a whisper. He reached to his leg, while fierce pains shot through his arm. He thought of how many bones he'd broken as his hand wrapped around his pistol and pulled it out, pointing it at the sky. His finger struggled to pul the trigger, a loud "POP" cracked as the pistol went off, sending a tremor through his arm, and Snow passed out from the intense pain.