A frozen tundra had conquered the land. The once lush clover field was covered by layer upon layer of thick, unforgiving snow. The trees surrounding the field and the few that lurched in the open were constantly battered by the howling wind and waves of assault from the snow. The platoon had been marching for days through the dense forest until they finally came to a clearing. Their boots felt wet and cold, and most held thick blankets and rifles around themselves as they marched.

“We’ll set up camp here for the night,” cried the Colonel. “Create a perimeter and get a fire going!”

The men dropped their packs and began to set up camp. Private James, the son of a military family in Kansas, was on scout duty. He cleared the surrounding forest area and made his way to the clearing adjacent to where the camp would be.

“This is insane. How do they expect us to survive in this?” Private James muttered to himself. The northern territory of Germany in the height of winter was a harsh environment. As he left the cover of the trees, he felt the full power of the wind. Trudging through the snow and sinking knee deep with every step, he looked for anything out of the ordinary. The snow made it nearly impossible to see the camp just fifty yards away. His grand father had told him stories of hardship in the military, but this was b******t. The white abyss strangled the air; visibility was almost zero. No sign of life, or even any sign that life had ever existed here. He turned and started to make his way back to camp when his foot got stuck on something buried in the snow, causing him to fall forward into the snow bank. He whipped around and quickly pushed away mounds of snow to uncover what it was. A rifle, American made, with a frozen hand still clinging to it.
Run.
Too late.