He was one in a squad of six. The frigid temperatures had the soldiers dressing warmly to fight off the chill, leading to silhouettes of indeterminate gender as they walked along the snowy path to the coordinates. B.O.W.-wise, there hadn't been anything challenging. A few of the shamblers were still around, dragging their rotting feet and making easy targets for trigger-happy BSAA after too long without engagement. There had also been a few half-dead wildlife with various states of decay; also easy target practice.
The unit stopped suddenly at the crackling of their radios. The person leading, which could be parsed as the captain, raised his hand, which the group immediately fell silent as they heard the distress call.
"We hear you loud and clear. What are you coordinates? Over," asked the captain, who looked back towards his group, which all were looking at him expectantly for directions. One member, at the back of the group, even with an assault rifle held firmly in his grip, seemed more antsy than the others. His posture had a very anxious quality to it with the way he seemed to want to curl inwards on himself. The rest of the unit seemed to be doing everything in their power to ignore the nervous member.
"I repeat: what are your coordinates?" The captain asked Nikolai once more. "We will head your way as soon as we receive them. Over."
@ubcs
