The first thing he noticed was that he couldn't move.
A tight, damp cold encompassed his entire body.
He could hear wind blowing past his face but could not feel it on his skin.
His eyes felt like sandpaper but without any pain.
He couldn't speak, his mouth creaking open he felt the skin around his lips tear.
Still, there was no pain.
Stiffly he opened his eyes and began to glance around him.
He saw dirt packed all around his body and a skeletal arm sticking out nearby.
His arm.
He tried to point and the fingers began to move almost robotically ('rigor mortis?' he wondered).
His ears picked up voices moving closer to him and he tried speaking again.
They came to a sudden stop behind him.
'Oh god Sarge, it's one of them!' one said tremblingly.
'Not one of ours, clearly been under a long time. Still, better put it out of its' misery, eh?'
Two sets of clicking came from behind and he frantically tried to move his neck.
It snapped round at an angle allowing him to see two soldiers behind him, guns pointed at his forehead.
Trying to speak one final time, words at the tip of his shrivelled up tongue.
The guns fired.
Two soldiers walked away, more aware of their surroundings now.
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