That was another reason to belt his sources. The sound of the plane approaching his wreck and helping his job of destroying the craft meant he had a skilled enemy in the skies, and landing nearby. The moment the engine whined overhead he froze, blending his form into the trees before turning from the road he could hear the plane using as an impromptu runway.

His adversary was both a skilled night pilot and clever. He was mindful to leave as little trail as possible as he worked his way back toward his wreck. There was no fear of cooking ammunition, the plane had been empty, but the destroyed craft would provide a focal point to deal with his pursuer. The approaching cold made vegetation sparse, but his dark, wiry form was used to blending in to the Russian landscape with its pines and snow.

He avoided outlining himself against the growing blaze as he cut away from his path toward the wreck now, a dark gun pulled from his hip and ready as he found a place to hide, and watch. Eyes alert at all times, and ears for where he could not see.