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A story about an event that just happened. I was moving to meet up with some fellow survivors who I had run with before. We had split up temporarily, but got back in contact over radio and had decided to meet up again near Berezino to swap supplies. I was feeling confident. I had a large pack full of food, and my only pressing worry was that I had one magazine left for my M4 and it would be a long walk. My methods were to stay low, avoid all confrontation when possible (zeds or other survivors), and keep to myself. It had worked so far. I had yet to kill a single living soul. Not that I wouldn't have, but I had been smart enough to keep myself out of the kinds of situations where that would be necessary. As I moved along a treeline near Mogilevka I spotted something all in-the-know survivors wished for: a downed military helicopter. My heart beat faster. More ammo, maybe even a pair of night vision goggles! Somewhere in the back of my mind a voice cautioned: the helicopter was in the middle of a field and in a valley, easily visible for kilometers around. Danger. I pushed the thought out. I needed ammo, and I thought I was savvy enough to spot a bandit trap. I hadn't been caught yet after all. After scouting the surroundings with binocs, I chose my route. It was a good plan, although not exactly creative: stay in the forest until I reached the point where the treeline was closest to the crash, check surroundings again, and move in quickly. I worked my way next to the chopper, held my breath, and sprinted from the forest. No shots rang out. I dived down next to the wreck and gleefully started searching. Nothing. Totally empty. Even the harnesses in the passenger compartment had been stripped, the bodies of the pilot and copilot picked clean. I walked around the crash site twice just to be sure, throwing caution to the wind in my disbelief. My mind reeled, and happiness turned to grim disappointment. I sat against the hulk and cursed my poor luck. Ah well. Time to get moving again, lest I be spotted. Grunting, I pushed myself up and started a halfhearted jog back to the tree line. Ten yards from safety. SNAP SNAP. Two shots, one connected, and pain seared through my side. Instantly I started running, zig-zagging as I went. My only hope was to get over the rise in the hill, and then turn around to enga- SNAP SNAP. Down I went, face first in the trees and tall grass. Again, two shots, and one found it's mark. I didn't know it at the time, but my pack saved me as it took most of the force from the bullet. It felt like being hit by a sledgehammer. Panicking, I crawled for twenty yards until I reached a particularly thick tree and took stock. I hadn't heard the shots, only the sound of the supersonic bullets flying by me, so they must be far away. Probably behind me, probably across the field. Probably. I assumed they saw me go down, but they would not know if I was dead yet given their distance and the fact that they had not kept firing must have meant they weren't sure enough of my exact location to keep pumping rounds blindly into the shrubbery (I hoped). That meant I had some time before they came to finish me off. I tore my jacket and began applying the military bandages I had in my pack. My wounds weren't bad, in fact the shot to my back hadn't penetrated my body armor, light as it was. My ALICE pack did have a new hole, as did a can of beans. Beans. They saved my life once again. I readied my M4 and peered around the tree. One bandit in a ghillie suit, weapon up. His behavior was odd: Walking slowly in the open field towards my position in the forest, like he thought I was dead, but weapon up at the ready as if he wasn't positive. The smarter move would be to flank along the treeline, just to be sure... I turned my head and scooted to the other side of the tree. Another bandit, this one breaking away from the first to flank. Shit. Shit shit shit shit. My odds of survival were not good. 30 rounds (only one magazine, remember?), two bandits, my aim wavering due to shock and bloodloss. I might be able to get one, but two? The one thing I had going for me was that they were cocky and had not wanted to take the time to skirt all the way around the open field. They were still somewhat close together, and I calculated my chances were better if I engaged at range before the split too far apart. If I only got one, the other might be distracted enough for me to escape. If I whiffed it, I might force them down and be able to make a run for it. Ha ha ha. I was deluding myself. I wasn't going to hit one, let alone draw a bead and fire before they gunned me down, and I definitely wasn't going to be running far bleeding as I was. Oh well. I steadied myself against the tree, took a deep breath, leaned out, and started firing at the first bandit. CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK. I couldn't tell if my bullets hit home, I just switched to the other side of the tree, drew a bead on the second bandit, and let loose. CRACK CRACK *SNAP* CRACK CRACK CRACK. I saw him go down, but in my current state I had no idea if I my shots had found their mark or if he was simply taking cover. And he had hit me. Again. I slumped back behind the tree. A bicep shot. My vision blurred and the color drained. The second bandit was good, only a little bit of me had been exposed and he had hit me despite my sudden appearance. Those were my last thoughts as I drifted in to unconsciousness. I woke up. Not dead. It had only been a couple of minutes, apparently my sudden standing along with the bloodloss had put me out. It didn't matter. I was a goner. The thought was abstract. At this point I had been a survivor long enough learn to ignore the obviousness of my eventual demise, dwelling on the fact would only hasten it. I imagined my pursuers would find me any minute and finish me off, but that didn't stop me from applying another bandage to my wounded arm (clumsily). I figured if I moved from the tree I would be shot. Before they had thought I was still on the ground somewhere, having revealed my position I had gambled away my only advantage. The minutes ticked by. I heard nothing. I ate a can of beans. Enough waiting to die. I stood up, shakily, and using the tree for support, and peered around the edge. No movement. I move gingerly to the other side of the tree. Still nothing. A flicker of hope. Had I done it? I leaned back out for a longer look. Two forms, prone on the ground, unmoving. Triumph. The bastards had ambushed me, and I had put them down like dogs. After resting, I crept over to their bodies and began taking everything of value. AK74 with scope. Food. Ammo. Pepsi. What I couldn't carry I consumed or hid. I smiled to myself. They were well equipped. Experienced bandits. I should be dead, not them. In their arrogance they had been sloppy, moving across open ground, and it had cost them their lives... just as my greed had almost cost me mine. Now for the less fanciful version: This happened just west of Mogilevka, the crash was south of the road between Mogilevka and the castle Zub (right in the middle of the field). I ran north and west when I was shot, over the road and in to the trees. I did get knocked over and crawl behind a tree, and they did stupidly approach across the open field. I shot at both of them, and one did manage to hit me and I went unconscious for a bit. I stayed behind the tree waiting for them to kill me (i really thought there was no way I had hit let alone killed them and I was screwed). After a while I finally looked at the debug window thing and saw I had two fresh murders. Their delicious beans are now mine.