My eyes slowly blinked open. What the hell happened? I was looking at shredded wires and broken aluminium. I shifted my weight and flinched as pain shot through my arm. My attention instantly snapped to its source. A long gash extended up the length of my left arm. I slammed my head against the back of the aircrafts chair. Instantly training kicked in. I unbuckled the seatbelt and carefully extracted myself around the wires. As I surveyed the damage. Dead bodies, torn off limbs, and blood covered the inside of the first class half of the plane.
Carefully I stepped over the remains heading towards the cockpit. The door was hanging off it's hinges and I could see sparks jumping around inside.
"Is anyone ok?" I yelled, pushing the door to the side. "Hello?" When I looked inside the cockpit, memories of Afghanistan flashed into my mind. The pilot and co-pilot were bloody stumps. Barely recognisable as humans. "Shit!" I growled, turning back to the destroyed fuselage. I looked to the emergency exits, and pushed one open. I jumped from the aircraft landing in soft tropical sand. Pain again rocketed up my arm. I looked to see if any cargo remained. If I had to make a tourniquet I'd prefer not to use my desert fatigues. Slowly I staggered across the beach heading towards the completely disintegrated tail section of the plane. I looked around as I walked. Items from luggage and pieces of the plane were intermixed everywhere. Suddenly I was sent face first into the sand.
"What the-" I looked at the object I had tripped over. To my excitement, it was my seabag. Everything I had from the middle east (minus my M16A4) was packed in it. I open it eagerly, finding a first aid pack. With the bandages I wrapped my sliced up arm. The weight of the crash finally caught up with me. I sat, leaning on my seabag.
"Out of one war zone and into another, What a lucky bastard I am!" I scoffed staring at the once tropical paradise.