1939, December

Without moving a single muscle he remained motionless in the snow. Finland didn't remember how long he had been here but judging by the amount of snow that had piled on his back and head it must have been hours. Yet he wouldn't complain, the snowstorm was in his favour, more or less deciding his fate.

His chin rested on the cold metal of his sniper, his eyes darting around the ever same looking, white environement. With an almost creepy amount of calmness, rested a gloved finger on the trigger, ready to fire off a deadly precise bullet at the slightest sign of the Red Army.