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Randall moved first. His instincts were kicked into high gear and the sight of a door behooved him to make a break for it. He couldn't just leave Josh behind, though.
He grabbed his brother's hand and bolted like a startled deer, the younger of the two hardly able to keep up with his bad leg. They were sent flying from the force of the explosion; Randall into a rather unforgiving bit of rubble, and Josh into the bare ground.
Randall didn't move after his collision with the concrete. Knocked unconscious, probably- dead, maybe, but probably not since I haven't developed him here yet. Maybe later.
Josh was a little luckier than his brother, having simply rolled across the ground for a couple hundred of yards (maybe more, he couldn't exactly tell in this state) and was now trying to decide whether he was unconscious or not.
Both of the twins didn't have any explosives on them and good thing, too- judging from that other guy over there, they looked like they hurt...

Sanders wouldn't exactly wake to much that time. And by not much, I mean, it took a helluva lot of noise. The noise of the burning plane wasn't enough, but what was to come would be. Sanders was, in fact, around 200 feet, give or take a few, away from the fire that the explosion caused. He was inside a burnt out building, and had no shirt, very little of his pants on (still had most of it), and shoes. He had no gun, no ammo, nothing. But he wouldn't worry.

The noise that woke him up was the noises of the cargo going off. Hundreds of artillery shells, composition B, and other explosives blew up, sending HE rounds everywhere, and those that didn't explode already, cause a big problem when they crashed into the buildings.

A blazing fire now raged out of control, taking a dozen buildings with it into a fiery hell. The smoke itself could be seen for miles, as would the explosions. Sanders woke up looking at a massive building coming down, towards the boys and him. He couldn't let that happen. He grabbed them up, and jumped, the building missing them. But now they were trapped.

"Hey! Someone!" He shouted, carefully setting the boys down.

"Over here!" Sanders knew that voice, and ran to it, carrying the boys.

"Robert! You were on the plane?"

"No! I jumped!"

"Coward!"

"Hell yeah, b****s! Hey, those yours? And did you do this?"

"No to the first one, and yes to the second. It's burning, no?" An engine exploded, sending concrete into the air. Sanders and Robert instinctively ducked from the explosion. "Look, we gotta get out of here! Anyone else?"

"Fourteen more!"

"Good! Round 'em up! We gotta make for the tail! It's got the guns, I think!"

"Gotcha!" Roberts pointed the group in the way of the tail, and turned back to Sanders. "Got a gun? If not, take this!" And he tossed a .45 to him, complete with two clips.

Sanders grabbed the objects, and pocketed them in whatever pockets he had left. The next thing he did was try to wake up the kids.

Randall was out cold, and probably would be for a while. His head had been smacked pretty hard and he was awfully stubborn about things like this. Sometimes being blissfully unware of his surroundings was a nice thing, especially in situations like this.
Josh was a little more responsive, but not by much. He had been slipping in and out when he was getting lugged around like a sack of potatoes by this guy, catching snippets of voices and sounds and other things like that, although he couldn't make sense of them yet. He turned his head slightly when Sanders really started making an effort to wake him up, grimacing slightly and letting out a weird noise halfway between a growl and a grumble.

"Oh joy," That was all Sanders could say. He desperately needed at least one kid awake now. He shook Josh, and did anything he could to wake him up. That kid needed to wake. "C'mon kid. We gotta go. Get up, and grab your bro. We can't stay here, and I can't carry both of ya, so get moving. Goddamn it, wake up!"

Meanwhile, he looked behind. The fires were getting closer, and more people were being consumed. If that got to them, they wouldn't be alive long.

Josh finally let out a gasping noise and opened his eyes, a fuzzy image of Sanders filling his head. He tried to focus on the man's face and eventually the fuzz went away, the dullness in his eyes being replaced by an urgent sense of fear and confusion.
Eventually he decided that Sanders wasn't a threat- yet- because if he was he would probably be dead right about now. He turned his attention to Randall after carefully turning his head, his eyes widening in shock as he saw his awfully limp and still brother. He dragged a shaky arm over and laid it on his neck, poking around for a pulse before finding one and letting out a sigh of relief. Thank God.
Now to business...
What was he doing here? He forgot.

"Thank god. Boy, I need you to take your bro, and bring him to that rubble. No, the tail," Sanders said, and pointed at the tail. It was all burnt up, but recognizable. "I'll be behind you,"

He kicked a door down, shattering the glass on the top. The windows he kicked and punched, not even hurting himself. He leaped in, propelled by his arms, and landed in the middle. He found a dead man, the upper part of his face missing, and bullet holes everywhere. He found his gun, and grabbed his two clips, looking inside. One was half empty. But who the hell was he shooting at? It didn't matter. He just had to get to the tail.

"This way!"

"Uuuhhhhhhhh," was all Josh said at the moment, looking down at his legs and urging them to move. He wasn't entirely sure what was happening but dammit it sounded important.
At some point he managed to stagger to his feet and leaned heavily against a wall to catch his breath, staring down at Randall as if he could pick him up with his eyes. He realized that he actually had to pick him up and grabbed his shirt collar, dragging him into something of a standing position and looping an arm around his neck.
"Randall, imma kill you," he mumbled to himself, taking a deep breath to steady himself and limping in the direction of the tail where the guy was pointing.

He got there, and began laying out all the weaponry he could. MP5s, M4s, M16s, the list went on and on. Lots of ammunition, and all sorts of charming little things. He grabbed a grenade, a Thompson (never knew why it was there. Just glad.), an MP5, two .45 pistols, and a Bowie knife. Now, he had to wait for the kids to get there.

But he was still confused about that dead body he had seen. Why was it there? Who killed it like that? It was all very confusing, and little did he know, he would find out later.

Josh finally got there after a lot of stumbling and tripping over random crap. He slung Randall on a block before collapsing himself, his head spinning from exhaustion and nerves and a bunch of other stuff all mixed together in that skinny frame of his.
Rubbing his leg sorely, he took a moment to look up at Sanders, the shock of everything starting to wear off slightly and he wondered vaguely just who the heck this guy was and why he had so many guns.

"God... I'd feel sorry for the S.O.B. that's gonna train you, cuz you got the stamina of a sick hippo..." Sanders got up from where he sat to help up the kid from the floor. A floor was no place for a kid to be, much less a tired one. "Name's Lieutenant General Jack Sanders, United States Army. What's yours?"

Josh paused a moment before getting up with Sanders's help.
"Umm... Thanks... I'm Joshua, Joshua Nyes. Most people just call me Josh... That sack of flour is Randall." He leaned against the wall now that he was up, favoring his left leg heavily. His right had gotten sore from everything that had just happened and from all the previous things as well. It had healed from the incident a year or two back, but it still wouldn't be the same. He wouldn't run as fast as he used to and it would get tired faster than it used to. It was annoying, really, especially at times like this when he needed to be enduring or some crap like that. Whatever it was.

"Josh and Randall... Huh. You sure he's okay? Cus that sack of flour looks like it got mold in it," Jack said, and winced. His back really hurt a helluva lot, and his ribs were worse. Hell, every damn bone in his body was aching. And he knew why. That plane was why. He breathed in, and out, not letting the pain show on his face.

"I don't know," he replied, the worry coming back to his face. He knelt back next to Randall and felt his pulse again just to be sure it was there, then pressed an ear against his chest to listen to his breathing and heartbeat.
"He sounds fine... But I'm sure there's something broken in him somewhere. In just glad it's not his neck- he hit that thing pretty hard."

"Check the back. Trust me, he didn't hit harder than me, and I'm alive," Sanders brushed the barrel of a .45 hammerless pistol. It was clean to the nose, and perfect for shooting. He looked at it, pulled the top back, and rammed a clip home with the palm of his hand. Then he tossed it to Josh, and tossed another one to him again. "Take these. You're gonna need it to survive. I saw some dead bodies out there, and they were riddled with bullet holes. Whoever shot us down wants to finish the job,"

He began looking around the crates. Not too much was there, except for a few things. One crate contained a minigun, along with a whole crate full of ammunition. That would be good. There was one with a 20mm automatic cannon, and ammunition, one with barricade supplies... and one, well, he had no idea what was in that. It was sealed shut.

Out of nowhere, they heard voices. Russian, it seemed. And they were armed to the teeth. The crates were all out in the open, but they could hide behind it. Jack grabbed the kids, shoved them behind a rock, and took the .303 out, slamming an ammo box into the side. He set up shop behind that mystery crate.

Josh pressed himself against their cover, inspecting his guns quickly. Eh, they weren't too bad. He just hoped he remembered how to shoot them.
He glanced down at Randall, hoping that he didn't wake up now and start cussing like he normally did when he was cranky. Last time he checked, Randall was definitely cranky. Satisfied that he was still out he glanced back up at Sanders, listening to the voices and waiting for instructions of some sort because he honestly had no idea what he was doing.

Matt had been walking for an hour until he found anything worth looking at. What he found, was someone's parachute, with the owner lying dead on the floor. It belonged to that someone. That someone could fly, it seemed.

"Oh dear god... The fire," He could see a blazing wall of orange, and black. It was ugly, oh so ugly, and hot. The buildings ahead of him were burning up, with the 747 embedded in the ruins of the John Hancock building, which was also on fire. There were bullet holes, dead soldiers, and bodies all around. Like a war zone. "Grab what you can, and run! Run until you see friendlies! GO!"

They ran Round and grabbed whatever guns they could. Matt grabbed a shotgun, and a P90 before seeing the first attacker. The Russian shouted in their native language to their fellow soldiers, before Matt blew his head off. Literally. There was a series of gunshots as the soldiers engaged Matt and his friends.

"Quickly! Follow my voice!" Matt continued running as the tail grew closer. Five men followed him, and a Russian chucked a grenade. Two of his group flew into the air, lifeless. Stevens ran ahead, firing blindly, killing dozens, and trampling their dead bodies. He stopped when he ran into Vladimir.

"Hello, friend," Vladimir was smiling, and when Stevens put the gun to his face, he lost that smile. All the group could hear was shouting, pistol fire, and they saw the upper half of his body fly through the air, dead.

"Lets not go that way,"
***********************
Sanders had the .303 pre sighted and ready to fire. And he'd get the chance. He heard the roar of machine gun fire, the blasts of shotguns, and grenades. They were getting closer. Then he saw the Russians. He looked at Josh, and gave him a look that said "sit your but down", and then open fired.

Almost a hundred bullets sprayed the Russians in a couple of seconds, ripping through them and creating small craters in the walls.

Josh, ever the obedient one, obeyed and hunched behind the rock, making sure Randall was covered as well before curling his shoulders forward in a protective position and trying to block out the sounds of the gunfire.
The boy had never really been built for combat; that was Randall's forte, not his. Josh was more like the peaceful one out of the two of them, the diplomat, the healer of sorts (he had memorized his entire survival handbook by heart, all three hundred and nineteen pages of it, so he was prepared should he need to do something like that). He didn't have the personality to kill people even if he didn't know them, so in a way he was glad Sanders had shot him that look.
There was still that little part in him that wanted to help, though.

One of the Reds tossed a grenade, and before it got over to Josh, Sanders shot it with his pistol, blowing it up in front of the kids cover. He got back to his machine gun, and shot till the ammo ran dry. At that point, he grabbed a Saiga, and began the killing.

The 20 round clip was emptied straight into a group of ten men, killing all of them with 12 gauge automatic fire. He smashed the head of another, and proceeded to gut a man with a shell. He hoped Josh could protect himself, because at this moment in time, three Russians were heading straight for him, and Josh was surrounded by Reds.

Adrenaline is an amazing thing.
He didn't really have time to think about anything since the Reds were shouting something in Russian and looked like they were about to kill him. Josh was terrified, not just for himself but for Randall too- if he let them die, Randall was most definitely going to kill him when he woke up.
Not exactly the most coherent thought, but cut him some slack, okay? It's been a stressful day.
Anyways, Josh grabbed one of the guns and unloaded it into the brains and bodies of his aggressors, his teeth bared in an almost feral snarl. He was going to protect himself and his brother and right now he was going to kill these idiots to keep himself alive.
Then he realized that he had killed people- all these people around him... With what? This little thing in his hand?
Oh, God.

Sanders had just finished messing up those three men, and in one swift motion, pulled out his MP5 with one hand, pointing it at the Russians. He screamed and unleashed a stream of 9mm bullets that ripped through the nearest man with ease. The Bowie knife he had flew, and ripped through the throat of a man easily. The next person who he found died from a headshot from a 12 gauge. After all those Reds died, Sanders put out his hand.

"You okay?"