Ravings for Remedies

the cloak of daylight

Through a streaming reflection of rain, clear visibility of the war-zone is tarnished.  The heavy downpour fails to drown a gunshot.  Instinctively, I drop behind a fallen tree; heart pounding, fear pervading.  His death-cry permeates thick scrub, shrinking the landscape.  Claustrophobia.  It’s impossible to know if he was ours or theirs, but it leeches my courage regardless.  I falter.  Crawling headlong toward the edge of cover, I slide my rifle through a crack and scan for a sign of the enemy.  No-one.  Not even a parting of branches.  Raindrops slap against forest leaves as I lie in wait.  Birds chatter belligerently.  This sodden ground chills me with rising damp.  Focus.  A false move could cost my life.  So close to the edge of sanity, yet I have my orders: Infiltrate enemy line by any means.

As I prepare to leave perceived safety, a group of leaves jerk slightly.  For a moment, glass sparkles and I know now what I have seen.  The sniper.  He seeks to out-flank, pushing our forces closer and eliminating escape.  He wouldn’t expect to be flanked again.  With complete concentration and renewed focus, I slide across the damp earth toward his vicinity.  The air feels like liquid and I’m swimming without sound.  I drift once more to the cliche of a twig snapping and his sudden attention focused on my cylindrical form.  Nothing.  Only the very discrete squeak of GPs over wet leaves and the occasional surface break of a puddle.  Focus!

He crosses in front of me to my right, I can see the sweeping rifle clearly now, but I keep the whites of my eyes away from his vicinity and work by peripherals only.  He stops.  I halt breathing.  I feel a bead of sweat mingle.  A shot at this range would alert the enemy to my position, though may severely maim this soldier.  I must out-flank him. Water glistens on an exposed portion of his tanned skin.  Footsteps, quietly, the rifle moves further away.  Edging forward, I clear his previous path and move further ahead behind a solid tree.  Watching.

Holding the grip tight, I ease the safety off.  It clicks!  Aloud!!  I hear heavy footsteps disappear away from my vicinity.  Now the fear overcomes and I mistakenly expel a cloud of breath.  Exposure.  Hating my actions, I slide the muzzle out enough to see through the scope, but it catches the light and reflects.  Bang!!!  Wet bushes brush aside, footsteps approach.  Another shot fires from the original direction, while a shot comes across my back so close I could almost feel the pressure of the bullet passing.  There is no escape now.  I’m cornered.  Leveling my scope at the sniper’s direction I fire a shot.  Embeds in a tree.  Another to my left.  Ricochets, somehow.  Click!  Click! Oh no.  Click!  Please, no!  Click!

Footsteps are upon me before I can reload, I turn over to see a barrel staring down at me and a grin on the snipers face.  ‘Any last words?’ he leered.  “GAME OVER BOYS!!”