Tunnel Vision
“Take cover! They’re on top of us!” Buzz shrieks in my inner ear, the earpiece reverberating against my right eardrum. A cacophony of light, sound and smell explodes around me, a deadly maroon flower illuminating the night sky. I duck as shrapnel and debris descend upon me, a shower of warped metal, burning rubber and unidentifiable objects with the fragrance of melted flesh.
I seek refuge in the tunnels, the darkness still not my friend but a welcome sanctuary to the son-et-lumière show above ground. Damp fetid odours arise from the tunnel floor. I try not to analyse the stench, my stomach on the verge of retching. The tunnel is so low I am forced to crawl in order to move forward, my nose even closer to that malodorous dank floor.
Mud walls muffle the sickening world outside as I inch ahead. My heart thumps in my chest, the next beat possibly hard enough to break my ribs. I will it to calm, the way they’ve taught us during training. Breath has the power to bring body and mind in control, they told us.
A sharp tinkle catches my ear as I turn a bend. I freeze, hands and knees rooted to the ground, immovable, leaden. My pulse explodes, a metallic taste blossoming at the back of my throat.
Senses alert, I force my eyes to decipher the darkness, eyeballs straining in their sockets. An impenetrable wall of black stretches out in front of me, no hint of a shadow to indicate who or what might be ahead.
A shuffle somewhere to the left. Why isn’t Buzz here to guide me?! For a split second the tunnel ignites, a shooting star in the darkness. My eyes struggle with the contrast between light and dark. Before I can react, heat bursts just under the rim of my helmet, striking my eyebrow. Warm thickness trickles through my eyelashes towards my cheek. I blink. No pain. I blink again. Only numbness. Not sure I can trust my faculties.
Autopilot takes over. I slither forward on my stomach, throat constricting, heart bellowing, rifle in hand. The familiar words roll over in my mind, stony waves crashing in a turbulent ocean. The mantra offered to us during training: Feel the fear but do it anyway. My brain fixates on the first section. Feel the fear...feel the fear...
I know what I have to do. My pulse attacks my arteries as I ready the rifle. Feel the fear... The cold metal torturous against my cheek as I aim. Feel the fear... Darkness camouflaging the enemy. That tinkle again to my left. I inch the rifle in the direction of the sound, slow my breath. Do it anyway... I pull the trigger.
Suddenly the earpiece crackles into life, piercing through the chaos. My goggles deactivate. A solemn voice proclaims in my inner ear as harsh light annihilates the darkness: Game over.
Inspired by the writing prompt: “Feel the fear. Do it anyway.”