‘Is it over?’
My ears ring with a deafening tone which slowly subsides to a gentle ringing sound. I can suddenly feel grit in my mouth, and the taste of a mix of blood and soil.
The smell of smoke, gunpowder and decaying flesh hits me hard and I slowly begin to feel some movement in my fingers as they slide over my torn flak jacket.
Then, I see. I pry my eyes open, tearing at the crusts of blood that had sewn my eyelashes together, to reveal a sequence of moving blurs.
Apart from a few scuffling sounds, and some distant rumbling, the scene had grown eerily quiet; the battle was over, but who had won?
Slowly, I pull myself up to a sitting position and cringe at the shooting pain I feel travelling through my right leg. I then carry out a mental examination of the damage I have taken and hope to God that I won’t be in need of any amputations.
‘Still in tact… sort of.’
I really don’t want to get up, but I have a feeling that if I don’t then I’ll be left behind for dead.”
FULL STORY HERE