Wilco- Lone Wolf 2 by Geoff Wolak

Author:Geoff Wolak
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2017-01-08T05:00:00+00:00

Between dead and alive

I woke in a panic, not knowing where I was, and ten minutes later I was still lying there in a cold sweat of terror, just a tiny shaft of light for reference, and I studied the pale brown mushroom I found, the tree it hung to, a worm crawling along.

I wondered what genus it was, the mushroom, but could not remember, if I had ever known, and I could not identify if it was edible or not. A small flying insect landed, and I observed it at length as it hunted around for something to eat. A larger insect landed, right on top of the first one, and started munching on it.

Easing up, my poncho fell away, and something glass broke under my hand. Sitting there in the dim light, propped up by a locked elbow, I took in the tops of the trees and the sky, and half an hour passed. My memory was back. Lifting up whilst using my rifle as a crutch, I peed into my trousers, no control over it. I started walking.

In the light now, I stopped because of the pain in my groin, and I pulled out my cock and testicles. My left testicle was black and swollen. Gangrene. I put it away. What did it matter now?

Each step I took was unintentionally measured and slow, very slow, not least because I had lost the feeling in my left foot. I could not remember if that loss had been down to being shot in the foot or the lower leg, or to grenade shrapnel embedding itself in my foot. What I did know, what I was resigned to, was the fact that I would lose that foot.

I was annoyed for the briefest of moments, the thought of the loss of my left foot, of becoming an invalid, and I carefully and purposefully placed down my left boot, no feeling registering. It made navigating through a dense and uneven forest hard, very hard.

I paused to stare down at my camouflaged boot, past the end of my rifle’s camouflaged silencer. I’d lose the foot, but that was the least of my worries; I would not be leaving this forest. I lifted my gaze towards the nearby trees, a mist hanging as the dawn slowly appeared, a cold wet and miserable day to die alone in a strange land.

Taking another step, it felt as if someone had removed my skin, doused me in sand, and then replaced the skin. Each movement of muscle, of skin, or any movement at all, caused a scraping feeling.

Four days I had been here, four days since the fighting had started, since we entered the woods by helicopter – our ‘insert’. I gave up a brief moment to consider the rest of the patrol, all now dead.

It was just me.

A twist of fate, a few yards separation, falling artillery – I had lived on to fight a three day running battle without rest. Shot six times or more, grazing shots, the wounds now stung, more so when I stopped to think about them.

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