Hidden Conflict: Tales From Lost Voices in Battle by Alex Beecroft;Mark R. Probst;E. N. Holland;Jordan Taylor

Author:Alex Beecroft;Mark R. Probst;E. N. Holland;Jordan Taylor
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: M/M Anthologies, Source: Amazon
ISBN: 9780979777387
Publisher: Cheyenne Publishing
Published: 2009-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

~~~

“Someone will find us,” Darnell said, leaning his head back against the damp earth wall behind him. “The sergeant knows there were men down here. He’ll make sure the place is checked.”

“And if they’re all dead, sir?”

Darnell wanted to throttle Private Fisher. His hands practically trembled with the effort of holding them steady.

“If they’re dead, then headquarters will send another platoon out looking for us and they’ll find us.”

“When’ll that be, sir?”

“As soon as no one returns with the ration party.”

“Do they have that many expendable platoons, sir? That they could just send one out if one didn’t turn up on the nose?”

“They’ll come soon.”

“How long do you think the air will last, sir?”

“Bloody hell! Will you just belt up! What the hell are you getting from this? Huh? Sitting there talking about the overwhelming likelihood that you and I are both going to die in here and every single time you open your mouth that likelihood increases enormously. Is that making you feel better for some reason?”

“Sorry,” Fisher muttered. “No, it’s not making me feel better. But it’s the truth. Why delude ourselves into thinking some brilliant solution will turn up?”

“It’s not a delusion. It’s a very real possibility that someone will help us out.”

“Possible, I suppose. Anything’s possible. There may be some more enemy artillery out there right now getting ready to bung more shells that’ll open a path right out of here.”

“If they did that, it’d have to be such a strong blast it would bring the rest of the ceiling down on our heads. We’d never know if a path had been cleared or not.”

Silence.

“Lieutenant?”

“What?”

“You don’t really believe we’re getting out of here, do you?”

There was another pause. Darnell sat with his eyes closed, pressing his bleeding hands into his filthy trouser legs. He did not know how long he had pulled at the rubble of the wall keeping them here. It could have been an hour, or five hours. He was lightheaded from hunger, weak with exhaustion, and there was nothing to be done for his torn and bloody fingers. The only thing that had improved about their situation rather than getting worse was that he no longer noticed the smell so much.

“I don’t know,” Darnell said at last. “I want to think so.” He opened his stinging eyes and looked toward Fisher, sitting against the same wall, less than a yard away. But he could not see him. He only lit a match if he needed to confirm the location he was working on in the mound. Otherwise, they stayed in darkness. They each had partially full water bottles on their belts and Darnell still had his ammunition pouches. They had left the rest of their possessions; rifle, small kit and haversack, above. Darnell found himself wondering what would come first; death by suffocation or starvation.

He felt something crawling across his face, a spider probably, and jerked one hand up to brush it away. In the few moments his hands had been still they were already cramped.

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