Fear is Real

"Shit, shit, shit!"

I can't help but yell at myself. I shouldn't have done that. Shouldn't have left my squad, shouldn't have left my friends, shouldn't have even moved. This lone wolf crap will get me shot. It got them shot, why wouldn't it get me shot?

Past the next tree, under another limb, over another log.

Smack!

A shot collides the tree on my left and I have to take cover. Next log; big enough? Good enough. I hunker down, back against the log, butt in cold mud, and close my eyes. I need to catch my breath. I can't see anything but the sight of Whitmore coming around his tree to move up, just like I ordered him, and then Whitmore taking 3 shots strait to the chest. The fire opened up, and I ran.

We were outnumbered, it was all I could do...

I start to groan, but catch myself. This whole thing's been botched by one stupid move. One move! We took out the guards quickly, made it in, picked up our cargo, and were almost out. I knew it seemed too easy... If it's too good to be true, it usually is. So damn close, and there they were, just waiting for us. Ambush.

I can't think anymore, I can hear them now. Heavy boots shuffling through the dead leaves, eyes searching behind expressionless dead masks, fingers on triggers. There's nowhere to go, the next tree isn't close enough. They can't be more than 20 feet away now.

Then, suddenly, pain explodes on the back of my head.

I wasn't low enough.

I can feel my right hand fly instinctively to the stinging in my skull. It comes back coated in yellow.

Dammit...

Next thing I know, I'm on my feet, facing my attacker. He just stands there smugly, paintball gun lowered. I can't see his mouth, but I can tell he's smiling.

"Dammit, Stricker! You could've just called me out, asshole."

"But where's the fun in that?" He laughed, "Now, hand it over."

All I can do is rub the back of my head, and fork over my cargo.

He snatches the red nylon flag from my hand. "I accept your unconditional surrender."

I think I'm actually bleeding.

"Asshole..."