Amnesia

Gillian,

My sweat stained helmet sits at my side as I scribble this on the first piece of available paper I could find. There are so many things going through my head that I had to get them down.

We had our first real encounter with the Rak’lan not 12 hours ago. I can’t give specifics of course, as they’ll not let the letter pass and I’ll probably be censured. The only things I can possibly impress through this letter are the emotions of a first battle. It starts with this little tiny knot of tension that slowly builds in the pit of your stomach. When your brain registers a move from simulation to real combat, this tiny and insignificant ball that stays dormant through our daily activities starts to rapidly grow. With each passing second, you immediately start to feel the weight as you move across the relative safety of a boarding ship into enemy territory. Besides staving off the impulse to vomit, you are very aware that your body is now crossing into the “flight or fight” response to your environment.

The first drips of sweat that hit your nose are dreadfully annoying as you try to reach through the mostly bullet-proof glass that protects your flesh from space exposure. Remembering the barrier, you close your eyes and try to press on as orders start flying through the small speakers at your ears.

The simulations only scratched the surface of emotion. You see your fellow soldiers stumble with fake injuries as their suits immobilize them from further action. Yet something deep strikes at your very core when someone falls aside you in an alien ship. Fighting the urge to disregard your surroundings, you leave him or her for the trained medics and continue to press forward knowing that you could be the next casualty.

You hear through the muffled whir of the mini-gun and surrounding grenade explosions that an enemy is approaching. Instead of the battle cry you were taught as you mentally and physically prepared for this moment, the usually comforting sound is drowned out by the fierce beating of your own heart. Between the sweat, and the large gasps that heave from your chest as you keep moving towards danger, there is little calm and resolve. Facing your mortality is something you never train for…

I didn’t fool myself to thinking a first encounter would be easy, yet there is always that odd comfort in the back of your head in training that you are still safe. Wounds are superficial or false at best. That security blanket is ripped away when you are face to face with those bastards and there is nothing you can do to stop the flood of fear in those initial moments.

I can only tell myself it will get easier as this war continues; that my resolve will harden and I’ll face the danger with confidence, but right now, I’m having a very hard time convincing myself.

1. “The O’Leary Letters” - Part One...
2. “The O’Leary Letters” - Part Three...
3. “The O’Leary Letters” - Part Nine...
4. “The O’Leary Letters” - Part Eight...
5. “The O’Leary Letters” - Part Five...
6. “The O’Leary Letters” - Part Ten...
7. “The O’Leary Letters” - Part Seven...
8. “The O’Leary Letters” - Part Four...
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