Day 7:

I can hear the soft hum of the jungle as I sway gently in my hammock. The time has come; we are no longer in the safety of the stronghold but out in the open, preparing for battle. There is no buzz, but a sense of deep dread. Today, for the first time, I had managed to face my fear and pull the trigger, but there had been no face only a dark silhouette. Would I be able to do it again in the light when eyes, wrinkled with a story, with family, searched mine? I had just learnt to handle a rifle without dropping it. Am I really expected to go to war? I push these thoughts to the back of my mind. I am part of the patrol now. I have to. It is now out of my control. Survival is my first priority. God has given me little help so far. I am on my own. Tomorrow we will cross the river and I may live or die. Either way, the world will go on. As I doze off to sleep, the image of the man face down in the river haunts my dreams.

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