“Water….somebody. Water…”

It was dark. Utter blackness, untempered by light of any sort. And it was in this vacuum of color that Jacques found himself in when he awoke, lying in a muddy hole and wet to the waist somewhere in the middle of Ofkar country.

“Gawd. Ogawdogawdogawdfrickin’ shoot.” Sharp daggers of pain stabbed him as he struggled to a sitting position and he panted for breath as beads of sweat formed on his brow. Gingerly, he lifted a hand to his face. Shoot. It came away sticky with a liquidy mass. Blood. Blindly, he groped in his pockets for his first aid kit, but they were empty, undoubtedly the work of the looters who frequented battlefields at night.

He called out in a voice strangely thick. “Hey! Anybody there?”

Silence. Jacques closed his eyes. My head. It feels so…heavy. Think I’ll lie down a bit. And he surrendered himself to the cool embrace of the earth.