The incoming drones adopted a horizontal formation as they prepared to drop their bombs simultaneously. The plan was to create one huge explosion to cover the entire breadth of the mountain. I had few, if any, options to take cover. There was no space underneath the boulder, it sat firmly on the surface, and no time to dig even the most rudimentary tunnel underneath.
I slid around the side of the entrenched rock so that I had some protection from the front, but I was completely exposed to any blast from the back or the sides. Crouching down as low as I could and covering my head with both arms was all I could do.
The noise of the approaching drones increased; this was it.
I heard the whine of the falling bombs, and a rapid sequence of massive explosions rocked the mountainside with the force of an earthquake, throwing tonnes of soil and debris into the air and creating gaping fissures in the ground.
My body was battered by the force of the blast, and my head felt as if it was about to split open, but astonishingly, I was still conscious. The air was thick with black dust, so I could see nothing, but I was still curled up like a ball and able to catch a few precious breaths from a pocket of air trapped beneath me. Unable to move and with a huge weight of soil above, I breathed in as slowly as possible, trying to ration what air remained in the shallow hollow around my body, but it would not last for long. If I wanted to survive I must dig to the surface.
I tried to move my arms and was immediately overcome with agonising pain. My arms and back had taken the brunt of the explosion, and I was badly injured. There was nothing more that I could do to escape; this underground hollow was to be my grave.
Had I been sent here only to die? It wasn't easy to see what purpose there was in burying me alive beneath a mountain.There was no answer to that. I was a pawn in a game of chess, an expendable front-line soldier. A tactical sacrifice in a battle that lacked any personal meaning for me.
But why should my death have meaning? What if my creation was a random accident in a universe ruled by chance? I am guilty of assuming that my life has significance without evidence, only belief. A position encouraged by the Tribus, but what do they know? No life form, no matter how elevated, can claim to be infallible, always correct.
A secondary subterranean tremor shook the mountainside, and I slipped deeper into the rocky soil. I wondered how far the surface was above me, not that it made any difference. If I were to die, then let it happen now. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable, and I would devour all the remaining air in great gulps until I suffocated.
But I couldn't do it.
The primal urge to extend life as long as possible was irresistible, and I continued with my controlled shallow breathing. I was controlled by the biological instinct for life that could not be over ridden by my conscious free will.
A few seconds later, the decision to live or die was taken out of my hands, as yet another tremor, more powerful than the one before, split the ground beneath my body and sent me tumbling down a ravine in an avalanche of rock and earth. The pain was intense, and I blacked out.
How long I was unconscious is impossible to say, but when I did revive, my body was totally paralysed. I felt nothing from the neck down, yet, somehow, I was still alive. I could move my head, and when my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, I could see that I was in a cave-like space at the bottom of a natural tunnel of solid rock that must stretch all the way to the surface, for I felt the life saving downdraft of cold air.
I inhaled deeply, but the relief I felt was tempered by the thought of my paralysis. I experimented to see how far I could move my neck and found I could half-turn my head to both the left and right normally, but I could not feel any part of my body.
Looking down, I could see my legs were bent crooked but only partially covered in debris, as was my upper body. I could have stood up, had I been able, for the cave was large, and the lip of the tunnel upward was twenty feet above where I lay.
This was more than luck, and despite my paralysis, my faith in providence was restored. I convinced myself that the paralysis would prove to be only temporary and had been inflicted purposefully to spare me from pain.
My spirits soared, but I was desperately thirsty and, in my present state, helpless to do anything about it. I stared up the tunnel, willing somebody to come down and rescue me. The light was slowly getting brighter at the top; dawn must be approaching. This meant that I had been underground all night and been unconscious for many hours.
The light got steadily brighter, and I fancied that I caught a flash of sunlight, but I could not be sure. The hours passed until I reckoned it must be midday, but I had heard and seen nothing. My belief in the inevitability of my rescue began to fade, as my thirst and anxiety increased.
I think I must have dozed off at times as the hours passed and descended into a sort of half-awake stupor where it became difficult to discern the difference between sleeping and consciousness.
Then I noticed it was beginning to get darker.
To my horror, a full day must have passed without any sign of life, and I now faced the prospect of another night underground. Without thinking, I tried to shout out for help, but my dry mouth and throat could only produce a dull barking sound.
I tried again and managed to produce a screech that I elongated for as long as I could before I fell back exhausted. Why I had not tried shouting before was beyond me. I think I must have thought the opening to the surface was too far away. That is, if I thought anything at all, whilst sleeping the day away.
The cave fell into total darkness, and I became increasingly delirious, partly through acute thirst, but mostly through regret and guilt that I was unable to complete my mission. Once again, I fell into a pattern of fitful dozing and only awoke when the cave became flooded with light.
What was happening?
In my half-crazed state, I was still aware that the night had not yet passed, and I watched uncomprehendingly as a circle of bright light swept back and forth before settling on me and staying there. I was dazzled and screwed my eyes shut, but I clearly heard the sound of a man whooping.
I could see nothing but heard the clanking of a chain being lowered and eventually the thud of feet hitting the ground – three sets in total. The first man ran over and embraced me. I could not feel the hug, but I caught the scent of chewing gum-flavoured breath close to my cheek.
"Well, David, my man, you took some tracking down, but it was Sol who found you when he homed in on those bird imitations you were making. I guess you were just trying to pass the time, but believe me, buddy, don't ever think of giving up your day job; they were just plain awful."
"Joe!" I exclaimed. "Is that really you?"
"Yep," he replied, "Captain Joe Johnson, Royal Canadian Air Force, at your service."
"But your Spitfire was hit by lightning, and you went down in a ball of flames over the mountains. I saw it myself."
"Not in this world, buddy," he replied.
"Where are we, Joe?" I asked, "And did I hear you right that Sol was here as well?"
"Full crew waiting to meet you up top, David. You might say that we are back where we started, but things are a little different this time around."
"Such as?"
"You just wait and see for yourself, pal, but brace yourself, it is not all good news," Joe replied.