I draw a raspy, nervous breath through the filter on my gas mask. I have no reason to be worried of course; I've done this a hundred times. Well, more than that, but after a while I stopped counting. I don't know why I always get nerves before I do this, but it never fails to happen.
Guess that just comes along with being a ghost though, the replaying of the last few days before your death. The emotions are almost always the same, even though I know this is going to be no less dangerous to me in the long run than eating dinner would be for a living person. No matter how rationally I look at it, I always worry before my last few minutes.
Sure, you can try to break the cycle, but you'll always end up back at square one eventually. No matter how many times you avoid that slip, sidestep that onrushing car, or dodge that knife blow, no matter how far you run, no matter who you contact, you always end up back at start. It's just a matter of how long.
I check my bayonet. Still in place, just as it was a moment ago. This charge was where I died, cut down alongside to many others in a hail or machinegun fire. just thinking about the moment sends a phantom sensation of bullets tearing into me, leaving me with more holes than Swiss cheese.
I've tried getting out of here, just walking away. I usually get away with it in the confusion. I never really had any specific destination, so I just wandered. I saw amazing things on my travels; I've seen majestic herds of deer grazing in wide, sprawling valleys, I've seen the majesties of the northern lights and of desert sunsets, I've seen the hustle and bustle of the great cities, and I've seen things too beautiful and terrifying to describe.
But I always return here. Not because of duty, because I was released from the obligation when my brain shut down. Not because of destiny, because I don't believe in that. Not because of regret, because I have none.
I come back because after a while, I grew tired of wandering. I was always alone, with no home or friends or family. But it wasn't so when I was here, it never was. Sure, I'm free when I run, but I'm without purpose. But here, there is peace, a kind of peace that comes from knowing who you are, and being just who that is.
The call to charge sounds, and I stand up alongside my comrades in arms, and run out into a hurricane of lead.