Recording your state of mind can sober your resolve, prepare you for adversity. The suns feeble rays are denied in this twisted misery of a jungle and a man's mind can begin to rot. So I ask them to chronicle their thoughts when we rest. This is the first time I've written in the back of my own fieldbook. As long as I live, no man will read it. The truth is no man will ever find it.
We stop now for 30 minutes. Too long but enough for half to rest. The reverberations we felt 3 days earlier are now deep and resounding, like a cavalcade of oaks thundering to the ground one by one. The last sequence lasted longer, 45 seconds, 10 klicks behind us. Now the silence and stillness, again.
These men have purpose back in the world, lives and families. They follow me through the corners of hell with no hesitation. None question the odds, but I see the fear they try to hide. The only force that drives my own existence is keeping them alive. As long as possible.
A different reality prevails in this jungle. An altered sanity. The gloom stifles personalities to a point where conversation no longer holds any comfort. They grip weapons in concrete silence, staring poised into the murky undergrowth. Memories of the gravest conflicts seem strangely comforting, like childhood games where the players were only man. But now a darkness stalks us, biding it's time.