Brink

Chapter 1: Hannibal

Chapter 1

John

03-11-2022

John looked over the grassland. Winter had been harsh on him these last few days. His nose ran and his feet felt numb in their rubber boots. He rubbed his beard with his gloved hand. Little particles of ice broke off from it. The sun stood high in the sky, but the grey and white clouds didn’t let any real rays come through, making the sight only grimmer.

‘What do you want to be later?’

The words which he had listened to many years ago still echoed through the cavern of his mind. He leaned on the steel battlement of the wall. He gripped his gun tightly, keeping his finger off the trigger.

He had to make a choice at that moment. He could have either played it safe, or try to impress with ambition. Both options would have probably left him stranded in the position where he was now. What had happened in the last 20 years? What possible explanation could be given for all of this?

He didn’t want to think about it too much. He had to focus. He looked down the sight of his gun and sighed. His breath almost crystalized in the freezing cold. It reminded him to check the weapon for frost jamming. He unclicked the magazine and checked the ammunition inside.

‘Are you nervous or something?’ asked Robert cheekily.

He sat next to John, also leant against the battlement. He was John’s best friend, and they had grown up together before joining the task force. He was armed with the same assault rifle as John, and carried medical equipment. He was the medic of the squad.

‘Don’t get trigger-happy, John,’ joked Mason. He was the joker of the squad. Most of his jokes were horrible, but he had his good moments. He was armed with a shotgun and carried explosives on his belt.

‘Must be the silence,’ commented Mike. He sat at John’s other side, also leaning against the battlement, but facing the other direction. Mike was the quiet one of the squad, which suited his job. He was the sniper. His rifle had a big fat scope and he carried bullets twice the size of the others.

John himself only had an assault rifle and two grenades strapped to his belt.

‘Mike, is it me, or are you facing the wrong way?’ asked John jokingly.

‘It’s you, mate. I’m facing the right way, as far as I’m concerned,’ answered the man.

John just scoffed. He knew there was no arguing with him, and gave up the attempt.

‘Do you want to know why I’m facing the right way, and you’re facing the wrong?’ asked Mike with a grin on his face.

John looked over his shoulder and met Mike’s eyes with his. He then boringly shook his head. ‘Nah.’

‘Pff, you take the fun out of anything, don’t you?’ chuckled Mike as John turned his head towards the fields again. ‘We have been here for three days. There is a steel barricade, 30 metres long, in between two convenient cliff-faces, overlooking nothing but grass, guarded by four men. The enemy will not come here, because they have nothing to gain.’

John looked at Mike. ‘You’re so full of yourself, you know?’

As the day continued, lingering, time slowly passing them by, it turned out that Mike had been right. The enemy did not come that day either, just like the last three days. The men walked back to their tents. The camp was put up at an altitude of 2190 meters above sea-level. What the men guarded was the Little St Bernard Pass, in the Alps.

‘You know, this is one of the passes which Hannibal may have had taken as a path through the Alps,’ said John, as they arrived.

‘What the fuck are you suddenly on about?’ asked Mason.