CVG: I could have been a contender.
I could have been a hero of the frontline; a gung-ho beast whose clattering assault rifle was the last thing that ever flashed in my enemy's eyes.
I could have been a legendary marksman, perched on high in my sniper's nest, popping craniums from distance like a surgeon of the battlefield.
But I am neither of those things. I'm tits-down in a mossy, dank cement pipe, grit in my face and woodlice wriggling in my hair. I'm panic-stricken, but I've dodged the heat of the battle, instead rather pathetically sheltering on the outskirts of warfare.