Maybe it has to do with the fact that I'm a history student. I keep remembering past experiences.
It almost seems that I can recall things on command, in an instance, instead of waiting for them to emerge through the muddled fog of human consciousness.
And so even as Arsenal redeem themselves at Highbury against Wriggle Atheltic and crash to Barcelona and lousy refereeing, I can't care less anymore, because I can just sit there and wonder at where my mind has wondered off to.
Sounds like wool-gathering, but its not. I plunge back into the past and it seems all too real.
You're in the Vehicle Commander (VC) cupola of the Bionix 40/50 Infantry Fighting Vehicle. It's the smell that hits you first, the smell of grease and weapon oil and outfield dust and vehicle diesal exhaust and the stink of your own body.
Then the weapons- large and lethal- the 40mm automatic grenade launcher mounted on the left, and the 50 calibre heavy machine gun on its right.
You're gripping the cupola control stick and shifting it ever so gently, and the weapons systems are ever-so sensitive to your grip. They swing back and forth and up and down, muzzles menacing every sector you rotate the cupola towards.
You control the vehicle's driver through your helmet microphone- giving those sharp verbal commands.
The 23-ton armoured beast lurches and roars its way into the jungle.
An RPG ambush!
Turn and charge the vehicle, open fire with the 40 auto grenade launcher and then the machine gun- CHATATATA-WHAMWHAMWAHMWAHMWAHMWHAM-and the side mounted machine gun opens up too. You squeeze the trigger button on the control stick like anything, feeling the raw power as the weapons fire with yellow flashes and thunderous roars.
The stench of cordite is overpowering, but you have to keep your eye on the targeting sights trying to see the bastard so you can nail him, take him out with your hail of grenades and massive bullets. It's not that simple- the vehicle is lurching through the potholes and bouncing up and down, you have to fire in bursts to walk your rounds towards the RPG bastards in the bush, trying to report back to your platoon commander over the radio about what the hell is going on, trying to give orders to the section behind and side machine-gunner, trying to go on full auto blast as you near the RPG position, and there's this massive calmness about it all that you have to possess when guiding the vehicle or it'll go into the ditch and you're dead meat.
Gosh. What an adventure that was.
It envelops me.
I live in memories. I have no future.
