Once every few hundred years, the Blood-Moon rises on an unsuspecting world. When it does—the very stuff of myth and legend comes to life.
He was sixth generation military, his path laid before him by his family. To secure his spot in the elite British Special Forces he found himself up against one of the harshest environments known to man. It is here that he will face an ancient horror.
What do you think might happen when nightmare becomes reality?
Well this was just great!
Here I was, having successfully completed the mountain and jungle phase for selection into the British Special Forces, and instead of being able to relax and celebrate I was well and truly screwed! I couldn’t believe how quickly things had turned upside down.
I’d been in the Royal Marines for five years, having joined straight from college. I was sixth generation military and even though I’d had to work hard to graduate from the Officer Training Academy, my career had been mapped out for me by my parents from the moment I was born. No time for a normal life, friends, or hobbies. And certainly no time for romance–that would only get in the way of my career. I had been groomed to serve and the military was where I belonged.
It was quickly discovered that I had an aptitude for diving, combat, and navigation. That together with my incredible stamina, meant I’d been recommended for the Special Forces Directorate eighteen months ago by my Commanding Officer.
I’d trained harder than anyone else over that time to ensure I was ready for this, my chance at joining the elite of the elite, as it was something no one else in my family had yet to achieve. Of course, they expected me to pass–even if it killed me!
Sailing through the initial one month pre-selection phase–where they had bested all fifty candidates mercilessly in an effort to test our stamina and mental fortitude. They had ensured the chaff was quickly cut away so the remaining twenty-seven of us could be properly scrutinized for our strengths and weaknesses.
We battled constantly over the next four months to ensure we deserved our place on the course. Four months of relentless mental pressure and stress, where our resolve was tested to the limit under all sorts of conditions. Ensuring they maintained the demands on us, they’d forced us to cover hundreds of miles on foot through all sorts of terrain and environments, carrying outrageous amounts of kit. We’d endured it all, surviving a selection process that had decimated some of the finest soldiers in the world. Then, three short weeks ago at the beginning of October, the remaining twelve of us had arrived here, in Pasto, Bolivia, a brand new training venue in an entirely different world.
The final phase of selection is always conducted in mountainous jungle areas, as they are known to be among some of the harshest environments in existence—a place where human beings don’t belong. Not that you would believe that from the air. Our descent had revealed endless miles of high canopied trees–looking like fields of broccoli from a distance–splintered by rugged canyons and rivers. You would be forgiven for thinking of phrases like; tranquil and idyllic, as your first view of the endless forests would make you feel just that, thereby lulling you into a false sense of security. Because even now, after all this effort, we could still fail or be back-coursed by an ecosystem that could chew you up whole and spit you out in pieces.
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