A Matter of Proportion

A covert unit of the Special Corps slips into hostile terrain, their glider touching down on a sheer gorge just as night falls. The narrator, a squad leader, and his second, Clyde Esterbrook, are tasked with planting a mine on a vital viaduct that a relentless enemy train will soon thunder over. Using an implanted inter‑cortical encephalograph, they share sensations—pine needles, cold steel, the distant breath of a comrade—while coordinating the delicate operation. Their plan hinges on precise timing; any mistake could expose them to searchlights and enemy fire.

Clyde’s daring climb along the frosted steel beam is a study in nerve and improvisation, turning a near‑impossible ascent into a silent ballet of fingers and footholds. As the train roars overhead, the frozen metal threatens to betray him, yet his calm focus turns terror into a rhythmic dance. The narrator watches, breath held, aware that a single slip would send Clyde plummeting into the abyss below. The tension of those minutes sets the stage for a larger conflict that looms beyond the gorge.