Fortnightly Writing Competition: WAR

Started by discordance, Sat 20/02/2010 22:03:09

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discordance

Well here's another compo at last! Apologies for taking so long, my brain was obviously paralyzed by the sheer weight of awesome from the previous one.

Here is your theme: WAR STORIES

It can be about a historical war, a modern war, or a completely imaginary war, it can be about soldiers or non-coms, just as long as it's set against the backdrop of some kind of War. Have fun! If my counting skills are still working I think you've got until around March 4th to churn something out.

Atelier

#1
The Oldest War

As solid and as strong as stone,
In a ponderous stance they stand.
Watching, waiting,
Wondering about the sea.

Unceasing, unending,
Unconfined.
Unbound by foundations,
Unshackled, unshakable.

In eternal conflict.
They resist the waves,
The water,
The wind,
And the white beasts,
That dance up their legs.

As solid and as strong as stone,
In a ponderous stance,
Still standing.

Technocrat

War? Who doesn't love war? Well then, I've got one based on a true story, from a friend serving in Afghanistan at the moment.


Drones I Have Known

"Thompson!" The captain called out over the line of tents in front of him. It was far easier than actually searching each one individually, and sure enough,  a head poked out from the door of one.

"Sir?" asked the head. This was Ben, Lieutenant Thompson, the one being sought.

"We've got an oppo due, are you ready to go yet?" He wasn't angry, just loud. It would have been easy to mistake though, if you hadn't spent the last two months in a camp with him. He didn't have much of an excuse to be angry either, everything had been going right lately. They may have been in Helmand, but they hadn't lost a single man on patrol yet, and the locals were cooperative, if not friendly.

"One more minute sir, there's a loose connector we don't want breaking while she's up. Other than that, we're good to go," he assured his superior. The captain, visibly satisfied, turned and headed to the lorry being used as the command centre. Thompson, relieved, walked back over to the fold-out table in the middle of the tent. Hunched over it was his technical assistant, Sgt. Greene, who was performing surgery on a small white plane - a Desert Hawk UAV. It had been misbehaving slightly on its last couple of runs, so this health-check had been insisted on before its next sortie.

"Done yet, Daryn?"

"I think so, but I can't make any promises. Give me a day with her and I could tell you, but with only half an hour..."

"Cap wants it up in five. Chippie's on patrol, wants a recce of a village reckons the jundies are holed up there." Greene rolled his eyes, and reached for the panel to close the drone's body. He placed it on gently, and screwed it in place with an almost parental tenderness. Thompson had noticed that Greene had become somewhat attached to the UAV, though stopping short of naming it. He was concerned about its well-being, for reasons beyond its cost, but he didn't think the risk was beyond that. There were stories of a US operator who needed counselling after his bomb-disposal drone was taken out by an IED it was working on. He didn't think Greene was quite so sentimental though.

While Greene finished up the bodywork, Thompson booted up the console for the drone's control. It ran through it in a couple of minutes, then he switched on the Xbox controller used to pilot the aircraft. Greene gingerly lifted the plane by the fuselage, and carried it to the door.

"I'll get her up," he said to Ben as he walked out, "don't be too rough with her." Thompson grinned as mental images formed in his mind. Greene trotted a hundred or so metres to the open patch of ground they'd nicknamed the 'runway'. Some of the squaddies nearby stopped their digging and turned to watch the takeoff - sometimes they'd ask Thompson if they could have a go flying her, and Greene was extremely grateful that he had the sense to refuse them every time. He lifted the plane over his head in his right hand, as if about to throw a javelin. He switched on the motor - Ben would have already activated the cameras and electronics, but they saved the engine until the last moment to spare the battery. "Good luck," he whispered. Preparing himself, he put one foot in front of the other, took a couple of quick steps, and lunged forward, catapaulting the drone into the air. With a loud buzz, it took to the sky, and shrank into the distance.

***

The captain looked over Ben's shoulder. Drones weren't his field of expertise, he was an artillery man, but he could appreciate the technicality of it. The large screen in front of both of them showed the bird's-eye view of the road beneath it, along with twelve men on patrol below. The plane quickly overtook them, and headed on to the village ahead of the squad. Thompson pushed the right-stick on the controller, and the camera tilted upwards, the image now covering most of the village. As the village grew in size, it became obvious that the intelligence about the insurgent positions had been correct - technicals, pickup trucks with machine-guns mounted in the back, were parked around the prominent mosque. Tiny figures with RPGs slung over their shoulders wandered here and there - the people with smaller weapons were almost indistinguishable from the civilians. They weren't dug in to the village, but it was clear that caution would be needed.

"Uh-oh." Daryn looked up in response to Ben's foreboding comment.

"'Uh-oh' what?" he asked suspiciously.

"Control feed's gone." It wasn't the fault he'd been working on earlier, but certainly something that should have been avoidable. The sergeant, now visibly panicked, stood and navigated his way through the piles of tools towards the console. He pushed Thompson and the captain aside, grabbed the controller from him, and furiously pulled on the sticks. There was no response in the drone's movement, but the picture remained from the camera, and he watched in horror as the plane began to nosedive, careening towards the ground. After what seemed like an eternity of falling to him, the picture went black, and a message on the screen popped up.

> No feed on input 1

"Damn," the captain said curtly. He hadn't failed to notice that Greene was visibly shaken, but was doing his best to avoid the subject. "I'll get on to Chippie. Now we have to enter the village, even if just to recover the UAV." The comment seemed to pass straight through Daryn, who obviously hadn't been listening. He walked out, and Thompson crossed over to where Greene was now slumped.

"Don't worry mate, you heard the captain. It's a rescue mission now!"

***

"Understood, D-Team out." Cornet William Fish, or just 'Chippie' to anyone behind his back, had received the orders from HQ. The drone had confirmed that the village up ahead, Kher Dey Wey, was being used by insurgents, but he could tell they'd been spooked. From his position on a nearby ridge, his squad's spotter could see technicals and trucks making a getaway. Apparently, the drone that went down earlier had alerted them that they were on their way. He had reported this to HQ, but his orders still stood - secure the village, and ensure that the insurgent presence was gone. "Well," he said to the beefy-looking squaddie next to him, whose name he could never remember, "looks like our mission just got easier." The fleeing warriors were no longer his concern - 16 Air Assault Brigade would be delivering them the good news on the road, with an Apache ambush set up a few miles away.

They would still have to be cautious - they may have set IEDs up along the roadside, or even mined the village - it was not unheard of. As Fish's patrol neared the village though, they could see the civilians going about their business - a good sign, since it meant both that the insurgents were not likely to have fortified with explosives, nor had they spent long enough there to terrify the occupants. In loose formation, they cautiously moved along the village's roads towards the mosque, and the centre. Though being careful, they didn't exhibit the outright paranoia that their US army colleagues tended to when entering a village, and the locals' reactions reflected this. Only a month ago, Fish had watched a football match that some of the Royal Artillery men had had with the boys of this settlement.

"Pa khair ragla!" an old man shouted to them. He recognised this as one of the village's leaders, and turned to another young man in his squad for a translation.

"He says hello, Chief," answered the young man detachedly.

"Ask him about the jundies," Fish requested. After a bit of babbling back and forth, the corporal was able to give an answer.

"They were fleeing the Marine raid up north, asked around for provisions in this village. Hadn't realised it was so close to us, and left when they knew we were watching." Fish's expression showed he was obviously pleased by the news so far. "They didn't realise we were coming until the drone crashed, though."

"Is it still here?" Their orders were also to recover the drone. Granted, it was unlikely the Taliban had the technology to make a great deal of use of what was on board, but protocol was protocol, and those desert hawks were expensive. More jabbering between the corporal - Fish guessed he was of Pakistani extraction - and the old man, and eventually the elder started walking off towards a small grove behind the mosque.

"Better follow him, sir."

***

Greene was still inconsolable. Evidently, he had put not only a great deal of effort into his work, but also love! Thompson wasn't sure what he could do - if a relative had died, he could think up some generic platitude for the situation. He didn't want to seem to be going overboard now though, but he also wanted to help his friend. He considered trying to distract Daryn with more work, just as Fish's strolled into the tent, confident as ever.

"Chippie! You bastard, how was it?" Thompson asked, trying to lighten the mood by sharing in Fish's positive demeanour.

"Not bad, piece o' piss frankly." He looked over at Greene, then back to Ben. "Damn, I heard he'd taken it badly, but you'd think his mam had died. Come on, I've got something for yous." He spun on his heel, and left the tent. Greene looked up at Ben, who shrugged, and followed the Cornet outside.

On the top of a Warrior IFV parked outside, like some casualty of war, was his UAV, his drone, his baby. His expression changed instantly, as he viewed its triumphant return. "How...?" he started, too distracted by the emotional turmoil. Fish began to recount how the operation had wound up.

The elder had taken them into the grove, where they found the UAV tied to a tree. They were told that, when it had struck the ground, the insurgents debated what to do with it. They had believed that the tiny plane that had been spying on them was piloted by trained mice, and that their priority was therefore to stop the mice flying away, escaping to alert their imperialist masters. So, to prevent the plane taking off again, the insurgent group's leader had told his men to lash it to a tree in the grove, where it was later discovered by Fish's squad.

"Makes you wonder how we're going to win against anyone that daft," finished Fish. "I'm off for a bevvy now though. Let you get back to the missus," he gestured at the plane while addressing the comment to Daryn. Once again, he was too busy to be paying attention particularly, unhitching the plane from the IFV, and cradling it in his arms as he inspected it for damage, and saying soothing things to it on the way back to the tent. "Though, saying they're daft, he's not too far off." Fish sighed and headed for the impromtu bar set up in a prefab building nearby.

"Nah, he's not daft," mused Thompson. "He was just worried about a comrade-in-arms."

Atelier

It's strange how a story about the Afghan War can be so entertaining. Dialogue was really natural. Excellent short story Technocrat!

Calin Leafshade

Go on then.. just a short one.

I messed around with sentence structure a fair bit so some of it may sound antiquated or just plain wrong.. but nevermind.

    Rain fell hard, each drop making its tiny, insignificant mark on the waterlogged ground beneath my feet as I ran. The sound of pursuit echoed behind me and made me conscious of every footprint I left amongst the many others before me, and even more behind. The path I weaved was punctuated by the bodies of those who ran and those who pursued. War makes no such distinction and claims all.
    They promised us victory. They promised us valor. They promised us Dulce et Decorum and delivered Patria Mori and still I ran. I ran from duty and I ran from honour but I still ran, God damn-it.
    The cacophony which permeated the air intensified to a point beyond which I could stand and I wept as I ran. Tears poured from my eyes carving clean pink furrows in the grime which coated my face and as they meandered to my mouth the salt gripped my lips and for the first time I felt shame. The pity I felt for my own immortal soul slowed me to a walk. A death march. A death stumble.
    I came to a halt ankle deep in fallen leaves. The wind gusted and blew them into the air, showering me with autumn hues. I hadn't known colour for months and the endless stream of battle seemed to dissipate within me as my world became one of vibrancy and light.
    In the brief reprieve I heard a whimper. A sound so faint. I turned my head and looked towards the source of the sound. A young girl, no older than 8 or 9 sat leaning against a tree shielding herself from errant gunfire. She cried out to me in a language which I didn't understand but her message was clear.
    "Save me" She called out to me.
    "Run!" I cried and pointed towards the horizon.
    She looked down at her legs. A wicked looking gash ran up the side of her thigh and blood seeped through her delicate white dress staining her half crimson, half white.
    I suddenly became very aware of the pursuers closing in on my position and the colour drained from my world as cowardice gripped me. My gaze darted around the immediate area, desperately searching for a solution but of course there was none and again my flight response pulled on my heart to run.
    I looked down at the girl. She looked calm. Of course she didn't know my intent to flee. She saw only the uniform and the gun. Authority and safety.
    A bullet whipped through my hair, striking a nearby tree. The girl squealed and covered her ears as the sound of her voice rippled through the fog. A beacon to her position. Distant shouts and calls for backup could be heard and suddenly everything quickened. Only one of us would live to see the dawn.
    I mimed a crawling motion to the girl and pointed away from danger. A solitary tear trickled from her eye but she nodded and pulled herself towards freedom. I took my rifle and began to load the magazine, each round satisfyingly clicking into place
    "Honour." Click.
    "Glory." Click.
    "Freedom." Click.
    "Brotherhood." Click.
    I loaded the magazine and looked down the sights, targeting the closest enemy.
    "Justice."
    I pulled the trigger and the round tore through the man's skull. Shouts erupted from the distance as I felled another. And another. And another. A lone man spotted the flash from the muzzle of my gun and pointed in my direction, screaming for my murder at the top of his lungs.
    Thoughts of the little girl's scream vanished from the men's minds as their bullets coursed through my body one after the other.


    But pray not for me. For to whom I go, prayers mean nothing.

    For I still ran.

Dualnames

Vanity

It's weird how a man has nothing to say, when there's a lot to be said, father. It's weird how man has nothing to do, when a lot can be done.
The soul seems empty when it's full of feelings. Eyes look dark, when you try to forget.

Words are like raindrops. They fall. They bend. And then they break. But they make no sound. It's the exact point where time just forgets to move on.

When nothing matters but getting into your thick skull, the inconceivable. When blood is all over your hands, but you're not even care it's not yours. Death is just an event. A terminal station to some. To me it will only bring justice. For my torment is great and unbearable. It will be a failure, if I'm not brought in the coffin, father. If you don't hold my dead body in your arms. If the president doesn't send you a medal of valor.

Living is hard father, it takes a lifetime, you said that. Dying needs less than a moment.

Give my sincere apologies to Jack's grandmother. Tell her to pray for my death. For I have taken away the life of her son. Tell her to not forgive me, for I deserve only death. Tell her not to remember me, for I deserve to be forgotten.

Worked on Strangeland, Primordia, Hob's Barrow, The Cat Lady, Mage's Initiation, Until I Have You, Downfall, Hunie Pop, and every game in the Wadjet Eye Games catalogue (porting)

kconan

  The first time I saw the WRBs in action my 5-man squad had been assigned to eliminate a small enemy base in the disputed territory between Lower Stanistan and Mujibar Province.  Its a great place to vacation, if you enjoy war-torn wastelands of disabled vehicles, blown-out buildings, and mined paths.  This was not a covert operation in terms of our task (i.e. blowing stuff up), but it was clandestine in that we were ordered to dress as "regular Joe" mercenaries and carry no traceable personal effects.  Top brass also saw fit to replace our captain with an SSA (jokingly referred to as Super Secret Agency) agent, who told us to simply call him "Boss" and during the mission briefing advised not to engage the enemy unless absolutely necessary.  As the SSA spook explained, "observe the prototype WRB soldiers from a distance as they overrun the base and stay out of the way unless otherwise directed."  A frizzy-haired scientist complete with lab coat and pocket-protector was present for the briefing, but said nothing (though to complete the cliché I safely assumed he had a German accent).  I recall wondering why our new captain used the word "overrun" when referring to the WRBs taking the base.  I also couldn't figure out why we didn't simply bomb the base from the air.

  My squad along with the SSA agent/captain Boss HALO jumped into a decently secure location roughly thirty kilometers from the enemy base in the middle of the night.  We hid parachutes, double-checked our gear, and met up in a small clearing near an old Soviet T-34 battle tank that had likely been inoperable since well before I was born.  My continued queries regarding the WRB soldiers were bluntly ignored by captain "Boss".  It was during my latest attempt to gather at least some form of intel that the modified APC (I guessed it was outfitted for silent running and long distance remote-control) pulled up from seemingly out of nowhere.  The Boss ordered us to follow the APC, which we did without incident until it stopped next to a large hill relatively close to the enemy base.  He then pushed a small button underneath the back of the APC, the door opened, and ten soldiers filed out in an organized manner.  Each was clad in spiked, hard leather armor and wore a thick helmet with a dark visor.  The mid-section of this odd getup was additionally armored with some kind of machined metal breastplate.  They didn't appear to be armed, and none said a word.

  The Boss reminded my squad to do a weapons check; each of us were locked and loaded with a silenced MP5/40 submachine gun, .45 sidearm, and Ka-Bar knife.  Next, he handed me a pair of binoculars and said that I was to follow him and the WRBs to the base.  He pointed to the rest of my team and quietly ordered, "Carefully fan out around the perimeter and scout.  Your job is help prevent us from being flanked and/or shot by snipers dug in outside the base grounds.  Whatever happens, do not go anywhere near the WRBs to engage their targets or otherwise assist them."

  The WRB soldiers quietly marched in an orderly fashion, while myself and the Boss followed with our MP5/40s in the low-ready position.  There were no lookouts, and as the base came into my view, it appeared to be fortified by a cracked, concrete wall which was low enough to allow anyone approaching a view of the tops of the shacks contained within.  There was one tall concrete structure in the middle of the base.  Expecting to be ignored again as we crept along with the mute, biker gang rejects, I asked the Boss what WRB stands for.  He whispered, "You are being told everything on a need-to-know basis for a variety of reasons.  But if it will satisfy your curiosity and shut you up:  Weaponized Reanimated Being.  Now stop talking, watch my back, and while the WRBs overrun the base I want you to observe their behavior.  I was told you had the best overall attention to detail of the group, and so I need you as a second pair of eyes to record what takes place."  I was amazed this guy knew anything about my "attention to detail" since he doesn't even refer to me - or anyone else - by name or even a unique designation.  I tried to pry more information out of him regarding the WRBs or our mission, but to no avail.  The third time I asked he put his hand on his Ka-Bar knife sheath and mimed a kidney stabbing - I got the message.

  We dug in on a small hill near what appeared to be the weakest section of the concrete wall at the South side of the base, and used a row of thick bushes as cover.  The WRBs were standing right behind us in a staggered but orderly line, creepy as ever, quietly waiting for orders.  The Boss checked in with the rest of our team, and all was well on their end.  He told everyone that the WRBs will make their move shortly, right at 06:00 - which should be just barely enough light for us to see the base and surrounding area from our vantage point.  To my amazement none of the enemy had been alerted to our presence so far - perhaps out of sheer arrogance on their part or luck on ours.  In fact, considering the lack of intel this mission was going perfect...and then a gargantuan bird landed on the lead WRB soldier's helmet.  The soldier grabbed it and began loudly smashing the poor thing into the front of his/her/it's helmet.  All of the WRBs went crazy trying to grab a piece of the bird, and it was ripped to feathered shreds in the process.

  The Boss muttered curses, pulled out what appeared to be a remote control, and hurriedly mashed buttons.  The WRBs went even more beserk and fast-walked with arms flailing towards the wall.  Automatic weapons fire erupted from the base.  It was hard to see in the early light, but I could make out that some of the WRBs were hit.  They bashed an opening in the weak barrier, charged into it, and through the dim light I saw exactly what military application they were designed for: Instilling fear via merciless, chaotic, and seemingly unstoppable destruction.

  As the killing machines spilled into the base unfazed by the oncoming bullets and occasional grenade explosion, screams began drowning out the gunfire.  Several of the enemy rushed their attackers with knives and makeshift clubs; their futile attempt at defense was clearly visible due to their proximity to the wall breach.  One WRB soldier grabbed the throats of two base defenders - one in each hand - and decapitated both and started ramming the heads into it's helmet at the same time.  Another WRB, ignoring a hail of clubbings and stabs, started punching through enemy bodies.  As dawn approached, more and more of this slaughter was revealed.  I started fumbling with the binoculars looking for the night vision function; the Boss quickly grabbed them and motioned for me to continue watching the carnage the old fashioned way.  I witnessed bodies being pulled apart and arms ripped from torsos.  One WRB crushed an attacker in a bear hug and unwittingly turned the body into a bullet shield as it stuck to the spiked armor.

  The defenders were screaming, some were shouting orders in local dialect and others just making nonsensical fear-driven noise.  The WRBs were literally destroying everyone in their path while moving deeper into the base.  Two of them fell, and looked to be overwhelmed, but then rose again to rejoin the battle shortly after being left for dead.

  While a bit slower than "standard" soldiers, I noticed that WRBs more than make up for this deficiency in raw strength, toughness, and overall brutality in dealing with the enemy in hand-to-hand combat.  I thought the only real chink in the perfect soldier armor was the occasional, random way these freaks would mindlessly ram body parts into their helmet.  This was no longer a mystery to me after several of them had their head protection blown off revealing gnashing teeth.  They were trying to both eat their foes and fight them at the same time.  I could clearly see the face of a helmet-less one as it chased some of the retreating enemy near our inital entry point.  The skin was green and appeared to be rotten, and I could see it chewing on something as it fast-walked after the defenders.

  By now most of the base was visible from my position in the dawn-light.  This was helpful in that I could see most of the enemy not hiding behind cover - and not so helpful in that I could see the bloody, madness that was taking place.  Myself and the Boss continued to be unnoticed by the enemy as they attempted to rally and repel the WRBs.

  Most of the remaining defenders were either shooting, running, or both.  I saw two enemy soldiers put their hands in the air in the hopes of being taken prisoner.  A WRB put its hands the mouth of one of them and ripped the head apart.  This not-so-subtle hint that no prisoners were to be taken caused the other defender to start screaming and sprinting off into the opposite direction.  This scream was cut off by two WRBs who caught him coming around a blind corner; he was turned into a human wishbone and ripped in half.  One of the WRBs tossed it's portion aside in search of new prey, while the other carried around a disembodied leg.

  The slaughter continued.  Eight WRB soldiers were visible at this point (I assumed the other two were just of out sight rather than out of commission), and roughly twenty defenders.  I saw one aim and fire an RPG at a group of 4 WRBs fast-walking towards him.  After the smoke cleared, one was on the ground and the other three were still advancing despite now having large smokey holes that peppered their bodies.

  The WRBs now looked like monstrosities from a B horror flick due to their armor having been mostly shot away and the fact that several were carrying various body parts.  I looked at the Boss.  He had been smiling...until he saw a handful of the enemy attempt to retreat into a wooded area near the North side of the base.  He radioed our squad, and all fleeing defenders were shot before any came anywhere close to the treeline.

  I saw WRBs entering buildings within the base.  Though I couldn't see what was going on inside since it was blocked from view, I was sure the action was as bloody and brutal as what was going on outside where one last agile base defender was blazing away with a large handgun while trying to avoid getting near the unstoppable invaders.  He emptied a clip into a helmet-less WRB soldier, and managed to stagger and eventually drop it for good.  I saw the Boss raise his MP5/40 and aim at the lone defender, who ran out of sight into a building just as he was in crosshairs.

  There was a brief period of quiet.  And then I noticed that the top of the concrete structure in the base housed a large .50 caliber machine gun.  It wouldn't have been visible at the start of the battle, but too little too late...especially as the gun roared to life and began tearing into a WRB and actually beheaded it.  The gun swiveled towards my position and began firing just as I dropped to the ground.  I looked up to see the Boss lying dead with half his face blown off, and then I blacked out.


  I wake up groggy, correctly guessing that one of the explosives my former captain had on him was set off by a .50 caliber round.  As I sat up replaying the days events in my head in fast-forward, 5 WRB monster-soldiers are looking at me like I'm a 5 course meal.  It smells like rotten death.  Their teeth are chattering and black spittle is flying out.  I feel for my radio, which I'm now guessing doubles as a sort of sounding device to identify me as a "friendly" to the inhuman abominations my government has unleased onto the World.  Knowing my MP5/40 had been sent flying in the blast, I reach for my sidearm as they all dive headfirst at my torso.

Oliwerko

Fire and bullets

Once I heard a story that pilots carry guns so they can shoot themselves if their airplane catches on fire. Since the flying school, I’ve been taught that fire is the thing I have to be afraid of the most. I have had friends who were killed by fires, and indeed, most of them did shoot themselves prior to being swallowed by the flames.

Obviously, I was pretty scared of the engine catching on fire, and before each flight, I checked the cowling very thoroughly to ensure the flammable parts are not too exposed; and tightened all the joints in the fuel lines. Prior to takeoff, I also checked that I have a revolver in my pocket. I was not planning on dying slowly in case I catch on fire.

I very well remember the day when I’ve had a quarrel with my wife. I didn’t get any sleep that night and the mission we were supposed to fly was looking quite suicidal. I couldn’t bear in mind even the slightest possibility of dying before I could speak to my wife again. Davis, who was my roommate and friend, knew this, and offered to take my place. I couldn’t let him do it, it was my assignment and my problem.

So we took off in the morning, I was cold and sleepy, but most importantly – distracted by the day before. All of this quite added to what happened an hour later. I’ve lost my formation in the clouds and after a few minutes of looking for them, I got completely lost. I reached down for my map, and suddenly, I could hear the horrible sound of tearing fabric from where my left wing was.

Without thinking, I took a sharp right turn and descended a little. I couldn’t see the attacker, however. But he was there. I nearly hit him head-on a few seconds later. That shook me up a lot, and then I realized the engine is out and more importantly – on fire. And not only the engine, I already felt my feet getting hot. The whole airplane was being swallowed like a matchbox.

I tried to douse the fire by sharply diving, but that only made it worse. “That’s it.” I thought. I reached for my revolver, aimed it at my own head and pressed the trigger. Nothing happened. I pressed 5 more times. It was empty. I had no choice – I threw it away and dived even more. I lost the top wing on my way down, but was able to slow down a bit. I crashed into a lake, God knows where.

I can’t remember more until I woke up in a hospital, with Davis waiting in the room. I broke my legs and some ribs and hit my head a little, but otherwise, I was OK. I was just going to tell him about the empty revolver when he silenced me and said: “I know. I just couldn’t let you do something that stupid. You’re too good a pilot, a friend and a husband for that.”

It was only him whom I trusted. And it was him who was taking out the bullets before each flight, settling them in place immediately after it. And I owe him my life for it.

monkey0506

This is an entry. It is plagiarized:

War, (huh) what is it good for? Absolutely nothing! (Uh-huh, uh-huh)

Anian

Quote from: monkey_05_06 on Mon 08/03/2010 22:28:30
This is an entry. It is plagiarized:

War, (huh) what is it good for? Absolutely nothing! (Uh-huh, uh-huh)
Yeah, did you know that was the original title of "War and peace" - "War, what is it good for?".
I don't want the world, I just want your half

discordance

see that bold text up at the top there? it implies that this competition should be over on March 4th! obviously somebody is not doing their job!

Anyway, let's all start voting now, shall we?

Oddysseus

Some great entries this time (including zombie wars!)

but Calin Leafshade gets my vote. Courage and cowardice in a single tale. Well done, sir.

ddq

War... war never changes. And neither does my vote for Oliwerko.

kconan

  Tough competition...Gotta go with Technocrat

Atelier


monkey0506

I vote for Oliwerko. I did not read any of the entries, mine included, except mine, which does not count.

I did not vote for Calin because I have a deep distaste in making him the winner of things. :=

I did not vote for Technocrat because everyone else was doing it and I wanted to go all non-conformist on you. :P

I voted for Oliwerko after using RANDOM.ORG to generate a random number amongst the other entries. Congratulations Oliwerko, I hope you win. You've got my vote.

discordance

We could all learn a valuable lesson from monkey's scientific approach to votery.

Dualnames

I vote for Monkey in account to all things that are random, or appear random, or excel in randomness.
Worked on Strangeland, Primordia, Hob's Barrow, The Cat Lady, Mage's Initiation, Until I Have You, Downfall, Hunie Pop, and every game in the Wadjet Eye Games catalogue (porting)

Oliwerko

Calin gets my vote. I see a lot of work in this one, it's very vivid, well done.

monkey0506

One more vote for me and we could have a four-way tie! WAR indeed! :=

(Especially considering my so-called "entry" was posted after the deadline. ::))

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