Story segments

[Pro A.]

Here are some pieces from my assorted novels. I have written twenty-six in all and have evolved a great deal from being a shitty fan fiction writer, at least, I hope I have. Here's a piece from my current novel, my colossus, The New Apocalypse Part IV. Just a taste of my style.

Frank Oder knew they were heading straight for the abyss from here on out. They tried to attack the border today. Paulson launched the operation himself. They took cover behind their pillboxes, their sandbags, and whatever else they could find as cover, and they went to work on the PRC defenses on a specific spot. Oder’s team would be leading the operation. Oder had the front lines set up. They were mostly infantry. He did have some artillery teams along with the tanks ready to go, but they wouldn’t be able to decide the battle as well as his ground troops would. Their carbines could cut through the tanks’ armor in almost no time flat, which was becoming a radical difference so far.
They took their positions. Oder was sitting in a building about three hundred yards from the back lines. He was on the ninth floor. He wasn’t worried about being hit by the tank cannons because they wouldn’t be able to reach this high. He folded his arms across his chest. He waited for the first gunshots to go off. He noted that they were being forced to divide up their troops into small groups because the PRC had their forces pretty spread out in this sector.
Compartmentalization. This was a fairly new concept to Oder. He wasn’t sure how it was going to work. Paulson said that he didn’t know how it was going to work, either. That was the beauty of the concept. It was a new way for them to fight. The idea of Compartmentalization had not been done like this since the end of World War II. This was a new way to look at the field. Oder didn’t know what to do. He figured that he would follow the flow of the battlefield and see if he could learn something that way. He put the binoculars back to eye level and he took a puff of his cigarette.
“Let’s hope your border idea works. Once we hit them, we’ll have to close the gap pretty quick. They might have the heads-up with us on that one,” Oder said to Whitson. Whitson nodded. He knew they had the vehicles, but it didn’t bother him. The strike would work if they could get the PRC to think the wrong thing.
Strike team one, the team to the right, made the first move. They marched down the field. The teams on the front lines held their positions and waited for the first move to happen. The men crossed the border. They saw the PRC soldiers waiting for them. Their rifles were held in fire position. So were their weapons.
The guns started to cackle. American and Chinese soldiers started to flop over on the ground. The Americans got the early jump because their carbines went off first. All of their guns came with the feature. The same could not be said for the Chinese. Only one in four had it. The PRC started to back off. The sandbag teams and the pillbox crews started to fire their M60 and M203 machine guns. Four PRC soldiers dropped dead. Another two Americans went down. Three more PRC. One more US. The battle kept going back and forth.
Oder observed everything through his binoculars. So far, so good. It was now time to up the ante. He grabbed his radio. “Strike team two, move.”
Strike team two was to the left. They crossed the border. The sandbag teams started to shoot first. Three PRC soldiers were killed. The advancing team accelerated. Seven more dead for PRC. US lost four in a heartbeat. Grenade launched from an AK carbine. The attack here was more balanced, but the PRC was having trouble aiming their weapons. The Americans were moving around a lot, doing some strafing runs against the enemy. The PRC lost another eighteen men before they started to use their trucks as cover. The PRC fifties exploded into action. Nine more Americans hit. Seven wounded. Two dead. Head shots for the dead. The lead truck was getting all of the fun. The truck’s engine was smashed in. Well-placed grenade. Blew it to fucking nothing. The PRC lost another truck. The US lost another six men to a heavy barrage trying to break through the trucks. Oder watched the action unfold.
He was worried. The men on the sandbags weren’t helping much. Neither were the pillbox teams. He was a little surprised. He hoped that they would do better. Instead, they weren’t helping. They were letting the men die. They couldn’t get through. The Compart attack wasn’t working. It was working against them. The men kept getting in their crosshairs. The fifty shooters were no problem. Once they found their aim, all of them were killed. Their guns smashed into small pieces of metal. The rest was the problem.
Oder told the men to try and spread out the field a little more. He wasn’t sure if anyone heard him. They were too busy trying to survive in the moment. Go figure. Oder looked at Whitson. Looked nervous. Looked sweaty. He asked if there was any way they could reverse the situation.
“Maybe. Too early to tell right now?”
“Why is that?”
“The battle hasn’t progressed enough.”
“We’ve lost nearly sixty men. Is that enough for you?”
“Ask me again a little later on.”
Oder sighed. Whitson wanted to play the waiting game. He told the men to spread the field out again. This time, they seemed to catch on. They were strafing more and more. The M60 machine guns were given open spots. They took them. Engines and windshields were shot down to tiny pieces of limber metal. The M203 guns in the pillboxes were opened a little bit. Two more trucks were destroyed. A tank took heavy damage. A pillbox went in flames. Simultaneous blast. There goes the tank. Engine exploded. Took the rest for the ride to hell.
The third team would come soon. For the time being, Oder wouldn’t push fate. They had it too good right now. Way too good. They were controlling the battle. Controlling it with an iron whip. The PRC didn’t seem to have it figured out.
Original battle slowly escalating. Thirty more PRC dead. Six Americans. Forty wounded on the overall. US going for the head. Just as it should be. Oder turned the binoculars a couple degrees. He saw that they were pushing in hard. Their attack was going very well ob that front. The trucks weren’t very good cover. The carbines kept exposing new holes, new ways to deal the damage to them. It was becoming a rout.

[Michael]

You like alot of small sentances don't you. Your style is ever different from mine, though refreshing...atleast you write alot, because I haven't written anything since my novel was deleted, oh, and my Way to fucking long prolouge for my company.

[Viper]

The United States versus the Peoples Republic of China huh?


Good stuff so far. My only suggestion would be replace some of the pronouns that start many of the sentences in the first three paragraphs by either combining them or starting the sentence with some adjectives or verbs that lead into what 'he' is doing.

Example:

"He was on the ninth floor. He wasn’t worried about being hit by the tank cannons because they wouldn’t be able to reach this high. He folded his arms across his chest. He waited for the first gunshots to go off. He noted that they were being forced to divide up their troops into small groups because the PRC had their forces pretty spread out in this sector."



"Oder was on the ninth floor but wasn't worried about being hit by tank cannons because they wouldn't be able to reach this high. Anticipating action any moment now, he folded his arms waiting for the first gunshots to go off. Noting how spread out the PRC was in this sector, Oder believed they would divide up their troops into small groups."

I'm sure you'll do a lot that stuff during revision but I like the story so far and look forward to picking up my copy from Barnes and Noble someday.

[Pro A.]

Thanks. The first draft, for me, has always been getting the story down and than cleaning it up. As long as the story holds true I'm happy. Grammar can be fixed easily.

[Blaksmoke]

Pretty good, but I'm not really into the whole new-age tech warfare stuff. It's been done too many tiems, in my opinion.

[Pro A.]

My approach is to follow the characters and get their reactions. I use it with the perspective of a fast-paced, jerky handheld camera, kind of like what you see in Oliver Stone films.

[Blaksmoke]

Yeah, the descriptive nature of it was pretty much the only thing that made me keep reading....

No offense. Hur hur.

[Pro A.]

Well, its a start. It is clear that this genre is not your cup of tea, but if I kept you reading I did something right.

[Dorbin]

Interesting premise...down with the Chinese! lol But nah, good work - your style is certainly different, but hey, go with what you feel is right.

26 novels though? Good god, son! You're only 18! Guess how many I've written?

0! :) I'm saving it up and just being as lazy as possible now until someday when I feel motivated...and when that time comes I'll finally reveal to others, as well as myself, what I'm really capable of.

Whatever that is...

[Pro A.]

Yes, I know, I'm a psychotic. I freely admit it. My style plays to the idea that I like to tell it like it is and not waste time with literary aspects unless they can bolster what I have in mind.

[Jon]

I'm going to read this later. Don't got the time right now.

Anyways. You seem like a mirror image of myself Pro A.

I have started so many books but I never finish them. I have two promising works underway right now and I hope I can someday get one published. It is my life's goal. At least you can post your work. I can't. I'm too supersticious. If I let anybody see my work before it is completed it jinxes it and I end up canning the story. I guess I feel like it becomes tainted by other people's eyes. That is why these two stories of mine are heavily guarded from the watchful eyes of Dr. TJ Eckleburg.... Ok, that was a total literature geek joke. I'm doomed. Somebody save me.

[Pro A.]

If you ever finish a work, have someone else read it because getting the outside insight is valuable to seeing what your potential audience thinks of it. Never hurts. They might help the book in a couple of ways.

[Jon]

Oh ya. I fully understand the importance of a second, third, fourth and so on opinion.... but in my eyes, those opinions are only valuable when I am completely finished with the book. In time my friend, in time.

[Pro A.]

Of course. I usually ask for them after draft one. I take six weeks off that particular project and let it mellow.

[Jon]

Ya... but the thing about me is that it takes me forever to finish a story.

[Pro A.]

Oh. Thats the antithesis of me. I've spent less than 28 days on five novels for the first draft.

[Jon]

Holy hell man. It takes me months/years. I'm one of those struggling artist type of people.

[Pro A.]

Which would make me Nora Roberts, in a sense.
A slightly different style from my current project, The Last Gambit.

Chapter 2
The North Africa station of SCAR was an enigma. That was being kind, too. They knew virtually nothing about their operations, but there were many names on the docket. The top men of the network were unknown, but he expected that. He saw a report from Katie Jackson, who was the resident agent in Casablanca. About three months, she had been asked to take a look at SCAR’s activities from Morocco to Egypt. The report to Reyes was dated 7/23/2004. Security was level orange. After today, it would be red. He was lucky to get access to a real confidential file. Any other situation he would have been laughed at to the point of humiliation.

Subject: SCAR
To: Andrew Reyes, DDO
From: Katie Jackson

After six weeks of exhaustive searching, my end report is that SCAR is a ghost in this region. I have looked long and hard at every possible variable and I am not really any closer to the center of their operations than I was six weeks ago. The leader of this region has made sure to take every precaution. I have talked to informants with the Casablanca, Marrakech, Tripoli, and Cairo police. They gave me three prominent names that might be helpful to you. I don’t know what you will do with this information, but I recommend adding this to the SCAR databank. It has been verified by several sources.
1. Sabyed Klawali. He is a former Afghan who made his way to Marrakech shortly after the 9/11 attacks. He is believed to be an expert with weapons and explosives. He is known for his deep beliefs in Islam. It has been said that he was an informant for the Taliban and an arms representative for Al-Qaida. The reasons for him leaving after 9/11 were unknown. My friend in the Marrakech police has said that he knows Klawali. He has seen the man deal with white men and that one of the discussions revolved around SCAR. The proof may be sketchy, but having prior connection to SCAR seems to be good enough, especially if white men are buying arms from him in the middle of North Africa. Something doesn’t quite make sense there.
2. Sien Palko. Cairo helped me out with this one, and so did the Mossad, but that was just to provide some additional background information. Palko was a former Egyptian intelligence operative that was well-known for fighting against black people in Sudan when they tried to cross the border because of the Darfur genocides going on in the 1990’s, but there are reports that he had dealing with Osama Bin Laden and several other senior members of the Al-Qaida intelligence network. It is unknown if he knows Sabyed Klawali. His location as of right now is unknown. He retired from the Egyptian Intel about four years ago. There are rumors that he still lives in Cairo, but my searches proved to be fruitless. As far as psychiatric records go, there is a file that shows him to be a manic depressive. The psych records went off the wall. There was one person in the Egyptian Intel that was willing to talk. He said that he had just joined an international group that was a band of revolutionaries. Date: 6/12/2004. The signs seem to point to SCAR, but there is, again, no verification.
3. Bakal Jakar. He was an interesting name that came up while I was in Libya. He is the only one that I could positively ID with a photograph. The file says he is from Somalia. He has no record with any terrorist groups previously. He fought during the U.S. attack that went badly on October 3, 1993. He claims that he killed three of the 19 Americans that were shot dead. Probably just a bluff. I got a look at his bank records. Over 600,000 and he doesn’t seem to have any investments or interests with banks or the stock trade. Some of his friends think, according to my contact in the police, that he could have illegitimate connections, but no one is really willing to divulge too much, almost as if they are afraid of him. His fanaticism in Islam and his hatred of the United States would make him an ideal SCAR member, but he could just as well be a member of Al-Qaida or any other fundamentalist group.
SCAR operations in North Africa almost seem to be nonexistent. If they serve any purpose, they could be a courier line to other networks, especially when you consider they can move arms through the Mediterranean Sea to Northern Europe with relative ease makes it a very attractive option. The head of this region is unknown. There are no clues leading to that. The pieces seem to be on the outside, which is fairly typical. If I learn more, I will report to you ASAP.
End of message.

Tobin was glad that he had a couple of names that he could work with. The only target that seemed to have a connection that he could pursue was Klawali. It would be wonderful to be able to meet with the man again. He wondered if Klawali would remember him. There was a good chance of that. They had talked for more than an hour and his physical appearance hadn’t changed all that much. Klawali’s probably hadn’t, either. The Muslims were very conscientious about that because of their religious beliefs and all of that.
Klawali would be a tough one to get his hands on, but he believed that there was a chance that he could get close to him with a little bit of help. The rest would be up to him. He figured that he would be up to the challenge. They would not get in his way. SCAR would not be able to see this one coming.

[Pro A.]

A small dose of action from Gambit.

Tobin and his men took cover on the other side of the truck, away from the SCAR soldiers. Tobin moved to the rear of the truck and he got down on his stomach. Three men were near the middle of the truck. Their AK47 rifles were pointed towards the men’s ankles. They weren’t holding their guns very steady. That was a cause for concern. He didn’t want the truck to get blown up because of some wrecked nerves. He aimed his Walther and he looked for an open target. He closed his left eye and he fired one round at the front SCAR soldier. He was one of Klawali’s people because of the uniform. He missed. The round was a bit to the right. He adjusted his aim and he fired again. This time, he hit him through the chest. His sternum exploded wide open and there was blood and sinew flying everywhere.
He saw the SCAR soldiers starting to unload their AK rifles at the truck, shattering the glass and piercing the metal. The truck was almost useless after the first wave of rounds. Tobin shot dead one of the SCAR soldiers with one round through the stomach and one through his lung. Tobin moved away when a few bursts were pointed towards him. He waited for a moment to let the action calm and then he started to shoot again.

Katie Jackson and her crew had passed through two warehouses. Most of Klawali’s men were moving away from the sides and towards the front and center. They had no other reason to expect that there would be intruders on the sides. Jackson was in the middle of the group. The Lieutenant running the police group was at point. Jackson watched as they came to an opening that was in between two of the warehouses. They were close to the center on the West side of the compound. Katie looked around. She was a little flustered with everything that was going on. She wasn’t used to this level of fighting and it was leaving her emotions a bit out of the loop.
She gripped her automatic tight. She didn’t want to let it go. A part of her was saying that if she lowered the gun she would end up getting killed. She wasn’t willing to dismiss it, either. She was carrying a Glock17 automatic.
The Lieutenant saw a guard running in their direction. He was getting out from the heavy action. The Lieutenant shot him twice in the head with his AK74 rifle. His head disappeared in a cloud. Jackson felt sick looking at her first casualty from a little more than forty feet away.

Mamar Leabna and his men were having no problems going through the warehouses. They had encountered three guards watching the perimeter and they sliced their throats open every single time. Leabna started to move the men towards the center of the action, which was near the trucks. Ground zero. Leabna was a little concerned that his men wouldn’t be able to fight against the SCAR troops, but they had come this far. Leabna saw two men coming up from the warehouse to the North. Both were carrying MP5 machine guns. They shot down two of his men. Leabna aimed his .45 automatic and he shot the first guard through the medulla. The second guard was hit by two men with their AN94 rifles. He fell down the stairs and hit the concrete with a thud that sliced his head open through the scalp.
They started to run towards the middle of the battlefield, where they saw most of the SCAR soldiers start to converge on one spot. They were aiming for the truck.

Tobin fired two more rounds from his Walther. The bullets hit a SCAR soldier as he was strafing. That was the fifth casualty so far, but more SCAR troops were coming. Tobin watched as another militia soldier took a hit through the stomach. He was trying to be too much and he tried to come out and strafe. He missed the mark and he got hit four times for it. He wished that some people would stop trying to be showboats and just do their job.
Some of the SCAR men were starting to come closer, but it was wary. They seemed to have a pretty good idea where everyone was. Tobin shot another one through the throat. Two more men started shooting at his little corner. The wheels were punctured and the bullets started to go through the metal.
Additional gunfire started to go off. Tobin saw two of the men fall to the ground. They looked like they had been hit from behind because of the way their bodies had been thrown. Another pair went down and then the SCAR soldiers started to catch on. They turned and saw two teams aiming automatic rifles for them. They were out manned and outgunned, and yet they continued to fight like there was no stopping them. Tobin and his men started to come out of hiding and they killed several of the men right away. Their boxed position forced them into a no-win situation. Six SCAR soldiers ran towards the trucks and the loading docks.

“Where did they come from?” Klawali said.
Palko did not answer. He expected the first wave of attacks to fail. This was just to break them down a little bit. The next wave of attacks would be the ones that would take them down a couple of notches. His best men would be ready for them. Unlike Klawali’s men, he believed that his men were superior killers and would be able to keep their emotions out of what was supposed to be done.
“Where did they…”
Palko cut him off. “Shut up. I heard you the first time. I don’t know. That is not my concern right now. I want to get out of here alive. That is my concern right now.”
Klawali did not reply. Palko grabbed his radio and he said, “Stand by. They’ll be coming in soon.”
Palko did not feel the fear. He only felt anger coursing through his system. It dominated his every thought and movement right now.

[Pro A.]

Back to Apocalypse Part IV now that Gambit is written and sitting around to mellow.

The phone started to beep. Markson fumbled around, looking for the phone. The beep was impairing his sight a little bit, but he wasn’t blurred yet. It took a couple of minutes but he eventually found it. It was on the dashboard of the truck. He wasn’t sure how it got there. He sighed and he answered it. “Markson.”
“Yeah, it’s Michael.”
“Which one?”
“Orsay,” he said.
“Oh, right. What’s up?” he said.
“I was wondering if I could use your help in something.”
“What, exactly?”
“You are still working on rebuilding the tank base that you seized control of, right?”
Markson was starting to see where this was going. “Yes, go on,” he said.
“I need more supplies and I need jets. I was wondering if you could provide some help there.”
“Haven’t you talked to Spikes lately?”
“Yeah, I talked to him.”
“And?”
“He almost laughed at me. I think he might have if the situation weren’t so dire. He said that they were down to virtually nothing in extra resources and that I would have to fight what with I had. That’s how the PRC was doing it and they seemed to be doing okay,” he said.
“Verbatim, what you just said?”
“Not exactly, but the jist of it is there.”
Markson grunted. “I can start production on jet fighters, sure, but it might take a while. Most of the factories were seriously damaged in the attacks. It might take me at least a week to get through all of the rubble in of itself,” he said.
“How long to get a couple of jets in working condition?”
“Depends on how well our engineers do,” he said.
“Give me a timetable.”
Markson did some numbers in his head. “At the minimum, twenty days, and that is being very generous considering what we have to deal with,” he said.
“Max?”
“Six weeks. My men will work double time to get what you need. What do we get in return for this reciprocation?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about that a lot. I am desperate to get something that can fly because it would be a lot easier to cripple their air capabilities in a pre-emptive strike,” he said.
“Yes, it would, but what are the odds if you went in right now and fought them?”
“Not good. We would have to destroy the jet fighters right away. That would be close to impossible considering what we have to deal with. Even a stealth operation is extremely difficult because the jets are in the middle of the airfield. I would be asking my men, in essence, to go through all of that and then sabotage the jets. It’s a suicide mission, and I will not do it. I won’t,” he said.
Markson nodded. “Well, we’ll do what we can, but I can’t guarantee that everything will go smoothly.”
“Fine. Maybe in the meantime I can pawn off more soldiers from Spikes.”
“How is Benson doing?”
“About as well we could hope,” he said. “He says that he can be at the target in ten days. The new influx of troops seems to have bolstered his confidence a little bit.”
“When in doubt, this is what you do, uh?”
“Seems to be the best method,” Orsay said.
“Remind me to use that the next time I need to feel better about myself. What’s the word on the rest of the world? I haven’t been keeping up.”
“Your friend Oder and his bullshit compart strategy has finally hit the wall, or it looks that way. He and Colonel Paulson can’t get deep past the border.”
“Still early yet. I heard a rumor that we had started a major campaign against Macao.”
“That’s no rumor any longer. That is a fact,” he said.
“No kidding,” Markson said. “When?”
“Yesterday, I think. Maybe the day before yesterday.”
“Whatever. Well, that is interesting news. When do you think they will be in Hong Kong?”
“Before the end of the month. I guess Kowloon is gonna be the tough one,” he said.
“Kowloon? Why is that?”
“Beats the shit out of me, man. I don’t follow the action in South China very closely. It amazes me why we didn’t go for that sector when we had the chance.”
Markson didn’t know either. He was willing to bet that Spikes did know. He would mean to ask him the next time he discussed what was going on with him.
“North China? They reached Hielongchang?”
“Yes, I suppose they have.”
“You keep track of that sector?”
“From time to time. I know Priot pretty well, and I know he won’t let things get out of hand. He has that mentality to keep order and stability. It was how his life was fashioned. His life got thrown upside down with the war and now he needs to find that order somewhere. This is a good start,” he said.
He found it tough to argue with that.
“I’ll, uh, get started on the jet fighters.”
“I appreciate it,” Orsay said.
Markson called in Scaldar and Reid to tell them what was going on.

[bobo_ess]

"it's called hot chocolate"

Heir to the empire

i laughed when I read that part

[Pro A.]

Yes, interesting. What say you about the writing?

[bobo_ess]

I dunno, that's alot of reading on a comp.

[Pro A.]

Now you know how I feel when I go back and edit this thing.

[Pro A.]

A neat little action sequence.

Paulson told the shooters in his truck to try and aim for the wheels if they could. He saw Devlin about eighty meters NE. He was circling around, firing his fifty like he was some sort of wild animal. He fired a quick burst at a truck that had already been knocked out of commission. The bullets pierced the hood and then the engine. The truck exploded a second later, killing the few survivors that were inside.
Paulson swung the machine gun towards the target and he fired a couple of quick bursts that missed the target by quite a bit. Devlin leaned his body out of the way to avoid the machine gun fire. He turned and shot back at Paulson. The rounds were off, but the range was pretty good. Paulson fired. He missed. Back and forth they went. Devlin pulled out an Uzi from a holster and he started to shoot both weapons at once, trying to get Paulson to back down. Aiming two guns wasn’t as effective as he thought it would have been. Scott fired two rounds that hit the machine gun, but they didn’t go through the metal. Paulson cursed under his breath and he kept firing, striking the machine gun twice more. A fifth bullet hit Devlin’s body armor, but it was absorbed by the Teflon. Paulson knew that he would be wearing body armor. It was a given that Li would send his best spy out here with protection.
He never once stopped to think why Devlin would be out here. It never once struck his mind. If it had, his COA might have changed just a little bit.
He told the driver to make a long swing around. The driver nodded and he started to head back towards the safe zone. Paulson took out his radio and he told all of his attack teams, led by the Recon unit, to go in and attack all PRC forces. He turned the radio off and he started to continue the hunt for Devlin, who seemed to be heading back towards the PRC base. Waiting… waiting… no, he was coming back and he still was carrying two guns with him.
Devlin was the first to act. He fired a quick burst from his Uzi that got Paulson in the side, but the flak took the hits. He turned and fired back at Devlin, but he only hit the truck. He cursed again and he started to shoot as the truck moved more and more away.
He knew Devlin was a good soldier, but he had never anticipated that he would be this good. General Li and his boys had done their homework on him and had trained him to not only be a superb spy but also a brilliant field leader. Paulson realized for the first time that he was meeting his equal, his opposite number, on the battlefield. The thought was scary and very wonderful at the same time. Finally, a chance to meet someone that will be a worthy challenge, he thought. Next thought: I could die.
Paulson saw him shooting again. His aim was lower. On instinct, Paulson jumped in the air and he fired back at Devlin. Three rounds hit the metal that had been where his right foot was. A clever trick. Paulson had to give him that. His rounds didn’t come close to hitting Devlin. He pulled out his Glock and he decided that he could play the same game that Devlin had decided he was going to play with him.
The two warriors made their second pass. Paulson fired two rounds at Devlin from twenty meters away. He missed, but he got Devlin a little confused by the shift in tactics. He was willing to bet that Devlin was wondering why he had chosen to use a pistol instead of a machine gun. Paulson knew the answer. With a pistol, he was a better shot than anyone in his unit. The next pass was about to begin. Along the way, Paulson shot dead a wounded PRC soldier through the throat with his pistol and pointed his gun towards Devlin.
A quick thought flashed his mind. He didn’t know how it happened, but it did. He swung the fifty towards the windshield and he unloaded a quick burst at the driver, hitting him twice through the right shoulder. At the same time, he fired three rounds that nearly hit Devlin. The only thing that saved Devlin was how fast he dropped to the ground. He fired a quick burst that damaged one of the wheels on Paulson’s truck.
Paulson could feel the truck vibrating and rocking from side to side. He aimed his weapon at Devlin, but Devlin’s truck was heading back towards their safe zone. He told the driver to head back to their safe zone. The driver said he would get on it. He turned the wheel and started to make their way back. Paulson cursed at himself. He knew that he was better than that, that he could give a better effort than this one.
He thought about it a little more. No, he had given his full effort. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that Devlin was every bit as good as he was. Bruce had been able to match him step for step, blow for blow with no problems. It was amazing. He had never met an adversary as challenging as him. Paulson knew that he would have to make an even better effort the next time because he would probably wind up on a slab if he didn’t win.

[Pro A.]

A continuation of my dark, unredeeming side in my 29th book, Modern Russian Roulette.

September 3, 1993; Mogadishu, Somalia
The Black Hawk UH60 unloaded its missile and it destroyed the truck that was standing in the middle of the road, protecting the building behind it. The skinnies inside the truck were killed and the ones that were unlucky enough to be near it were also killed by the impact. The helicopter made a left turn, moving away at about twenty degrees. Two more Black Hawks fired their missiles at the defenses that were protecting the compound. Two more trucks were destroyed and a third was destroyed by a missile that missed the mark. It did destroy most of the front, but the rest was still standing. The skinny standing on the .50 machine gun on the back was still firing, trying to shoot down the ominous blackbirds. They weren’t even close, but they did separate the two choppers that were trying to fly over their fortress.
The helicopters flying in the back had the first two waves of infantry ready to go. Master Sgt. Scott Paulson was running the left helicopter. He looked out over the edge and he saw that the skinnies were starting to come in from all directions. He figured this would be the case. The intel had said there were a lot of roaming troops throughout the fortress. They were coming together to make the so-called unified front.
“Land the chopper outside the perimeter. We’ll do this the hard way,” he said to the pilot, a 2nd Lieutenant.
“Copy. Moving outside.”
His XO, Gunnery Sergeant Daniel Roscoe, tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir, are you sure that’s a good idea? It’s an uphill battle if we do that.”
Paulson turned and said, “Better than having our choppers destroyed by RPG fire while we rope down.”
Roscoe nodded and he started to load his weapon, an M16A2. Paulson eyed the weapon and all he could do was snicker that soldiers were stupid enough to use that piece of shit. He had made it a point when he was in Desert Storm that he would never fire that gun. He chose the AK74 rifle, the smaller brother of the AK47. He found it to be a more powerful and durable weapon. He released the safety and he pointed the rifle over the outside edge of the open door. His sniper was right below him. He was using a modified M16 with a sniper rifle scope attached.
Same thing; just made to look more attractive.
The chopper landed well outside the perimeter and Paulson took his men outside. He was the first to get off. Roscoe was the next one. He got down on one knee and he pointed the rifle forward. He looked out and saw about a half-dozen skinnies standing near a truck. They spotted the chopper and they started to shoot at it.
Paulson was quick to react. “Keep your fucking heads down,” he said.
When everyone was off except the chain shooters, the chopper lifted off the ground. Paulson tapped his radio. “This is Roving Bird. We are on the ground. Ray, what is your status?”
Ray Matheson, the other Master Sergeant in the operation, was still behind the perimeter in his Apache helicopter. He said, “We’re going to land on the other side of the perimeter. There should be better cover for us to use.”
“Copy. Take it if you have it and tell the attack choppers to start pounding the fortress.”
“Will do, command,” Matheson said. Even though they were the same rank, Paulson beat him in seniority by about four months. It was something that Paulson often made a point of emphasizing, even when it was unnecessary, and that was quite often.
The chopper flew over Paulson’s head and he focused on what was ahead. The skinnies were using an old wall that had crumbled down to almost nothing for cover. He aimed his AK74 and he fired two bursts. He killed one. Roscoe took his men towards a truck that was on fire. Two Marines were hit in the chest, but the body armor kept them protected. Danny pulled out a grenade and he tossed it towards the wall. The explosion knocked out a large section of the wall. They started to run from their ruined cover. Roscoe and his men took out four and one of Paulson’s Corporals, a young green soldier named Jack Lusher, shot him down with two rounds from his M16.
“Jesus,” Lusher said. “I-I…”
Paulson grabbed him by the arm and shook him. “No time to worry about that. Save your remorse for later.”
They passed the destroyed wall and they went down the dirt road, their feet hitting the coarse and bumpy concrete. They got to the gate and they were stopped by more than a dozen skinnies protecting it. Paulson and his men set up a line behind a few abandoned trucks and they started to shoot at them. Three went down and three more ran off after taking minor wounds. Paulson finished his AK clip and he tossed it to the ground.
“Cover fire.”
Lusher and three others stepped it up. They changed the setting to their gun to burst setting and they started firing in unison. Two more skinnies dropped dead and a third had his jaw shot clean off. He screamed and fell to the ground, clutching his mouth. The last of the skinnies were killed and the ones lying on the ground wounded were shot down by Paulson. They made their way down to one of their small arms caches. Paulson placed a small C4 explosive on one of the fuel dumps and he set the timer to twenty seconds. He moved his men away and he started to eye the fortress, which had six shooters on the roof and one in the tower on the North end. The tower shooter, carrying an M249 SAW, was paying very little attention to them. He was busy shooting at the helicopters as they passed by.
Paulson pointed his AK at the roof guards and fired a long burst that finished his second clip. Two were killed, but the others were unscathed. That was the one problem with the AK. It was a little too inaccurate. He looked at his watch. Two seconds. He covered his ears and dropped down behind the truck. The explosion knocked out the entire cache and it destroyed three more trucks in the process.
Some of the soldiers were complaining that their ears were ringing. Paulson pulled them down and he put in his third clip. He killed two more and then he was getting too much fire from the ground floor. He looked around. His soldiers were busy reloading. No time for them right now. He cursed under his breath and he started firing quick bursts whenever he could, but the eight or so skinnies standing at the front door were making it tougher for him to get a clean shot off.