Creative Writing Thread

[Symphony D.]

Eh, they're good at bombing things.

Not really. We continue to provide most air cover in the theater, just as we did in Kosovo. NATO is good at sitting around on its ass and complaining.

Seems like Red Storm Rising takes the theoretical NATO-Warsaw conflict as far as it can logically go before degenerating into nuclear warfare on a widespread strategic scale.

And Tom Clancy occasionally has rather strange and idiotic ideas like America and Russian deciding to blow up all their nuclear weapons for the hell of it (but no other nuclear power does), Japanese businessmen who are still bitter about WWII somehow getting the extremely pacifist Japanese people to go along with another massive Pacific war, and the entire world deciding that China is a menace that must be stopped when it forces a single woman to have an abortion, as opposed to, you know, all the many other tens and hundreds of thousands of human rights abuses its committed.

He's usually a good writer for details. He's not a very good writer for events. But several of his Red Storm Rising events are stupid. Just from the Wikipedia page:

NATO aircraft manage to reduce Soviet ground superiority early in the war by using first-generation stealth planes and tactical fighter-bombers to eliminate five Soviet Mainstay AWACS aircraft, several bridges, bridge equipment and crews, and Soviet tactical fighters, but this advantage is short lived.

The only stealth plane operational at the time was the F-117, which has no air-to-air capability. It was also still under-wraps in the United States, not even having yet been deployed in Operation Just Cause, let alone the Gulf War. The US was also the only nation working on stealth aircraft at this time? Where do these mysterious NATO stealth planes come from?

And yes, NATO had tactical fighter-bombers like the Tornado and the F-111. The Soviets had massive anti-aircraft SAM and AAA complexes and large numbers of mobile units. How did NATO take these out without sustaining tremendous losses? Those same phantom stealth aircraft?

Lets look at the comments section:

Clancy also incorporated the rumored F-19 stealth fighter into his plot. The existence of stealth aircraft was an open secret among aerospace watchers in the 1980s, but was highly classified at the time the novel was written. In actuality, computers of the day were not powerful enough to design the F-19’s curved surfaces, resulting instead in the simpler and more angular F-117 Nighthawk.

So this idea of NATO magically slowing down the Soviets, in a real scenario, is more or less crap. Some of the other details he provides are, at least if presented accurately in the page, plausible, though conditionally. The A-10 would likely be very useful, but there was only a single Wing of A-10s in Europe, based out of the UK, and rotating Squadrons through four German bases. Hardly sufficient numbers to hold the line. NATO doesn't have Salarians, last I checked.

The "immediate" capture of Iceland by the Soviets is also basically unnecessary to stop American supplies at the outset as it would take time to redeploy forces and arrange convoys of material. Which, again, is exactly my point: NATO was there to slow the Soviets down so American forces could arrive. NATO did have generally superior individual equipment to the Soviets, but they were massively outnumbered, and had the additional detriment of having a fractured military command under multiple nations, most of whom spent peacetime bickering with one another.

Which circles us back around to the main point: they'd be hard-pressed to resist a Soviet invasion, meaning it'd be basically impossible for them to launch one.

 

[flyingchicken]

What it is not for:

*Realism and hard criticisms of facts (though stylistic suggestions, and criticism of how people write are welcomed)[/CENTER]

A sense of realism is, by mandate of the OP, not appreciated here. Back to the rest of the NES thread with ye!

 

[Symphony D.]

A sense of realism is, by mandate of the OP, not appreciated here. Back to the rest of the NES thread with ye!

I counter with another bit of the opening:

*Speculation on things that would have too great an effect on real history to be realistically evaluated - such as alternative geography and environments.

There's a difference between non-realism and outright stupidity. You should at least set out what assumptions you're making there, I think. You don't just start at point B and say "Blah blah blah, NATO invades, blah blah." You start at point A and go to B: "NATO doesn't suck, and has stealth planes, and THEN invades!"

Furthermore, I was pointing out that Tom Clancy is full well capable of being an idiot, and he isn't here posting stories, so I reserve the right to do that.

 

[carmen510]

I never said NATO was part of it.

 

[Symphony D.]

Western Europe mobilized forces to tear it down.

De facto NATO given their real militaries were totally integrated into it, yo.

 

[The Strategos]

Eternal Night​

I lay there awake, my body mocking the invitation to sleep of the soft bed underneath me. In the darkened room, I was sitting up, not particularly looking at anything, my left hand running across the thick comforter almost as if it were petting a cat. In the bright light of morning, my sheets were a vivid red, lipstick red my wife used to call them as she pouted her lips, inviting me to ascertain the truth of her comparison myself. Inevitably I would decide that the best organ to examine the color was not my eyes but my own lips, and they would need a very close-up view. That, however, was in the past. Now, in the darkness, the sheets seemed to take on a more sinister color. Once when I was younger, I had gone to my grandparent’s farm. As I was playing out in their yard, I came to a spot, near one of their old, dilapidated barns, where the ground was covered in white feathers which swirled around in the wind, almost as if they were trying to remember how to fly. As I chased those fleeing feathers with a child’s exuberance, I noticed that the green of the grass was occasionally marred by tiny freckles of crimson, almost as if the ground was trying to mirror my own freckled face. We had chicken that night for supper, though of course it was only many years later that I linked those two events together. As I rack my brain to think of how I would describe the color of the sheets as they appeared to me in the darkened night, my mind continually goes back to that story, and I can think of no other suitable shade to compare it to, except for that brilliant red which stained the ground that day.

Eventually, as I lay unmoving in my bed, my unfocused eyes became memorized by the pattern of the wall to the left of me. Despite the fact that I had the curtains closed, a little light from the streetlights outside managed to intrude, casting three vertical stripes of light against that wall, seemingly creating prison bars of light. It was almost as if the wall was mocking me. “More alone than if you were in solitary confinement, more trapped than if you were behind bars,” it gently whispered. How could I argue against it? How I wish that my aloneness was caused simply because of some crime I had committed, for then, I would have hope of serving my time and being released. Here, though, there is no hope for a future release, no hope for a future reunion. Instead, all I have to keep me company is my pain.

Pain, such a strange, short little word, so inoffensive, so innocent. A mask that people throw up in order to hide the searing feeling that burns a hole in your insides. A word that pounds you in the middle of the night, like crashing waves, overwhelming you in an overload of emotion that rips out of your throat the sobbing, inhuman wail of a banshee. And you would think that this primeval scream would be some kind of release, it would be like when the tension builds up in a twisted cord until it is so great that it finally snaps. But no, instead it is like a frightening nightmare where every new minute brings horrors worse than the last. Where your fear is so overwhelming that you think you must wake up from it. Yet you never do, and the fear and the dread keeping building up until you wish that at least you could escape through insanity, but even that merciful road is barred to you.

There was a time when I could not speak so authoritatively, or personally, about pain. Fifteen years ago, I met the most marvelous woman in the world. It was during my freshman year at college, and I had gone to one of those freshman mixers, one of those events that colleges sponsor in order to “build community.” Of course, with hundreds of unsupervised, horny teenagers stalking about, most of the time there was only one kind of “community” that got built. I was standing in the corner, nursing a can of Coke, wondering what masochistic demon had prompted me to come. Then she came. Even after all this time, I can only think of one line when I think of that moment. “She walks in beauty, like the night…” To this day I still don’t know why she approached me. Whenever I would ask her, she would only laughingly say “Because you were cute” and kiss me on the nose. As for myself, I can only relate that she needed no Siren’s song to enchant me, no dove feathered arrow needed to hit me.

We got married the year we both graduated from college, in a small ceremony that only are closest friends and family attended. I got a job at a bank, she got a job teaching children with learning disabilities. We were happy, we were in love. We made enough money to be satisfied, though it was not money which satisfied us the most. Like all couples we would occasionally fight, or have disagreements, however, there was really only one major disagreement that we couldn’t work out. Four years after we were married, my wife started attending a church. I, of course, refused to ever go with her, though I did finally relent into making a compromise. Every Friday night, we would go with other members of her church to feed the homeless in the inner city. She, the kind-hearted person that she was, loved it, and I, well I did it because it made her happy.

We were coming home one Friday night, having just fed the homeless. It was night out, but it was not dark, the streetlights and building lights giving plenty of light to see with. We had stopped at a stoplight, seemingly the only car on the road. The light turned green and I picked my foot of the break and gently stepped on the accelerator. We were about halfway across the intersection, my wife saying chattering merrily about Joy, one of the homeless women that she had befriended. “Joy says she has a job interview tomorrow.” Those were the last words I ever heard my wife speak.

We were hit by a drunk driver. Passenger side of course. After looking at our car, the cops said I was lucky to be alive. Lucky? Ha! As if I could be called lucky when I left my wife there. The driver, of course, was fine, not even a scratch. And yet my beautiful, darling wife was dead.

Tell me God, did you intentionally make this happen at night? Did you block out the sun so that you would not have to see my wife die? Did you hum a merry little tune to yourself so that you would not have to hear my cry of pain and sorrow? Be a man God, answer me! My wife always said that you loved her, and that you loved me too! Good job God! Way to show your love. Way to sit on your almighty throne in indifference while the ones who love you are killed by those who don’t give a damn about you. Justice? Ha! Where is the justice in this? Man is more just than you. At least they put that liquored up bum away in jail, what did you do? Or perhaps you enjoyed this, you cosmic sadist. Maybe your sniveling apologists who surrounded me like a cloud of mosquitoes at the funeral have you wrong. Perhaps you enjoy our suffering. After all, according to them you could have stopped it. Since you didn’t, it must mean that you didn’t want to. Tell me God, does my wife’s death put a little smile in your mouth. Does my pain, my suffering delight you? Is my hate filled rant an aphrodisiac to you? Do you often replay that moment in your head, making it go in slow motion, so that you can savor every moment? Do you often look down on me, laying naked on my bed, empty liquor bottles strewn about, and smile? Well God, what do you have to say for yourself?

There is, of course, silence. There is always silence. I open a drawer on the stand next to my bed. In it are two things, my wife’s Bible and a revolver that I kept in case of burglars. My hand paused over the Bible. My wife used to love reading it, and I used to tease her greatly for it. I picked it up, my hands running over the cover, made smooth by the gentle rubbing it received from constant use. Then I snarled, throwing it and its cold comfort away. It hit the wall with a dull thud, falling to the ground. I picked up the revolver and placed it against my mouth, kissing it like I once kissed my sweet wife. If God would not come to me to answer my questions, I will go to him. This time God, you will answer me.

 

[foolish icarus]

I hope there is a part 2.

 

[das]

Good job God!

Nice story. Good Job indeed.

I'm afraid to write anything for this thread because, while I do have a fair amount of basic or even somewhat developed fiction ideas in my head, I rather intend to use most of them for NESes if the situation allows (it does often enough for this to be a viable plan).

 

[Nylan]

If PureNES never gets back on it's feet, I have a lot of ideas. There's a lot I want to do with that world, but I 'spose that's all provided NK and Thlay are okay with that sort of creative license.

 

[Symphony D.]

The following came to me in a dream (I was in the middle of it). I don't know that it'd be much good for a NES, but I figured it'd be good for a roleplaying, table-top, or videogame, or even a novel, so I thought I'd share. It's a take on the idea of "zombies" and biological monstrosities that is more interesting than the norm, I think:

Infected - Nanotechnologically infected, out of control. Subject to massive mutations. Require biological resources to continue regenerating. Only capable of being killed by being completely destroyed, or by EMP or massive electric shock. May be transformed into Superiors. May spread infection by bodily fluids or tissues.

Superiors - Nanotechnologically enhanced, beyond human. Sufficient applied voltage will reboot nanomachines and eliminate flaw that produces Infected, resulting in extremely powerful super soldier with various abilities. Require electric power sources to continue regenerating and use of abilities. Only capable of being being killed by being completely destroyed or by EMP / massive electric shock during period of intense damage. EMP or massive electric shock during normal operation will deactivate nanomachines and yield normal human. May spread infection by bodily fluids or tissues (reboot must happen in carrier to accommodate for shifts in genome--non-transmissible).

Reds - Baseline humans. No special abilities. Main ideology: exterminate Infected and Superiors for the good of humanity. Taking chances will only ensure the extinction of the species.

Blues - Baseline humans. No special abilities. Main ideology: utilize ever-growing number of Superiors to seek out and convert Infected to Superiors in exponential numbers. Once the plague is contained, revert Superiors to humans. Humanity cannot bear the guilty conscience of having killed so many when they could be saved, nor can it survive their loss.

Grays - Baseline humans. No special abilities. No ideology.

The origin of the infection can be whatever: loose unfinished government experiment, alien uplift attempt gone wrong, so on.

What I think is really interesting about the idea is that, unlike your typical zombie fare where "Oops, you got bitten, you're a zombie, sucks to be you" instead you have the option to come back around--but you're still dangerous, just in a different way. But you can go back fully from there. And around the circle again and again, possibly. There's also nothing stopping all parties from theoretically fighting each other (including themselves) over differing agendas, so there's not just one massive Infected horde out to get the survivors or anything. In the universe this happened in, assuming it was just on Earth, probably Eurasia and Africa would've mostly fallen to the Infected and Oceania and the Americas would be the main scenes of action.

Is this really just a terrible idea and I'm deluded? I was randomly knighted by Queen Elizabeth II while having an argument about finances with some people (she happened to wander by) in the dream prior, so it's quite possible...

 

[das]

What I think is really interesting about the idea is that, unlike your typical zombie fare where "Oops, you got bitten, you're a zombie, sucks to be you" instead you have the option to come back around--but you're still dangerous, just in a different way. But you can go back fully from there.

It's different (largely in that it's easier to impose from the outside, and usually difficult to do by oneself), but sort of reminds me of a Russian horror novel where vampires that manage to abstain from actually drinking blood for long enough (they're obviously different from the traditional version of vampires in that it's less of a necessity and more of an addiction) become something different as well, losing access to some vampire abilities but gaining different ones (if I recall correctly) and ofcourse remaining in greater control. Relapse is possible.

But yes, it's a potentially interesting idea, especially if that zombie NES fad from a while back aptly rises from the grave.

I was randomly knighted by Queen Elizabeth II while having an argument about finances with some people (she happened to wander by) in the dream prior, so it's quite possible...

What is it with you and Queen Elizabeth II?

 

[Symphony D.]

It goes without saying that to stand a truly reasonable chance at fighting (and winning, rather than just delaying or escaping) either Infected or Superiors that the humans need access to some beyond-modern technology, like powered armor.

What is it with you and Queen Elizabeth II?

That could be why she popped up. But she was old, and distinctly not wearing a steam-powered mecha. That would've made it more interesting. My dreams never make sense, so I don't claim to know.

 

[Thorgrimm]

Symphony D, I would like to see you develop that idea. I especially would like to know how the nano plague began and spread. It is a very interesting concept.



Cheers, Thorgrimm

 

[das]

At the end of all, there was peace.

That thought had always frightened me on some level. There is something terrifying about the very idea of true lasting peace, and this thought nagged me through all my earthly struggles, even though I myself fought for peace, or always told as much to myself, because it is simply barbaric and foolish to fight for anything else. All the people I killed and all the cities I burned - all the atrocities I ever commited - I have done for the sake of peace, because military expediency demanded a great deal of ruthlessness, and to give the world anything less would have prolonged the fighting even more. I guess that I really did believe in my cause back then, even though I did know full well that people like me had no place in the utopia that was to come after our victory. We kept trying, though, and our enemies could never quite beat us. We ourselves won many great victories, though each felt less than the last, as none of them were truly decisive; the war truly never ended.

Fortunately for me, the world came to an end at that time, which, I suppose, was to be expected sooner or later. We have been judged, and sure enough all went to Hell. I was not surprised, though apparently I still had a soul, as somehow something more died inside of me, for the first time in many years. Without hope we endured eternal torment, but - and this was probably a bad thing - I did not notice much of a difference from before, even as some of my coldest comrades despaired. Here, a new war was fought, and I found some solace in it; we were fighting again, though inasmuch as Hell was everchanging we always had to change sides lest we be changed ourselves, and so could hope for a victorious resolution even less. I did not hope for peace - victory - anymore, but could not let myself take pleasure in senseless war either, and instead moved on in cold blood, slaughtering millions of the fools who still believed in love or might, or whatever had they.

I know not how time passed in Hell, but apparently it all passed eventually, and even eternal torment turned out to be finite, for nothing is forever. An old friend of mine, whom I have not seen in Hell before, came before me after a battle, and told me that this was about to end. I shrugged it off, but he never went away, and as I grew more used to his presence he managed to persuade me to stop.

And I ascended into Heaven.

We all wandered there. It was a lush and clean, but empty place, though my friend told me that the emptyness was an illusion; God was everywhere in Heaven, and perhaps that was true, but no matter how hard I looked, I could never see Him. It was strange, for at times I could have sworn I heard God's voice - on Earth, and even in Hell, but here, all was silent. There were animals everywhere, and people went about as well, but I had no need to hunt the former, and as for the latter... I had known many of them; but I knew them no longer, except for the friend that visited me in Hell. We talked with him, on the occassion, but even he had no answers to my questions, and I knew that we, too, were now drifting apart.

All was at peace, for no war ever happened here. There was noone to fight and nothing to fight about, except perhaps for the sake of the war, but nobody cared for it much, not even myself. No. Apparently I won. The utopia was right here, and final peace came about - through my victory. No, it was not mine at all.

"There are other good things in life, not just war." - my friend told me.

"Certainly," - I replied - "but... no. Not for me, in any case."

"How could you know? Have you even tried to wander around here and explore?"

"I have. Yet it is all nothing. It's just... terrain, and provision, but what use is terrain without artillery and provision without foragers?"

"There is more to it."

"Certainly. But I want none of it."

My friend shook his head in disappointment - and at the same time, I suspect, understandment.

"Then what will you do?" - he asked, after an awkward pause.

"I... do not know. I have always fought for the sake of everyone else. But now, they truly do not need it."

"Well... yes."

"Yes. I thought about how this will be, after the war is finally over. I thought I would settle down; I knew that I would not be happy, but I would suffer everything, even peace, for the sake of the rest of us. I could suffer a lot easily enough; so I thought, and so I know; but..." - I closed my eyes. No "buts". Those were pathetic, weak excuses which I always loathed. Then I opened my eyes and stood up in full height - "Nothing. I will suffer this as well, even forever. With time, perhaps I could... forget."

"You could not." - said my friend harshly as he himself stood up - "You could not and would not. Do not lie; I know that you could never rest."

I looked away and started walking through the Garden in which we all lived, with a still vague, yet increasingly clear destination in mind.

"What do you want?" - asked my friend as he caught up with me.

I went on silently. I passed through forests and mountains, swamps and plains. My friend followed.

"Answer me! What are you trying to do?"

"I am weak and selfish, and could not resist." - I replied calmly, without looking back - "I am going to the Tree of Knowledge."

"What? Why?"

Then he understood.

"You are going to eat the apple." - he said, distraught.

"Yes, if it's there. If not... I will find something else. It just looks like a good place to start."

"But why?"

"Did you not understand?" - I said, bemused - "I cannot live in peace. This perfection is what I fought for, and I was right to fight for it, but what a fool was I to think that I could live here! I could not. And I could not die, even if I wanted to; not here, for there is no death here, not yet."

"So you want to... destroy Heaven?"

"I want to end the peace. What exactly will it mean metaphyiscally is irrelevant, but what I want is a real world."

"Our world was scarcely real, and it is gone now."

"If it is not real, then I will make it so. Oh, perhaps I have no way of bringing that about, but," - and I finally looked back and smiled - "A war to start all war is as good a war as any."

"Stop, stop. Do you truly want to betray what you have fought for all along? You do not have to do this! What good is war if you cannot ever win?"

"War is its own reward."

"You do not believe that."

I swam across the sea and the river, and marched through the swamp.

"No, I do not."

"Then will you stop?"

I emerged from the swamp and entered a scorched desert. I stopped and looked around; there was noone else in sight, other than my friend who once more caught with me.

"I will not stop." - I said, and continued my march.

"Why, then? Why insist on defeating yourself? This is not how a war is fought. It is one thing to not take unfair advantages; it is another to deliberately undermine yourself. This is a game, not a true war."

"Perhaps," - I said, as I looked up into the empty sky - "Perhaps this is not as simple as it may seem. I have lived for long enough to tell that things are never this easy. This paradise is doomed; peace and order is always fleeting, and if it seems to be otherwise then it is merely a calm before the storm. I think that this is not the end either, if the end of Earth and the end of Hell were not; there is certainly some way to destroy Arcadia, and that means that someone would. It would be simply arrogant of me to assume that I am the only one that, for whatever reason, still craves war; or that I am the only one who might figure it out that the key to ending the peace is on the Tree. No; someone would set the world on fire at some point - but perhaps I could pre-empt them, and start it when I am most prepared and they are not ready. Anything less - now that would be treason!" - I suddenly screamed at the end of my monologue, and felt, with some satisfaction, that not only had I shocked my friend, but I had, for a moment at least, revived my soul as well.

"But... Is that it, then?- asked my friend after a minor pause - "Is that what you think is going to happen? You did not say it before!"

"That is what will happen, and I will admit that it took me some time to wholly understand it. But tell me - does it not make sense?"

"Oh, it does; but perhaps it is merely a self-fulfilling prophecy?"

"How so?"

"What if nothing of this kind would happen? What if you are the only one who has decided to do this? Then you will have condemned us all to an eternity of war for no purpose other than your own... insanity!"

"Whether I am insane or not, I do not think that your idea - while certainly interesting in the academic sense - is worth compromising my sworn and sacred mission. No, the risks are too high, and I will go ahead."

We now arrived at the gates of the Inner Garden. They were wide open. We stopped.

"Still, I do not think you have to do this. Would it not be better to avoid this if it were possible."

"If it were possible... I suppose so." - I said, and cursed my friend without words, for now my despair returned - "But it is not, and I will do what I must now."

And I made a step forward. My friend placed his hand on my shoulder and once again told me to stop.

"You do not want to take any risks; but this is not such a big risk. You are a great warrior, after all, and here you need not sleep or eat."

"What do you suggest?"

"I suggest that you protect the Tree instead."

"The best defense is a good offense."

"But you do not even know who is the enemy, much less where they are now. All you know is that they will come here. So why not wait for them here?"

And yet another pause set in, while we walked through the gates and into the Inner Garden. We went into its very middle, and saw the Tree before us.

"Well then?" - my friend asked.

"I will protect it." - I said, with some resignation, but also some relief. We parted on good terms, and so my vigil began.

I know not how time passes here; but somehow, it passed. Other than that, Heaven was quite different from Hell, for very little seemed to happen here. No, this place was not dead; but if Hell was ever-changing and chaotic, Heaven was static and well-ordered. Yes, perhaps it was worth fighting for.

And yet, and yet... Time did pass. And as there were some constants even in Hell, some things slowly changed in Heaven as well. Occasionally, some people came; I scared most of them off, and a few I had to fight - and some of them were fairly good, but all lost in the end. With time, I grew more and more attached to the Tree. I was calm, now, and no longer needed my friend, who had drifted away as I predicted; the Tree was more than enough for me. Subtley, I moved around it, looking for oncoming beings (especially ones that were like I once was); carefully, I hunted them down, and if need be, destroyed them in cold blood. I did not sink into barbarism after all.

Yet an admission must be made: I am not at all cured of doubt. Such is the burden of knowledge; for I have read enough to know that he who is invincible is always his own worst enemy. My friend was very right back then, during the journey, though I may have hated to admit it; I was indeed self-defeating, and the temptation to do something to end the vigil and begin a real war remained so very, very strong. But I feel that, as long as I remember that, and as long as I remain in control, all should be well.

 

[Thlayli]

That was fairly brilliant.

Almost makes me miss the short-lived Apocalypse NES...almost. I'll contribute to this thread too, in time.

 

[bestshot9]

alright i'll post my story here, don't know how good y'all will like it (i just wrote it for fun and so didn't do to much on the editing wise) and got cussing in it might not like that idk and doesn't have a name (yet) so i'll just start posting.

Part 1:

It was a dark night, there was no moon at all. Clouds blocked any light cast by the distant stars. The town was quiet, the only sign of life being the military patrols through and around it. No lights were on in any of the buildings. Nobody dare leave their homes, because everyone knew the penalty for violating curfew.

But the threat of punishment didn’t stop the three hooded men from sneaking down the back alleys, avoiding the soldiers stationed on the major roads. Each man carried a weapon, a semi-automatic pistol, which was standard military issue. Completely illegal for any civilian to own, but these three didn’t care about laws, none of that mattered to them.

Each man worked with the other out of pure greed. They knew the money they could make if their plan worked out. The Army of Freedom, or the AOF, as they were commonly called, promised them $5,000 each if they could bring in an Army supply truck. They weren’t told what they needed it for, but it was pretty obvious to the three men. The AOF most likely planned to rig it with explosives and use it to blow up a supply depot or military barracks.

Again, none of the politics mattered to the three men, nor their “merchandise’s” intended use. All that mattered was the money. What did they care if some half-assed terrorist revolutionary group blew up a couple soldiers? Didn’t matter to them, so long as they could squeeze some cash out of it. And in this day and age, when a man was lucky to make $200 a month, the $5,000 pay day was a hard offer to resist.

The job would be easy. They had connections within the military, solid connections that they had used before, who gave them a detailed layout of the night’s supply runs. They knew there would be a convoy heading from Woodburn to their town, Mollala, between 1:00 and 2:00 am. They also knew that the convoy had only a light recon vehicle to protect it, armed with just a machine gun. Terrorist attacks in this area of Oregon weren’t common, so defensive efforts weren’t employed as thoroughly here as there were elsewhere. It was a small convoy bringing food supplies, which also kept the security to a minimum, as these sorts of shipments weren’t as likely a target as the ones carrying munitions or soldiers.

Silently and sneakily, the three men made it out of town. A small hill overlooked the town, with the main highway running over it. The men followed the road over the crest, down to the base of the hill on the other side. This was their ambush point.

The largest of the three, he was about six feet, four inches tall, and near two-hundred and thirty pounds, took off the back pack he was carrying. Out of it he removed a small brick of C-4 plastic explosive. In the middle of the lane heading towards town, he dropped it, armed it, and then the three men slid to the side of the road, lay down in the bushes, and waited for the convoy to approach.

No one said a word. Each man knew his job. They had done this many times before. Each man knew exactly where the other two would be at all times. They were good, they were professional, and most of all, they were patient.

Less then fifteen minutes later, however, the convoy showed up. As soon as the light recon vehicle passed over the C-4, a large explosion shook the air. The SUV, hit from beneath, was tossed on its side, and went skidding across the pavement. The machine gunner was ejected from his turret and landed head first on the ground, his neck snapping upon impact. The three trucks behind the now burning vehicle slammed on their breaks, and began to back up, trying to get around the wrecked hulk before they too got attacked, but their efforts were in vain.

Almost as soon as the LRC was destroyed, the three men jumped up from their hiding place next to the road and rushed the rear truck. The drivers couldn’t see the men coming, it was to dark, so they got to the truck without any resistance. One man ripped open the passenger side door, aimed his pistol with lightning-quick percision, and pulled off a round into the head of the driver. Blood, brains, and bone hit against the window, as the bullet exited the man’s skull and continued through the glass. A moment later the big man opened the driver’s door, and let the limp body fall out onto the ground. The shooter moved over to the middle seat as the big man and the third man jumped in on either side.

“Hit it!” said the middle passenger. The big man threw the truck into reverse, spun it around, and took off driving into the countryside, as the other two trucks sped off towards town.

-------------------------------

“Holy . .. .. .. .. Could this job have been any easier?” Vince asked, a giant smile showing itself on his face.

“Damnit man, if it had been any easier, they would have just handed us the damn thing!” Kyle replied, laughing as he said it.

“Yeah yeah yeah, well, I wont be happy until we get our money.” Ron said, steering the truck over the unpaved terrain.

Vince sat on the passenger side. He was a young man, as were the other two, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and black pants, just like the other two. He was of an average build, and had Mediterranean features. Kyle, the one in the middle, was skinny and short, he used to be a marathon runner before the war. He was pale, with short red hair, while Ron, the driver, looked like a bigger version of Vince, his younger brother by two years. None of the men looked like they had shaved in the last couple of days, and it was obvious none of them cared, either.

“Now, how much further do we have to go to get to the drop off?” Kyle asked, a little more serious now.

“Oh, not that much further, I’d say four more miles.” Ron replied, his eyes glued to the path ahead of them.

“Wake me up when we get there.” Vince said, leaning his head against the window and trying to sleep.

“What ever man, if all you want is five minutes of sleep then okay.” Kyle said, shrugging.

They reached the drop off, Kyle elbowed Vince, who hadn’t been able to get to sleep, and the three men climbed out of the truck. They were in the middle of a field, about twelve miles from town, on an old farm. Meeting them there was two jeeps, their headlights turned on so the three men could find them. Standing in front of the two jeeps was two armed men, each holding a captured Army assault rifle, and a tall, bald black man.

“You’re late.” was his greeting to the three as they walked up.

“Give us the fifteen-thousand.” Ron said, cutting straight to the point.

“Give me the keys to the truck, first.” replied the man.

“Man, just give us the . .. .. .. .ing money and we’ll give you the keys.” Ron said angrily. He knew, from experience, that you couldn’t show any weakness to these people. He hated them almost as much as he hated the government. The only difference between the two was that the AOF could benefit from them, whereas the government would only want them dead.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn? You know I always keep my end of the bargain.” the man said, his voice deep and slightly intimidating.

“Yeah, well how do I know you will this time? I mean, the way the world is now, seems the only people who I can trust are these two.” he turned and pointed at Kyle and Vince.

“You are wise, but we don’t have time to argue now. Just hand us the keys, we’ll give you the money, and then we can leave. Don’t make things complicated, Martino.”

Ron sighed. “. .. .. .. . it.” he mumbled to himself, then tossed the keys on the ground at the man’s feet. “There, now give us the money, Green.”

The corner of Green’s lips curled up in a small, almost non-exsistant smile. He loved to make other people give in to his demands, it filled him with a sense of superiority that really made his blood pump. “Alright, here’s your money.” He pulled a wad of bills out of his coat pocket and tossed them to Ron, who caught them in mid air. “Now, get the hell out of here.”

The three men watched silently as Green and one of the armed men jumped into the truck and drove off, closely followed by the two jeeps. None of the vehicles had lights on.

“Where do you think they take the . .. .. .. . we sell ‘em, anyways?” Kyle finally said, breaking the silence.

“Hell if I know, and hell if I care. Now, lets get back to town.” Ron ordered.

The three of them headed across the field towards an old barn and farm house. The place was out of the way, and abandoned. Security patrols rarely passed by, which guaranteed it to be a safe house for the three men. In the barn they had parked an old car, which they always made sure was kept their when they had a job. The three men waited around in the hay loft of the barn. Two napping, the other on guard, until the sun began to rise. They climbed down from the loft, opened the barn doors, loaded up in the car, and drove back to town.

 

[The Strategos]

Assuming that something akin to alchemy was true, when would it be most interesting (interpret that however you wish) for it to be developed and why?

 

[das]

Late Renaissance/Early Modern era, because there were many military innovations, general perturbations and large-scale wars between factions with minimal (and decreasing) restraint. Alchemy, with all that tends to imply, is going to fit right in, and will become a powerful factor even faster than at any earlier time (it's a given that it would always become a serious factor relatively quickly). Also, Kaiser Rudolf II.

 

[Terrance888]

Nice everybody! I would like a senerio where the Soviets conquered all of Italy, Germany, Korea, and Japan before the Allies stopped them. Then the Soviets 'Liberated' France and Invaded Britian. Britian Survived the the France, Itally, Switerland, and numerous small states are all 'Zombie' statalites of the Soviet Union. Soviet Union shall later Conquer the Mideast and create the 'Commulist Caliph.' Which controll spreads to nearly all of mainland Euroasia and others. USSR shall be regular size, But the members of the Commulist Brothers Pact (CBP) are much more than the Warsaw pact. And the French and Germans are pressganged to build a industry force comparable to the U.S.

South America is United by the U.C.A. (United Countries of Amerigo/Bolivar) and the north is controlled by the U.S.N.A (United States and Countries of America.) In Africa, Colonies are kept as native clenched the colonizers against the Nukes. And all of the African Colonies and Countries are under the UCCP (United Capitalist Countries Pact.) This game will have

2 Major Nations (USNA, USSR)
3 Regional Powers (Britain, South Africa. Egypt.)
And many 'Colonies' (playable.)
And Pact members.

Thanks to Lord Iggy, Post Immediatey moved to right thread.

 

[Lord_Iggy]

That belongs in the alternate history thread, not the creative writing thread CL.