Through the Eyes of an Eagle

[pbmn]

What I am writing is actually just the first section, if you will, of a short book I am in the process of writing. I started this out just for fun in a class of mine as I was bored of the discussion going on. What started out as mindless writing turned into something important for me. Just posting this to get some criticism, so please, be harsh.;)

Just a little insight:
The story takes place in a modern war setting (completely fictional) and is of two "soul-mates" who meet in abnormal circumstances. The main character, a sniper for the U.S. Army, goes by the name of Nick Williams. His destined lover is a woman from back in the States (haven't thought of a name) who is kicked out by her drunken father and enlists into the army and is shipped off to the Middle East. Thought this might be helpful to know.
P.S. Below is actually what I would like to be the beginning of my book.
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Chapter 1: Stories

The abnormally cool night breeze was just starting to prick my neck, the cold beginning to make it tighten, goose bumps forming in all sorts of unwanted places, my hair beginning to stand-on-end. I pulled my collar up a little more, barely inches higher, in a futile attempt to cover my exposed, cold-induced pale skin. The breeze posed a potential threat to my overall mission, but, if I could remember what I was told in training, and recollect my past experiences, I could easily compensate for it.

I slowly crawled forward across the ridge of the somewhat tall mountain to a spot where I could easily locate my target. Looking off into the distance, I could see fires and the occasional spotlight illuminating the starless night sky. The expanse of snow provided a great source of echoing, the voices of the men carrying off into the mountains. I couldn't make out what they said, but their drunken ranting told me that something great was coming my way. Their actions made them seem very barbaric in my mind, although I could relate to their feelings.

"Concentrate! Don't get attached," I thought to myself, and, hoping that it would help, I removed my cold leather glove to lightly slap my cheeks a couple of times, which did not give me the desired effect. The contact of flesh to flesh on my frozen face brought about small, sharp pains of coldness that stung at my face for a while. A couple of cheers sent up by the men in the distance caught my attention, and I foolishly forgot to put back on my gloves.

I decided that the better way to control myself was through a few deep breaths, the frigid air filling up my lungs, only to make me cough as I exhaled it all out, watching my breath slowly waft through the air carelessly, until it only blended in with the surroundings of the stronger mass.

As I continued to crawl forward at a slow pace, the weight of my body against the old, hard snow created small crunches as I moved. I glanced over across the land again and thought how desolate and dead this country was, and asked myself why we were fighting in it again.

"Focus, Nick. Just think of the mission, nothing else."

I had not learned from my past experience, as I slapped my face again, this time with a little more force, and the pain that was emitted was excruciating. I cursed under my breath at my stupidity, and slowly massaged my face with my slightly warmer hands, until I numbed the icy pain.

A few three-round bursts brought me back to attention, doing what I was incapable to do myself. I looked off at the group of men and saw several dark bodies holding AK-47's above their heads. I continued to watch as the events unfolded, and a darkish silver, antique Rolls Royce pulled up to this rally, its sheen reflecting the light emitted by the fires into the snow surrounding it, giving the vehicle and ominous orange glow.

"I present to you our great leader, General Kamarov!"

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As I said before, this is only a small section, and I have a little more written, but I just wanted to know what others think of it. Tell me if it has potential, or what I should work on in the future, etc. So please, be harsh;)

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[DickZ]

The story certainly has a lot of potential. You've done a great job of setting the scene and starting the story, so I'm hoping you will continue.

You have to keep writing and watch yourself develop in the process. There is a lot of awkwardness in your first episode, which is understandable since you're obviously just beginning. Keep at it, and in time you'll rid yourself of that awkwardness.

A minor point - a US Army sniper operating in a cold and snowy environment would be wearing gloves. This would eliminate the face slapping you've added - the significance of which is not yet apparent. Or else you could have him remove his gloves before doing it. Just make sure you eventually show why you made such a point of this slapping.

And antique has a q rather than a g. There are a few other minor spelling errors as well.

[pbmn]

Oh, true. I actually didn't think of that one. And yes, there is a significance for the "slapping" and almost everything else questionable. A few things are put in there just for kicks, though. They will be apparent in the future. And as for the spelling and grammar mistakes, those were just a mistake of copying from my notebook to the computer. And, as for a beginner, I am only sixteen, although age shouldn't be an excuse. But thanks for the insight.

If you want to hear a little more, I can post the opening section for Amanda's life next.

[ReynardKitsune]

wow awesome

[DickZ]

...And, as for a beginner, I am only sixteen, although age shouldn't be an excuse. But thanks for the insight. Also, to explain the overall point of my story, I will "outline" some key factors to the story....

If you want to hear a little more, I can post the opening section for Amanda's life next.
You write very well for someone who is sixteen - and you sure have a headstart on where I was at your age. Very few teenagers I knew even thought about writing - myself included. So now that you're off and running early, keep running. You'll find that the rough edges will smooth out over time - and I mean years, not weeks or months.

I hope you'll continue to post your story as it evolves - and keep the outline to yourself. The outline means much more to you than it does to a reader who isn't as familiar with all these things as you are - the reader will figure it out as the story emerges. Or at least the reader will figure out the parts you make clear as the story emerges. What you want to avoid is having a 600-word explanation to clarify a 400-word story that nobody understood. We seem to get a lot of that here.

Now on to the next part of the story!

[pbmn]

"Get out of here, Amanda! Get, you ungrateful little-!"

My father, if I could ever call him that and mean it, proceeded to call me a relatively demeaning name as he always does on his nightly drunken rampages. There was something different about this night, however; something about it just made it harder to let go.

I stormed out of the kitchen to the sound of his belches and alcohol-induced mumbling, my salty tears trickling down my face in their indefinite paths to a common goal, a common destiny. I reflexively swept my hand against my damp face, preventing them from reaching their destination.

I ran across the well-worn wood floor to the old, creaky stairs, my body convulsing with each futile attempt to quell my sobs. I bound up the stairs, two at a time, until I reached the scratched door to my bedroom.

I gripped the brass doorknob and forcefully threw the door open. It hit the doorstop and recoiled with almost as much force as was exerted into it when opened, and came back to hit me in the face. It was almost as though my own room was rejecting me. A new torrent of tears were starting to swell up in my eyes, the tears of pain and sorrow mixing together, until it was too much and it all poured out. I painfully walked inside my room and slammed the door shut behind me. I then threw my body onto my faded blue bed, which was once my mother's, and found the only counsel that I used in these dark times, and that was my pillow. I let out all the sobs that were building up inside of me into this sole pillow, my tears leaving water stains where they met the cloth of my bed. I vented out my rage by screaming and cursing my father, both verbally and in thought, for what he did to me. I even tried to soothe myself by saying that this night was no different, that I should be used to this by now, but I just couldn't shake off the fact that he may have actually meant it, that it wasn't only the alcohol speaking.

I thought to myself in solitude on what I should do, and could hear my father clumsily walking throughout the house, random songs with no true tune or words being sung on his alcoholic lips. I came up with only one conclusion, and it was the only thing I could do. I slowly rose up from my bed and made my way to my beat-up closet. I opened up the doors, from which was emitted one of those horror film creaks. I crouched down so that I could easily maneuver through all my junk. I pulled out this and that of my belongings that I deemed necessary, and when I collected enough, I made my way solemnly to my bed. From beneath it, I grabbed my suitcase and began to pack.

[pbmn]

I looked out at the group of men, all looking on with bloodlust and fear together at the man that had exited from the Rolls Royce, General Kamarov. He walked to the elevated platform with dignity and honor, although my trained eye could see the fakeness of his movements, his nervousness shrouded by his masquerade of power. He appeared to walk duck footed, and when ascending the stairs to the podium, he was clumsy and stumbled a few time. It must have been his charisma that they were falling for (although I saw none), for the barbarians, as I have come to know them, were oblivious to his mistakes.

When he stopped moving, I pressed the scope of my rifle to my eye, the cold metal of it penetrating deep into my body, pushing through the thin layer of skin that surrounded my left eye. I moved the rifle a little and moderated the dial that controlled the clearness of the scene until it was “crystal clear”. I then moved the crosshairs so that they focused straight on Kamarov’s chest, and I placed my finger around the trigger.

“My brethren,” Kamarov spoke in a influential tone, “I come before you to defend Mother Russia, to understand, my comrades, that we are being pressured by a foreign force. The imbecile Americans are attempting to destroy our culture, they want to stop the power of our homeland. We are a threat to the damn Americans, and I say that we use this to our advantage. So help me Бог, the Americans will pay!”

The crowd erupted in cheers and chants of Kamarov’s name were being echoed throughout the empty air, making their might even that much threatening. I pressed the scope closer to my eyes, all emotions that I possibly had evaporated from my body, and I slowed my breathing until it was almost nonexistent. Then, I squeezed the trigger.

Those emotions never truly returned to my body, to never course through my veins again. All I knew was to kill, and anything else that I had learned as an innocent child was gone along with my innocence. I became a cold-hearted killer, and that was what I was best at. I came to accepting my fate for the rest of my life, although, one event did change my life, something I was not expecting to find in the military. This is my story. This is my destiny.

[DickZ]

Great job, pbmn. Keep them coming, so we can continue to read them and so you can continue to practice. The story is shaping up to be fantastic, and as you keep writing you will start ridding yourself of some of your awkward wording. It will take time and mainly lots of practice.

Since you're using occasional flashbacks, it might be a good idea to write in a way so the reader can instantly tell if we are in the present, or in the past. Of course the reader will eventually work it out even if you don't make it easy, but it's helpful if the writer makes it very clear what timeframe we're in at any point in the story.

One such device is using the present tense for what's happening now (the sniper) and using the past tense for the flashbacks that took place before he even joined the Army.

I compliment you on knowing that a sniper would slow his breathing before taking his shot, and pointing that out. Little things like that add a lot to your story. But as a related nit-pick, a real sniper would squeeze the trigger rather than pull it.

And it's great that you understand when to use capital letters, and you know how to punctuate. Lots of your contemporaries don't know how to do either, or else they just don't care enough to be bothered.

[pbmn]

Since you're using occasional flashbacks...

I know where you may have gotten the idea that I was using flashbacks, but the middle section wasn't really a flashback. Let me explain. What I was thinking was that I would have my two main characters be seen through first-person, as that is the only way you can understand their true emotions and, logically, hear their thoughts. When they would finally meet, however, Nick would become the predominant character. I should have definitely made that more clear in that second section as being Amanda.

I guess I could rewrite Amanda's life in T.E.E. into third person, but to me that would null the actual emotions being felt in her life, and that is why I wrote it as I did. I don't know, what do you think?

If I keep on writing in the way I am writing now, whenever I start a new section, it will be for a different person.


I compliment you on knowing that a sniper would slow his breathing before taking his shot, and pointing that out

See, videogames and paintball are good for something.:D

[DickZ]

I know where you may have gotten the idea that I was using flashbacks, but the middle section wasn't really a flashback....
Just keep writing the story and don't explain things in advance. If you keep putting out these explanations that mean something only to you, I'll figure I'm just being disruptive. I'll stop making suggestions.

[pbmn]

“Welcome to San Antontio everybody. I hope your flight with Southwest Airlines was enjoyable and have a good stay in Texas.”

The sound of the flight attendant woke me up, and as I tiredly gazed about the airplane, I saw many passengers up and stretching in their rows, stifled yawns and a few babies crying told me that we were indeed in Texas. I got up from my seat, putting back the Air Mall magazine that I had fallen asleep to reading. After stretching my arms and cracking my neck a little, I grabbed my bag from the overhead compartment and started to exit the plane.

As I walked off the plane, the flight attendant wished me a good stay, and I smirked at how fake her voice was, wondering what would force any woman to degrade herself and be a flight attendant. With this thought in mind, I proceeded about the airport to grab my luggage, found myself a taxi, and I was off.

“Where to, Miss?” the driver asked me in a Polish accent.

“Ummm,” I stuttered as I looked down at the brochure in my hand, “Fort Sam Houston, please.”

“Oh, you’re an army girl, huh? I think its very honorable at what you are about to do.”

“Thanks,” I replied absentmindedly. I wasn’t doing this for any honor, as to me, there is no such thing.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what are you going to do in the army?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Well, are you going to fight, or are you going to be a nurse?”

I really pondered over this question, as the idea of being a nurse had never really fluttered into my mind, as all I was looking for was an escape from my father. However, the idea of being a nurse really struck me as being important, and I couldn’t think of a better thing to do. It was like fate was telling me to follow this path. To make it seem like I knew what I was doing, I stalled by pretending to be searching for something in my purse.

“I guess I’ll be being a nurse. Something about it just sounds interesting.”

Most of the drive was in silence, although the southern heat did begin to get to me, so I asked the driver if he could turn up the air-conditioning.

“Sorry, Miss. A/C is broke.”

With that option of a “quick fix” gone, I opted to roll down the windows, although the slow traffic caused little wind to blow through and cool my face, now covered in sweat.

When we finally arrived at the fort, I asked how much I owed.

“Forty-seven, fifty, Miss.”

I pulled out of my purse a billfold, and peered inside. I had not thought too much about money, as that was something my father never let me have. I secretly had had a part time job at a Wal-Mart, however, and whenever my father had asked, I was doing softball or some other sport. He didn’t care about sports, he never came to one of my games anyways. So it all had worked out.

I pulled out a fifty from the couple hundred or so that I had been smart to bring, and told him to keep the change.

“Thank you, Miss! I wish you luck. Dobre szczęście!”

At that I exited from the steaming hot cab into the less inviting world, and proceeded towards the gate. Once I reached the guard post, I heard tires screech against asphalt and looked behind me. The taxi driver was speeding off to the west, obviously late for something.

“Hello m’am. Welcome to Fort Sam Houston.”

[DickZ]

A cab ride from the Houston Airport to Fort Sam Houston, which is in San Antonio and about 200 miles from the city of Houston, would cost much more than $22.50 - it would be in the hundreds of dollars. There are very few things that can ruin a story more than putting a place in the wrong city. It wipes out any favorable impression you make with your other material. With the internet available to you, it's now relatively easy to avoid pitfalls like that.

Other than that, this part is fine. Keep the wagons rolling.

[pbmn]

Alright, I am going to continue on with my story soon, but I just have one quick question that I would really like to have everyone's opinion on.

When Nick and Amanda finally do meet, should I make Nick the dominant character and only talk through his eyes, or should I write two different sections per chapter from both perspectives in order to capture their emotions?

Thanks for any comments, and I'll shut up and get on with the story.

[pbmn]

I looked off at the chaos I had created, the half-trained barbarians fleeing from the scene, while a few took initiative and started to bark orders in Russian and German at the men. A few of them returned to the scene, many ducking behind the Rolls Royce and the elevated platform. The “smarter” barbarians were looking off into the distance through their binoculars to find the culprit who had murdered their “great leader”.

I decided it was in my best interest to begin to leave the area and get to the extraction point. I pulled out my walkie-talkie and voiced into it that the mission was a success and I would rendezvous in ten minutes at Extraction Point B.

“Alright, Eagle. We’ll catch you in ten minutes. Over and out.”

With the connection broken, I gathered up my rifle and began to take it apart, piece by piece, so that I could get it to fit in a backpack of mine. Once that deed was done, I pulled out my holstered pistol and loaded it with a new clip.

“Just to be safe,” I whispered to myself. With all that out of the way, I began my descent down from the mountain.

The treacherous path down the mountain was rather uneventful, but once I did reach the base of the mountain, a Jeep-like patrol vehicle was waiting to greet me. It’s bright lights temporarily blinded me as my pupils had to readjust to this unwelcome change from the black night. Out of instinct, I threw my body to the ground, and hid behind a snow-covered protrusion. From somewhere behind the vehicle, I heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and the voices that accompanied them. As they neared my location, the grip on my pistol tightened so hard that all the blood in my pale fingers was forced around the areas that were pressured. I kept this grip on my pistol as I listened in on their conversation.

“I told you, if anyone was to be here, they would have been located by now.”

“немая задница! We must wait, it is Ivanov’s order!”

I heard the sound of rubber against snow and rock as one of the men kicked the ground in anger. A pebble flew barely inches from my left ear.

“I don’t give a damn about Ivanov! I want to go home and eat my dinner and sleep with my wife! Kamarov got what was coming to him. Would you speak in front of many in such a dangerous manner if you were likely to be killed? He was an idiot, and he deserved it all!”

“Hush, don’t speak such words! If Kuznetsov or someone else hears you speaking such blasphemy, you will be killed!”

“So be it! If it wasn’t for spineless wimps like you, we would all not be fighting for some hopeless cause, and we would all be home in our beds with our women! I spit on Mother Russia and all who force us to fight for such an impudent cause!”

Pfft! I heard the sound of a cheap silenced pistol being fired, and barely seconds later, a thump confirmed my theory that the foolish Russian was executed for his words.

“I am sorry, but you deserved it, Dmitri. Don’t… ever… spit… on Mother… RUSSIA!”

With each pause, the sound of rubber against flesh met my ears, and it appeared that the partner of the Russian officer was kicking the lifeless corpse on the ground, and with the last word off his lips, the man broke down crying for killing his companion. As the minutes passed by, I heard the man get up and go to the vehicle, the metal door shutting behind him.

I waited for a moment, and I heard the vehicle’s engine be kicked to life again, its old, worn parts most likely on their last run. I stayed exactly as I was until the sound of the vehicle was long gone, and I was comfortable with leaving. Without looking back at the body, I got up and made my way back to the extraction point.

“Anything eventful happen while we were away?”

“Oh, you know, the usual.” I shrugged off the question as I answered it, and the helicopter began to increase velocity in its blades. As it began to pick up speed, the weight of the helicopter and her passengers were picked off the ground, and we made our way from the scene. The next day, as I was back at my apartment getting ready for my next assignment, I heard a news reporter talk of the mysterious death of a Mister Ivan Kamarov and an unidentified body in the northwest region of Russia. With that news, I took a sip from my coffee, grabbed my keys, and shut the door behind me as I made my way out.

[DickZ]

...I just have one quick question that I would really like to have everyone's opinion on...
You're driving this car. I know it's scary at first.

You're weaving a lot and you run off the road every now and then. You're knocking down branches from trees to the right of the road, and you're messing up the grassy median to the left.

But you're still moving forward - that's more than any of the other young writers here are doing. Most of them put out an episode and then disappear.

Shut up and keep driving.

[DickZ]

........ With that news, I took a sip from my coffee, grabbed my keys, and shut the door behind me as I made my way out.
Now that you've got us all into this story, pbmn, I sure hope you'll keep going.

[pbmn]

“Williams! Heads up!”

With little time to react, a football was thrown to a person beyond me, although the wind and force to get the ball to its target were misjudged, and it was on a collision course towards one person; me. I looked up just in time to see the ball, or the tip of it at least, come straight at my face. It just barely missed hitting my right eye, hitting me on my forehead instead.

I brought my hand up to rub the probably pink spot on my head, spurts of pain pulsing from the point of contact to areas around that had had less damage done to them. I grabbed the ball and chucked it at the thrower. My throw turned out to be spot-on, as Griggs was doubled over in pain, his hands cupping his groin.

“Next time, look before you throw, Griggs. I need my eyes to do my missions.”

“F. you Williams, you didn’t have to do that, or at least not that hard.”

“I probably didn’t, but where’s the fun in that?” I retorted.

I past the scene in a jock-like manner, just taking one glance back at the scene where I was hit in the head. I grinned when I saw Griggs lift his hand up, and turned away just in time so that I didn’t see anything else. I made my way up to the door where one of the guards confronted me.

“Mornin’ Nick, how was your night?”

“Oh, you know, not too bad. Could have been worse, right?”

“You said it. If I had your job, I don’t think I could ever sleep the same night as… well, you know.”

“You grow used to it. Alright, I gotta go Mike. Don’t let any terrorists in, ya hear?”

“I’ll try my best.”

I waved one last good-bye to the guard and made my way to the briefing room on the third floor, although it proved rather tedious as many people, half of which I did not know, kept on congratulating me and saying good morning to me. I really need to learn their names…

With that thought fresh on my mind, I opened up the door and peered inside to see several people waiting for me already, a screen pulled down and a projector displaying the picture of some guy.

“You’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence, huh Nick?”

“Sorry. I got held up earlier outside.”

She took a long look at me, and a wide grin formed on her face.

“I can tell. Was it your head that held you up?” Katie remarked. She was actually the only woman in the room, and rather attractive at that.

“Shut it. I got him back, okay?”

“Whatever. Sit down Nick; we have a lot to show you.”

[pbmn]

The heat that welcomed me into San Antonio had changed little over the days. Actually, if it was at all possible, it seemed to get hotter and hotter as the days rolled on. I had started to call it “The Gateway to Hell”, as many of the other “nurses-to-be” did as well.

I was hunched over a dimly lit desk, the one that I called my own. It was a very simple desk, barely even a nightstand, but it served its main purpose of holding “my” laptop that was given to me by the army to use while I was learning. I continued to type out my thesis on the “Ways to Help with Gunshots and to Prevent Diseases”, one that proved ever more tedious than the long hours I had spent at Wal-Mart. Despite this heat and boring work, one thing did prove better at Fort Sam Houston. I could do my work without fear of being abused.

I finished up the last sentence of my paper, and a feeling I had never felt coursed through my veins. Happiness? No, I had felt that before. Relief? Definitely not. What was it, then? The sense of accomplishment. A word that I had only heard in English, it had never truly pertained to my life until now.

I quickly read over the paper, my fan buzzing nearby. With every pass it made, the paper was blown about, as though it had no thought of self-control; as though it had no dignity. I made sure to keep a better grip on it so that I could read it with little disturbances, but when I put it down after reading it several times, my sweaty hands had left marks where they had previously been. I tried drying it out, but that seemed to only make things worse, so I threw the paper in the wastebasket and printed out a new copy. I climbed into bed, pulled off my clothes until I was only in my underwear so that I could escape from the heat, and shut off the light.

That night, I got no sleep as my sheets kept sticking to my half-naked body, making me itch and only adding to the discomfort of not being in my mother’s bed.

“Look at the bright side, Amanda,” I thought to myself. “Where’s your father? Not here, that’s where.”

************************************************** ********

“The man you see before you is one Ivan Korzybski, an underground man of whom there is little known.”

I leaned over to Walter and whispered into his ear, “Then what’s the point of killing the man?” He snickered rather childishly, and the sounds he made through his efforts to retain them caught the attention of every man in the room. Apparently, Katie didn’t like this abrupt disturbance, as she yelled at him and I to shut up; a command that we both obliged to.

“If you are so done of making such a disruption, I was about to explain that Korzybski is known to be a dealer to the Middle Eastern terrorist groups, and is known for his trade in superior weapons and especially, as well as regrettably, biochemical waste.”

The extreme silence in the room was very bothersome, and it only succeeded in making me even more uncomfortable.

“Are you sure that he is importing such items,” asked Robinson.

“Well, we have had a few reports from our inside men that many trades go on between him and the terrorists, and that the very next day, it seems as though they have a new inventory of barrels in their warehouses.”

“We must do something about this monstrosity. With that much hazardous material, the terrorists could…”

Robinson tailed off in his comment, and I finished it for him.

“…create a nuclear war and possibly destroy the United States or any other opposing country that they wish to in a matter of weeks, days even. So I think that the next question is: ‘What are we going to do about it?”

“I think you know what we have in mind,” Katie responded with a forced grin on her face. Everyone in the room was staring at me, and it didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

“Alright, I’ll do it. But you guys all owe me one hell of a party if I pull this one off. Why does it always have to be me who does the dirty work?”

[DickZ]

I'm glad you're continuing your story, pbmn.

You are doing very well - for example, you captured the heat in San Antonio - and when you get a little more experience in writing, you will be able to do that even better. Keep the episodes coming, and you'll continue growing as a writer.

If you're going to eventually make this a book-length work, you might consider adding some more material about Amanda's basic training - whatever she had to do in order to reach her current status. It would require you to do some research, but you've probably already done a little of that anyway, to get as far as you have with this story. It's an important skill to develop if you decide to continue writing - and I sure hope you will continue. The internet has made research like this much easier than it was in earlier times.

You could always do that in a second iteration - don't slow up now, since you seem to have something mapped out to keep the story going. But later you may want to go back and add more material.

[pbmn]

I walked out of headquarters and strolled coolly past the spot where I had previously humiliated Griggs, and an uncontrolled, smug grin appeared on my face. I took a quick glance around the freshly manicured lawn around me to see any troubles, and saw a fashionable woman exiting a large limousine, her husband getting out the opposite side.

“Appearances are everything,” I thought to myself sarcastically as I shook my head in contempt. They were probably coming to make a large donation of some kind, but nothing compared to that of what the suffering soldiers were doing overseas. And they thought they were “helping”? I kicked a piece of loose gravel down the sidewalk as I made my way back to the apartment.

************************************************** ***********

“Hey, Amanda! Are you excited to get out of this hell hole of a place?”

I turned around to see my best friend, Amy, of whom I had met within the first few hours I first arrived. Now, because of the three years we have been here, the link between the two of us has strengthened to that of a little girl and her best friend. I have no secrets from her, except my father, and we do everything together.

“I guess so, although, we aren’t going anywhere better now, only hotter.”

“Yeah, well, at least we get to get a change of scenery. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“I guess…,” I replied, uncaringly giving in. I don’t really care about “a change of scenery” or even if the climate were to be better where I was going. No, even though those things are nice, the only thing I still look forward to is that I am getting further away from my father. I don’t think I will ever see him again.

“What are you smiling at,” Amy asked me. My face must have betrayed my thoughts, as my lips felt taught and strained, almost in a grin, at the idea of never seeing Father again.

“Nothing,” I quickly replied; a little too quickly. She didn’t press the matter any further, but I knew she was thinking about that moment over and over again to try to discover what ever I had thought about that had made me smile. Oh well, she’ll probably never figure it out.

We walked hand in hand together back to our rooms, and then we proceeded to pack.

[DickZ]

I'm glad to see you're staying with it, pbmn. Keep the story rolling, even if it takes a while. We're certainly in no rush, but just make sure you don't let your story take a back seat to all the other things you have to do.

[pbmn]

I unlocked the door to my apartment building and climbed the stairs to the top floor. I fumbled around with my keys for a little, trying to find the other necessary to open the door to my room. I finally located it and hurriedly jammed it into the keyhole in my door, and slowly turned it. I pushed open the door and was greeted by a rancid smell, not to mention the cause.

Hercules jumped up from the ground and practically threw me to the ground as all Alaskan Malamutes do, and he licked my face in excitement. I was the only “love” of his life, and he was mine.

“How are you, Hercules, huh? Did you miss me, huh? Did you miss me? Are you hungry? I bet you are. Aren’t you? Aren’t you?” I said in that annoying voice that owners use to talk to their animals. I opened up the cupboard below the sink, grabbed the dog food for Hercules out, and poured some in his bowel. I then poured him some water and he went straight to the bowls and satisfied his hunger.

I opened the metal door to my fridge and pulled out a Budweiser, making sure I grabbed the coolest of the twelve. I grabbed the bottle opener from a nearby drawer and twisted off the cap, a small sound released from the tightly packed air swarming out to blend in with the surroundings. I made my way towards the patio door and slid it open, the warm air of southern Virginia causing me to sweat instantaneously and caused the vapor from the cold liquid in my hands to start to collect on the outside of the bottle. The bottle became ever so slippery, and my blistered hands were unable to keep a grip on it.

“Crap!”

The brown-tinted bottle smashed into several large pieces of glass and hundreds of tiny shards littered the balcony of my apartment. I could not believe my “luck”. I had waited to use the better of the twelve bottles for such a stressful time, and then I had to go and mess everything up by dropping it. I was careful to not step on any of the glass and went to change my alcohol-smelling clothes.

I was down to nothing but boxers when I noticed I might as well shower, so I slipped off the remaining layer of clothing that remained to conceal myself and leisurely walked to the bathroom. I slid open the glass door and twisted the handle all the way to the left and waited for the water to get warmer.

As I felt the bathroom getting more humid, I slid myself into the shower and let all the past memories of the murders I had committed wash off of me with the shower, leaving my mind in total bliss. I sat down on the tiled floor of the shower as I always do after a mission, and let the water run down my face and onto my chest, refreshing my long-since exhausted body. I just sat there for what seemed like hours and thought to myself of everything and anything I possibly could. I was like Rodin’s ‘The Thinker’, deep in thought, whether it be ludicrous or philosophical, I pondered over it.

I thought of my distant childhood and the memories seemed like those of a whole different person. How were my parents and my sisters and all my family? Why had I not called them in seven years, and they me? Was I hiding something? Yes, of course. But what? Is it my lifestyle, my “career”, what? That has to be it, I am ashamed. But of what? I was saving them, giving them and everyone of my country a better life…but at what cost? The life of another? So what if one life was to be sacrificed if a nation must live? So what if I killed another man, a man that I may somehow be related to. I did not know him, he did not know me; for all I know, he could be the worst human being on Earth. I am lying to myself; why do I always lie to everyone? I know the truth, but I refuse to acknowledge it.

I shook my head not only to get the water out of my hair and to keep it from falling into my eyes, but to rid myself of these thoughts and to begin anew, to start fresh, and I thought new thoughts.

I fell asleep in thought in the shower, and was only awoken by the sound of Hercules scratching at the bathroom door and howling to see if I was alright. I was startled at the sound that broke the harmonious peace caused by the never ending flow of water, and I leapt up from my sitting position on the floor and hit my head on the bar that my shampoo sat upon. I hastily scrubbed some of the shampoo into my sore head and rinsed it out, then hurried out of the shower and dried my body with a blue towel, then wrapped it about my waist and opened the door. Hercules was there to greet me, as well as a large pile for me to clean up.

“Oh well,” I said to myself, “it’s my fault for not taking him out.

C’mon boy, let’s go for a walk.”

[djy78usa]

pbmn, I have enjoyed reading what you've given us so far. I want to bring up a couple of points, though, that might help make the story more realistic. 1) Snipers, be they Army, USMC, or most foreign countries, work in two-man teams. There is the spotter, who calculates distance, wind, etc., and the shooter. 2) In post #7, you mention the feel of the cold metal when Nick pulls the scope to his eye. Snipers, or any experienced shooter using a scope, look through the scope with their faces a few inches back to protect themselves from the rifle's recoil, which can do serious damage. 3) In post #14 you mention that he loads a new "clip." This is a common mistake, but the item that you load into a weapon is a magazine. A clip is the frame that the cartridges are carried in before they are loaded into a magazine. 4) Also from post 14 Nick would not say "over and out" into his "walkie talkie." He would simply say "out" to end the transmission. And he would be using a radio, not a "walkie talkie." 5) This one is just a minor thing, but Nick and Griggs sound like they are part of a special operations team. In these types of units, people almost always call each other by their first names. 6) Speaking of special operations, who does Nick work for? You mention that he is in the Army, but if this was the case, he would never recieve missions from anyone named Katie. I'm not trying to sound sexist, but females are not authorized to work in combat arms positions. Having him answer to a female superior and live in southern Virginia makes it seem more like he works for a covert agency (which this might all be leading to, if so, I withdraw the last comment :) )

I hope this helps. Since this is a work of fiction, you are, of course, allowed to make all the rules. Whether you use this or not, keep up the good work!!

[pbmn]

You make some good points, and I will have to revise. Can't believe I forgot about the recoil, I go hunting sometimes, I should know... kind of. As for the covert operations, definitely what I was getting at, and I did change the "walkie-talkie" to radio in my draft on my computer.

I'll get on with it as soon as I finish the next chapter.

[DickZ]

pbmn, I have enjoyed reading what you've given us so far. I want to bring up a couple of points, though, that might help make the story more realistic. 1) Snipers, be they Army, USMC, or most foreign countries, work in two-man teams. There is the spotter, who calculates distance, wind, etc., and the shooter....
Wow, djy, that's great input that will be very valuable for pbmn. You're obviously speaking from experience, whether you are/were a sniper or not. pbmn should consider himself very fortunate to get real-world experience like that delivered to his doorstep. It certainly makes for a more realistic story - we always take chances when we write about things in which we lack first-hand knowledge.

And I hope we'll eventually see a story from you regarding how you picked up this knowledge!!

[pbmn]

Amy and I fell behind the crowd of other nurses, our arms practically dragging the overweight suitcases behind us. The sun had yet to rise at five o’clock in the morning, and we were all tired from the lack of sleep. Our wearisome minds were incapable of comprehending what would come of us, so we tried to occupy our minds with something other than our impending futures in Iraq by talking of the good things that could (and definitely would, as Amy said) befall us.

We carried the conversation onto the luxurious (at least by my standards) coach bus; talking of the many things we would see in Iraq, all the grotesque wounds we would probably have to administer to, and, most important of all, all the rather nice-looking soldiers we would meet there.

“Are you kidding me, Amanda,” ridiculed Amy, “we are going to see some fine men over there, and we’re going to have a wonderful time with them.”

“You sure,” I asked, “Don’t you think that most of them won’t be interested in me?”

“Ha! You? You’re going to attract them with your looks, and then we’ll both go in for the kill.”

I did not really like the way she was going about this, as we were going over to a bunch of men who had been torn away from society to kill others. I don’t think that I want to really flirt with troubled men, although I couldn’t deny the fact that they probably were strong, and, therefore, handsome.

“Whatever. We can try to do that, but do you think that they are going to want anything other then, well, you know,” I uncomfortably asked.

“What? Do you mean sex? Probably not, but that’s the good thing, isn’t it? All the fun without any of the commitment, what’s the problem with that picture?”

“Well, we’ll find out when we get there I guess.”

The rest of the bus ride to the airport was made in silence as many of the nurses, including Amy, had fallen asleep from lack of sleep the previous night. I reclined in my plush seat and attempted to let my mind come off focus so that I could sleep, but something kept me up, so I decided to relax and think on my own of what the future would hold for me.

I asked myself what I would really do if a man, who had been killing other men, came to me and started to flirt. Would I flirt back? Wouldn’t it be awkward? And what would we talk about? It would be rude of me to ask what it’s like out there, where guns are shooting all around you, but then, that is the only thing these men can talk about. Isn’t it? They have practically erased their minds of their past existence in order to fight with full out determination. But they must hold onto something to keep themselves sane, right? So now I am to talk of something that they may or may not know? It’s too complicated; I refuse to do anything other than innocent flirting over in Iraq. I made that promise to myself and fell asleep for the rest of the trip.

************************************************** *************************************************

The moonlight illuminated my apartment the morning of October 3; its rays bouncing off the windows and falling on an open book I had been trying to read. I walked half-naked through my apartment to get a glass of milk from the fridge and I was wary of any obstacles in my path that could easily trip me. I was being so careful to edge around the coffee table that I accidently stepped on Hercules’ tail, which was answered by a huge whelp.

“Oh, I’m sorry boy,” I apologized to my dog as I stooped over to massage his face to help him to forgive my stupidity. It took only a few seconds to gain his forgiveness, as he licked my face, leaving dog slobber and the smell of dog food and stale breath on my nose. I laughed at my dog’s love for me as I rubbed my hand across my left cheek and nose, and got up to toss him a treat from the nearby counter. He eagerly ate it up and I smiled at him for a moment until I got bored of watching him and grabbed the milk jug from out of the fridge. I reached up and pulled down a small glass from an overhead cupboard and poured in the two-percent milk until half the glass was full. I smirked at the common joke, “Half-empty or half-full?” and walked back to my room. I chose myself as a half-full kind of guy, although I never am truthful to myself. Just as I walked in my bedroom, my secondary alarm started its annoying buzz.

“Time to pack, I guess,” I said it myself, “it’s seven a.m.”

[pbmn]

“Amanda. Hey, Amanda, get up. We’re here”

My eyes tiredly opened, my eyelids flickering a few times in order to accustom myself with the light of the freshly risen sun and the streetlights of the airstrip. I unsuccessfully stifled a yawn as I rose from my seat, dried drool still left on my lip and, probably, on the seat as well. I hastily wiped it off with my sleeve to save myself the embarrassment of one of the other girls discovering it before me. I looked around the coach bus, and saw that many of the nurses were ready to get off the bus, but they were all waiting for me to get up and grab my bag.

“Sorry, sorry. I was really tired; I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I tried to explain.

Amy told me not to worry about it and for me to hurry up so that we could all get off. They, too, must have been as anxious as me for what our future would hold for us.

We all exited the bus solemnly together, like a funeral procession to bury a body, and my lungs were filled with a pungent stench of gasoline and I was deafened by the roar of a low flying jet passing us by. I practically gagged on the airport air I led the women to the back of the bus where a few more suitcases were loaded and I helped to get then to their rightful owners. I made myself look more like a fool than I did to help as I still had yet to learn their names.

When I had finished up passing out the bags, and my face stopped burning from embarrassment, we walked around to a gate and were let in. We hesitantly peered around the corner. A large Army passenger plane awaited us and, as if on queue, its propellers began to spin, the blades spinning faster and faster as it began to pick up velocity. We all hurried to the plane and loaded it with our luggage, then loaded ourselves onto it in a mad scramble to not be on last. Once Amy got on, that was it, and the plane began to move away from the buildings. At the end of the strip, the plane turned surprisingly sharp for an object of such size, and it picked up speed. I didn’t even feel the wheels leave the ground because I passed out, asleep, and only awoke when we were nearing our destination. This trip provided me with the prettiest thing
I would see for as long as I was in Iraq. For the first time in my life, I smiled at the beautiful, blue sky surrounding me and saw the Atlantic Ocean. How I miss that trip.
---------------
Chapter VI
---------------
I walked off the plane in complete silence, my baggage and, more importantly, my rifle, trailing behind me on a small cart I was pulling. I slowly walked with an air of importance about me to a Humvee parked off in the distance, its body painted tan with random brown blotches in an effort to help it blend in with the surrounding, never-ending desert. I opened up the back door and tossed my bag in and then more delicately placed my rifle in ahead of me. I got in, sat on the seat, and pulled the rifle bag onto my lap and straddled onto it; I would never leave without a weapon in a place like this.

“Welcome back, Eagle. Good to have you with us,” greeted the driver of the vehicle, Cameron Arnolds.

“Hello, Cameron. Nice to see you again,” I wearily greeted back.

“You never do seem to catch a break, do you Nick?”

“No, it doesn’t seem so, does it? It’s actually getting to be quite annoying. With all the peace efforts being made in the world, there still are those people that need war. Between either a president or a terrorist, when it comes to world peace, the only difference is that one shrouds his actions with lies, and the other is a terrorist.”

“Don’t let anyone over here hear you say that. They may not all agree with the man in D.C., but they are here fighting, and they need support.”

“I’m not mad at them; they are only protecting their country. It just seems to be a paradox that to ‘obtain world peace’, we ‘have’ to go to war. What a load of-!”

My ranting was overshadowed by some gunshots off to the right, but Cam just started the vehicle and edged forward, then went faster down the “safe” roads to the base in Iraq. We didn’t talk too much on the drive; I was too busy preparing myself for my mission and I am sure that Cam knew some people that were in the gunfight we heard before leaving.

************************************************** ********
Amy got off the plane first, and she made sure that we all knew it.

“God, look at how desolate this place is. It’s all desert.”

I left the plane last, and my eyes confirmed her proclamation. It truly was all desert. Sand as far as one could see with the occasional mirage floating up off of the sand covered roads was all that awaited us anxious nurses and it wasn’t all that consolidating. I couldn’t believe the changes in environment that had awaited me since leaving my father’s house. From a Minnesota cabin, to the warmer San Antonio base, and now here, in the inhospitable desert of Iraq. My body was barely adjusting to my last change of climate and now it would have to reset to meet both the large time difference and the intolerable heat.

We left the airstrip and were picked up in a large truck-like vehicle, the type escapes me, and it drove us to the barracks where we were to help the soldiers of the Seventh Battalion. We all may have been anxious because we were in a war zone, but many of the nurses were like Amy; the men were the best part.

The vehicle pulled up to a set of large gates and the driver flashed a card with his picture and a U.S. official stamp on it. The guards waved him on and the gates slowly edged apart to allow us entry. We drove in and passed many attractive soldiers who waved at us flirtatiously and we felt a sudden urge to wave and smile back. One of the soldiers, I swear, had the best set of white teeth imaginable and his body wasn’t that bad to look at either. He was definitely Amy’s favorite, but I just wasn’t interested in someone like him; he probably was too keen on appearances and he reminded me of the jocks at my old high school who looked nice, but were only jerks.

It wasn’t too bad of a place and it could have been much worse, but it just wasn’t home. Well, now that I think about it, it’s good it isn’t like home.

-----------------------
Chapter VII
-----------------------
I was exploring my temporary home when I saw the guards act a little differently. Someone must be coming here, I thought to myself. I watched on in indifference as a truck pulled through the gates. A red cross was painted across the sides and on the hood; it looked like an old World War II ambulance.

A man behind me was telling his buddies that the nurses were here, and a tone of something other than respect escaped his voice. Anyone could easily tell what was going on in his mind and the men guffawed at the idea of a bunch of “lonely” women in the barracks. I was about to turn around reprimand them when a face in the window of the vehicle got my attention. I waved at her, and her face was taken over by a shocked grin. I smiled back at her and she only laughed at an unheard comment of one of the other nurses. I blushed a little, but she didn’t see me because the truck had already turned a corner to stop at a parking spot. I decided to go back to my barrack and get my equipment together, then get a good night sleep. The next day was the day; I would be assassinating Korzybski that night. I probably won’t ever see that girl again, I assured myself when I walked through the door.

************************************************** ********

“Amanda! Hey, Amanda! Wait for me!”

Amy caught up with me after putting her stuff in the room that we decided to share. She was panting for the few minutes we talked together.

“Hey, why don’t you try to find that guy again? He’s cute. And, he seemed to be interested in you.”

“No. I don’t think I would like a guy like him. Wait, you think he was interested in me?” I asked disbelievingly.

“Are you kidding? He just stared right at you, no one else. I’m telling you, he’s perfect.”

“I don’t know,” I said. I then added to humor her, “Maybe…”

We got in the shower together and laughed at our new state of life, and Amy was judging every and any guy we saw upon arrival. I only half-listened to her, smiling and nodding at her comments, because I was too busy thinking about the mystery man who’s smile I just couldn’t get out of my head. Maybe I should try to find him. Tomorrow, I told myself. Tomorrow, I will go and find him and strike up a conversation and see if I like him.
I asked Amy what sounded more romantic, if I should go see him in the day or the night, and, of course, she said at night. I thought that that might make the wrong impression, but then, at least, I could get his attention.

We got out of the shower and dried ourselves up with the towels we brought and changed into another set of clothes. We went back to our room and unpacked everything into our dressers and closet. We stored our food underneath our cots and whatever didn’t fit we put next to the foot of our beds so that it looked somewhat like home. When we finished, beads of sweat were rolling down our faces and dripping from our eyebrows and the tips of our noses. Amy handed me a towel and we wiped our faces of the sweat and I plugged in a fan to help cool the room. Finally done with everything, Amy and I strolled about the barracks to see what there was to see and to acquaint ourselves with the grounds. I didn’t see the man that day, and, truthfully, I felt a little relieved. Amy, on the other hand, flirted with every man she met, and there was more than one occasion that I thought I heard someone call her something demeaning. I think she heard it, too, but that seemed to fuel her to go on further with her “flirting career”. I could only imagine what she was like before joining the Army.

[DickZ]

Keep the wagons rolling, pbmn. It's a great story. I guess there's a chance you are getting into areas that are still a little foreign to you, but that's OK. It's better to do that, rather than to try to limit yourself to what you already know from experience, and wind up curtailing yourself too much.