Ben Kenobi:
Lumos:
The Flying Fishy:
Vermillion Hawk
Firstly, there is the thing with orientation in the text. As there is very little description, if any, and only dialogues, and since the lines are almost the same in what they are, I will put the protagonist between each line, with colon after it. These are not counted to the words total.
As for characters - I have to list them here to avoid any confussion (which will come nevertheless):
AFR379 - Air France three-seven-niner - Airbus A300 of the Air France airlines
DLH288 - Lufthansa two-eight-eight - Airbus A300 of the Lufthansa airlines
500SZ - Beechcraft five-zero-zero Sierra Zulu - Private Beechcraft KingAir
BAW553 - Speedbird five-five-three - Boeing 737-400 of the British Airways
TVA166 - Trans-America one-six-six - Boeing 777-200 of the Trans American Airlines
AIO-01PH - Air Chief zero-one Papa Hotel - McDonnell Douglas F/A-18 Hornet of the United States Navy
ITM - Osaka International Airport Tower
KIX - Kansai International Airport Approach
Secondly, I think it is very important to memorize Lufthansa two-eight-eight and Air France three-seven-niner, and to learn to read these callsigns quickly. They appear rather often in the text.
Listen to >this< before reading; to get the idea about the voices.
So yes, it may be slightly more difficult to understand what is going on in the story, but I hope you will try to overcome the obstacles. In the end, at least you get a story with - at least for me - very special feeling and spirit.
DLH288: Osaka tower, Lufthansa two-eight-eight, on hold runway three-two left, with information Juliet, requesting clearance for take-off, departing to the north.
ITM: Lufthansa two-eight-eight, you’re cleared for take-off. Climb level six zero, maintain three two zero.
DLH288: Entering three-two right and taking-off. Lufthansa two-eight-eight.
AFR379: Osaka tower, Air France three-seven-niner, on final approach runway one-four right, requesting clearance for landing.
ITM: Air France three-seven-niner, Osaka tower, go around, go around!
AFR379: Going around. Air France three-seven-niner.
The French captain had put his hands onto the throttle quadrant and pushed both engines to one hundred percent. The Airbus shook and slowly started to gain altitude, climbing to flight level 95, destined to wait on holding circuit until the runway was free for use.
500SZ: Mayday Mayday Mayday, Osaka tower, Beechcraft five-zero-zero Sierra Zulu, um…I’ve got leaking oil, also a strong smell of a smoke in a cockpit. I am gonna need runway three-two. Heading zero-five-zero, twelve miles south of Osaka International Airport, altitude eight zero zero zero feet.
ITM: Beechcraft five-zero-zero Sierra Tango, continue descend, three-two left is being cleared. Osaka tower.
ITM: Air France three-seven-niner , Osaka Tower, redirecting you to Kansai International Airport. Contact approach at one two zero point two five, ATIS one two seven point eight five.
AFR379: Kansai International Airport with approach at one two zero point two five. Air France three-seven-niner.
DLH288: Looks like you are too slow. As always, Frenchies.
AFR379: Who said that? Air France three-seven-niner.
DLH288: We did. Lufthansa two-eight-eight.
AFR379: At least we haven’t been beaten by the Brits in the air!
DLH288: We had almost won ze battle of Britain. Just luck, just luck.
ITM: Lufthansa two-eight-eight, keep the channel clear! You too, Air France three-seven-niner. Osaka tower.
DLH288: Roger that. Lufthansa two-eight-eight.
BAW553: Um…you had not . Speedbird five-five-three.
The French captain smiled into the microphone and tried to imagine the look of the pilot of the British airways who had just spoken into the frequency. Then he tuned in Kansai ATIS on 127.85 MHz, and after no surprising information was received, retuned to 120.05 MHz Kansai Approach frequency.
DLH288: Air France three-seven-niner, do you read me?
AFR379: Affirmative. Air France three-seven-niner.
DLH288: So, now the Brit guy is gone, we can resume the chat, can’t we?
AFR379: Lufthansa two-eight-eight, is that you?
DLH288: Yes.
AFR379: We have no intention to argue with you on public frequency. Air France three-seven-niner over and out.
DLH288: So…surrendering. Oh, how French of you!
AFR379: Shut up!
TVA166: Guys, guys! You’re like a married couple. Trans-America one-six-six.
AFR379: Yeah, well…we are trying to stop. Air France three-seven-niner.
DLH288: He means surrender. Lufthansa two-eight-eight.
AFR379: Shut up! Will you, Lufthansa two-eight-eight?
DLH288: You don’t even have courage to fight over the radio, do you?
AFR379: Hahaha. Frenchmen were always renowned for bravery, you ****tard! Air France three-seven-niner over and out.
DLH288: Not so quick. Do you want to make a bet?
AFR379: What the hell do you mean, Lufthansa two-eight-eight?
DLH288: Dunno. A race?
KIX: You both have same Airbuses, jackasses! Kansai Approach over and out.
DLH288: Do you know that bridge seven miles to the west, Air France three-seven-niner?
AFR379: The railroad one?
DLH288: Yes, that one.
AFR379: Positive.
DLH288: Do you have the balls to fly under it?
AFR379: Are you ****ing insane, Lufthansa two-eight-eight? Air France three-seven-niner.
KIX: Are you ****ing insane, Lufthansa two-eight-eight? Kansai Approach.
AIO-01PH: I like that guy! Air Chief zero-one Papa Hotel.
The French captain looked at his copilot; who, as willing to play this absurd role as his captain, picked up a microphone and started to talk in the most uncaring and neutral voice.
AFR379: Yes, Lufthansa two-eight-eight, it is a piece of cake. Now do you have such balls? Air France three-seven-niner.
DLH288: Sure we have, Frenchie.
KIX: This is Kansai Approach. Shut up both of you! Just shut up! Air France three-seven-niner, climb and maintain one two zero.
AFR379: One two zero. Air France three-seven-niner.
DLH288: Come on, Frenchie, you’ve said something. It’s a bet! Lufthansa two-eight-eight.
KIX: Lufthansa two-eight-eight, what in the god’s name are you doing? Turn back to zero three zero immediately! Kansai Approach.
DLH288: Sorry, Kansai, negative. Have a bridge to do!
KIX: Lufthansa two-eight-eight, Kansai Approach, return to zero seven zero or appropriate steps will be taken! Acknowledge. Kansai Approach over.
KIX: Air Chief zero-one Papa Hotel, this is Kansai Approach. Can you give me visual on Lufthansa two-eight-eight? He should be three miles away from you, vector two three five. I have him still turning on the radar screen.
AIO-01PH: Kansai Approach, I see’em; the nazi is heading into the canyon, descending quickly. Approaching him, engaged with radar. Air Chief zero-one Papa Hotel over.
USAF Hornet got itself just behind the Lufthansa Airbus A300, to an area with noticeable wake from Airbus’ two jet engines, and the US pilot saw the German aligning his plane with the canyon, approaching the bridge at approximately 200 knots.
AIO-01PH: Lufthansa two-eight-eight, this is Air Chief zero-one Papa Hotel. Can you stop it now? Boy, you’re going to have some real big ****ing problems once you land that heavy.
DLH288: No, I’ve got to show the Frenchie who really is the coward!
AIO-01PH: Deutschland über alles, eh?
DLH288: Yeah, yeah.
AIO-01PH: Kansai Approach, he is really going to make it! Air Chief zero-one Papa Hotel, out.
KIX: Maintain visual. I am directing fighters to his location. Kansai Approach.
AIO-01PH: Holy ****ing cow! Air Chief zero-one Papa Hotel, that ****er has…he has done it! Wait! Holy ****! Oh God! There is…there is fire all over the place! Columns of smoke! Mayday Mayday Mayday, Lufthansa two-eight-eight has crashed into the river bed! ****ing ****! There are…explosions. Fuel is on fire!
“What an idiot that was!” said the copilot in Air France 379.
“Yeah, Marc. What an idiot,” replied the captain quietly.
“A-310 was never going to fit under it.”
“No, it was not.”
“So…he really was brave after all.”
“Yeah…”
“Which means...”
“Yeah, I know, Marc. Flaps down, throttle to thirty percent.”
“Are we really going to do that?”
“Are you more afraid than the German?”
“No.”
“So you see.”
KIX: Air France three-seven-niner, what are your intentions? I have you turning left, please return zero nine zero, flight level one two zero. Kansai Approach.
AFR379: Negative, we got a debt to pay. Air France three-seven-niner out.
As for characters - I have to list them here to avoid any confussion (which will come nevertheless):
AFR379 - Air France three-seven-niner - Airbus A300 of the Air France airlines
DLH288 - Lufthansa two-eight-eight - Airbus A300 of the Lufthansa airlines
500SZ - Beechcraft five-zero-zero Sierra Zulu - Private Beechcraft KingAir
BAW553 - Speedbird five-five-three - Boeing 737-400 of the British Airways
TVA166 - Trans-America one-six-six - Boeing 777-200 of the Trans American Airlines
AIO-01PH - Air Chief zero-one Papa Hotel - McDonnell Douglas F/A-18 Hornet of the United States Navy
ITM - Osaka International Airport Tower
KIX - Kansai International Airport Approach
Secondly, I think it is very important to memorize Lufthansa two-eight-eight and Air France three-seven-niner, and to learn to read these callsigns quickly. They appear rather often in the text.
Listen to >this< before reading; to get the idea about the voices.
So yes, it may be slightly more difficult to understand what is going on in the story, but I hope you will try to overcome the obstacles. In the end, at least you get a story with - at least for me - very special feeling and spirit.
DLH288: Osaka tower, Lufthansa two-eight-eight, on hold runway three-two left, with information Juliet, requesting clearance for take-off, departing to the north.
ITM: Lufthansa two-eight-eight, you’re cleared for take-off. Climb level six zero, maintain three two zero.
DLH288: Entering three-two right and taking-off. Lufthansa two-eight-eight.
AFR379: Osaka tower, Air France three-seven-niner, on final approach runway one-four right, requesting clearance for landing.
ITM: Air France three-seven-niner, Osaka tower, go around, go around!
AFR379: Going around. Air France three-seven-niner.
The French captain had put his hands onto the throttle quadrant and pushed both engines to one hundred percent. The Airbus shook and slowly started to gain altitude, climbing to flight level 95, destined to wait on holding circuit until the runway was free for use.
500SZ: Mayday Mayday Mayday, Osaka tower, Beechcraft five-zero-zero Sierra Zulu, um…I’ve got leaking oil, also a strong smell of a smoke in a cockpit. I am gonna need runway three-two. Heading zero-five-zero, twelve miles south of Osaka International Airport, altitude eight zero zero zero feet.
ITM: Beechcraft five-zero-zero Sierra Tango, continue descend, three-two left is being cleared. Osaka tower.
ITM: Air France three-seven-niner , Osaka Tower, redirecting you to Kansai International Airport. Contact approach at one two zero point two five, ATIS one two seven point eight five.
AFR379: Kansai International Airport with approach at one two zero point two five. Air France three-seven-niner.
DLH288: Looks like you are too slow. As always, Frenchies.
AFR379: Who said that? Air France three-seven-niner.
DLH288: We did. Lufthansa two-eight-eight.
AFR379: At least we haven’t been beaten by the Brits in the air!
DLH288: We had almost won ze battle of Britain. Just luck, just luck.
ITM: Lufthansa two-eight-eight, keep the channel clear! You too, Air France three-seven-niner. Osaka tower.
DLH288: Roger that. Lufthansa two-eight-eight.
BAW553: Um…you had not . Speedbird five-five-three.
The French captain smiled into the microphone and tried to imagine the look of the pilot of the British airways who had just spoken into the frequency. Then he tuned in Kansai ATIS on 127.85 MHz, and after no surprising information was received, retuned to 120.05 MHz Kansai Approach frequency.
DLH288: Air France three-seven-niner, do you read me?
AFR379: Affirmative. Air France three-seven-niner.
DLH288: So, now the Brit guy is gone, we can resume the chat, can’t we?
AFR379: Lufthansa two-eight-eight, is that you?
DLH288: Yes.
AFR379: We have no intention to argue with you on public frequency. Air France three-seven-niner over and out.
DLH288: So…surrendering. Oh, how French of you!
AFR379: Shut up!
TVA166: Guys, guys! You’re like a married couple. Trans-America one-six-six.
AFR379: Yeah, well…we are trying to stop. Air France three-seven-niner.
DLH288: He means surrender. Lufthansa two-eight-eight.
AFR379: Shut up! Will you, Lufthansa two-eight-eight?
DLH288: You don’t even have courage to fight over the radio, do you?
AFR379: Hahaha. Frenchmen were always renowned for bravery, you ****tard! Air France three-seven-niner over and out.
DLH288: Not so quick. Do you want to make a bet?
AFR379: What the hell do you mean, Lufthansa two-eight-eight?
DLH288: Dunno. A race?
KIX: You both have same Airbuses, jackasses! Kansai Approach over and out.
DLH288: Do you know that bridge seven miles to the west, Air France three-seven-niner?
AFR379: The railroad one?
DLH288: Yes, that one.
AFR379: Positive.
DLH288: Do you have the balls to fly under it?
AFR379: Are you ****ing insane, Lufthansa two-eight-eight? Air France three-seven-niner.
KIX: Are you ****ing insane, Lufthansa two-eight-eight? Kansai Approach.
AIO-01PH: I like that guy! Air Chief zero-one Papa Hotel.
The French captain looked at his copilot; who, as willing to play this absurd role as his captain, picked up a microphone and started to talk in the most uncaring and neutral voice.
AFR379: Yes, Lufthansa two-eight-eight, it is a piece of cake. Now do you have such balls? Air France three-seven-niner.
DLH288: Sure we have, Frenchie.
KIX: This is Kansai Approach. Shut up both of you! Just shut up! Air France three-seven-niner, climb and maintain one two zero.
AFR379: One two zero. Air France three-seven-niner.
DLH288: Come on, Frenchie, you’ve said something. It’s a bet! Lufthansa two-eight-eight.
KIX: Lufthansa two-eight-eight, what in the god’s name are you doing? Turn back to zero three zero immediately! Kansai Approach.
DLH288: Sorry, Kansai, negative. Have a bridge to do!
KIX: Lufthansa two-eight-eight, Kansai Approach, return to zero seven zero or appropriate steps will be taken! Acknowledge. Kansai Approach over.
KIX: Air Chief zero-one Papa Hotel, this is Kansai Approach. Can you give me visual on Lufthansa two-eight-eight? He should be three miles away from you, vector two three five. I have him still turning on the radar screen.
AIO-01PH: Kansai Approach, I see’em; the nazi is heading into the canyon, descending quickly. Approaching him, engaged with radar. Air Chief zero-one Papa Hotel over.
USAF Hornet got itself just behind the Lufthansa Airbus A300, to an area with noticeable wake from Airbus’ two jet engines, and the US pilot saw the German aligning his plane with the canyon, approaching the bridge at approximately 200 knots.
AIO-01PH: Lufthansa two-eight-eight, this is Air Chief zero-one Papa Hotel. Can you stop it now? Boy, you’re going to have some real big ****ing problems once you land that heavy.
DLH288: No, I’ve got to show the Frenchie who really is the coward!
AIO-01PH: Deutschland über alles, eh?
DLH288: Yeah, yeah.
AIO-01PH: Kansai Approach, he is really going to make it! Air Chief zero-one Papa Hotel, out.
KIX: Maintain visual. I am directing fighters to his location. Kansai Approach.
AIO-01PH: Holy ****ing cow! Air Chief zero-one Papa Hotel, that ****er has…he has done it! Wait! Holy ****! Oh God! There is…there is fire all over the place! Columns of smoke! Mayday Mayday Mayday, Lufthansa two-eight-eight has crashed into the river bed! ****ing ****! There are…explosions. Fuel is on fire!
“What an idiot that was!” said the copilot in Air France 379.
“Yeah, Marc. What an idiot,” replied the captain quietly.
“A-310 was never going to fit under it.”
“No, it was not.”
“So…he really was brave after all.”
“Yeah…”
“Which means...”
“Yeah, I know, Marc. Flaps down, throttle to thirty percent.”
“Are we really going to do that?”
“Are you more afraid than the German?”
“No.”
“So you see.”
KIX: Air France three-seven-niner, what are your intentions? I have you turning left, please return zero nine zero, flight level one two zero. Kansai Approach.
AFR379: Negative, we got a debt to pay. Air France three-seven-niner out.
Lumos:
So there I was, in the corner, back against the wall, angry at the whole world. The invader standing above me didn’t help remedy the situation at all.
I tossed my bottle aside, but the creature didn’t react. Instead, it sniffed me.
It had four legs, vaguely resembled a dog, but larger. Add a freakishly yellow colour, sprinkled with greenish dots, and you’ll know how the aliens looked. The most unsettling thing in them was the intelligence in their eyes. I didn’t like it, nor did I like being observed by one of them.
My head ached horribly. I never used to drink before they came, but then again, I didn’t live in a ruined pile of waste before that.
“Screw you”, I snarled. It was stupid, I know. The invader just looked at me, then turned around and walked away. I remained lying there in the dust, feeling horrible.
“Ah, there you are”, sighed Thomas in relief when I entered the “Centre”. It was nothing more than an apartment like the rest, but we’d dragged a large table in the middle. Thomas would always discuss his plans here. We had a door, and we’d barred up the windows so it was “secure”. Despite our valiant efforts however, it still looked like a ruined hovel.
A few people looked at me when I entered, then away again. I grunted something to Thomas and stepped over a small pile of rubble to get to the bathroom, where we kept the freshwater bottles. My mouth was dry.
“We’re hitting their base tomorrow”, Thomas was talking to my back. “You’re in.”
I suppressed a laugh. Oh, Thomas. How he always thought we stood a chance. He envisioned us as guerillas fighting the invaders, I guess.
The aliens weren’t as evil as in some old movies, really. They just appeared one day and destroyed everything we threw against them.
Then they stopped doing anything. They deployed their awkward structures in many cities, and only sometimes appeared, on their own, wandering around, looking at things, protected by an impenetrable personal shield.
And they killed everyone who attempted to attack them, yet they would leave bystanders unharmed. Of course, there were rumours that their shields could fail, that a couple of guys from Bulgaria had killed one using a tripmine and a sniper rifle, that some Russian bloke had killed an invader one-on-one with an axe. I didn’t believe any of them.
I got to the table with my small, filthy plastic cup of water just as Thomas was explaining the battleplan. Anna looked at me, and I caught her eyes. To be honest, I really liked her determination and character, and she was hot. I briefly imagined her clad in nothing but her long rust-coloured hair, as I sometimes did. I didn’t really know what her opinion of me was, though. Whether it was unlike the opinions of all the others, I mean.
Thomas kept rambling on and on about his “plan” whilst I took a sip of my water. It was quite nice, though a bit dust-flavoured, and I thought my head didn’t hurt as much anymore.
“Jerry will lead the engineers,” Thomas pointed at me.
“Sure”, I didn’t laugh. Nobody but Thomas could call anybody of us “engineers”.
In short, we were supposed to blow the resident alien building “sky-high”, as Thomas said. We did have some “IEDs” to use for the job. I would lead the “engineers” to set the charges, Thomas would command us from range, and Harry and Jake would “provide overwatch” with two of our nine rifles. Until now, our biggest success had been raiding the supplies of some chaps that lived on the other side of the river. That went well, but I reckoned we’d fail today. Thomas’s stupid seemingly-military language didn’t help as well.
Jeremy finished tying the last bomb to the alien building, which had an uncanny resemblance to a tower from “Age of Empires II”. I found that hilarious.
“C’mon, hurry”. I could see our wannabe-snipers on their roof a few buildings back. The aliens would have to be blind not to see them. Why did we even keep listening to Thomas…?
Jeremy nodded and set the timer off just as Jake’s voice crackled in my ears. “Three yellows incoming. Get out of there.”
“Okay”, I gestured towards the others to move out. They nodded.
“****”, I heard Harry. Behind my back, an alien had come out of the tower to take a look at our explosives. “Run,” the radio crackled.
We turned around. The alien was still observing our bombs. Then it looked at us curiously.
“I’ve got him in my sights”, said the radio. “Perhaps in the head—“
“No”, I dropped my rifle down. “Drop the guns!”, I ordered. The aliens killed only those who tried to harm them, so if we could get the hell out of here quicker…
The alien looked at the bombs again, then at us. I had a feeling of impending doom, so I stepped in front of Anna, who was standing beside me.
At that precise moment, the bombs exploded, though we had about five more minutes on the timer. The alien must have triggered them.
The explosion deafened all of us and tossed us back. I fell on something reasonably soft, but my ears were ringing. It turned out I’d fallen on Anna.
“Thanks for breaking my fall…”
“Get off me.”
“Ouch.”
She was a bit squished, but otherwise alright and unburnt. She forgave me later.
Jeremy on the other hand was bruised, and Ron was badly burned, but we were mostly fine.
The alien was unharmed and looking at us curiously. What a smug bastard. The tower was unscathed as well, without even a scratch on it.
“Retreat!”, I heard Thomas’s raspy voice through the radio.
“You should have said that sooner.”
And so we picked up our injured and our “snipers” and went home. Thomas was very sad for a while after that.
I tossed my bottle aside, but the creature didn’t react. Instead, it sniffed me.
It had four legs, vaguely resembled a dog, but larger. Add a freakishly yellow colour, sprinkled with greenish dots, and you’ll know how the aliens looked. The most unsettling thing in them was the intelligence in their eyes. I didn’t like it, nor did I like being observed by one of them.
My head ached horribly. I never used to drink before they came, but then again, I didn’t live in a ruined pile of waste before that.
“Screw you”, I snarled. It was stupid, I know. The invader just looked at me, then turned around and walked away. I remained lying there in the dust, feeling horrible.
“Ah, there you are”, sighed Thomas in relief when I entered the “Centre”. It was nothing more than an apartment like the rest, but we’d dragged a large table in the middle. Thomas would always discuss his plans here. We had a door, and we’d barred up the windows so it was “secure”. Despite our valiant efforts however, it still looked like a ruined hovel.
A few people looked at me when I entered, then away again. I grunted something to Thomas and stepped over a small pile of rubble to get to the bathroom, where we kept the freshwater bottles. My mouth was dry.
“We’re hitting their base tomorrow”, Thomas was talking to my back. “You’re in.”
I suppressed a laugh. Oh, Thomas. How he always thought we stood a chance. He envisioned us as guerillas fighting the invaders, I guess.
The aliens weren’t as evil as in some old movies, really. They just appeared one day and destroyed everything we threw against them.
Then they stopped doing anything. They deployed their awkward structures in many cities, and only sometimes appeared, on their own, wandering around, looking at things, protected by an impenetrable personal shield.
And they killed everyone who attempted to attack them, yet they would leave bystanders unharmed. Of course, there were rumours that their shields could fail, that a couple of guys from Bulgaria had killed one using a tripmine and a sniper rifle, that some Russian bloke had killed an invader one-on-one with an axe. I didn’t believe any of them.
I got to the table with my small, filthy plastic cup of water just as Thomas was explaining the battleplan. Anna looked at me, and I caught her eyes. To be honest, I really liked her determination and character, and she was hot. I briefly imagined her clad in nothing but her long rust-coloured hair, as I sometimes did. I didn’t really know what her opinion of me was, though. Whether it was unlike the opinions of all the others, I mean.
Thomas kept rambling on and on about his “plan” whilst I took a sip of my water. It was quite nice, though a bit dust-flavoured, and I thought my head didn’t hurt as much anymore.
“Jerry will lead the engineers,” Thomas pointed at me.
“Sure”, I didn’t laugh. Nobody but Thomas could call anybody of us “engineers”.
In short, we were supposed to blow the resident alien building “sky-high”, as Thomas said. We did have some “IEDs” to use for the job. I would lead the “engineers” to set the charges, Thomas would command us from range, and Harry and Jake would “provide overwatch” with two of our nine rifles. Until now, our biggest success had been raiding the supplies of some chaps that lived on the other side of the river. That went well, but I reckoned we’d fail today. Thomas’s stupid seemingly-military language didn’t help as well.
Jeremy finished tying the last bomb to the alien building, which had an uncanny resemblance to a tower from “Age of Empires II”. I found that hilarious.
“C’mon, hurry”. I could see our wannabe-snipers on their roof a few buildings back. The aliens would have to be blind not to see them. Why did we even keep listening to Thomas…?
Jeremy nodded and set the timer off just as Jake’s voice crackled in my ears. “Three yellows incoming. Get out of there.”
“Okay”, I gestured towards the others to move out. They nodded.
“****”, I heard Harry. Behind my back, an alien had come out of the tower to take a look at our explosives. “Run,” the radio crackled.
We turned around. The alien was still observing our bombs. Then it looked at us curiously.
“I’ve got him in my sights”, said the radio. “Perhaps in the head—“
“No”, I dropped my rifle down. “Drop the guns!”, I ordered. The aliens killed only those who tried to harm them, so if we could get the hell out of here quicker…
The alien looked at the bombs again, then at us. I had a feeling of impending doom, so I stepped in front of Anna, who was standing beside me.
At that precise moment, the bombs exploded, though we had about five more minutes on the timer. The alien must have triggered them.
The explosion deafened all of us and tossed us back. I fell on something reasonably soft, but my ears were ringing. It turned out I’d fallen on Anna.
“Thanks for breaking my fall…”
“Get off me.”
“Ouch.”
She was a bit squished, but otherwise alright and unburnt. She forgave me later.
Jeremy on the other hand was bruised, and Ron was badly burned, but we were mostly fine.
The alien was unharmed and looking at us curiously. What a smug bastard. The tower was unscathed as well, without even a scratch on it.
“Retreat!”, I heard Thomas’s raspy voice through the radio.
“You should have said that sooner.”
And so we picked up our injured and our “snipers” and went home. Thomas was very sad for a while after that.
The Flying Fishy:
“Tom! Tom!,” the Voice whispered loudly inside Tom’s head, seducing every single nerve within his body into a dull and restless state of calmness. “This is your last chance, Tom. There can be no more second guessing yourself. This is your last-”
“Chance. My last chance. I know it is. You can stop now,” replied Tom sorrowfully. He knew that this was, indeed, his last chance. He slowly lifted his lantern to the mouth of the old tunnel he was facing. Within, he knew, was his final opportunity to free his mind from the horrible monster which had laid claim to it, so many years ago. If he couldn’t satisfy it this time, he knew it would take complete control of him, snatching away his last bit of free will, so that it might more efficiently go about its quest. The only reason it hadn’t done so already, it had explained, was that it needed a host who knew something about the world it now found itself trapped in, which was so foreign from its own.
It is said that anyone who dies in the old tunnels has their soul trapped within forever, for it is far too dark for any being, living or not, to find its way out. This had been the ill fate that had befallen the Voice in his previous incarnation of a young, overly adventurous boy, who had decided one day to explore the tunnels and find the riches that surely lied deep within, hidden off in some secret side door midway through. He soon found the tunnel to be much longer than he had anticipated, however. The last thing the Voice remembered was the piercing and mournful sound of the train’s whistle. After exactly 100 hundred years of nothingness, the Voice had awoken right where its former host had perished, when a wandering vagabond named Tom had inadvertently stepped on the spot, while tramping his way through the mountains in search of work. The years that followed were horrible for Tom, as the Voice compelled him to pour his whole life into finding a way to put it to rest. For three decades Tom had been its slave, questioning the local mountain folk on their legends and myths, reading books on the subject, and scouring television and the internet for anything that would allow the voice to rest. Finally, 32 years to the day of his possession Tom had met an old hick who lived in a forsaken cabin in the middle of the forest. His eyes were the same as Tom’s, empty, yet desperate. He told him that the only way to rid himself of the Voice was to be at the exact spot of the incident on the same night it had occurred and to chant :
“Specter, Specter in my breast
Now I bid ye to your rest
Off my body live no more
To you now I shut the door
Spirit, Spirit, deep within
Away you go, rejoin your kin
Never more to haunt this earth
From me now be going forth!”
Something about the old man’s eyes told Tom that he’d finally found the answer. “But how do you know all of this,” Tom had asked. The old man simply smiled a queer smile and said, “Mountain myths, ‘sall. Just bein’ around.” He then let out a terrifying, thunderous laugh and told Tom to, “Git off my property ’fore I rid you of that thing inside you with my shotgun right now!” And on this Tom was basing his bid for freedom.
Tom took one final deep breathe and stepped into the tunnel. His lantern cast a dim light far into the tunnel’s throat. Upon looking up he saw a pitch black roof, stained by the coal trains of long ago. He slowly began to walk forward. Suddenly, far off behind him in the woods he heard a lonely wolf howl and froze mid-motion.
“Really,” hissed the Voice, almost soothingly, “you’re more afraid of a wolf than you are of me? That’s a pity… being so close, I really don’t need you anymore, now do I? The only reason I haven’t taken control and rid myself of your incompetence is that I’m a sentimental being, Tom. Now, FINISH IT!”
“I’m going…I’m going,” replied Tom. “ Just don’t like wolfs much, ‘sall.”
After about a half hour’s worth of walking they finally arrived at the spot where the Voice’s once-upon-a-time bones laid by the side of the tracks.
“Well,” said Tom, “I would like to say it was a pleasure making your acquaintance, but I am confident that you will understand if I confess that it was, in fact, not.”
“Be done with it!,” shrieked the voice. Tom wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn he heard a hint of excitement, a sense of deep longing soon to be fulfilled, within the usually cold and harsh-sounding Voice.
“ As you say,“ said Tom, ”Here goes:
“Specter, Specter in my breast
Now I bid ye to your rest
Off my body live no more
To you now I shut the door
Spirit, Spirit, deep within
Away you go, rejoin your kin
Never more to haunt this earth
From me now be going forth!”
Suddenly, Tom’s mouth flew open and a tremendously loud roar came from deep within him. His whole body was racked with pain, as the Voice delivered one final blow. By the end of it all, Tom found himself on his hands and knees, barely able to breathe. But he didn’t care. He regarded the sting of pain and his exhaustion as a fond farewell delivered by a dearest of friends, for to him it meant freedom at long last! As he regained his composure, he looked up and saw a beautiful light, brighter than any he had ever seen before! It was majestic and wonderful! It was as if Heaven itself was opening its curtains to add to Tom’s joy!
It was then Tom heard the train’s whistle.
“Chance. My last chance. I know it is. You can stop now,” replied Tom sorrowfully. He knew that this was, indeed, his last chance. He slowly lifted his lantern to the mouth of the old tunnel he was facing. Within, he knew, was his final opportunity to free his mind from the horrible monster which had laid claim to it, so many years ago. If he couldn’t satisfy it this time, he knew it would take complete control of him, snatching away his last bit of free will, so that it might more efficiently go about its quest. The only reason it hadn’t done so already, it had explained, was that it needed a host who knew something about the world it now found itself trapped in, which was so foreign from its own.
It is said that anyone who dies in the old tunnels has their soul trapped within forever, for it is far too dark for any being, living or not, to find its way out. This had been the ill fate that had befallen the Voice in his previous incarnation of a young, overly adventurous boy, who had decided one day to explore the tunnels and find the riches that surely lied deep within, hidden off in some secret side door midway through. He soon found the tunnel to be much longer than he had anticipated, however. The last thing the Voice remembered was the piercing and mournful sound of the train’s whistle. After exactly 100 hundred years of nothingness, the Voice had awoken right where its former host had perished, when a wandering vagabond named Tom had inadvertently stepped on the spot, while tramping his way through the mountains in search of work. The years that followed were horrible for Tom, as the Voice compelled him to pour his whole life into finding a way to put it to rest. For three decades Tom had been its slave, questioning the local mountain folk on their legends and myths, reading books on the subject, and scouring television and the internet for anything that would allow the voice to rest. Finally, 32 years to the day of his possession Tom had met an old hick who lived in a forsaken cabin in the middle of the forest. His eyes were the same as Tom’s, empty, yet desperate. He told him that the only way to rid himself of the Voice was to be at the exact spot of the incident on the same night it had occurred and to chant :
“Specter, Specter in my breast
Now I bid ye to your rest
Off my body live no more
To you now I shut the door
Spirit, Spirit, deep within
Away you go, rejoin your kin
Never more to haunt this earth
From me now be going forth!”
Something about the old man’s eyes told Tom that he’d finally found the answer. “But how do you know all of this,” Tom had asked. The old man simply smiled a queer smile and said, “Mountain myths, ‘sall. Just bein’ around.” He then let out a terrifying, thunderous laugh and told Tom to, “Git off my property ’fore I rid you of that thing inside you with my shotgun right now!” And on this Tom was basing his bid for freedom.
Tom took one final deep breathe and stepped into the tunnel. His lantern cast a dim light far into the tunnel’s throat. Upon looking up he saw a pitch black roof, stained by the coal trains of long ago. He slowly began to walk forward. Suddenly, far off behind him in the woods he heard a lonely wolf howl and froze mid-motion.
“Really,” hissed the Voice, almost soothingly, “you’re more afraid of a wolf than you are of me? That’s a pity… being so close, I really don’t need you anymore, now do I? The only reason I haven’t taken control and rid myself of your incompetence is that I’m a sentimental being, Tom. Now, FINISH IT!”
“I’m going…I’m going,” replied Tom. “ Just don’t like wolfs much, ‘sall.”
After about a half hour’s worth of walking they finally arrived at the spot where the Voice’s once-upon-a-time bones laid by the side of the tracks.
“Well,” said Tom, “I would like to say it was a pleasure making your acquaintance, but I am confident that you will understand if I confess that it was, in fact, not.”
“Be done with it!,” shrieked the voice. Tom wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn he heard a hint of excitement, a sense of deep longing soon to be fulfilled, within the usually cold and harsh-sounding Voice.
“ As you say,“ said Tom, ”Here goes:
“Specter, Specter in my breast
Now I bid ye to your rest
Off my body live no more
To you now I shut the door
Spirit, Spirit, deep within
Away you go, rejoin your kin
Never more to haunt this earth
From me now be going forth!”
Suddenly, Tom’s mouth flew open and a tremendously loud roar came from deep within him. His whole body was racked with pain, as the Voice delivered one final blow. By the end of it all, Tom found himself on his hands and knees, barely able to breathe. But he didn’t care. He regarded the sting of pain and his exhaustion as a fond farewell delivered by a dearest of friends, for to him it meant freedom at long last! As he regained his composure, he looked up and saw a beautiful light, brighter than any he had ever seen before! It was majestic and wonderful! It was as if Heaven itself was opening its curtains to add to Tom’s joy!
It was then Tom heard the train’s whistle.
Vermillion Hawk
Jan trudged through the deep snow, cold hands readjusting his backpack and clutching the bundle of his meagre worldly possessions as he made his way down the barely-visible country road. The vast expanse of white glittered like a million carnelians in the sunset. It would have been a beautiful sight under different circumstances, and if the clouds to his back didn’t signal the onset of a winter storm. His shallow breaths clouded the air in front of him. His legs were filled with fatigue from being driven so far from his modest hut in the hills near Berlevåg. The mere mention of his small but happy home and his former life forced him to fight back tears. It wasn’t much that he’d had, but it was something – hunting and fishing for his meals, growing a small garden in the warm months, reading the few books he could get his hands on during his infrequent trips into town, and listening to the radio and hearing about the far-off lands he’d probably never see… all of it, gone now, and here he was on this dreary road, pursued by wolves and wondering to God how this could ever have happened to him. He knew they were still on his trail. He’d made good time today but he still had the feeling of being watched, being stalked by an invisible predator. The thought of the pursuit made him nervously readjust his bundle and backpack and quicken his pace. He’d lost just about everything, but he wasn’t about to relinquish his life to the cowardly creatures.
The sun continued on its descent into the depths of the icy Cocytus that he treaded, and Jan knew he had to find shelter or risk freezing to death in the coming storm. He’d seen enough cocksure young hunters try and brave the night out on the snowfields in a whiteout and find nothing but a slow and cold death. He’d buried too many frozen, frost-rimed corpses in his time. The wind to his back was picking up, and he quickened his pace once more, searching for a suitable spot. Spying a large hill, he trudged towards it, cresting it to find a natural hollow on the leeward side. Praising his luck, Jan dropped his bundle and slipped off his backpack. After digging a small pit, he took his matches and the small amount of wood he’d managed to collect during the day, striking the matches and burning the tinder he’d placed in the centre of the fire. It was a pitiful fire, but it’d keep him alive. The wind began to howl and snow obscured his vision outside of his little hollow. While cooking and eating the small rabbit he’d caught earlier today he sighed a sigh of relief. The conditions outside, he hoped, would prevent him from being found tonight. Finishing the meal and making sure the fire would last through the night, he curled up into his little hollow and, after several yawns and long blinks, fell asleep.
Morning broke, and Jan woke up to see a fresh and unmolested expanse of purest crystalline white rolling over the landscape before him. A stark, yet sublime sight.. His only guide now would be his memory. He picked up his things and prepared to move out for the day. With any tracks he’d left covered by the snowstorm, he started the day’s long walk with a bit of optimistic cheer. He trudged onward through the smooth snow over the all-but-invisible road, his gait settling in to the familiar pattern as the sun rose at his back.
At midday, however, he stopped in his tracks. The wind whistling across the plains was the only sound he heard now, but he thought he had heard something else, faintly, in the distance. Dismissing it as paranoia, Jan was about to resume his march again when he heard it more distinctly. A low growling in the distance. The wolves. He looked back, and saw his tracks as clear as the day stretching out behind him. There couldn’t be any attempt to cover them up. Starting to panic, he ran to a snow drift beside the road. He dropped his backpack on the leeward side, and began to unwrap his bundle, to reveal the long and scarred wooden form of his father’s Krag-Jørgensen hunting rifle. Saying a small prayer, he loaded his last 5-round magazine. He hoped it would be enough. He crawled his way to the crest of the snowdrift, and lay down upon the rounded summit. His white clothes would provide enough camouflage until it was too late.
The growling intensified, growing louder and louder. Suddenly, it intensified as a dull white-and-grey shape crested the gently sloping terrain that lay out in front of Jan. Smoke billowed from the exhaust of the halftrack, and the smooth snow on the road was remorselessly pushed aside by the triangular plow attached to the front. Jan’s heart skipped a beat as the halftrack came to his deep footprints leading off the road around one hundred and fifty metres from Jan’s position, and an occupant shouted a command. Four men leapt from the halftrack, black overcoats brushing the snow and red armbands screaming out like blood amidst the monochrome surroundings. Not men, Jan corrected himself. Wolves. Four legs or two, wolves were the same. Taking what they wanted, killing those who opposed him. The men approached his position, following the tracks and clutching their submachine guns, still not noticing Jan as he aimed his rifle at the rearguard. Two legs or four, wolves were wolves. And prey was prey. He took the shot. Red blossoms sprang up on the snow.
The sun continued on its descent into the depths of the icy Cocytus that he treaded, and Jan knew he had to find shelter or risk freezing to death in the coming storm. He’d seen enough cocksure young hunters try and brave the night out on the snowfields in a whiteout and find nothing but a slow and cold death. He’d buried too many frozen, frost-rimed corpses in his time. The wind to his back was picking up, and he quickened his pace once more, searching for a suitable spot. Spying a large hill, he trudged towards it, cresting it to find a natural hollow on the leeward side. Praising his luck, Jan dropped his bundle and slipped off his backpack. After digging a small pit, he took his matches and the small amount of wood he’d managed to collect during the day, striking the matches and burning the tinder he’d placed in the centre of the fire. It was a pitiful fire, but it’d keep him alive. The wind began to howl and snow obscured his vision outside of his little hollow. While cooking and eating the small rabbit he’d caught earlier today he sighed a sigh of relief. The conditions outside, he hoped, would prevent him from being found tonight. Finishing the meal and making sure the fire would last through the night, he curled up into his little hollow and, after several yawns and long blinks, fell asleep.
Morning broke, and Jan woke up to see a fresh and unmolested expanse of purest crystalline white rolling over the landscape before him. A stark, yet sublime sight.. His only guide now would be his memory. He picked up his things and prepared to move out for the day. With any tracks he’d left covered by the snowstorm, he started the day’s long walk with a bit of optimistic cheer. He trudged onward through the smooth snow over the all-but-invisible road, his gait settling in to the familiar pattern as the sun rose at his back.
At midday, however, he stopped in his tracks. The wind whistling across the plains was the only sound he heard now, but he thought he had heard something else, faintly, in the distance. Dismissing it as paranoia, Jan was about to resume his march again when he heard it more distinctly. A low growling in the distance. The wolves. He looked back, and saw his tracks as clear as the day stretching out behind him. There couldn’t be any attempt to cover them up. Starting to panic, he ran to a snow drift beside the road. He dropped his backpack on the leeward side, and began to unwrap his bundle, to reveal the long and scarred wooden form of his father’s Krag-Jørgensen hunting rifle. Saying a small prayer, he loaded his last 5-round magazine. He hoped it would be enough. He crawled his way to the crest of the snowdrift, and lay down upon the rounded summit. His white clothes would provide enough camouflage until it was too late.
The growling intensified, growing louder and louder. Suddenly, it intensified as a dull white-and-grey shape crested the gently sloping terrain that lay out in front of Jan. Smoke billowed from the exhaust of the halftrack, and the smooth snow on the road was remorselessly pushed aside by the triangular plow attached to the front. Jan’s heart skipped a beat as the halftrack came to his deep footprints leading off the road around one hundred and fifty metres from Jan’s position, and an occupant shouted a command. Four men leapt from the halftrack, black overcoats brushing the snow and red armbands screaming out like blood amidst the monochrome surroundings. Not men, Jan corrected himself. Wolves. Four legs or two, wolves were the same. Taking what they wanted, killing those who opposed him. The men approached his position, following the tracks and clutching their submachine guns, still not noticing Jan as he aimed his rifle at the rearguard. Two legs or four, wolves were wolves. And prey was prey. He took the shot. Red blossoms sprang up on the snow.
Besides, I also hope that it sounded alright, as it is my first ever attempt to write from the first-person perspective.
And I believe the point of the story was to give my main character an "I knew it" feeling, further undelining the hopelessness of the situation they are in, noting that the aliens don't give too much of a ****, and just for something reminiscent of dark-ish humor?
