Writing, Again

Finally, the dam is beginning to break. I hate it when I don’t even want to tell myself stories. That really sucks. It really, really sucks when you’re in the middle of Script Frenzy and have been stuck on the same page count for almost 2 weeks! Not to mention the chapter of R&L you owe your readers. And the new stories that in various stages. Oh, and the “for money” stuff.

Forget about the few minutes when you put your head on the pillow and want to tell yourself a story to go to sleep. Or do the same with your partner. Or the time in the car when I normally live dialogue. Or the time in the shower when I work out thorny problems with a plot.

When none of that is happening, it sucks.

Finally, the damn broke. This is what came through. I have no plot outlined. Have no idea at all where it is going to go, if at all. But I wrote again. Coherent sentences! A bit of storytelling!

Prologue

I learned to hate the mud in Basic Training. Nearly twenty years later, I still despise it. From rice paddies… to jungles… to fields in Eastern Europe to… Well, all over the World, I’ve walked, run, crawled, and eaten it. I’ve bleed on it and caused others to as well.

I hate the mud.

When I’m done with this gig, I’m finding a sandy beach on an island that has no mud. Sun, water, sand. No mud. Beer, booze, waves, and bodies for soft loving. Yeah!

My implant clucks three times, the signal from our sniper that this side of the camp is clear of guards. I move at roughly an inch ever few minutes into my final position. I’m batting cleanup while doing close surveillance on this mission. I should be in the lead going into the nest of vipers, but my First Sargent had other ideas.

I’m alive today because I’ve listened to his ideas. On this last mission, I damn well am going to.

Slowly, I readied my weapons and let my mind return to the mission. It’s dangerous to drift.

Two clucks just as I see the lone guard coming around the camp into my field of view. I move my jaw and subvocalize, “Status?”

In team order I get different sounds, all a single cluck, click, and other various noises that can be made by the mouth without making an external sound. Each one unique to a person on the team and telling me they were ready.

I subvoc’d again, “Go!”

In other branches of the military, this single command would have unleashed the fury of hell on this little camp. In my world, I only heard the muffled woofs and the actions sliding in well oiled weapons because I was expecting them. My own particular sounds made the guard, who was just walking around in a daze, fall with half his skull missing.

Sinking back into the mud, again, I waited. I saw a few blurs of black move into the camp. The wet sucked the noise out of the air so I heard nothing from in front of me. Waiting. Watching. Prepared, just in case.

Damned mud. Fine when you’re a kid. Might even been fun to a farmer. It was working for us here, but… Damned mud.

“Clear,” the ever calm voice of Rameriz.

“Clear,” said Johansen with his slight Scandinavian accent still intact.

“Clear, four down,” L. C. Jones stated, indicating that four bad guys had gone to what ever god they worshiped.

“Clear, three down,” Sam “Call Me Snake” Jones said in his Southern drawl.

“Barracks clear. Eight less for dinner,” Hiram calmly stated in his thick Brooklyn accent.

“Objective secured,” the terse words of First Sargent Hiro finally came.

“Perimeter check,” I said loud enough to be picked up by the implant and still be distinct. I received three of those precious single-syllable sounds back. “Egress clear.”

Even being aware of it about to happen, I could barely detect the team leaving the camp and disappearing. Again, the sounds to indicate that each was at their primary exit point. I subvoc’d, “Pull back.”

I pulled myself free of the mud I’d been mired in for a bit with a horrid sucking sound. As I moved slowly backwards, there was a burning feeling through my lower back that pushed me back into the mud.

On automatic I got the word hit out through my transmitter. Okay, stay calm. I just need to assess the situation and get back into the woods…

And the cursed mud disappeared.

Thanks for listening to me and many thanks for reading.

Orb

 

 

Prologue

I learned to hate the mud in Basic Training. Nearly twenty years later, I still despise it. From rice paddies… to jungles… to fields in Eastern Europe to… Well, all over the World, I’ve walked, run, crawled, and eaten it. I’ve bleed on it and caused others to as well.

I hate the mud.

When I’m done with this gig, I’m finding a sandy beach on an island that has no mud. Sun, water, sand. No mud. Beer, booze, waves, and bodies for soft loving. Yeah!

My implant clucks three times, the signal from our sniper that this side of the camp is clear of guards. I move at roughly an inch ever few minutes into my final position. I’m batting cleanup while doing close surveillance on this mission. I should be in the lead going into the nest of vipers, but my First Sargent had other ideas.

I’m alive today because I’ve listened to his ideas. On this last mission, I damn well am going to.

Slowly, I readied my weapons and let my mind return to the mission. It’s dangerous to drift.

Two clucks just as I see the lone guard coming around the camp into my field of view. I move my jaw and subvocalize, “Status?”

In team order I get different sounds, all a single cluck, click, and other various noises that can be made by the mouth without making an external sound. Each one unique to a person on the team and telling me they were ready.

I subvoc’d again, “Go!”

In other branches of the military, this single command would have unleashed the fury of hell on this little camp. In my world, I only heard the muffled woofs and the actions sliding in well oiled weapons because I was expecting them. My own particular sounds made the guard, who was just walking around in a daze, fall with half his skull missing.

Sinking back into the mud, again, I waited. I saw a few blurs of black move into the camp. The wet sucked the noise out of the air so I heard nothing from in front of me. Waiting. Watching. Prepared, just in case.

Damned mud. Fine when you’re a kid. Might even been fun to a farmer. It was working for us here, but… Damned mud.

“Clear,” the ever calm voice of Rameriz.

“Clear,” said Johansen with his slight Scandinavian accent still intact.

“Clear, four down,” L. C. Jones stated, indicating that four bad guys had gone to what ever god they worshiped.

“Clear, three down,” Sam “Call Me Snake” Jones said in his Southern drawl.

“Barracks clear. Eight less for dinner,” Hiram calmly stated in his thick Brooklyn accent.

“Objective secured,” the terse words of First Sargent Hiro finally came.

“Perimeter check,” I said loud enough to be picked up by the implant and still be distinct. I received three of those precious single-syllable sounds back. “Egress clear.”

Even being aware of it about to happen, I could barely detect the team leaving the camp and disappearing. Again, the sounds to indicate that each was at their primary exit point. I subvoc’d, “Pull back.”

I pulled myself free of the mud I’d been mired in for a bit with a horrid sucking sound. As I moved slowly backwards, there was a burning feeling through my lower back that pushed me back into the mud.

On automatic I got the word hit out through my transmitter. Okay, stay calm. I just need to assess the situation and get back into the woods…

And the cursed mud disappeared.

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