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Old 01-04-2012, 08:50 PM   #1
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The start of a fiction story

In honor of my Wife, who told me to shut the fuck up and write a book, I have decided to proceed with one. Here is a taste of the first chapter of what will be a disturbing, dystopian story of what may actually become of our country. If you are easily disturbed, simply exit the forum.

The rumble grew more and more intense as each moment passed, and Luke began to wonder if he hadn’t made a huge mistake by breaking cover and moving in daylight. Although the brush was dense, the opposition forces used dogs as advance patrol, and had them neck-trained, to reduce the number of survivors they had to drag back to quarantine. As the half track appeared at the top or the hill, a shiver ran down Luke’s spine as he realized he had no choice but to remain under cover and pray to God the dogs didn’t smell him. He remained absolutely still, so still that he could hear his own heart pounding and the drops of sweat as they beaded on the tip of his nose and dropped in to the crumbling leaf litter between his shaking knees. Frozen with fear, he played out scenarios in his head, thoughts racing and jumbled, as tears welled up in his eyes. “Why the hell did I have to run my fucking mouth”? “I should have listened to the Old Man and stayed the fuck in the bunker”.


Thomas sat in the battered old barcolounger smoking a ‘twist ‘em up” from last seasons Virginia tobacco crop, admiring the hint of apple and cinnamon flavor from the sachet he put in the sack during curing. He wondered quietly about the boy, and why he was so damn hard headed all the time. The warnings were given by every single member of the IDF [Independent Defense Forces] at the meeting, but the hard-headed little fucker seemed to have bigger balls than brains, and there were no absolute rules about daylight travel. Thomas insisted on giving the boy his Sig 9mm to carry on the trip, but warned him never to fire two shots in a row, and to never fire unless he was absolutely sure he could kill his opponent. Thomas trained the boy himself for two years, and knew the kid was a good scout, an outstanding improviser and the best scrounger he had ever met. Even still, he was worried. Scuttlebut had it on good authority that United Nations troops were starting new patrols in the area and there would be trouble for them if they were found to be outside of the quarantine area without chips or brands

The explosion took Luke by complete surprise. He had been carefully watching the half-track, a deuce and a half, four beat up humvees and about a dozen or so UN troops, slowly and purposefully make their way down the pock marked road towards his position. Out of nowhere, a white phosphorus bomb lifted the half-track completely off the ground and flipped it twenty five meters across the ditch and in to the swamp, where the shells she contained began popping off inside her belly as a result of the super hot materials injected through her hull like so much shrapnel through a paper sack. The screams from the marching troops were nearly unbearable. While not dead, they all wished they were. With clothing on fire, and skin seared like a thanksgiving turkey, they tried to strip off the blue polyester jackets that were melting in to what remained of their skin and rolling in the dirt in a futile effort to put out the magnesium and phosphorus. Luke remained in place more because of abject fear than any training he had undergone, because his primal instincts told him to run like hell, but his body would not comply.


The white phosphorus was a gift from departing IDF troops who thought it better to get out while the getting was good last fall, and local IDF commander Thomas Greene taught his men how to mix it in with RDX, ball bearings and some powdered magnesium to make a super hot, nasty explosion. They added magnesium powder just because they had some, and as it turned out, the bombs became an instant hit because of their ability to dissuade UN troops from entering certain areas. While UN commanders gave orders for sweep and clear operations within the freehold areas, UN squads would hide in the woods, falsify reports and pretend they went in and cleared their assigned areas, knowing full well that if they had actually done the mission, they would likely have been killed. Thomas looked at the shells and mines with pride, knowing that many mother’s sons would be saved a terrible death from starvation and torture in the FEMA camps as a result of his teams efforts.

Luke waited until he could be certain the dogs hadn’t survived the blast, and until there were no more cries from the blackened remains of what used to be UN soldiers in the road, then slowly, slowly, slowly he made his way toward the remaining vehicles to see if anything was salvageable. The last hundred yards were tough, as he cut his way through unforgiving bougainvillea thorns and Spanish bayonet plant, placed three years before at the start of the conflict to stop interlopers……and the UN. He caught a bayonet thorn in the thigh and resisted the urge to scream, as the searing pain reminded him of the bullet wound he suffered in live fire training. He pulled back carefully so as not to break of the tip of the thorn and cause a grand infection, which would require antibiotics that were so very difficult to steal. The last thing he wanted was to not only fail today, but become a further burden to the unit because he was stupid. With a bandaged thigh and burning pain to keep him alert, Luke made his way to the remaining vehicles in the patrol. The first two humvees were toast, but that was the idea right? The third one was still running, and to Luke’s surprise, contained several crates of ammo, three LAWS and two bazookas with four rounds each. The stink of burned flesh was so intense that Luke retched involuntarily. Brought to his knees buy the overpowering stench, he thanked God for delivering him and hopped in to the humvee. The Old Man would regret his words thought Luke as he threw the beast in to first gear and spun it around towards the compound.


Thomas called a meeting with his lieutenants and their sergeants to discuss the situation on Davis Boulevard and the five missing troopers. It was disconcerting that they had all left in the middle of the night, even though official policy allowed anyone to leave at any time. Even more troubling was the theft of a hundred MRE’s and a thousand rounds of .308 from inventory. What the fuck was going on? Thomas knew the outfit was tired, and further acknowledged that training was brutal in the Florida sun, but nothing could be done. These soft motherfuckers just couldn’t do it. They spent the last ten years playing World of War craft, but didn’t know shit all about real combat. He remembered his Senior Master Sergeant back in Iraq saying nearly the same thing.When asked about Luke, Thomas was informed that the boy was not overdue yet, but they were worried because several posts reported explosions to the west, in the general direction luke would have been traveling. Hiding his worry, Thomas assured the group Luke had his mission well in hand and would return safely. Secretly, he was worried sick.

Luke made his way past the big curve by the old fish processing plant below the graveyard and turned up the compound road. Knowing full well that the pale blue truck would be disintegrated on sight by five alert and scared sentries, he stashed the vehicle in some brush and trudged up the dirt trail, tired and worn, but proud of what he’d been able to accomplish in such a short time. The humvee was a bonus, and the armaments were manna from heaven. Luke was sure he would get a citation at the least, and a promotion at the best, so he did his best to get himself together. Although he didn’t accomplish what he set out to do, the new vehicle and a shit-load of armor would surely make up for that.

Who the fuck goes there? “A, E, I, O, U” replied Luke. “Who won the ’14 Super bowl motherfucker”? “Your Mama motherfucker”. “Let him in boys, looks like Lucas the Doofus is back. Good to see you son”. Luke entered the gate and quickly filled the sentries in on what he had done. To whoops and cheers, they walked down to the vehicle and brought it in to the compound where the crowd quickly grew. Thomas emerged from the bunker, stretched and lit another roll-‘em-up. Luke strode over like a victorious Roman Gladiator and regaled Thomas with his adventure, being extra sure to point out the fantastic armaments he was adding to their arsenal. Thomas looked over the equipment carefully and with the patience of a good commander, not wanting to show his elation, nor to give the boy any hint of his true feelings of his pride in the boys accomplishment lest he let it go to his head. The party was short lived, as the aerial patrols would resume pretty soon because the sun was going down and they knew all too wll that drone flights would be starting soon, and their thermal signature was too large to ignore, even with the local UN boys fear of their superior guerilla style and ruthless reputation. They quickly secured the humvee and brought the captured crates, rockets and bazookas in to the bunker for a closer examination.

Elliot was still fucking around with the wood gas unit for the Ford when they brought the humvee down the “chute” as they called it. The long narrow tunnel gave them a measure of cover for their little garage. A Quonset hut covered with some gunnite and a mound of dirt was all they really needed to hide the thermal signature of their little lair, and being the only motor heads in the local IDF, they had nearly complete autonomy, as long as they never broke chain of command or got too cocky. The humvee was dreams come true for Elliot, as he knew them inside and out. Serving six years in the sandbox taught him everything he ever wanted to know about vehicle armor, having seen some of the most horrific wounds ever inflicted on a human as a result of roadside bombs. He knew this vehicle was a gift from God, and he intended to treat it that way. As quickly as it was brought in, he commanded the Mabrey twins to put the copper screen over it to block the GPS locator from any UN ass wipes who may be monitoring the vehicle. As he knew from experience, and remembered every time he used his left leg, a bomb could fall out of nowhere on to this vehicle if they managed to triangulate its whereabouts.

Thomas sat back in the big chair and reflected back, wistfully, at the days before the virus. Ramona had been as good a wife as anyone could have asked for. Not subservient, but loving. Not demanding, but exacting. She learned how to can vegetables fro the garden, make laundry soap by the pail and skin a rabbit. She played the fiddle at night to soothe the kids to sleep and would make a nice double scotch for him at the end af what she was always able to tell was a hard day. He remembered the day Ramona got sick, because it was his first leave in fourteen months and his first day home. Oh how he wanted to make love to her, but he knew that even though she would have pretended to enjoy it, she was sick as a dog and needed rest. The flu was nothing to fuck around with. Little did I know what this really was. Little did I know that my own government had released this insidious virus on their own population to justify war with China.So many years later and here we are still. Fighting the good fight and getting nowhere. When does this end?_________________
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Old 01-04-2012, 09:29 PM   #2
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ancona, I am really looking forward to seeing more! Your wife is right: WrTFBook!
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Old 01-05-2012, 07:33 AM   #3
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Thanks DC. I got the PM, I made the changes.

I would certainly like to get any and all constructive criticism, for good or for bad.
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Old 01-05-2012, 12:14 PM   #4
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Yes, write the book! A couple hints from one who has:

1. Make an outline. You might not want the reader to know where you're going (right away), but you need to keep it in mind. It will save you a lot of work and getting tied into knots in your story telling.

2. Don't take advice or input. No book by a committee is any good. Write it all first. If you listen to remarks and choose to incorporate them, do so in the NEXT story.

3. Consider self publishing for anything really likely to sell - and don't be afraid to give away a little free. Book publishers do more hollywood accounting than hollywood. I know my own book sold north of 100k copies - my email was "hidden" in the code that came with it and I got the emails from people who bought it. According to the publishers, there were even months of negative sales! How do you even do that? Frank Zappa was right.

A rock band I've been associated with who writes their own material gives away songs on the 'net - in lousy fidelity. If you want the good mix, you pay. They have paid off all their homes with the money. They turned down signing with a major after reading the contract - they were doing better without them, for a long list of reasons I'll talk about if anyone asks.

Remember that outline - you obviously already write good action scenes, but there should be a story line under it all - the moral - for which that is merely the decoration and glitter.

I'm glad I had my sour experience with a publisher (actually, several) when it didn't matter too much to me financially. They did pull me out of a hole with the advance - but never one nickel after that, despite sales (and still, after all these years - but no reported sales). They've recently without telling me, made it available as an E-book, which of course kills the paper sales and which makes no money for anyone - but how they incorporate the many megs of machine readable C++ code I put in there as open source, I don't have a clue - the ebook would be worthless to most without that.

Writing magazine articles is often more profitable and steady. Editors are croaking for content to put between the ads. They pay on time, they need you back if you do anything good.
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Old 01-05-2012, 06:16 PM   #5
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All good advice DC.

I still intend to post new half-chapters here for general perusal.
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Old 01-05-2012, 06:18 PM   #6
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Originally Posted by ancona View Post:
In honor of my Wife, who told me to shut the fuck up and write a book, I have decided to proceed with one. Here is a taste of the first chapter of what will be a disturbing, dystopian story of what may actually become of our country.
Be careful how much of yourself and those close to you, that you reveal ........ unless you are happy for the world to know your innermost thoughts.

I could not write a story along the lines of your opening words without revealing a lot of myself and actually could not write along the lines that you are.
I would generally avoid 'dark' fiction and prefer to learn about real events although even these will be coloured by the authors.

Full marks for giving it a go and a big chuckle for me that your good lady might have found a little more quiet in an otherwise noisy world.
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Old 01-05-2012, 06:52 PM   #7
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Yeah, I'm getting a lot of that Rblong, but5 you know what? Those folks hwo would put me on a "list" have already done so by now. I have written a long series of rants on my blog, detailing the failings of our government, the idiotic sheep foundering around our once proud country and the theiving, murderous drug dealing illegal aliens I have had the distinct displeasure of encountering face to face, so am I on the "list"? Yes.

Am I OK with that? No, but what the fuck can I do about it without being labelled a terrorist?

Fuck it man, I'm moving forward. Pages 4 through ten by Saturday at the latest.
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Old 01-05-2012, 07:05 PM   #8
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hmmm

i detect anger

cathartic writing ?

ooommmmmmmm ..........
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Old 01-05-2012, 07:14 PM   #9
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Yes, a lot of us are already on all the lists - some of us have had clearances, and that pretty much guarantees that.
And gawd, I have gold, guns, food - I could be a terrorist if anyone catches me drying my hair with a towel!

I think in cases like that the best defense is to be pretty public. Makes it harder to get "disappeared", you know? People might make a stink.

Even China just locks up the ones that are well known dissenters. The nobodies just get shot.
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Old 01-05-2012, 07:28 PM   #10
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oddly enough my earlier comment regarding revealing yourself, was not really about getting onto any 'terrorist' list, it was more to do with how it might effect your relationship with those around you.

My neighbour wrote a book about a serial child killer with at least one victim buried near Bugout 1 ..... just a bit of fun sez he, and people love to read this kind of fiction .....

So why do i now see him in a somewhat different light ?
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Old 01-06-2012, 12:10 AM   #11
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@ DCFusor and ancona

Yep, I too am on almost every f***ing list there is. And why I do not sweat it too much either.

Molon labe. <--- Hey, I had to look it up (wikipedia)!


EDIT:

You have a blog too, ancona? PM me...

My blog has some new stuff this evening! A gold graphic and another with comments about our debt. Anyone curious, please private message me for the link.

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Old 01-06-2012, 10:05 AM   #12
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RB2U makes a really interesting point here. Yes, for a lot of people this could have an effect on relationships. Probably not me.

I've long eschewed the "white lies and social graces", and have kind of a rep for being a little abrasive. I just call them like I see them - no filter between brain and mouth.

I decided to do this deliberately once it was pointed out to me (believe me, many times and often harshly). It's much less mental work than remembering what little lie(s) you've told to each person - and gawd help you if it was different ones to different people and you have to deal with both at the same time.

I figure if it gets me in trouble, then the trouble is in what I think - not how good a liar I am, that's not something I want to be good at anyway. So the place to fix it is upstream - in the thinking, not the output filter.

As such, those close to me all know me really well (or have run away already!), so there's no threat to me from that sort of thing, but I imagine I'm more the exception than most on that one.

I can't necessarily recommend this - in some circles it makes you real unpopular. I rationalize this by noting that those circles are full of people for whom truth isn't real important, and they tend to be shallow types with little substance anyway - a waste of my time, in other words. Dunno of that's rational, but it's the rationalization.
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Old 01-08-2012, 08:14 AM   #13
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DC, you sound like you could be my twin brother. It's the same with me, either folks like me or they hate me, nothing in between. I refuse to sugarcoat things for the sake of social grace and feelings. Feelings are why we're in the social nightmare of entitlements in the first place.

Four generations ago your children were your social security, since you paid for their school, raised them to be good citizens, took them to church etc. etc.

Remember a show called "The Waltons"? There were three and then four generations of Waltons living pretty happily under the same roof, because there were no such things as 'old folks homes'. When the old man got to old to chew the leather, he remained in the house as patriarch, high judge, sage, medicine man, etc. Now, kids drop mom and dad off at some piss smelling hell hole, sign over their SSI, give permission to medicate them and disappear. It's fucking tragic.
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Old 02-16-2012, 08:29 AM   #14
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Originally Posted by ancona View Post:
DC, you sound like you could be my twin brother. It's the same with me, either folks like me or they hate me, nothing in between. I refuse to sugarcoat things for the sake of social grace and feelings. Feelings are why we're in the social nightmare of entitlements in the first place.

Four generations ago your children were your social security, since you paid for their school, raised them to be good citizens, took them to church etc. etc.

Remember a show called "The Waltons"? There were three and then four generations of Waltons living pretty happily under the same roof, because there were no such things as 'old folks homes'. When the old man got to old to chew the leather, he remained in the house as patriarch, high judge, sage, medicine man, etc. Now, kids drop mom and dad off at some piss smelling hell hole, sign over their SSI, give permission to medicate them and disappear. It's fucking tragic.
Great Story. I look forward to buying the book once you are done with it! There is another forum, where there are alot of short stories about prepping and the such. Great short stories. Ive not been able to stop reading them lol.

I agree, its fucking tragic. I think it is great to have several generations under one roof. You have everything you could ever need that way. You know that everyone is safe and taken care of. You have all the experience and advice that you could possibly need. I, personally, am trying to find some land, and build a house that would hold a few generations . got a couple pieces of property i've been watching....just waiting for the owners to sell it. they dont use it for anything.

Sorry, got off topic.

Great story!
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Old 02-16-2012, 02:12 PM   #15
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I'd have to be your scrawny-ugly twin brother - heh.

One of the reasons I like living here is that the practice of multiple generations living under one roof - or at least on the same land, is still pretty common, but sadly, not enough. Reading the obits - people live a long time here, which kind of puts the lie to how good external medical care is. Seems love is still the best medicine.

And yeah, people either love or hate me. I call them like I see them. Like Bob Lutz - sometimes wrong, but never uncertain! Sad that so many won't learn how to disagree without being disagreeable. We had to learn that one when we were doing skunk-works type work - if you don't brainstorm and get pretty vehement about your ideas, they get lost. It's a trick to do that without actually getting mad.
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