Sentence starter #8: 400 words: WAR setting

[Doctor Setebos]

Week 5 - week of 1/5/09

Sentence starters (http://www.colonyofgamers.com/cogforums/tags.php?tag=sentence+starter) are a fairly simple concept. I'll post a sentence. You write everything that follows that sentence. That's it. It's just flash fiction. Make it interesting. Make it compelling. Make it yours.

The count for this starter is 400 words. Remember: the word count isn't meant to be a hard and fast goal, merely a suggestion. But for those that wish to use sentence starters as true exercises in forced writing, it will be welcome practice in attempting to stick to set goals.

War is hell, or so we've been told. This sentence starter should take place in some sort of WAR setting. It can be any period, any genre, any style. It can be any war, real or imagined, historical or yet-to-come. Just make sure the story is set during a WAR.

Here is your sentence starter:

A momentary silence hung in the air that was every bit as palpable as it was tentative.

[Kielaran]

A momentary silence hung in the air that was every bit as palpable as it was tentative.
“Damn it!” Captain Williams cursed under his breath.
The silence mocked them. They were the only ones who could take out the artillery. It was hidden deep within the jungle somewhere. Too many planes had been lost trying to find it, so the higher ups refused to allow any more night flights. Ground support had been limited as well, since the dense jungle would not allow vehicles through. Captain Williams and his men were the only chance of reprieve the town had from the nightly mortars.

They were all tired. For six nights they had marched, camping in any secluded spot during the day, all the while keeping watch for an enemy who was never seen and rarely heard. Their enemy was human, though it moved through the jungle like a jaguar, unheard and extremely deadly.

They knew that the mission was more dangerous than any they had undertaken before, but the hatred of the artillery fueled them. They were no longer just mercenaries, they were now men fighting for their own homes. They had lost friends and family. In motivation to fight, money does not hold a candle to revenge.

Williams pushed on. For the first time in the three weeks of staving off the siege, he wished for the firing to start again. His wish was granted as the blasts sounded off anew. The wretched firing was the heartbeat of the enemy. They knew if it was stopped, the siege would lose all strength.

The men were tethered together, making sure they would not be separated. The men broke into a run, unintentionally falling in stride with the sound of the guns ahead. They ran for ten minutes without tiring, driven by their goal when they finally saw a flash of light.

They surveyed the enemy and the captain gave them their orders. In a few short minutes, three groups were in position. The front group was bait and would fade away when the enemy came, drawing them into fire at both flanks. They were outnumbered five to one, but determination covered every face.

Williams drew a bead on the closest man. He slowly squeezed the trigger, letting loose a clap of thunder from the barrel of his rifle. Tonight a storm would befall their enemies.

[pronounconnoun]

A momentary silence hung in the air that was every bit as palpable as it was tentative.

"Window," Harold said, "W-I-N-D-O. Window." The sweat from his brow dripped into his eyes. It began to sting and he couldn't bring his arms up to wipe it off. His arms were too heavy; that nervous that felt like his entire body was in a vice. Restrained, Harold closed his eyes as the only possible protection against the bombardment of salt water.

Mr. Korvik, the moderator standing behind the podium organized his word lists with an expressionless face. The words lists were ancient, probably older than Harold and his classmates. Kept from year to year at the annual spelling bee. Papers that would only see the light of the auditorium once a year. "I'm sorry that is incorrect. Please return to your seat."

Harold let out a huge sigh into the microphone that reverberated through the auditorium's loud speakers that sounded like a whimper. After losing, the tension melted away and he could move his arms again; he immediately wiped the sweat from his eyes and proceeded to his seat. When he brought up his head and looked out into the crowd, it was like being born again--his eyes trying to adjust to the lights as if it were the first time he had seen it.

When Harold finally focused, he realized the crowd had stared at him the entire time. They had a sympathetic expression on their faces, as if they pitied him. His teacher Mrs. Lindberg walked over to console him. She pulled him into her floral pattern dress and patted the back of his head. "It's okay," she said. "You tried your best." Harold tried to get away from her, but she only held him tighter and caressed the back of his head more. "Everything will be alright."

Harold wanted to tell her that he wasn't crying. He wanted to stand up and walk up to the microphone and announce that he was not crying "Not crying. N-O-T-C-R-Y-I-N-G." They would think that he was trying to save himself from embarrassment. Harold knew that nobody would listen because he's a child and children cry. The silence from before that constricted his movement slowly overtook him once again. He struggled against the bosom of Mrs. Lindberg and thrashed about.

"This is what it must be like to drown," Harold thought as he struggled against his teacher's undertow. He could feel the depths of his stomach weighing down on him. The more he struggled, the tighter her grip became. Harold wanted to scream. He wanted run off stage. He wanted everybody to stop looking at him. He could feel their eyes. The silence only made him more aware that they were staring at him.

Harold began to cry and was escorted off the auditorium stage. Mr. Korvik resumed reading words off the list and his classmates resumed spelling them. The principal stood behind a curtain and patted him on the back, "Good job." His old kindergarten teacher approached him as he descended the stairs, "You poor thing." His mother met him in the aisles and hugged him, "Don't worry about it. I'm proud of you no matter what."

He started to cry harder. Uncontrollably. U-N-C-O-N-T-R-O-L-L...

[alienmastermind]

A momentary silence hung in the air that was every bit as palpable as it was tentative.

The bombardment of the small city was complete. 'Let no stone stand atop another' was the order given by the Emperor, and the siege began from orbit. Star Destroyer Supremacy blistered the surface with turbolaser fire until the city of Dathir was smoldering rubble. Captain Alistair Shen stared at the viewscreen; since the fall of Coruscant and the destruction of that Chiss warlord Thrawn, the Empire was in decline.

Captain Shen waited a moment, and most of the flight crew turned to stare at him. This show of force was dangerous this far into Rebel space. Luckily, the result was what was expected.

"Captain Shen, locals are attempting to contact us."

"Audio only, Lieutenant Artuss." Captain Shen said. Under Shen, no member of his fleet had died. No TIEs lost. Tenacious to the last, Shen rose through the ranks of the Interregnum Empire by sheer force of will, and a determination to be undefeated against the people who destroyed his life.

"This is Moff Starthan Cog, leader of the colonies of Vandafar. By what authority have you attacked the surface of our planet?"

"Moff?" Captain Shen's eyes narrowed, his voice softened. Shen was just a boy when the Moffs were disbanded by Emperor Palpatine, and the Rebels began attacking outposts just like this one, terrorists who killed Alistair Shen's entire family as a supply depot was destroyed for ammunition by the so called Alliance.

"By what authority -" Starthan Cog repeated, carrying the tone of high-ranking members of the old Empire, even in the face of the Supremacy's total destruction of Dathir he remained the ruler of this world.

"Moff Starthan Cog. I am Captain Alistair Shen of the Imperial Star Destroyer Supremacy. If you are indeed a Moff, we will await your countersign. Or your surrender." Captain Shen's voice was steady, even if his heart was not.

A Moff. Still living, still ruling. Even this far out from the Galactic Core, the Moff would be effective to rally the support of Imperial citizens across the galaxy, and Captain Shen's Emperor would be well pleased with this find. The new Emperor was working with few ships, fewer loyal men, but with all the strength of the cloners of Antillon, soon the Empire's army would rise once more.

"The countersign is good." said Artuss from her station. Shen nodded.

"Very well, Moff Cog. How do you explain the Rebellion's presence on Vandafar?"

"Lack of military support from our so-called Empire for nearly a decade. Our numbers were diminished at the push at Nar Shadda, when the last Grand Admiral requested our garrison's assistance. Captain, may I ask on whose authority you have come to Vandafar?"

"Of course, Moff Cog. I have arrived on behalf of our new Emperor. Luke Skywalker."

[VerseD]

A momentary silence hung in the air that was every bit as palpable as it was tentative. No one called the Centurion a cheater and got away with it. Of course he had cheated--he cheated every chance he got--but that was beside the point. And the point is you never call him out on it.

The Centurion followed protocol. He tossed the table on its side and scattered the cup and dice and people's winnings. Most had already pocketed their coins with prescient and subtle hands, but some of green recruits dove to the dirt floor of the tent to scrounge for copper like dogs for scraps.

Now the offending cadet, scrawny Rufus from Como, was standing there all baleful eyed like he expected the same look he used to get extra dumplings out of the cooks to get him out of the Legion's incontrovertible whipping post. Not likely, judging by the Centurion's combat stare and violent posturing.

Then came the question, "What did you call me? What did you call me you little snot?" We never tired of hearing it. Now the man started to move, step-by-step, towards Rufus of Como. "Did you call me a cheater? Is that what I heard?" The Centurion's body language was perfect--head cocked like a crossbow, callused hands out like a beggars but without any sense of sympathy, feet shoulder width apart, moving forward in that step-by-step. "Is that what you heard, Titus?"

"That's what I heard, sir," said Titus. He was stout and straight-ahead, and one of the few veterans who hadn't scrunched up their faces with barely hid laughter. Soldiers, as a rule, are good at swallowing a laugh, but you could notice the flexing facial muscles if you knew where to look. The Centurion knew where to look.

"Something funny Memnon? That's what I thought, you Greek puss. Now Rufus, why don't you repeat what you just said, for everyone. Some people didn't hear, you said it so quiet, like a alleyway harridan in heat."

"All I said Centurion sir," said Rufus--and he did sound like an alleyway bitch. "All I said was I thought something might be off with the dice."

"Bullshit!" shouted the Centurion. Crack went his backhand against Rufus' cheek, and the boy from Como crumpled like a rag. "Horse shit. Whore's shit. You fucking ass, get up on those manicured feet." The Centurion waited while two kids helped Rufus up. It was like they were winding up a kid's toy, and he sprang quick. "No more bullshit from you Rufus. Get your ass together and outside."

The Centurion chased Rufus out the tent flap like a drover with a steel-tipped whip, and we all cracked up laughing.

[VerseD]

Where's the new one!?

[Doctor Setebos]

Where's the new one!?I don't know what you're talking about. (http://www.colonyofgamers.com/cogforums/showthread.php?t=5422) ;)

Sorry, I guess I'm doing these once a month now? :o