[Mister Saint]: 79.Contest Entries.No Said

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2006-01-18 01:05:57
Contest Entry
short story
Free for reading
For [SleepingDragon]'s contest/excercise What he said. 500 words (I swear, I wasn't counting them. My edit ended it up at 501, and then I eliminated an unnecessary 'that'.)

     "Around the side of the building, Jericho. There're windows facing the south over there, get to the side and smoke them!"
     Lieutenant Jericho Jamesom growled at the transmission crackling through the speakers of his helmet's com system. That would be Captain Ang, issuing commands as if he had some notion of proper battle strategy. The man couldn't plan his way out of a shoebox in Jericho's opinion.
     "I'm too busy dodging mine-bots and lasers to throw smoke into any building, sir," cried the furious lieutenant, "there's two of us and fifteen of them. Sir I suggest we retreat and wait for the air strike!"
     "That isn't possible, Lieutenant," a somehow softer-sounding Ang replied. "Son, our attack choppers were just ambushed by a squad of F-22's. Probably the ones that were stolen from the bunkers at Fort Macy last week."
     Jericho caught his breath, just barely missing a spray of debris as a nearby mine-bot burst into a cloud of flames and gas. "Damn!" he cursed. "I missed one. Sir, are you telling me that the Unionists inside this building are connected to the traitors from our ranks?" Jericho could not bring himself to believe that. It was a nightmare. He mused aloud, hoping to keep his fear in check by speaking, "...that five of the most influential men in the history of this nation would all disappear at once is bad enough, but for them to steal jet fighters and deliver them right into the hands of the enemy..."
     "I know what you're thinking," interrupted the disembodied voice of the Captain, "and don't even think it louder than you have to. That's classified information, son. Now are you going to smoke that building or what?" reiterated Ang, his voice broken up by sporadic spatters of gunfire from his side of the transmission.
     "Negative, Captain Ang," Jericho stubbornly replied, " there's too much fire in the air, sir! If I poke my head up, I'll lose it!"
     "Son," the transmission ordered, "if you do not follow the command I've given to you, then you'll be court martialed to the full ext--"
     A sickening hiss of static assailed Jericho's ears, followed by nothing but silence.
     "Captain Ang," asked the young soldier, "Captain Ang, do you read? I say again, Captain Ang, I cannot hear your voice." Jericho reached up, flicking knobs on his com to change the frequencies, searching all of the alternate channels for his superior's voice. "This isn't happening," he whined in disbelief, his voice overshadowed by the ping ping thung of laser blasts overhead. "Screw this," he muttered below his breath, "I'm outta here. I'm..."
     When Jericho turned to throw down his gear, he froze in mid movement. A little robot, about eight inches tall and spider-legged, stared curiously at him through it's eye cameras.
     "I missed you," the lieutenant realized in absolute disbelief, "I thought I got all of you little--" The robot clicked. Why? Because that is the sound that a mine-bot makes right before it explodes.

2006-01-18 SleepingDragon: Thanks for joining the exercise/contest [Mister Saint]. Awesome little tale though it's a wee shy on the word count.

2006-01-18 Mister Saint: o.o It is? Ooops! I'll look at it again, sorry! I've had a lot on my mind lately.

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