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Post by James on Jul 1, 2014 13:35:17 GMT -5
The style is Flash Fiction
The word limit is 500 words
Topic: VE (Victory in Europe) Day
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Post by Injin on Jul 5, 2014 13:58:39 GMT -5
May 8th.
It had been a while since he'd been here.
The cold of the hills of Austria seemed to chill him to the bone as he sat and watched the sun continue to set. It was almost Summer, yet the mountains around here seemed to forget what time of year it was. The Alps, after all, were covered in snow most of the year anyway. The last mission he'd been in during the war had been here,the very same place as he was now. The German he'd been hunting down with his battalion had been a man named Siegfried von Kufstein, the sheriff in these hills. They had found him and he'd had simply surrendered. May 7th.
Too many years ago. He could remember the elderly German commander just sitting there, just as he was, saying something in a language that he'd never understood. One of his men told him that he was saying something about how beautiful the sky was when it turned black into night, but Johnson had always been a romantic.
Johnson had died in '77, heart attack after one too many fritters, Fitz-Herbert had fallen off a cliff during a hiking expedition in '83. Morris had fractured his hip and couldn't get medical attention in '88, having been in Cambodia at the time. Simmons was avalanched in the Himalayas in '98 and Troyer and Barton had been with him at the time. His lieutenant, Black, had died of old age last year. No one left.
That was why he'd come out here. Maybe he'd see them in the darkening sky, just as that old German had seen some sort of beauty in the setting sun. The snow beneath him was as cold as he remembered it, the frigid slurry beneath his back cushioning what might otherwise be an uncomfortable angle. God he felt old. Too old. He'd been the oldest in the unit, Old Captain Ellis they'd called him, but now he was just the only man left alive. He was alone, now.
As the sun began to set, he remembered the letter he'd sent to his daughter the other day, saying that he'd be taking one last trip up into the mountains. She didn't want to come with. Apparently she felt she was too old. She said he was too.
Too old to be hiking out here, sure. Too old to enjoy it, now that was something that would never happen. This was the spot he had wanted to come back to, the end point of the journey up the mountain every year. It wasn't that steep of a climb, really, it gradually just got higher and higher up. It'd been so easy during the War. Now...now he was tired, winded. Old.
Grabbing his flare gun, he pointed to the sky and fired. No use giving them a hard time.
The lights in the sky were beautiful...von Kufstein had been right. The sky was so beautiful as it turned to night. One last light.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 7, 2014 21:52:19 GMT -5
Victory in Europe, they called it. Bugger that. It weren't no victory. Not for Germany. It was a slaughter.
Hans had never set foot in one of those camps, concentration camps, the Allies had begun calling them. He hadn't killed no Jews. Only thing he killed was soldiers, but then, fuck, who didn't? They were calling it a "world war." Just like the "war to end all wars" before it. Of course he killed soldiers.
Though the men that pushed back from the Soviet Union were not soldiers. Not human soldiers, anyway... Soldiers for some infernal army...
Hans choked back tears and took another quaff of vodka.
The Soviets had burst in, in the middle of the night. They had all been there, huddling in fear. Him and his wife, their daughters... No, he could not bear to think about it. He took another deep drink, and dug his knuckles hard into his eyes, as if he could take away the memories if only he rubbed away the tears.
His youngest, always a firebrand, had arisen and demanded they leave. "Get behind me, Mika!" he had yelled, but by then the soldiers were in there, and the rifle's butt had come down hard on his temple. He was groggy and stunned, had not even gotten a single shot off with his Luger. He could never forgive himself for that.
"An eye for an eye!" the soldiers had yelled. He could not remember how many of them there were. Thirty? Forty? It seemed like more, but it could not have been, There were four or five women with them, too. The Soviet dogs let their women fight for them, like the cowards they were.
Hans' wrists had been bound. He had screamed, begged, threatened, pleaded, vomited. He had bitten one of the women who sat around him, rough hands holding his face forward and his eyes open. "Watch, you fucking Hun," the harpies had screeched.
Unable to look away, he watched. His wife had begged them to take her, to do whatever they wanted. "We will," shot back the commandant. "When we are done with them. But for now, you watch."
Shaking, Hans cried out in the darkness now, just as he had done then. He smacked himself furiously in the head, over and over, with both fists. They had made him watch, as his little girls lay on the bed, side by side. Girls became women, and then women became corpses.
Victory in Europe.
And then the raping stopped, and they had grabbed his beautiful wife by the hair, and given her to the same fate. She lived through the ordeal. He kissed her and held her and told her it would be okay, and she agreed. But in the morning, he found her hanging outside.
Victory in Europe.
Hans looked one final time at the Luger. He put in his mouth. This time, he would get a shot off.
He pulled the trigger.
Victory in Europe.
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Post by James on Jul 10, 2014 2:54:31 GMT -5
Injin
Yes.
Yes. This is a strong, good story. I'm really happy you've bounced back so strongly after my criticism in Round 2.
The story was short, simple and excellent for being both those things. It needed to be simple to have the impact that it did. The listing off of his former comrades was a touching moment. I loved the line about the sky and the Alps not knowing what time of the year it was. It was great stuff, Injin.
I just want to mention one big thing that I want you to be aware of. Redundancy. It's important in any form, but particularly in Flash Fiction. For instance:
“The Alps, after all, were covered in snow most of the year anyway”
The 'after all' and the 'anyway' serves the same purpose in that sentence. Having them both seems clumsy when the same effect could be served by just one.
Beyond that, just some general tidying up would help pick the story up. There was a sentence or two that I had to reread twice because I wasn't quite sure what you were saying. Work a little on clarity in your sentences.
But really good story, Injin.
Jordoom
That's an opening line. Immediately, we've got a distinct voice. A hook. A character forming. Some suggestion of an incoming tragedy. You've got to start well and you really did.
It was a hell of a dark and twisted story but it didn't become gratuitous at any point. You walked the line well. The idea was a nice twist on the topic and really brought into play all those lines about history being written by the victors.
The odd typing mistake was in there. I'd like to see them cleared up, but I'm being picky and I know you didn't have a lot of time.
Great stuff. With a strong finish you could still have a semi-final spot waiting for you.
I'm giving this one to Jordoom. But it was actually really, really close. I almost want to make it a draw, but Jor's just inched it. Maybe just because of that opening line.
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