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Post by Injin on Jul 14, 2014 2:41:29 GMT -5
Life isn't easy for Helen MacDonald. She's the only woman permitted to be a member of the Royal Marines. The lads give her a lot of stick for that. She's also a Scot fighting in Afghanistan. There's not a day where some part of her body isn't burnt. The lads give her a lot of stick for that as well. Despite only being a Captain, the generals and commanders are constantly asking her for advice. The lads give her hell for that.
She's also the only trained magician fighting the insurgency.
The lads don't give her stick for that. But that doesn't stop the requests from coming. Can you redirect the river so we can have some fresh water? How about turning the opiate fields upside down so the plants can't grow. Why don't you just pull Osama out of a hat?
But now, life's just got a hell of a lot tougher for Captain Helen MacDonald. The multi-starred generals and moustached commanders are wanting the big one. 2009 is drawing to a close and the war's just been going on too long. Can't Captain MacDonald do something about that? Because what's the point of having the only trained magician in your army, if she can't finish the war for you?
No point at all, apparently. Captain MacDonald, while a skilled practitioner of her craft, was also only useful with Earth based magic. Commander Gregory Lancaster, on the other hand, the leader of her battalion of the Royal Marines, assumed that she was a nature-based magician. Again. The lads gave him stick for that mistake each time he ordered her to do something “natural”. If they had wanted a nature mage, they should've asked someone from Belize Brigade to join the Royal Marines instead of her. Given the nature of the magician expatriates from that country who joined the army during the days leading up to the invasion, however, she wasn't surprised when they were kept at home to make sure that the troops had all the supplies they could possibly need.
And now the Commander was asking her to do the unthinkable with her magic. Recently a group of the Taliban, calling themselves the Avenging Spirit, at least that was what it translated into English, had holed up in Tora Bora, that old mousetrap, and a good quarter of them were magicians, the fire variety. They were apparently skilled enough to shoot down Apache helicopters from half a mile away and seemed to have the ability to use volcanic magic as well. This wasn't exactly good news for her, given that they also had a significant number of hostages. One of them now being the older brother of the President of Afghanistan himself. They were, at this point in time, the de facto rulers of the Taliban, having replaced the Mullah in charge of them through an internal scuffle. And not the tea drinking and dragging away to their death kind.
She personally deemed it too dangerous. What if the civilians, or worse for them in the eyes of the president of Afghanistan, the President's brother got killed in the strike? On top of that, she was just one Magician. If they got her surrounded, she'd be able to get a shield up, of course, but after that she'd suffocate as a result of the whole not being able to breathe in an enclosed space issue. She'd have no back up in the tunnels, nor do she have an accurate layout of them ahead of time. Sure, she could, if she managed to get on top of the mountain range for a few hours, get a map of the caverns inside for about a five mile square around, but the amount of concentration she'd need would be hardly enough to defend herself if the scouting expedition came under attack.
It didn't help either that the Americans were pressuring her commanders to move hard and fast, as with the recent turn of the American strategy towards normal troops in order to win the hearts and minds of the average civilian meant that the various magicians they had at their disposal were all back home in anti-Cartel operations. The Americans just weren't very good at ending wars these days. Ones with magic anyways. You'd have thought they would've learned the lesson of Vietnam, during the Cold War. Due to the fact that the Soviet Union was rules by magicians, they refused to use them directly into anti-communist efforts and the Vietnamese...”Magicians”, if you could even call them that, specialized in curses that bogged down the Americans enough to cause mass casualties. Now they were making the same mistake here and she had to clean up the mess. The boys generally avoided giving stick to the Americans themselves, but they didn't seem to fancy Obama's strategy here.
So it was up to her. It was ALWAYS up to her. During the campaign to retake Herat in '04 after the assassination of one of the higher minister's of Afghanistan's sons led to a “Magician's Uprising” among the formerly bought magicians who had worked for Ismail Khan before his temporary exile. After taking refuge in the center of the city, the terrorist rebels and the magicians that had arisen beside them had taken several civilians hostage in a mosque. She'd needed to tunnel underneath the mosque, after being given the plans for it, and erupt in their midst. She'd been promoted to Captain for her trouble, of course, but given that she was sidelined for a year as a result of recovering from those injuries...it was not a pleasant experience that she wished to relive. Especially given how much more difficult it would be in these circumstances to save the hostages in Tora Bora.
Back to the matter at hand, the Captain decided that now was a good time to actually ask for the appropriate support. Reporting to her CO, she tapped on his desk, getting him out of his music-based reverie. As Commander Lancaster slipped off his headphones, Katy Perry's “I Kissed a Girl” blared out for half a second before he pulled the plug. In response, the Captain just stared at the Commander, the Commander having the same reaction to being stared at as she did for his music. “Can I help you?” he finally said, breaking the moribund silence like a gravedigger fills a grave.
“Yes, Sir. I am in need of some reinforcements or at the very least local experts to even scout Tora Bora effectively, and I need to be able to get to the top of the mountain range without being disturbed for a few hours. Do you think you could arrange that? Or do I need to find a different commander of the Royal Marines, sir?” she asked, sighing after she was done speaking.
“No, but you aren't allowed to outsource your work, Captain. When I say you need to do something, you will do it with the resources provided. And don't even think of going to the Americans, we both know quite well that they are clumsy with their intelligence, and the moment we let them know of the operation, the Avenging Spirit are bound to switch caves and make us even more pressed for time. Do we have to have this conversation before EVERY mission briefing, MacDonald?” he said, shaking his head as he reached to put his headphones back on.
“...Of course, Commander, we have to have this bloody conversation. Why are you always so keen on lowering the amount of resources I have available to actually get my job done? Especially when if I fail, we're pretty much fucked, if I were to speak in tongues for a moment.” she retorted, shaking a bit like a devout Mormon after coffee.
“Because unlike the colonials, we don't have an unlimited military budget. If I were to give you what you wanted, we would have to cancel several orders of American Humvees and delay getting a damned dialysis machine. Is that what you want?”
“Is that what I want? Are you seriously asking me whether or not I want to succeed at a mission based on your apparently less than scant resources? Are you out of your...” she paused, resuming her speech after she compose herself, “Commander, very well. I will have to figure out another way to get my mission done” she said, grumbling beneath her breath as she left the room.
The commander was being unhelpful as per usual. It wasn't only the lads who gave her stick, it was also, as per usual, Lancaster who had just given her a whole load of stick. It was almost as if he'd facking decided to make up a few orders he'd seen over the last few months and say that they couldn't gather the extra money from other units' details and get it done. They were the Royal Marines for fuck's sake.
Still, he did have a point. If she went ahead and tried to talk to the Americans, things would go wrong. It always went wrong when the Americans were involved, these days. Despite that, however, the Captain had to consider her options. The boys would give her stick and a half if she asked them directly for help, at least to circumvent their commander's orders, but at the same time they'd enjoy every moment of it. Bucking authority and going American about it seemed like the best route forward. Well, right now. The stick that Captain MacDonald would get from the high command afterward would likely cost her the current rank that she held, and then get her that same rank back.
So she knew what she had to do. Not like damned Lancaster could get his ancient bloodline'd ass up and actually requisition the required materials. Apparently doing one's job wasn't something a former House of Lords man could do, not like he had done anything really while there. None of those assholes could do anything, god save the queen to stop them. Either way, she had a job to do.
The boys gave her the stick she expected, but also the stick and a half to Lancaster. Leaving a note saying that they were giving up their Christmas pay because they wanted to get the job done was enough for her to feel a welling of pride in her fellow countrymen.
It was a few hours later when they arrived on top of the mountain range, the Spin Gar mountains, she looked down and sighed. Did the helicopter she'd used to get here have to put her so close to the bloody base? She could spit down and have the potential to actually hit some of the people patrolling the area! At least they'd been sneaky enough about it to put her on the back slope, so that the noise of them coming and going would be shielded by the mountain itself. It was times like these that made the Captain rather happy to not deal with these sorts of heights on a daily basis. A fear of heights generally made her feel much safer somewhere less likely to kill her if she fell off of it.
What was much worse was the god awful heat of the place. Yes, it was the hold of some sort of motley crew of fire magi, but was it supposed to be this hot during winter? This was shy she preferred Scotland, a place that never got hot and that very fact made them proud. Well, anything that involved spiting the English made her and her kin made them happier than a kilt maker during a visit by Scotch-American expatriates. The heat was blistering and it made it difficult for her to even focus. Some of the lads were still there, keeping watch, but they were looking oddly sleepy. Was this a part of the plan of the Avenging Spirit hooligans to booby trap their lair so that no outsider could come over the mountain? Unlikely, they were wily, but smarts weren't their strong suit. This was just your ordinary terrible fucking heat in the middle of winter.
Lovely.
It was a good hour before she was done with the scan. Apparently the higher ups had neglected to inform her that Tora Bora had been QUITE expanded beyond the natural series of caves that were purported to be there. It seemed that they'd connected all of them and had added several new volcanic rock enhanced lower chambers, where they were apparently keeping the hostages. So no tunneling in, volcanic rock would take forever and she'd be spotted immediately the moment she entered the complex. At the very least she could tunnel into one of the older storage rooms, so there was that. Nothing too fancy.
Spinning around briefly in a circle as she got up, much to the lads' silent amusement, given that stick could be given for that AFTER they saved the country from terrorist take over by proxy, again, and stopped, centering herself. Breathing in, she slowly felt out, her sensational feelings stretching as far as she could, until she stopped just at the edge of where the lads were. No need to make them feel that post-magic itch for the next hour and a half.
And just like that, she disappeared into the earth. There was no place like home like a good old hole in the ground, nothing so cozy, familiar, and roomy. Helen could make it as big as she needed, but nothing would happen in the slightest about THAT until she wanted it to. Earth Magic was about concentration and control. Without this, earthquakes would erupt, the ground would quiver, and a calamity would be wrought. Captain MacDonald had conquered that side of it years ago, so there was no reason for her to be worried. It was a way of life, after all. Magic was beautiful. So fucking beautiful.
The Captain arrived shortly after a quick jaunt through the mountain, coming to a stop just above a mujaheddin passed beneath her. His feet got stuck in place as soon as he turned around to figure out what the sound was and a quick punch to the neck ended any thoughts of riposte. Sighing to herself, MacDonald looked around. Great, wrong room. She'd ended up just shy of her goal, but given it was a hallway away now, there wasn't a reason to dig through the wall. Heaving the unconscious jihadist up against the wall, she slowly made sure that he was trapped in some sand in a way that allowed him to breath, but kept him hidden. No need for a sleeping body to alert anyone. Focusing again, she sank into the wall and began to slowly work her way around, getting deeper and deeper as she was forced to stop occasionally as guards passed.
Earth magic made avoiding patrols so very easy these days, especially when they weren't looking to the walls for anything suspicious. Who'd expect their base to be infiltrated by a mole? Well, they should have given that she was the only coalition mage on the side of the NATO alliance, not including the magicians in the capital and other regional centers. Wonderful intelligence, this bunch.
Resisting the urge to yawn, Helen slowly found herself in the newer chambers. Great. Can't delve into volcanic rock, now, can she? Normally this sort of trudging could be avoided, but given how thorough the magical influence in the rocks, she couldn't get out through here. From here on out, she was truly out of her element, more or less. Pulling out her pistol, she looked around the corner seeing the coast was clear. Avoiding danger was something of a priority of hers at the moment, but she WOULD kill if need be.
Walking slowly, as if she was just another patrolman, she rounded another corner and flattened herself to the wall. Feeling along the wall, she tapped it lightly and located a few of their magicians. She'd hoped that they'd come to her one at a time, but life won't always be a shitty video game now, will it?
She had to move quickly. Any wrong moves and she was dead and the Coalition without a single magician to do anything. The lads would get a whole FUBAR worth of stick if she didn't come back alive. She wouldn't even come back at all if these terrorists were able to get the jump on her and kill her outright. These sorts were ruthless.
Turning quickly, she dived into the room, slamming into the floor hard enough, if only barely, so that the volcanic rock rose to block the incoming bits of fire headed her way. Easily reflecting the heated magic, the rocks held steady as all of the Captain's concentration focused on probing the ground for pliable rock. It had been hard enough figuring out which parts of the rock would shift to get her some sort of defensive position, it would be even harder to figure out which rocks would shift so he could disarm these men. At least they didn't seem to be moving much, her geolocation abilities were telling her that they were just focusing on the rock for now.
Finally finding the right set of rocks, she smashed her hand into the ground, cursing loudly as the rocks shoved themselves up out of the ground, stabbing into the three men in different places. Using her gun hand, she quickly made work out of the three, likely inexperienced magicians, and took a look over her surroundings. Great, another series of caves loomed in front of her. Exactly what she needed, corridor combat. Shaking her free hand, she tensed up as she felt something jingle in his pinky. A broken finger, the last thing she needed right now. With her movements using her hands partially based on the stability of her body, a broken finger meant that this would get a whole lot harder for her to focus on.
Breathing in softly, he took a hold of the finger and pressed it against the wall, knowing that she'd regret what she was about to do. Fuck it, she was a Royal Marine, she couldn't allow herself the disservice of a job poorly done. Anything that had any slowing effect on her job had to be removed. Bracing a foot against the rock she neatly severed the pinky, embedding it in the stone. Having covered her mouth with her free hand, she almost cried out loud enough to reverberate through the cave. Thank god that she could have it regrown between tours, even if it was bloody fucking expensive to get done.
Captain MacDonald soon found herself trudging through the cave, replaying the scene again sans finger dismemberment at least two more times. Why were there small groups of fire magicians in this cave that couldn't figure out how to hit the broad side of Parliament?
She soon found her answer. Deep inside the cave, at the very core of it, lay a tomb. On the far end of the tomb was the hostages, but at the front of it was the big boss. Or rather, the American one. Ibrahim Yousef, also known as the Bombay Bomber after his near destruction of the city of Bombay during the attack there in '07, was apparently the secretive leader of the Avenging Spirit. This was somewhat amusing given that he was a Shia leading a bunch of Sunnis, but she was sure that they had no idea of his REAL face. The one he was wearing right now was Sunni enough, at a cosmetic level anyways. He spoke fluent, almost native, Pashto to his troops in the midst of the cave, his gestures and inflections perfect for a local. For an instrumentalist and theatre player like him, such guises were like a second nature. If he was leading the operation here, then there was something large planned. Something involving the hostages. Perking up all of a sudden, Ibrahim looked over to MacDonald's position and smiled.
“Good of you to arrive, MacDonald” he said, his English purposely accented to suppose that he wasn't an American born terrorist, just a man who knew English from Afghanistan, “I see the initiates from the Order have been showing how useless they are at guarding caves?”
“Of course, you arsehead. Still faking you are someone other than some convert American with a troubled past?”
“So touchy and quick to assume I am who you think I am, MacDonald. Tell me, did you enjoy killing those men? They were but on the cusp of manhood, the perfect time to learn magic. Isn't that right, unbeliever?”
“Stuff it up your hummushole, Ibrahim. Back down and give me the hostages and I'll just go. You and I know very well how this is going to end.”
“With you as charred as your wit? I think we might have different opinions on what knowledge is, Highlander.”
At this point, she knew that they'd be at this all day and by the time that they were done, the whole damned coalition could easily arrive, and have the biggest mountain destruction party since the eruption of Vesuvius.
Jumping forward and rolling behind a tombstone, she raised rock once more, widening the measly protection she gained from the block of stone into something that she could actually use to avoid burns. Lifting it up and carrying it with her, she continued to move, zigzagging through the graves as she lifted the various rocks out of their roots, more than happy to utilize the resources available. Lancaster and his hatred of requisition could eat their hearts out about THAT.
Then men who Ibrahim had been speaking to seemed to be nonplussed by all of what was going. They, for whoever they were, seemed to just be content in letting the duel play out. Perhaps they understood more English than they let on, but they didn't seem all that interested in the fight itself.
Waiting for Ibrahim to walk closely to one of the tombstones, Helen rolled sideways, tapping the ground hard enough to cause a surge of action to shoot through the ground, causing the tombstone by Ibrahim to shake momentarily and then explode, sending shards of stone into the elder terrorist's torso and leg. Removing the wounds by hand, Helen was more easily able to put herself between him and the hostages, watching as he ended the bleeding on his body by burning the wounds closed, “Do you really think you can outmaneuver me, heathen?” he said, walking towards the wall, “I created this place and I can just as easily tear it down” he added,grasping onto the wall and seeming to shoot his flames into the complex's central systems.
“Oh come on, we've barely started fighting and you are turning tail and running? What kind of leader are you?” she taunted, hoping that he would deactivate his trap.
“Did you really think that I made all of this for the hostages? No, I made this place to trap you. You can't dig through volcanic rock, can you, MacDonald? Without you, the Coalition is without magic, making my job, or my successor's all the more easier”
Realizing the depths of which she been tricked, she turned tail and ran towards the hostages, getting them to form a circle. If there was a way to get out of here, a combined will matrix might do the trick. Centering them around her while the remaining Avenging Spirit jihadists found a convenient reason to make themselves scarce, Helen MacDonald used all of her energy to bore this section of rock through the walls of the cavern, barely able to even concentrate as she felt the foreign magic of the wall influence her body. She felt...balmy.
Within two minutes, she burst out the side of the mountain, gasping for breath as she and the rest of the people on the rock gasped for air. As a result of the foreign magic, she'd been unable to breathe and as a result, neither had they. Clawing at the ground as she collapsed, the last thing she saw before she lapsed into unconsciousness was one of the lads, giving stick to another about some sort of extraction point...
As 2009 drove to a close, there still was no end in sight for the war. The multi-starred generals and moustached commanders were still waiting for the big push to no avail. The year wasn't over, but for Captain MacDonald, active operations during that year were. She's the only trained magician in the military of the allies here and if she died there'd be none. So she rested. Next year. Next year would be the end.
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Post by J.O.N ((Dragonwing)) on Jul 14, 2014 10:02:59 GMT -5
Hot
Hot and shit.
Probably the best words to describe the climate that camp Bastion found itself situated in; that didn’t just mean the weather either. For the Royal Marines that found themselves manning the base, today had brought the worst news they ever had. Christmas had been cancelled due to the increase in Taliban attacks. Instead they were to be deployed once more to deal with the renewed resurgence.
Having just come out of one of the biggest offensives they had participated in, it was as if Satan himself had told them they were to march back into hell. For Captain Helen McDonald, it meant that she was going to have to step up to the crease and weather another attack from her superiors. None of them seemed to understand her capabilities; to them she was a miracle worker they had on call.
There was only so much a magician can do; only so much magic can achieve or she wouldn’t be marching around carrying fifty kilograms worth of gear under a spiteful sun. When she had been brought under the wing of one of the most secretive societies on Earth, she didn’t think she would end up in a hell designed to exploit her very genetics.
Red face to match red hair, Helen slapped the tents opening aside as she made her way into the mess. Several nearby soldiers gave her a half-hearted salute at her entrance. She refrained from chewing them out on the sloppiness, moral was low and she didn’t want to exasperate it. Instead she took her cold mash and bangers and sat at the officers table.
“Captain”
The voice was almost curt, with a sense of something cheeky. Yet for Helen it was somewhat welcome.
“Captain” She replied, offering a seat at the table. A large man, dressed similarly as her sat down opposite. He was older than her, with salt and pepper hair and a weathered face.
“I guess you heard the bad news” the man said, taking a bite of one of the sausages on his fork.
“Yeah Jack, The lads aren’t going to take this well”
“Give them some credit, they’ve lived and breathed hell these past years.”
Helen just grunted, not as sure as he was.
The two ate their lunch in silence for a few minutes, neither feeling like talking. Eventually though, Jack slipped a hand through his hair and sighed. It was obvious something was bothering him. Helen glanced up at him with a furrowed brow. Jack gave a weak smile and shrugged his shoulders.
“You’ve been ordered to meet with Command, I was your messenger. Sorry.”
Helen took one last bite of her food and sighed.
“I knew it wouldn’t take long, thanks for letting me finish lunch.”
Standing up from the table Jack stood with her and held out a hand for her to shake.
“Go get ‘em Tiger” he said with a rare grin, Tiger being his nickname for her. It was a reference to her personality, and her hair, like all her nicknames.
Helen just stared daggers at him before leaving.
…
“That is impossible... Sir.”
“Those aren’t words I like to hear captain; in fact I don’t think it is in my vocabulary!”
Helen found herself standing at attention before the base commanders, specifically Commandant-General and he wasn’t very happy.
“I cannot win a war with just magic Sir!” Helen replied, her voice forced but she tried her best not to snap and end up getting court martialled for insubordination.
Commandant-General Smith sighed and waved his hand, allowing her to relax.
“I have the Prime minister breathing down my neck to end this war. Apparently it’s tanking his poll numbers, as if they could get any lower.”
Helen said nothing.
“They want results; you’ve helped us since joining the marines, but sniffing out informants and tricking spies isn’t why you were given to us. Not to mention the Daily Mail has picked up on you being here, it’s like they have smelt blood in the water.”
The Commandant-General ran his hand through his hair and looked at Helen with hard eyes. Frustration was taking its toll on the man, and the recent counter-attack by the Taliban, after it was believed they had been routed, was getting to him.
“You better prove yourself during the next operation, or we need to talk about you being moved to somewhere else, dismissed Captain.”
Helen managed to supress her anger as she left the tent, the only sign of her internal storm being the strength she used to bat aside the tent flap. Once outside she took a moment to breathe in and attempt to relax. It worked, a little. Finding some peace she went over the situation in her head. It wasn’t good.
Not only did she now have to deal with the moral shock that the recent news brought, but command was expecting her to pull the metaphorical rabbit out of her arse. If she failed then she’d be crucified for some gutter press. When she put her name forward to join the Circle of Magi, she didn’t think she would need to worry about some tosser behind a news desk.
Her father was in the navy and her mother had been in the air force. Ever since she had been a little girl she had wanted to continue her family's tradition. She didn’t want some desk job though or some role in support, she wanted to be on the frontlines. Her skills got her here, the first woman and magician to ever fight beside the Royal marines. Too bad it put her in the centre of more than a few controversies.
Wrapped up in her mind, she failed to see Jack strike a pose in front of her, his salute almost comically rigid.
“Captain, Sir?!” He announced with a bark, almost shocking Helen. She returned the salute and stared him down.
“I take it you have not been roasted alive and feed to the jackals?”
Helen merely grunted a response.
“Got any reason you were hanging about outside command?”
“Yes Ma’am, got something the lads just brought in, thought you might want a look”
His grin seemed to suggest it was good news, a welcome respite.
“Lead the way Captain.”
Heading through the camp at a quick march, Jack leading, Helen was wracking her mind for ideas as to how to satisfy command. Turning into the open area for unloading, she was momentarily shocked at what her troops were unloading. It was probably biggest amount of opium she had seen outside of the fields. They must have grabbed it during a raid.
Standing before the huge bales of Opium, her troops looked pleased with themselves. It was a particularly good haul. Cracking jokes as their Captain approached, they elbowed each other and quickly standing to attention before she could yell at them. It didn’t remove their grins.
“You seem in a particularly good mood, especially after the news today” Helen said, as she looked them over.
“Sir, yes Sir!” Her Sergeant yelled.
“It would be a fucking understatement that we’re unhappy about the situation, but the lads cherish the thought of starting a Christmas burn off.”
Helen looked over the bales and a thought began to creep through her mind and a wicked smile developed, matching her troops. Nodding at her new plan she looked at Jack beside her.
“Yeah, I can think of some fun we can have.”
…
Away from the light pollution created by the cities, the night sky was something spectacular; an image that truly deserved the description of awesome. Helen had gotten used to it in the two years she had been under it, but for tonight, she was concerned that light of the stars would ruin everything.
It had taken hours to get the bales in position under the darkness, Helen and her troops were on edge for even the slightest warning that they had been spotted. Miraculously though they had managed to get set up, overlooking the small valley below them. The air around was cold with a sharp wind that blew down into the valley.
“Finally something to remind me of home” Helen whispered to Jack, a grin revealing her white teeth.
“It’s good to see you excited, it brings out your sadism” he replied, tilting his head at the large bales of opium they had set up.
Helen just ignored him and gave the signal to the soldiers crouching by the bales. Seeing the quick torch flash, they scrambled amongst themselves and in a matter of seconds, a blazing torch was produced. Wasting no time, they each thrust one into the bales, five all up. It took sometime but a crackling could be heard, soon followed by a burst of leaping and twisting fire.
“Let the show begin” Helen whispered.
In a minute, the bales were a blaze of ash and chocking hallucinogenic smog, a thick, a thick and coiling cloud that the wind took no time picking up, and spreading it down into the valley, over the Taliban’s entrenched positions amongst the towns and gully’s. Shouts and yells greeted its arrival, and Helen gave it some time for the audience to get a good lungful of the smoke before enacting her last trick.
For her troops, they wouldn’t ever really be able to understand what happened next. The opium smoke had doused them just as much their combatants and it clouded their own judgement. Standing on top the ridge, a bright light from the trucks projected Helens shadow across the low lying clouds and smog. For everyone beneath it, it looked like some twisted god staring down at mortal play things.
And then the things began to rise up, as if created from dust and sticks. They were constructs of ghoulish appearance that shuffled among the Taliban, turning the yells into screams. Accompanying the dust creatures was Helens voice, its other worldly chanting bringing visions of dread and fear. The valleys defenders only lasted a minute, trying to endure the onslaught on their senses, before a mass route broke out amongst their ranks.
In response several helicopter rose up over the ridge line and roared down into the valley, their underbellies quickly spewing forth Marines dressed in gas masks. The Taliban had barely left the town, running in to the desert, before the Royal Marine secured the town for themselves. Cheers sprung out among those on the ridgeline that could piece together reality. The others merely sat in stunned silence as their captain broke out in her first smile all day.
…
“I must congratulate you Captain. That was one of our most successful operations.”
The Commandant-General held out his hand and Helen gave it a firm shake.
“Thank you Sir.”
“If you can continue those results we may win this war on schedule!”
Brought back to the command tent for her congratulations, Helen was suspicious. Her commander had seemed nervous, slightly off put; and standing behind the commander was a man with a CIA emblem on his lapel. She soon found out why.
“Unfortunately the press are raising a stink about us recruiting a magician, not to mention your… er, womanness. On the plus side you’ve caught the attention of our esteemed allies.”
Helen gave him a confused look and the man behind him stepped forward.
“Arrangements have been made to move you to somewhere that will attract less attention. You’re to work as an attaché for the CIA.”
Helen stared at the man beside the Major-General, and the man gave her a grin from behind his sunglasses.
“I see, Sir”
It seemed that the show was just beginning.
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Post by James on Jul 19, 2014 0:35:51 GMT -5
Injin
The main problem with this was that you made it into an Arena round. For the first few paragraphs after the start, I was really thrown by the tone of the writing. It was so odd. Then I realised you were copying the tone of the blurb. Well, if this was an Arena round, you did a hell of a good job. But it wasn't. That tone was such a tone of a summary that when applied to an entire story, everything felt so distant and forced. Which was a real pity because I'd liked the world you came up with.
You perhaps went too hard too fast. You gave us all these facts about this alternative universe where magic is real that the story got bogged down. Think about how much you're infodumping and how else you can do it. But the allusions to Vietnam and the Cold War as being magical wars as well, for example, was awesome. That was excellent worldbuilding.
The dialogue felt a little too forced. Reread some of Lancaster's dialogue and it almost doesn't seem human. But there was at least tension between them and you did a good job of giving the army structure a sense of flavour. Also, something worth noting, is you had some lines that seemed very clever and then I paused and thought “that doesn't even make sense.” Like the silence being broken like a gravedigger filling a grave... it sounds amazing but what does it even mean? You're getting a lot better at making your words come alive, but make sure your descriptions actually make sense.
Really, the key problem was the tone. It was so overbearing that it became a bit of a slog to make it to the end. But I feel that's more you were confused about the round (blurb v Arena) rather than any problem in your actual writing.
So, a decent effort, but still keep an eye on things like dialogue and giving the reader room to breathe.
Dragon
You had no full stop on the very first line. I'm going to point this out because editing is something you really need to think about. Your stories, including this one, are often riddled with tiny mistakes that are just distracting. For instance, this one had dialogue that didn't end with punctuation and proper nouns without capital letters. It makes your stories seem messy when they're often very good. I used to say I didn't care about grammar and spelling until I got the basics of storytelling right. But I think I might have been wrong to think that. Because getting the grammar right also helps with other things and just makes your story -look- better.
Okay? Right. Onto the story itself.
I loved it.
Seriously, that's why I talked about those errors because they were so numerous they weakened a great story. The tone was excellent. The references all worked to give the story a real distinctive feel. It was proper urban fantasy transported to Afghanistan. You didn't overwhelm the reader with too much backstory. The army banter felt real. I adored the use of magic and the opium. The ending worked well. It was just really good.
It wasn't perfect, though. You could have perhaps described the scene a little better. I felt my imagination had to do some heavy lifting at times. Also, the fact that you didn't actually tell the reader what Helen's task was until she did it was a little odd and didn't quite work.
But this is the story I've been waiting for you to deliver. Excellent work. Now, sit down and read a grammar book (seriously, this is now your weak link) and start thinking about the next level of writing (sentence structure, narrative flow, language techniques, etc).
Going to give this one to Dragon. It was messy as hell but it was great. Injin's had potential, though. Keep on writing.
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