beachhead1973
2006-11-08, 02:30 PM
hi, not really sure if this is the right place on these forums for this, but here goes;
i have just recently begun posting my work on Baen's Bar (bar.baen.com)
and i would love to hear what you guys have to say.
my writing style has been highly influenced by battletech novels i have read over the years, but this is my own creation and although taking inspiration from a large number of diverse sources, it is not fanfiction. you can find my work under the title The Dragonfly's Tale in the 'Slush Pile' section
if you like science fiction and retro-warfare, this will be right up your alley
here's a preview!
All in all, he’d been miraculously lucky. Most of the fire from the government troops had missed either because they were poor marksmen firing from the hip as they ran as fast as they could towards him (never mind, that not one seemed to have a bayonet) or though blind, dumb luck, but Zeke’s luck ran out with the third troop. His final three-round burst caught Zeke as his clip ejected, the first slug cutting through the left pauldron of his FLAK jacket, eating into the meat of his shoulder, causing him to jerk the M1F out of his firing hand and begin a spin to the left. The second round grazed his other shoulder, the third, oddly the most damaging bullet hit Zeke in the right thigh, just missing the femoral artery, the fruit of the soldier overcompensating his attempt to correct his aim.
Zeke crouched now behind the log as the soldier lined up a second, killing burst. He failed to notice the bolt of his weapon was held open by the empty magazine. Zeke, unlike the government soldier he now turned to face was intimately familiar with the Armalite operating system the AR-16 used. When the killing shot didn’t come immediately, he knew what had happened.
His M1F lay on the other side of the log, his bayonet was still in the enemy camp, lodged in the brain cavity of another government soldier. He had only one weapon left and he brought it to bear as the government soldier, backpedaling now, attempted to reload his weapon. The M6 scout carbine’s weak .22 long rifle bullet did little physically to the soldier, punching a hole in his sternum and exiting out his back without claiming any major organs.
It was the .410 gauge birdshot that decided who was going to walk away.
And it wasn’t going to be a blue-belly.
As it’s name implied, birdshot was designed for hunting game birds. The narrow, almost pencil-like .410 shell packed with a beehive of small steel pellets. Pellets that striped the flesh from the soldier’s face layer by layer and pock-marked the bone, ripping away the nose, lips and ears, the eyeballs disintegrating.
The soldier fell back, a malformed scream born without the benefit of cheeks or lips to shape it seared Zeke’s sensitive hearing as the soldier rolled about on the ground, hand searching his gore-stripped skull for where his face should have been. Now Zeke stood over the shrieking form and he felt pity for the soldier, it wasn’t his fault he’d not been trained properly and he felt no malice towards the man for shooting him. Zeke wondered if he felt the same way towards him as his careful kick snapped the soldier’s spinal column.
i suggest downloading the word attachments, as the forums do not seem to like my punctuation and indent work.
i have just recently begun posting my work on Baen's Bar (bar.baen.com)
and i would love to hear what you guys have to say.
my writing style has been highly influenced by battletech novels i have read over the years, but this is my own creation and although taking inspiration from a large number of diverse sources, it is not fanfiction. you can find my work under the title The Dragonfly's Tale in the 'Slush Pile' section
if you like science fiction and retro-warfare, this will be right up your alley
here's a preview!
All in all, he’d been miraculously lucky. Most of the fire from the government troops had missed either because they were poor marksmen firing from the hip as they ran as fast as they could towards him (never mind, that not one seemed to have a bayonet) or though blind, dumb luck, but Zeke’s luck ran out with the third troop. His final three-round burst caught Zeke as his clip ejected, the first slug cutting through the left pauldron of his FLAK jacket, eating into the meat of his shoulder, causing him to jerk the M1F out of his firing hand and begin a spin to the left. The second round grazed his other shoulder, the third, oddly the most damaging bullet hit Zeke in the right thigh, just missing the femoral artery, the fruit of the soldier overcompensating his attempt to correct his aim.
Zeke crouched now behind the log as the soldier lined up a second, killing burst. He failed to notice the bolt of his weapon was held open by the empty magazine. Zeke, unlike the government soldier he now turned to face was intimately familiar with the Armalite operating system the AR-16 used. When the killing shot didn’t come immediately, he knew what had happened.
His M1F lay on the other side of the log, his bayonet was still in the enemy camp, lodged in the brain cavity of another government soldier. He had only one weapon left and he brought it to bear as the government soldier, backpedaling now, attempted to reload his weapon. The M6 scout carbine’s weak .22 long rifle bullet did little physically to the soldier, punching a hole in his sternum and exiting out his back without claiming any major organs.
It was the .410 gauge birdshot that decided who was going to walk away.
And it wasn’t going to be a blue-belly.
As it’s name implied, birdshot was designed for hunting game birds. The narrow, almost pencil-like .410 shell packed with a beehive of small steel pellets. Pellets that striped the flesh from the soldier’s face layer by layer and pock-marked the bone, ripping away the nose, lips and ears, the eyeballs disintegrating.
The soldier fell back, a malformed scream born without the benefit of cheeks or lips to shape it seared Zeke’s sensitive hearing as the soldier rolled about on the ground, hand searching his gore-stripped skull for where his face should have been. Now Zeke stood over the shrieking form and he felt pity for the soldier, it wasn’t his fault he’d not been trained properly and he felt no malice towards the man for shooting him. Zeke wondered if he felt the same way towards him as his careful kick snapped the soldier’s spinal column.
i suggest downloading the word attachments, as the forums do not seem to like my punctuation and indent work.