| General Fiction posted August 9, 2020 | Chapters: |
-Prologue- 1... 
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Prologue
A chapter in the book Another Life
Another Life
by lancellot
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
The author has placed a warning on this post for sexual content.
Sergeant Jeff Wilkins's hands kept slipping. His palms were wet and tingly; his fractured mind refused to comprehend why. He kept trying to sit up despite Derrick's commands. Derrick didn't know what Jeff wanted to do or where he wanted to go without legs. Jeff probably didn't know either. Derrick did his best to tighten the tourniquets around the stumps where Jeff's knees used to be.
"It's okay; you're going to make it. You'll be alright, I swear." Derrick was lying, of course. Jeff's vampire-like pale face and wide vacant eyes told him the man had already lost too much blood. But, even as he thought it, Derrick knew the word lost wasn't entirely right. Jeff's blood wasn't lost. Some of it was on Derrick's boots, and the rest was pooled under what was left of the Sergeant's once-perfect body.
Tall, tanned, athletic. A light-skinned black man with hypnotic grey eyes did not come from the man Jeff's mom named his father. The guys in the squad often joked how women loved to lie under him and stare into those stormy greys imagining a house with a white picket fence and two-point three kids as Jeff pounded away at them, wondering if he should come in their face or flip them and go balls deep in their ass. The young Afghan women in that shit-hole village were no different, or so Jeff thought. If he hadn't tried to get a little honey, as he called it, none of them would be in a world of shit.
"Oh, shit… oh shit. They're coming over the ridge. They're coming," screamed Lewis. Just twenty-one, Lewis was so full of youth his voice hadn't yet lost that high-pitched bitch-like whine.
Derrick often compared Lewis' voice to pigs being slaughtered, as if the city boy Derrick was, knew how dying pigs sounded. He was thankful for Lewis at that moment as nothing else could've cut through the shock, trying to cloud his mind.
"Switch to night vision. Two by two, short bursts, short burst! Confirm your target and conserve your ammo. We've got five minutes before the Evac chopper gets here. Five minutes, people." Derrick watched his team's last four capable members take up positions along the ridgeline. He spared a final look at Jeff. Blessedly, he had gone quiet. Passed out or dead, in the end, it didn't matter; he would be spared what was coming. Derrick had only a glimmer of an escape plan forming in his mind if the chopper didn't come. Could it work, perhaps? If God truly favored the foolish, they had been very, very foolish.
Derrick took a position between his remaining friends when a blood-red flare lit up the night sky. As one, they all looked up with dirt-stained faces knowing that a hundred fierce eyes would see their exact position. Captain Derrick Mathews stared at the slowly falling light and thought: How lonely that little flare was in a sky empty for miles. Shit!
Sergeant Jeff Wilkins's hands kept slipping. His palms were wet and tingly; his fractured mind refused to comprehend why. He kept trying to sit up despite Derrick's commands. Derrick didn't know what Jeff wanted to do or where he wanted to go without legs. Jeff probably didn't know either. Derrick did his best to tighten the tourniquets around the stumps where Jeff's knees used to be.
"It's okay; you're going to make it. You'll be alright, I swear." Derrick was lying, of course. Jeff's vampire-like pale face and wide vacant eyes told him the man had already lost too much blood. But, even as he thought it, Derrick knew the word lost wasn't entirely right. Jeff's blood wasn't lost. Some of it was on Derrick's boots, and the rest was pooled under what was left of the Sergeant's once-perfect body.
Tall, tanned, athletic. A light-skinned black man with hypnotic grey eyes did not come from the man Jeff's mom named his father. The guys in the squad often joked how women loved to lie under him and stare into those stormy greys imagining a house with a white picket fence and two-point three kids as Jeff pounded away at them, wondering if he should come in their face or flip them and go balls deep in their ass. The young Afghan women in that shit-hole village were no different, or so Jeff thought. If he hadn't tried to get a little honey, as he called it, none of them would be in a world of shit.
"Oh, shit… oh shit. They're coming over the ridge. They're coming," screamed Lewis. Just twenty-one, Lewis was so full of youth his voice hadn't yet lost that high-pitched bitch-like whine.
Derrick often compared Lewis' voice to pigs being slaughtered, as if the city boy Derrick was, knew how dying pigs sounded. He was thankful for Lewis at that moment as nothing else could've cut through the shock, trying to cloud his mind.
"Switch to night vision. Two by two, short bursts, short burst! Confirm your target and conserve your ammo. We've got five minutes before the Evac chopper gets here. Five minutes, people." Derrick watched his team's last four capable members take up positions along the ridgeline. He spared a final look at Jeff. Blessedly, he had gone quiet. Passed out or dead, in the end, it didn't matter; he would be spared what was coming. Derrick had only a glimmer of an escape plan forming in his mind if the chopper didn't come. Could it work, perhaps? If God truly favored the foolish, they had been very, very foolish.
Derrick took a position between his remaining friends when a blood-red flare lit up the night sky. As one, they all looked up with dirt-stained faces knowing that a hundred fierce eyes would see their exact position. Captain Derrick Mathews stared at the slowly falling light and thought: How lonely that little flare was in a sky empty for miles. Shit!
"It's okay; you're going to make it. You'll be alright, I swear." Derrick was lying, of course. Jeff's vampire-like pale face and wide vacant eyes told him the man had already lost too much blood. But, even as he thought it, Derrick knew the word lost wasn't entirely right. Jeff's blood wasn't lost. Some of it was on Derrick's boots, and the rest was pooled under what was left of the Sergeant's once-perfect body.
Tall, tanned, athletic. A light-skinned black man with hypnotic grey eyes did not come from the man Jeff's mom named his father. The guys in the squad often joked how women loved to lie under him and stare into those stormy greys imagining a house with a white picket fence and two-point three kids as Jeff pounded away at them, wondering if he should come in their face or flip them and go balls deep in their ass. The young Afghan women in that shit-hole village were no different, or so Jeff thought. If he hadn't tried to get a little honey, as he called it, none of them would be in a world of shit.
"Oh, shit… oh shit. They're coming over the ridge. They're coming," screamed Lewis. Just twenty-one, Lewis was so full of youth his voice hadn't yet lost that high-pitched bitch-like whine.
Derrick often compared Lewis' voice to pigs being slaughtered, as if the city boy Derrick was, knew how dying pigs sounded. He was thankful for Lewis at that moment as nothing else could've cut through the shock, trying to cloud his mind.
"Switch to night vision. Two by two, short bursts, short burst! Confirm your target and conserve your ammo. We've got five minutes before the Evac chopper gets here. Five minutes, people." Derrick watched his team's last four capable members take up positions along the ridgeline. He spared a final look at Jeff. Blessedly, he had gone quiet. Passed out or dead, in the end, it didn't matter; he would be spared what was coming. Derrick had only a glimmer of an escape plan forming in his mind if the chopper didn't come. Could it work, perhaps? If God truly favored the foolish, they had been very, very foolish.
Derrick took a position between his remaining friends when a blood-red flare lit up the night sky. As one, they all looked up with dirt-stained faces knowing that a hundred fierce eyes would see their exact position. Captain Derrick Mathews stared at the slowly falling light and thought: How lonely that little flare was in a sky empty for miles. Shit!
 Recognized |
There is another 67000 words to this story. I'm testing to see if there is any interests in Derick's story or fate.
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