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Fighting for a Cause (Temp Title)

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Spainops
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« on: January 07, 2008, 07:29:19 pm »

Haven't been around here in a long while, but was kinda figuring it was time to write around a little bit. The story, though not titled yet, takes place in the present day, maybe a decade or at least a few years into the future. It's a slow starter, but it'll get crazy, believe me. C & C welcome!

Edit. - Just added two paragraphs. Felt like it helped it end. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1 - Introduction

The heat was a welcome companion to Matt after the cold spring. The coming of summer also brought with it another plus: The absence of classes at the town college. Oh, he had so waited for summer, for the one hundred degree days and the cool sixty degree nights, the time to spend with friends and the coming of the feria. He had only barely passed most of his subjects but didn't really care, because he knew that the major he was pursuing now probably wouldn't apply to the job he'd end up having in life. So really, what difference did it make what he studied now? His parents, of course, did not share his position on the subject and had tried pretty much anything to get him to apply himself. The only subject he had aced was English, and that was because in this small, rural town in the south of Spain, English consisted of learning the to be verb again and again. He smiled as shadows slowly grew longer on the gray town streets, the constant white walls on his left and right providing the familiar Andalucian feel, and the Spanish way of life. Little activity took place on the streets, for while the heat was a dry heat, it was still mighty hot, and overprotective mothers hid their children in the coolness of their homes.

Matt was an american, nineteen year old son of Lewis and Leanne Evensen, who had come to Spain 15 years before, under a contract from the Spanish government to build a monument dedicated to Adolfo Suarez, first spanish president after Franco's dictatorship. For reasons unbeknownst to the family, or most of the population for that matter, the statue was being built in Seville, instead of the country's capital, Madrid; place where Adolfo fought most of the political battles to bring in democracy under the new king, Juan Carlos I. Matt didn't really care for the whole job issue, that was his father's concern. He was just trying to fit in with the society. He had short blond hair, deep blue eyes and a light complexion that hardly compared to the typical spanish citizen. Most spaniards were of tan complexion, had brown eyes and brown hair. Matt always joked to other americans that the Spanish were the brown people of the world, though most people didn't usually get it, though, since they lacked the background that Matt had. Matt, short for Matthew, had actually spent most of his life in this small town, since after the monument contract several other ones had popped up in the area. Lewis had accepted these less lucrative offers due to the fact that he wanted his son to grow up in a constant environment and not constantly shifting, like he had done. Matt had noticed this and always felt grateful for it, though he would never say so. It was simply how he was. Leanne and her son, though, held a more typical relationship, the former always trying to protect and smother the latter. They were an interesting family, to say the least.

Matt, immersed in thought, unlocked the front door and proceeded to the cochera, the garage/entrance that lead to the second door, which in turn lead into the house. After entering the actual household, he closed the door, shouted "I'm home!" and headed towards his room. As he passed through the marble-floored patio he noticed a note on the floor, right next to the potted fern his mother adored so. He picked it up and quickly read it, understanding half of it. His mother always wrote in cursive and while it was pretty and neat, it was difficult for him to understand, since he always used print. From it he gathered they had headed to an impromptu meeting in a nearby town with some friends. He briefly smiled, knowing his father would be using his accented Spanish to communicate with their friends. Matt spoke flawless Spanish, while his father spoke it with a bit of an accent. It was the one thing Matt could always use against his father, no matter the circumstance.

When his parents returned later that night, they found their son sleeping in his bed, dressed and even with the light on. He still held the flamenco guitar he had been playing, several music sheets spread about him. With a smile they turned off the light, shut the door and headed to their room to change. Matt didn't wake up till 3 AM that night and when he did, he threw the papers off the bed, plopped the guitar onto the stand, stripped to his boxer shorts and promptly dropped back into bed. A sudden noise awoke him the next morning, jolting him from the restful sleep he was finally getting after his finals. Suspicious, he slowly crawled out of bed, heading towards the door, where the noise had come from. As soon as he got out of bed, a hand cupped his mouth and an arm crossed around his chest, pulling him back to the bed in a quick motion. In response, Matt rolled backwards as soon as he hit the bed, breaking free from grip and giving him valuable time to identify his attacker.
"Alex!" He exclaimed, still breathless from the incident. His best friend, Alex, short for Alejandro, lay on the bed, rubbing his jaw with a sore smile. "What the hell was that for?!"
"I should ask you the same thing." His friend responded.
"Why?" Matt felt puzzled.
"Because that was a good hit."
"I hit you?"
"Yeah, as you rolled backwards, you punk. Got me right in the jaw."
"I would say I'm sorry, but this was all your fault anyway." Matt said, standing up and heading towards the dresser. "You are here early, though. What's up?"
"Early? It's noon, dude." Alex answered, getting off the bed and retrieving the marble he had thrown against the door.
"Noon? Really?"
"Yeah. Come on, we'll be late if you don't hurry."
"Don't rush me, Alex, I'm not in the mood after that rude awakening."
"Well, they'll start the game without us if we're not there by twelve thirty."
"OK, OK, just let me grab my wallet. I'll be needing breakfast soon, anyway. Go do something else while I brush my teeth and all that."
"Roger that. I think there's leftover toast from your parent's breakfast."
"You just love eating here, don't you?" Matt asked with a sly smile, knowing his friend all too well.
"Beats the cooking at home. All my mom makes for breakfast is chocolate milk and then says: 'You know where the food is.' Big incentive."
Matt laughed  and headed to the bathroom down the hall.

Alex was only slightly taller than Matt, standing at a good 5'11", well built and with good muscles. But while Matt was blond, blue eyed and white, Alex was brown-haired, brown eyed and with tan skin. He was only a year older than Matt and they were closer than brothers. That's why long ago they abandoned "best friends" status and called each other brothers. They were inseparable and always enjoyed each other's company, ever since they met in Judo class. Matt had been enrolled in Judo only a year after arriving in Spain, and that had been where they had met. Ever since, they sparred for the fun of it, trying to knock each other down or at least immobilize.
"Come on, you parasite, we'll be late." Matt said as he walked past the kitchen, where Alex stood cramming toast into his mouth.
"Of, zo nowf itz my ffaulf." Alex responded, stuffed with toast as he grabbed the soccer ball in the corner.
"Whatever you were saying, yes."

Five minutes later, they were almost at the town's sport complex, where they would be playing a friendly soccer match with some friends from high school and college.
"Did you hear? Tensions are mounting again with France." Alex mentioned, seeing the white walls of the sports complex in the distance.
"Did the negotiations fall through?" Matt asked, interested in the subject.
"Yeah, the Minister of Foreign relations in France- you know the guy - Musharraf what's-his-name, denied our terms."
"That sucks. They still massing on the border?"
"Yeah. Apparently two more battalions have been added to border protection."
"What about the Spanish Army?" Matt asked, his mind immediately analyzing the information.
"Well, Blancanieves decided, in all her wisdom, to not reinforce the border, saying she doesn't want to worsen the situation." Alex answered, using the nickname Blancanieves, meaning Snow White, to refer to the female Secretary of Defense, Maria Flores Navarro.
"What's the president doing about this?"
"Right now, he's letting Blancanieves deal with it. Besides, he's got the construction strike, the budget laundering issues and all that fun mafia stuff in Marbella."
"And the King?"
"Keeping quiet. Rumors are, though, that he doesn't want this to happen."
"I can understand that. He grew up in exile and France took in him for a while, didn't they?"
"Yeah, but the government over there has changed quite a bit since he was their guest."
"Lets just hope this is all just a temporary misunderstanding." Matt wished as he and Alex entered the sports complex, where their friends awaited to play some soccer.

"OK, Fran, you suck as a goalie!" Alex shouted as the opposing team scored the eighth goal.
"You try stopping those cannon shots!" Francisco shouted back.
"Well, Guille, you get on defense and help him out." Matt suggested as they prepared to kick off.
The game started, seven people on each team, plus a goalie. Alex kicked off, passing it to Miguel who began running down field, avoiding two men of the opposing team. He was blocked by three defenders and his only option was to pass. Even before he could consider his options, two of the three defenders attacked him, trying to wrest the ball from him. He immediately did a back pass, without even looking behind himself. Matt was there, though, running past the defense with possession of the ball. Two players tried to steal the ball from him with slide tackles, but Matt swerved the ball past the first and then lifted it with his feet over the second. Now only one player and the goalie remained, the only obstacles between him and tying the score. To his misfortune, the remaining defender was Felipe, one of his college friends who played soccer on a regular basis and was even part of a team that played all over the province. Felipe's nickname was Asesino, meaning assassin, due to his fascination with quick death techniques. His father was a doctor, his mother a nurse and his uncle a throat specialist. The circumstances allowed him to readily understand the function of the human body, as well as its many weaknesses. Felipe was absolutely obsessed with the many different ways to kill a man instantly or in one hit, which in conjunction with his taekwondo skills, made him a very dangerous person. Thankfully, his happy-go-lucky attitude and great patience counteracted his morbid fascination. Still, nobody dared to push their luck with him. Felipe was also good friends with Alex and Matt, often sparring in Taekwondo/Judo matches.
"Hey, Asesino, stop this!" Matt shouted just as he slammed his foot into the ball, firing it straight for the top right corner of the goal. To Matt's dismay, Asesino jumped in the way, deflecting the ball with his chest.
"Take that, Matt! Just like in our last match, uh?" He laughed.
"Oh, shut up, gloater." Matt retorted.
While they exchanged phrases, Alex had caught the ball and was already in the perfect position, his leg raised and ready.
"Oh, crap!" Asesino shouted, running to intercede between the ball and the goal. But he was too late. Alex fired it straight into the left side of the goal, right out of reach of the goalie.
"Gooooooooooooooooooooooooool!!!" Alex shouted as he ran around the field, waving his arms wildly.

The game ended on a nine to eight score, Asesino's team winning by a lucky shot from the other side of the field.
"You lucky oaf." Matt said as they left the field, heading towards the cafeteria to get something to eat.
"Thank you very much, sore loser."  Answered the lucky scorer, Diego. "I think you should pay for my lunch, since you lost."
"Dream on, freak." Matt answered as he grabbed Diego in a choke hold, effectively cutting off his air.
"Ach! Fine! You don't hafta pay!" He struggled to say.
"Thank you, Diego." Matt smiled, releasing him.
"No fair, you used force." He whined, half jokingly, half truthfully.
"Sometimes you gotta apply force to achieve what you want. The line between bullying and making a difference resides in the intention." Matt said, his mind shifting to philosophical mode.
"What was that you just did?" Alex asked, curious as to what Matt would say.
"Bullying." He laughed as they entered the cool cafeteria.
« Last Edit: January 30, 2008, 08:49:51 pm by Spainops » Report Spam   Logged

True power does not reside in the weapon, it resides in the wielder. - Narion Anarte, Phoenix of Narde.

Vengeance is served on a plate of knives. - Neforas, Chosen of Duriel.

I may look human, but that's just because you're blind. - Narion Aarach.

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« Reply #1 on: January 12, 2008, 05:14:49 am »

Chapter II. (Sorry, but I don't really feel like giving it a title) (By the way, since this does take place in Spain, all dialogue except for names and nicknames is considered translated)

"Get off your damn butt, private!" Shouted sergeant Torrejas as he walked by, trying to get Herrera to join in the day's training session.
"Ah, what for, sergeant? Today is gunnery practice, and you know I got that down." He said with a smile, letting his head drop down into the pillow. "Besides, it's cold out there."
"Of course it's cold, private, this is the Pyrenees!" The sergeant was slowly losing his patience.
"But it's June! Can't they warm this freakin' place up?" He complained.
"Private! Get out of the bed, put on your uniform and get out there with the rest of the squad!" The sergeant shouted, spitting unintentionally due to his fury.
"OK, OK. Just give me a sec'." Herrera wasn't one to be rushed.

The private was twenty and small for his age. He measured only 5'6", but he was a tasmanian devil and had earned himself the nickname Taz. Fast and furious, he excelled at hand to hand combat and in gunnery; the latter because his grandfather had been an amazing shot and wanted someone to carry on the tradition. Juan Herrera Pico had grown up in Malaga- a coastal city in the very south of Spain- where his father, a health nut, had taught him to take care of his body. He always had a crew cut, even before he joined the army, his black hair never grown longer than an inch. His eyes were oak brown, his skin tanned like that of most other spaniards, and with a prominent hawk nose. He had developed a distaste for authority, so it surprised the family when he joined the army. Not one of his superiors could ever get him to do anything unless Taz himself figured he should do it. The only reason the army hadn't dismissed him was because he was so darned good at what he did do. If they asked him to inventory the munitions stockroom, he'd do it in record time. They figured that as long as his daring could be overlooked, he would be kept in the army.

"Hey, Taz, 'bout time!" Shouted one of the privates at the firing range when Herrera arrived.
"Whatup, Carrera?" Asked Taz as he grabbed a H&K G36 assault rifle, heading over to the munitions counter to pick up a couple clips. Private Carrera got up and headed over to Taz, a devious smile on his face. "What do you have planned, you devil?"
"Well, the great majority of the squad is wondering who's a better shot, you or the new guy." Carrera said.
"This is a bet, I presume?"
"Of course. I got seventy-five running on you, my friend, don't let me down." Carrera explained, hitting his friend on the arm as he walked back to the range.
"Nothing ever changes." Taz smiled as he loaded the rifle and popped a piece of gum into his mouth.
"Is this the guy?" The new recruit said when Taz came up.
"That'd be me. Private Juan Herrera Pico. And you are?"
"I'm Oscar Capaldo." Answered the new guy with an Argentinean accent. "I'll be part of the 42nd Squad."
"Welcome to 33rd squad, my friend. Now, they say you're a good shot. Can you prove it?" Taz was ready for a challenge; few had come his way since he got transferred with his squad to the Pyrenees.
"Just watch." Oscar immediately turned, aimed at a target some sixty feet away and fired. Using the integrated scope, Taz checked the shot.
"Bulls-eye. But that was a cheap shot."
"Excuse me?" The argentinean asked, perplexed.
"That was a simple shot. This is a precision firing contest. You see that rock on top of the boulder up there?" Taz pointed out, indicating a small fist sized pebble at least two hundred feet away. "Watch this." He took aim, but for five seconds nothing happened. Then the gun jumped and the shot echoed through the valley. The pebble jumped into the air, broken into a thousand pieces, it's remains scattering in the cold northern wind.
"Let me show you how it's done. See that tree over on that ledge?" Oscar said, pointing at a bare tree, black, as if burned, alone on the rocky ledge.
"No shooting at the lonely tree!" Shouted a recruit from the back of the small crowd that had gathered.
"The guy has a point. There is no shooting at the lonely tree." Affirmed Carrera.
"What? Why the hell not?" Oscar was puzzled, looking at then tree, then back at Carrera.
"It's sacred. That tree has been revered by every recruit that comes to this base." Taz informed the new guy.
"And just exactly why is it revered?"
"Well, you should respect it simply because it has been a tradition for the last fifty years. It's a long story. Simply know this: It's off limits."
"Fine. Let's see, then. The pine over there. Notice the pine cone hanging near the top? Watch and be amazed." Oscar aimed, taking considerably longer before firing, due mainly to the fact the pine cone was approximately four hundred feet away, the target hardly visible except as a speck on the mountain. The scope eased the recognition. He fired the G36, the recoil hardly affecting him. The bullet whizzed just past his objective, rustling the pine needles nearby.
"My turn." Taz lifted his finger into the air, measured wind speed and direction, then got on one knee and aimed. He fired, waited about a second, then watched the pine cone bounce in the air and fall to the ground, broken in half.
"Lucky shot and a lucky son of a..." Oscar muttered as he walked off, tossing the rifle on the ground.
"Come back any time!" Taz shouted after him, grinning from ear to ear.

The Spanish Army base was located in the east Pyrenees, closer to the Mediterranean Sea, where the mountains weren't quite so high and the ground was easier to tread. It was considered the weak point of the mountain chain that divided the countries of Spain and France, since it also lead straight into Cataluña, one of the Spanish Autonomous Communities, home to the second biggest city in Spain, Barcelona. This city also boasted a bustling port, numerous docks and several ship manufacturing companies, all vitally important to Spain's economy. The base itself was on top of a ridge that stood between two valleys, about ten miles away from the border. The firing range, for security purposes, was at the bottom of the valley, accessible via cable cars that went from the base to the different training facilities in the valley. Since terrain was rather difficult for vehicles, the base counted on a rather large helicopter fleet stationed only two miles away. The summer had already geared up, so most of the snow had melted and the rivers ran full of clear mountain water, but a cold front had decided to make a show, much to the annoyance of the grunts.


-----------------------------------

"Yo, Matt!" Miguel saluted as the american entered the circle of friends. It was a friday night and, as on all friday nights, the event of the evening was the botellona. Pretty much every teenager in town came to a medium sized lot, unused by anyone but themselves on designated nights, to drink and enjoy the good company of friends. The drinking part was more highly valued, to Matt's disgust. While legally allowed to drink, Matt refused to unless it was a beer at lunch. He did not find getting drunk either fun or wise, so he kept his slate clean. When asked why, he always answered the same thing: I'd rather watch you get drunk and make an ass out of yourself than me.
"Hey, Migue." He returned the salute, grabbing a cola from the cooler on the ground in the middle of the circle.
"Dude, you never grab anything cool, anything to get your spirits up." One of his friends complained.
"That's because my spirits don't need lifting. Besides, I don't really think a massive dose of alcohol lifts your spirits." He replied, emphasizing the last three words.
"Well, you're no fun." Migue laughed as he took another sip at his glass.
"You will be in less than an hour, though." Matt retorted lightly, smiling at the jest.

Time passed quickly as Matt enjoyed the night, mingling with the rest of the crowd, then returning to his friends to find several already drunk. After teasing them a little while by making them do things rather impossible in such a frame of mind, Matt decided to walk over to Maria, a girl he had long fancied but never had the courage to actually ask. His shyness earned him little, though it earned Maria a boyfriend. She smiled as Matt walked over, lifting her half empty glass in acknowledgment. Her boyfriend, Enrique, was nowhere to be seen. Enrique was also a member of the town Taekwondo class, and due to his size and mass, could easily make Matt sweep the floor.
"How you doing, Matt?" She asked as he took a seat next to her on the ground.
"Doing well, as always. And you?" He had never changed his response; every time she asked him that question, he'd answer it the same way.
"Having fun!" She answered, laughing as if to prove her point.
"You sure?" Matt felt uneasy about her reaction, she seemed to hide herself behind a veil of agreeability.
"Yeah, of course." Her smile diminished slightly, her true self quickly shining through.
"Well, you know where I'll be if you change your mind." He got up, returning her half-hearted smile with a true one of his own.

But as he left the place where she sat, Enrique and several of his friends blocked off his path, denying him the return to his circle of friends.
"Hey, Warmonger." Enrique spat as he stepped in front of Matt.
"What is it, Enrique?" The american took the insult directly, deciding to ignore it.
"I just saw you sit with my girl. What, you trying to sway her over to the lesser american ways?" He laughed, the rest of the posse following suit.
"You know as well as I do that I've lived here long enough to hardly even have 'american ways'."
"Oh, really? What about your american way of crying?" One of the posse spoke out, referring to an incident in ninth grade.
"That is none of your business, you freakish son of a drunk prostitute!" Suddenly, Matt lost his temper.
He took a step towards the person that insulted him and raised his fists in anger, his nostrils flaring. Enrique's arm shot out and caught him in the chest, temporarily knocking him off balance. It was long enough. Before Matt could even react, he received a powerful kick to the stomach, sending him on a brief flight with destination hard ground. This garnered the attention of many of the people in the lot, and soon a great circle formed about them. Enrique tried to stomp on Matt's chest, but the american rolled out of the way just in time, forcing himself to his feet shortly thereafter. Dirt covered his black button up shirt, his blue jeans partly ripped from a broken bottle on the ground. Matt dusted himself off and assumed a fighting stance. Enrique smiled deviously, slowly nearing him with his guard up. A sudden side tackle knocked him to the ground, the two figures rolling in the dirt as shouts erupted from them.
"Alex!" Matt shouted as he recognized the figure and voice. Without a moment's hesitation he ran over to where the two brawled, smashing at each other with bare fists. Powerful arms grabbed Matt, retaining him from the fight, and soon may more got in the way of the two amateur wrestlers.
"Don't you ever touch my brother again!" Alex screamed, his face red and his blood hot. Migue, Fran and Diego all held Alex in place, while several other friends held Matt, who by now had calmed down. People from Enrique's posse held him still, all fearing another outbreak. The three stared each other down, slowly backing away and eliminating the need for restraint. Without a word, both parties walked away, fuming in anger.
"Why the hell won't you let me kick his ass?" Alex asked as they left.
"It's not worth it, dude." Matt answered, breaking away from the group and heading off into the night.

-----------------------------

The moon shone brightly over the rocky terrain, illuminating everything in front of him. He quietly observed the surroundings, not moving an inch of his body as his eyes diligently scanned for movement. Unable to notice anything out of the ordinary, he pressed the button to talk, but hesitated when it came time to actually break the silence. What bugged him? He never had had this feeling before and it really bothered him.
With a small static emission, the squad leader broke in on his thoughts. "No sign of movement. No signs of enemy presence. Squad, forward, low."
"I may not like it, and I sure don't have to roll with it." He told himself with a smile, detaching from the squad without a sound or trace. His captain probably wouldn't even find out till he returned. He headed uphill through the rocks, lithely making his way through the natural maze of boulders and pine trees. His squad continued below him, heading east along the waist of the mountain while he ran north up the slope. They were near a radar installation, a vital position which covered most of Spain's east coast; while it was heavily defended, Herrera felt that not reinforcing it was the dumbest idea any politician could've had. What happened to the days when generals ran things? When the top dogs of the military kept track of the events concerning the armed forces? Dim-witted politicians.

He had climbed for the last ten minutes over the rocks, silently making his way uphill to get a better view of the moonlight valley. The remainder of his squad were about seventy five feet below, trudging along with their senses at maximum alert. Intel had suggested enemy activity in the area, so several squads were dispatched to key locations to investigate said intelligence. Private Herrera, bored with the mission, broke off and had headed up the mountain, curious as to his surroundings. He discerned a good scenic spot from which his squad should be visible and began to head in the general direction, anxious to get a good look around. Human breathing reached his ears, though, and Private Herrera crouched, disengaging the safe on his G36 assault rifle. Each step was taken slowly, cautiously, the ground carefully examined before his foot even touched it. Silence was the key and life was behind the door. Herrera maneuvered around a large boulder and spotted a hunched figure, holding a long rifle in his hands, aiming down the mountain. Without a sound and full of cautious optimism, the private crept up on his unknown opponent. When finally right next to the crouching figure, Herrera could discern the camouflage pattern, the night-sight equipment on the rifle and long range telescopic scope. This man was a sniper. Taking care not to make any noise, private Herrera moved his head so as to catch the flag embroidered on the right sleeve. The red, white and blue stripes of the French flag almost seemed to shine under the moon, revealing that peace was probably a long deceased ally. The spanish soldier rose steadily and observed the surrounding area, searching for the sniper's spotter or squad. Seeing no evidence of them, he returned his attention to the unsuspecting frenchman. Several ideas went through his mind about how to go about the dilemma, and while reason and logic were highly esteemed in his mind, another idea took priority. Herrera lifted his right boot, smiled, and sent the french soldier off the cliff with a kick.
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True power does not reside in the weapon, it resides in the wielder. - Narion Anarte, Phoenix of Narde.

Vengeance is served on a plate of knives. - Neforas, Chosen of Duriel.

I may look human, but that's just because you're blind. - Narion Aarach.
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« Reply #2 on: January 13, 2008, 03:17:50 am »

Chapter III. The shortest so far. I'm also beginning to think that I'm either boring the readers or outpacing them. Then again, the title sucks.

"Again, dad?" Matt complained.
"Yes, son. I want to know what's going on with France." His father calmly responded. Too often for Matt's tastes, Lewis turned on the TV and watched the news.
"What's the point? You know they'll say the same thing. Nothing'll ever happen and it'll all blow over." Commented the nineteen year old as he entered the adjacent kitchen for some snacks.
"Is that what happened during the Anti-Muslim revolution two years ago?" Lewis asked, glued to the TV.
"That was different. That was a frikkin' riot." Replied Matt as he walked through the living room with several cookies in hand, stopping momentarily to see what the commentator had to say. Uninterested, he walked off.
"You didn't say that when it broke out!" Lewis called out with a smile, glad to have gotten the last word in.

Matt closed the door after entering his room, leaving his cookies on the computer table on his left. He then headed to the bed in the back right corner of the room, retrieving his music sheets from on top of the covers. He hadn't but leafed through three of them when his mother knocked and opened the door, not even waiting for a response.
"Mom, I told you to wait till I said it was OK, didn't I?" He asked in a semi-annoyed tone.
"Excuse me?" Leanne's voice held the mother tone, and Matt knew he'd screwed up. "Did you just try to give me an order? I won't take it, young man. You may be of age, but you live under our roof and as long as you do so you will follow our rules." Her tone booked no argument.
"Yes, ma'am. What is your purpose here, though? If I may ask." He returned his eyes to his music sheets, hoping to find a certain song.
"I was hoping you'd play some of Beethoven's works again." She said, a small light shining in her eyes. She was so proud of her little son.
"Ahhh, come on, mom. I played Beethoven yesterday. I'll play some later, is that OK?" He whined, turning to give her the pitiful look.
"OK. But don't think that that look of yours is getting you off the hook." She laughed as she closed the door.
Matt smiled briefly, then returned to his search. He'd seen it just yesterday, he just knew it...

Two hours later, Alex bust into his room, red and breathless. Matt looked up, rather perplexed, but had come to expect by now of his brother.
"Whatup?" He asked, sitting on the edge of his bed.
"I-i-it started!" He said, gulping for air between words.
"What started?" Matt inquired, returning the guitar to its stand.
"The war!" Alex shouted, a bit too loud.
"What?! Matt's exclamation turned out to be quite loud itself.
"It just came on the news! A spanish squad accidentally came upon a french special forces group and engaged!"
"What was the outcome?"
"Over half of the squad died, but the french were eradicated. One of them even fell off a cliff!" Alex said, smiling at the last sentence.
"One of the french or the spanish?"
"Of the french. Apparently one of the spanish soldiers caught him by accident from behind and kicked him off the ledge he was on."
"Huh. What were they after?"
"That's the bad part." Alex's face drooped a little, discontent with the news. "They blew up a radar station in the Pyrenees. The squad engaged them just as the bomb went off."
"A radar station?" Matt felt anxious, the darkness of reality slowly setting in.
"Yeah. Covers the whole north-eastern shore."
"That doesn't sound good."
"War never does." Alex muttered, more to himself than to his brother.

"SON!" Came the shout, catching the attention of both youngsters. They ran out of the bedroom, jumped the small step from the hallway to the patio and raced into the living room.
"What is it?" Matt asked as they skidded next to Lewis.
"The french are crossing the Pyrenees. Air strikes have been reported all along the northern border, and troops have gone straight through Andorra." He explained, muting the commentator briefly.
"What?!" The brothers shouted in unison, finding it hard to believe that an all out war had broken out.
"The spanish army is rushing to rally behind the southern mountains of the Ebro valley." Lewis continued.
"Why there?" Alex asked, still rather breathless. "The french haven't taken the valley yet, have they?"
"No, but in their current state, there is no way they can get to the Pyrenees and fight effectively. So they're grouping up and then hoping on launching a counter offensive, I think." Lewis finished.
"If I were them, I'd split into three groups: One force in Euskadi, another in the mountains where they're grouping, and another in Barcelona to hold the city." Matt said, explaining his ideas with hand motions.
"Not me. I'd tell them all to mass behind the Ebro river. Use it like a natural wall and place them in a choke hold." Alex countered.
"But they would be able to flank you. It's a very long river." Lewis pointed out, getting up to get a drink.
"Focus points for ground units and air units providing flexible control." He answered.
"Flexible control?" Matt asked, unsure as to what his friend meant.
"Move them where I want them to go. Provide a barrage of fire everywhere else, but let them come running straight into the hands of the ground army." Alex smiled at his tactic, sure that it was foolproof.
"But you've surrendered Barcelona and Tarragona. Those are economically vital points for the country." Matt mentioned as he sat on the couch, on the far side of the table.
"Win 'em back later." Alex sat down too, prepared for a long discussion.
"Come on, you two, let's have some dinner at least. They won't make it down here for a long time, probably." Leanne said, finishing up the preparations for supper.

----------------------

The seat was comfortable enough, but the torture within his mind made the trip unbearable. All Herrera could do was look out the window, staring at the ground below as it rapidly flew by. The images in his mind, however, would not simply be left behind, nightmarish reminders of what he had done. No matter how hard he closed his eyes, the sight would not disappear and the pain would not go away. The idea of a time machine, while definitely a fantastic notion, was just too far fetched to be of any use, or comfort. It was just like in Malaga...

"Hey, Juan, wake up." The voice stirred Taz out of his sleep, retrieving him from a world of regret, suffering and consequences.
"What's going on, Carrera?" Herrera asked while he rubbed his eyes.
"I was just wondering, what're you planning on doing once we reach Cadiz?"
"I don't know yet. I haven't thought about it." Came the absent minded answer. "I'm not ready to think about it."
"We'll be there soon. We've just entered the Guadalquivir valley. Seville is but half an hour that way." Carrera pointed out.
Taz looked out the window in the direction his friend had pointed out, but could only see a white blob representing the city. Something else caught his eye, though. Smoke rose from the city, and coming from that direction, two small dots against the horizon were gradually growing larger.
"I don't like the looks of those." Taz said softly, not wanting to alarm the other passengers. Carrera cursed when he saw them, got up and headed to the pilot's cabin, muttering the whole way. Taz returned his eyes to the approaching menace, feeling a very interesting sentiment in the pit of his stomach. Due to his recent actions, death didn't seem like a wholly bad thing, yet he didn't want the people with him to die. His own mortality also resented the fact that the approaching dots were Dassault Rafale attack aircraft, french interceptor fighters. As the enemy closed in, Herrera felt the fear of death creep into his soul, the breath of ice robbing him of his warmth. He managed a sigh, re-buckled himself into the chair and grabbed the armrests, steeling himself for a bumpy ride.

Carrera returned soon afterward, the skinny spaniard securing himself too. The Boeing 757 pulled up, then immediately rolled over and did a sharp turn, the passengers screaming at the unexpected turn of events. In the commotion, the pilot had forgotten to tell both the crew and the people that they were beginning evasive maneuvers. The jet rocked back and forth, then lurched, then pulled upwards quite suddenly. Screams, loud crying and panic ensued inside the aircraft while the Boeing tried desperately to shake off its pursuers. For some reason, probably because it was just too obvious that the large Boeing could not escape the smaller fighters, Taz didn't feel too optimistic about their fate. With an explosion and a glimpse of the left wing trailing off into the distance, Taz knew his time had come.
« Last Edit: January 14, 2008, 07:58:43 pm by Spainops » Report Spam   Logged

True power does not reside in the weapon, it resides in the wielder. - Narion Anarte, Phoenix of Narde.

Vengeance is served on a plate of knives. - Neforas, Chosen of Duriel.

I may look human, but that's just because you're blind. - Narion Aarach.
Nomad5
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« Reply #3 on: January 14, 2008, 08:30:42 am »

Just a quick glance, will get to the details in a later post.

On fast type -
Wall of Text! use more spaces between those lengthly description paragraphs.

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"Don't rush me, Alex, I'm not in the mood after that rude awakening."

Seems a bit strange that, despite ace-ing english, Matt would use 'rude awakening' in his speech. I know it's a minor thing, since in Literature every talks 'smarter' but for a teenage boy growing up in new-age Spain I doubt it'd be used in everyday conversation.

Apart from that quick glance - It starts off quite slow dosen't it? France vs Spain though, definitely an interesting Idea.
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« Reply #4 on: January 27, 2008, 04:15:17 pm »

Sorry for taking so long but I did not have the time, any way your story.

It looks well so far, we seem to have two major characters each in their own plot line, though I guess that the plot lines will meet.

Matt looks like an average teenager and all that entails. Well described and easy to associate with, so that’s good. One thing that did nag at me was his relationship with his father, you said near the beginning that they had a strange and complicated one, but when they do interact the relationship looks normal.

Taz is also well shown, a bit of a rebel and so on. Now I never was in the military but it seemed very relaxed and easy going, considering they where preparing for a war, at such time a military would be extra disciplined, so how come he had not be removed. You say he was kept on because he was good at what he did. Well if he was so good that they keep him on despite disobedience then why hasn’t he been moved to a more specialised unit where his skills would be better employed?

I did spot this.

Quote
He smiled as shadows slowly grew longer on the gray town streets,


Should be grey

One interesting story so far, keep it going.
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