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Posted: 8/18/2026 12:53:00 AM EDT
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It was the unmistakable smell more than the silence that struck him. On foot, working his way through the wreckage and debris of the road to town he had seen the black smoke rising for the two days forced March to get home. Every motorist had been killed. Some were laying surrounded by their own brass scattered around in a circle. Hinting that they had been firing wildly in every direction. He wasn’t sure if he was being surveilled so he stayed away from discarded weapons. In any event none seemed operable. A few were as mutilated as their owners. The wind shifted mercifully and blew the stench away. No sign of the enemy. No wreck. No bodies. No sign of the means of death. Just mangled bodies and broken vehicles. He reached his street heart pumping wildly. Gone. The family vehicles were gone. Some relief. Whatever happened didn’t take them unawares. The door was unlocked but closed. All silent. He nosed in quietly. Listening. Eyes darting around. There was something uncanny about the silence. A feeling of being watched. Resisting panic he slowly reached his bedroom closet. All was orderly. Feeling in the dark he began suiting up. Plate carrier. Helmet. He fitted on the NODS monocle. Slowly tucked a pistol in his pocket. Another on his hip. Slowly unzipped the gun case and slung his AR15. Grabbing extra magazines. Then his shotgun and a bandoleer of shells. OO buck and slugs. Then he stared into the corner. Why not? Shifting everything sluggishly around he snatched his elk rifle bolt action. .270 and quickly loaded 4 rounds into the magazine and stuffed his pocket with another 20 rounds. Then slowly he turned around half expecting the bogeyman to jump out. He needed cover and a corner to make his last stand. And maybe a tactical wheelbarrow or garden cart. Thinking about the Romans and his Crusader ancestors he considered… and then chose to quietly lay the long guns on his bed and don his elk hunting pack. Food, water, shelter and supplies. It would come but he didn’t want to be starved and thirsty when he sang his last words above the roar of his guns… |
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Could use some attention to punctuation (“He reached his street heart pumping wildly”) and mistakes like ”forced March.” I’d say lay off the Mac Bolan style and write in your own voice. |
Never ask a man if he is from Virginia. If he is, he'll tell you. If he isn't, you don't want to embarrass him.
why, oh why GOD WAS I BORN IN CALIFORNIA..
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Some interesting word choices and phrasing in that. So, yeah..AI? 
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RIP Tamurand a damn fine Rhodesian Ridgeback 02-09-14
RIP Kaya, an equally fine Yellow Lab 06-08-2015
RIP Millie the Destroyer, AKA ShitTrumpet, WCCorgi 12-21-2015
NORCAL CALLSIGN: YODEL
Happy to be in ALASKA!
RIP Kaya, an equally fine Yellow Lab 06-08-2015
RIP Millie the Destroyer, AKA ShitTrumpet, WCCorgi 12-21-2015
NORCAL CALLSIGN: YODEL
Happy to be in ALASKA!
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AI would explain why it sounds like somebody’s second language. If this passage is machine-generated, the OP should grab a pen and a legal pad and try again. |
Never ask a man if he is from Virginia. If he is, he'll tell you. If he isn't, you don't want to embarrass him.
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why, oh why GOD WAS I BORN IN CALIFORNIA..
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| ah, got it. so you're doing this bit by bit as you go along, no finished chapters or full book you're posting excerpts from? |
RIP Tamurand a damn fine Rhodesian Ridgeback 02-09-14
RIP Kaya, an equally fine Yellow Lab 06-08-2015
RIP Millie the Destroyer, AKA ShitTrumpet, WCCorgi 12-21-2015
NORCAL CALLSIGN: YODEL
Happy to be in ALASKA!
RIP Kaya, an equally fine Yellow Lab 06-08-2015
RIP Millie the Destroyer, AKA ShitTrumpet, WCCorgi 12-21-2015
NORCAL CALLSIGN: YODEL
Happy to be in ALASKA!
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Continuing… He shuffled to the master bathroom and looked at himself. Ridiculous. What would she say about his get up? Mismatched clothes, sweat and dirt stained. Oil blotches and rips. His hair a mess. Several days growth of beard. A classic Fudd mixed with a Boogaloo boy revolutionary. And 30 lbs overweight. Ok 50… The sun was setting. He stood still for a dozen seconds. Utter silence. Sloughing out of his pack he decided to risk a shower, shave and fresh set of clothes. But the foreboding sense of being watched lingered. Hesitant he kept thinking. Whatever hit the public hit fast, ripped off limbs. No bullet holes. No scorch marks. No prints or tracks. Peeking out from under his bedroom blinds he scanned the rooftops of his neighbors houses. Nothing amiss. He ultimately decided to risk it. In the basement. Surprisingly the lights worked and he had hot water. Still, he was showered and shaved in 10 minutes. Soon in fresh hunting clothing- camouflage. Wool and synthetic. Better boots. Still he sat in the gathering dusk. What could be the nature of the threat? He reviewed the evidence of a dozen motorists… they’d pulled over… possibly as witnesses of some other motorist being attacked. Their bodies were outside the vehicle. Brass scattered. A few had gone through one or two magazines. Every single gun was empty , slide locked back. Twisted or snapped in pieces. He thought it over. Then looked at his arsenal. Maybe… Then he heard the humming noise outside. A buzzing vibration echoing from across town. He was moving before he realized it. Outside. And at the last moment the thought struck him: thermal! He grabbed his selfie stick and hastily mounted his iPhone and used it as a periscope. There was something blurry… something hovering around the north side of his town. Big. Larger than a blimp. Hovering. Things were raining down from it. They had come back. Maybe others like him had straggled back into town. |
Hmmmm.... could be worth an old school subcribe... 
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Disclaimer - OP is bad at knowing things, and might catch on fire.
Vet - Op MMAMA
Every other species kills off their stupid......we cater to them. -- spin-drift
Nobody ever called 911&said I just did something smart. -- TheFlynDutchman
Vet - Op MMAMA
Every other species kills off their stupid......we cater to them. -- spin-drift
Nobody ever called 911&said I just did something smart. -- TheFlynDutchman
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He instinctively ducked back inside and closed the door. Crouched he duck walked back into his bedroom. Wild with fear he was at a loss. He grabbed the plate carrier. Then his helmet. Then slung the AR over his shoulder and opted for the shotgun. He looked around. Something nagging about his predicament. Was this a shootout or flee or curl up and hide thing. Back to the basement. Looking around. The pick axe. He grabbed it. A hunch. Then back up stairs. He heard staccato echoing shots and high pitched whistles and screeching. A revving sound of motors. Someone was peeling rubber coming his way. He peered out of his window. Louder. Louder. Then in a flash he saw the oddest sight. A motorcycle bomb past but the rider was… hunched down with something metallic clamping down on his back and a cloud of other metallic somethings keeping pace on his tail. In a second the parade was gone. Then the sound of a crash. |
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The old man blinked. Processing what he just saw. And inadvertently he was already on his knees and trying to get small… He crept away from the door and put his back to the wall. A pack of metallic wolves? He saw the claws. Just then his attention was grabbed by the clanking mechanical whine of approaching doom. The noise grew louder and then paused. They were outside his door. Scratching and clacking sounds. Something was turning his door handle. As the door swung open he opened fire with his shotgun. Pump after pump. He shot, pumped, stepped forward and shot again. The critters seemed to shatter under the slugs. There were 3 of them on his front porch. As he reached the threshold he simultaneously ran out of ammo and spotted the pick axe leaning against the door jam. Like a Viking he scooped it up and swung it hard. The first wolf crumpled into sparks and debris as the pick punched through its carapace. With the critter still attached he threw his body weight aside and swung pick and critter onto its neighbor. Then switched to his sidearm and emptied the magazine point blank into the third as it leapt onto his chest. It was over. Momentarily. Three down. But he saw the blurred blob like sky ship loom towards his position. |
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Oh sh—- he muttered. Catching his word from a lifetime of censoring his colorful speech. Retreating into his room he hastily reloaded his shotgun. Reloaded his pistol. Then looked wildly about. The air ship would be overhead in minutes. A dozen metal wolves or worse flying creatures swarming around would be impossible to match. He was lucky. The fatal funnel and sudden violence might have given him the edge. But his home wasn’t fortified. If they were armed with anything other than claws he’d be toast. Wildly looking around he spotted his backyard chicken coop. A Quonset hut design, the nesting area was completely windowless. Galvanized steel roof. Sturdy wooden doors to keep out Racoons. An idea.. he ran out the back door, dropped his pack and squirmed inside. Hiding was his only option. Unless they used audio sensors in addition to thermal… No time. |
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Originally Posted By ICT: Pretty cool so far. Hardly. Mac Bolen soup with masturbatory ARFCOM overlay delivered in short little bursts for the easily amused with tiny attention spans. I’d say, “nice try” if it was. As it is, pretty tiresome shit and I’m hoping this is AI talking and not a real mind generating this slop. |
Never ask a man if he is from Virginia. If he is, he'll tell you. If he isn't, you don't want to embarrass him.
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I’ve been a member here since 2005 as “JusadBellum” then lost my phone and emails and had to start over with a new phone and email account and new name. I’m writing fiction in pieces as the muse hits. It’s not all fleshed out. I don’t currently know how long this story is or what happens next. If that’s upsetting to you then write your own story. Free country and all that… |
| I like it. Starts with action, not a lot of dialog, the inner monologue could be a bit less, don't describe and define every detail, do I care what caliber the deer rifle is? No, just say 'deer rifle', 98% of your readers will know. If it becomes a point later on, then mention the caliber, like in searching for ammo. |
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Originally Posted By bmarshall1: ...don't describe and define every detail, ...If it becomes a point later on, then mention the caliber, like in searching for ammo. Start general, then only add detail as it becomes pertinent - much like peeling an onion. |
Disclaimer - OP is bad at knowing things, and might catch on fire.
Vet - Op MMAMA
Every other species kills off their stupid......we cater to them. -- spin-drift
Nobody ever called 911&said I just did something smart. -- TheFlynDutchman
Vet - Op MMAMA
Every other species kills off their stupid......we cater to them. -- spin-drift
Nobody ever called 911&said I just did something smart. -- TheFlynDutchman
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Originally Posted By WYPete: I’ve been a member here since 2005 as “JusadBellum” then lost my phone and emails and had to start over with a new phone and email account and new name. I’m writing fiction in pieces as the muse hits. It’s not all fleshed out. I don’t currently know how long this story is or what happens next. If that’s upsetting to you then write your own story. Free country and all that… FWIW, I kind of like it so far, and could care less if it is indeed AI or you or both. Blind dismissal of anything less than perfect as "AI Slop" is one of the most moronic common takes in GD that I have seen. |
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He focused on slowing his breathing. The coop didn’t allow much movement anyway. Sitting with his back to one end of the coop nesting area he focused on listening. The vibration and humming of his approaching doom was growing louder. His chickens were squawking. Dogs began whining and growling off in the distance. Then the mechanical noises of approaching metallic wolves and a high pitched buzz started to fill the air. Then silence. Sweat trickled down his nose. He strained to hear anything he could. Then the sound of the air ship moved away and with it the mechanical monsters. An hour passed. Silence. He had dosed off. Sore and cold he surmised that the sun started to set. Slowly he unlocked the coop access door and crawled out. To his surprise his house looked untouched. But he noticed the dogs were silent. Dead probably. He saw a dead cat on his roof. Then some dead chickens. Inching closer towards the house he saw what looked like a weird UAV parked on his deck. A left behind sentinel? A remote sensor? Or just something out of power. He froze. Crouching next to his apple tree. Too risky to attempt access. His pack was all he had safe access to and it looked untouched. His predicament was acute: a swarm of UAVs and wolves could easily overwhelm a single person. The air ship was enormous. He didn’t have the firepower… |
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Carefully he soft shuffled back to his chicken coop. Then looked around. Expedient weapons… a tarp. Some garbage cans. A garden wagon. On a hunch that the airship was AI guided he off loaded his pack onto the garden wagon. Cut eye slits in an upside down 33 gallon plastic garbage can and a few other holes for shooting. Then he added the pick axe to his wagon, shouldered his AR, Shotgun and started to walk slowly through the darkness. A mile away he briefly saw the airship miles away against the backdrop of the moonlit mountains. So far his Thermal signature would be distorted his shape non human. But he was getting hot. He tried to slow down while desperately looking side to side for a defensive position or place to hold out. Then he thought of the old bank in downtown. Rumor had it was built in the 1950s with an extra deep foundation. A possible place underground to rest and lay out plans. |
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He reached a Jiffy Lube. Garage door was open half way. Just as he started up the driveway he heard the sound he dreaded: the airship motors. Looking around he saw it closing fast. Worse, he could see a cloud of dark things dropping down from beneath it. The ruse was over. This was it. He lifted off the garbage can. Fished out his elk rifle and judging the distance started firing at the airship. Magazine depleted he grabbed his wagon and hauled it into the Jiffy Lube. Then he rushed down the stairs to the work well. It was less ideal. But back to a corner wall he alternated between shot gun and AR, swatting flying drones and shattering mechanical wolves until the barrel’s glowed. He was reloading his shotgun when the airship dropped a 500 lbs bomb onto his position. The AI after action report made a note of the damage and adjusted tactics immediately. |
| Not sure that traveling through the scene of past fire fights is the right tactic Good it worked out for the protagonist. |
*post contains personal opinion only and should not be considered information released in an official capacity*
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