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| The author, Dane F. Baylis |
Lets Twist The Topic Just A Bit
I'm Supposed To Share An Excerpt From One Of My Books But...
I'm still working on my first novel length work. So I'm going to throw up a section of this very rough first draft. I welcome comments and critiques.
CHAPTER TWO--HEARTLAND
Boogie’s voice came across
the intercom channel, “Hey, Anonymous! You checked that ambient temperature
lately.”
Up in the gun ring Smith
shifted his focus from the terrain flashing by in his night vision display and
glanced at the read outs on the top right corner of his goggles. Ninety one
degrees Fahrenheit, wind direction southwest at 12 knots, time zero one thirty
four local. Clearing his throat to activate the auto-mic, Smith said, “Uh huh,
but it’s a dry heat, man.”
Through the hatch, the Major
could just see the back right quadrant of Boogie’s helmet wobble as he shook
his head, “That was bad, “A”, even for you!”
“Maybe…but true.”
To those of them with any
time at all in Cohort Security Systems the weather and terrain were all too
familiar. Pushing heavily armored SUV’s through bone dry blackness using
nothing more than dim blackout drive markers and the latest generation of night
vision devices was second nature. Even on a wide expanse of superhighway where
you thought you were safe the rule was hammer down.
The black top they rolled
over and the low brown hills this took them between seemed to jealously hold on
to the day’s heat. Since they’d pulled out of Scott Air Force Base there’d been
nothing ahead in their line of travel or following on this side of the roadway,
nor was there anything coming head-on on the east bound side. Left and right,
as far as augmented vision reached, there was nothing but dark, tattered
structures, abandoned farm implements and the skeletal remains of drought
mummified trees. To the former residents these things had once represented their
homes and occupations. Until the monotonous lack of rain and hot, dry wind had
driven them away. To Smith and his men it was just a place that looked like so
many other places that were only designated as hostile areas of operations.
Up ahead was the overpass
that marked the junction of Route Sixty Four and the Two Fifty-Five and just
before that was a derelict service plaza, its broken out windows and scavenged
structure emblematic of the contractor’s relationship with the locals. When
they first arrived the intent had been to purchase all their fuel and supplies
on the local economy to help build rapport and good will. Utter scarcity and the
piratical gouging that accompanied even the bargaining for the most meager of
staples had necessitated shifting sources to the federals. After all, it was
the federals that had arranged for their services, even if that too required an endless stream of negotiations to make things happen. But that's
what the logistic types were paid for.
As the column roared past
the crumbling buildings and trashed gas pumps something hung to the cyclone
fencing caught Smith’s eye. It had the appearance of a small cheese round
suspended by a coat hanger with wires trailing out from behind. His heart froze
as he spun the armored shield on the gun ring toward that side of the road.
Thumbing off the safety on the M2 machine gun he clung to, he screamed into
the mic, “AMBUSH!”
No sooner did he get the
word out then the muzzle flash from the first round out of the M2 lit up the
darkness, this was instantly dwarfed by the nova from the platter charge on the
fence as it detonated. In its turn this was lost in the fire ball that had been
the fuel truck following behind Boogie and him. In that split second everything
he’d been seeing was consumed by a sick green glare as his night vision device
overloaded. He pawed the now useless goggles off his face just as the blast
wave slammed into the back of the SUV and it began a slow fishtail and tilt to
the left.
Boogie did his best steering
into the skid but the lumbering bulk of the vehicle and the load it carried in
armor, equipment and ordinance made it awkwardly top heavy. As it whipsawed
back to the right he over corrected and this time it tipped slowly on to the two
left tires and seemed to hang for an eternity before rolling all the way on to
the driver’s side and sliding into the roadside ditch. Somewhere outside of the
hum, buzz and ring that were hammering simultaneously in Smith’s head and ears,
he heard Boogie’s muffled grunt over the intercom. The vehicle bucked violently
as another explosion rocked it from beneath and the Major was ejected from the
hatch to the edge of the pavement. Dazed, he lay where he’d landed and listened
to the rattle of machine guns and small arms and wondered if his men were
winning? Slowly, the adrenaline loosened its grip and he slid into blackness.
***
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In the meantime...live, love,
write.
Dane F. Baylis
