[Timmay]

Synopsis: Maravar Pass


My trembling hand reached into my pocket and pulled out one of my last smokes. Lighting it up, I took a deep drag so almost half of it was burnt, then flicked the rest away into the hot dirt. Let the cancer come right now; infect my lungs, you microscopic bastard. Consume me. Burn me like the rest of the sand.

Several billion people, and I just happened to be right here. That’s not science. I wasn’t here because my stars were that horrific. This was just bad luck.

I think only Gregor Samsa had a worse day than I did. Waking up as a great big slug would be the only thing more terrible than the hack 24 hours I had to look forward to.


It came to mind that I didn’t even know where I was. From what I gathered, it didn’t matter; I could have been in a really sandy island in the Pacific, and I wouldn’t have recognized it. I had to go by what the officers said, and they said I was in Afghanistan. One big lie. If the Army was in Afghanistan, which is a huge fucking desert, we would have taken it over by now. That’s generally what happens.

Supposedly, we were somewhere near Khost, which was a deceptively cool name for such a rotten city. Everything was a wreck. The University had become a military base, there were cars on the street with rotting corpses in them, shit like that. Messed up, disgusting shit people shouldn’t have to see. I was told it was something you got used to, and in all honestly, I had adapted. The bodies didn’t scare me anymore; Khost eventually became my second home, just a place where I had to live for a while. Maravar pass became my office.

Maravar was somewhere near Khost, and Kabul, and Jalalabad, and every other insignificant little city in the tiny speck of a godforsaken country that Afghanistan was turning into. It was a hilly valley that we took from the Mujahideen, not without some trouble though. Sixteen plus dead. Fifty plus fatally injured.

Seeing the dead wasn’t the scary part, though. The city was the thing that weirded us all out. Like I said, people lying dead in the road, troops running through the streets. The deathly chatter of machine guns, calling to one another like lovers who couldn’t stand being apart. The walking wounded moving in long lines through the alleys like rats to receive medical attention. Dogs barking at envoys while citizens stood in a long row, heads bowed down in shame and grief for their sacred land. If you never seen a city turned into a war zone, you’re in luck, because you aren’t supposed to.

The first night we flew into the city, we were told to review our wills. A few of the guys sat on their helmets looking at their paper, but not making any changes. Some frowned or furrowed their brow as they went over their death documents. I didn’t bother changing anything in mine; if I did, I’d end up regretting it when it was done.

We had dinner later, which turned out to be a sad state of affairs. As it turns out, cheap vodka and mashed potatoes can’t fill all the emptiness in your stomach. The feeling that tomorrow, you might be like one of the countless morose shells that were left of past people. Shells who had their face blown inwards and arms cut off. Those types of shells.

The next morning, we got up and experienced “the marching of the gauntlet.” All we were doing was hoofing it the one or two miles to the frontline, but our hike was filled with the jeers and ridicule of all the veteran soldiers whose positions we were going to fill.

“Hey, new guys, make sure you don’t shit yourself when they attack.”

“Don’t worry, I hear the Arabs kill the callow guys the quickest.”

“Why don’t you give us your ammo? It’s not like you’ll be needing it.”

Like I said, several billion people in the world, and there I was, getting verbally assaulted by a group of dick veterans. I began to envy those people who complain about their boring, monotonous lives. I wanted to warn them to keep their mouths shut. I used to be one of those people. Look where it got me.

When we got to the line, we were surprised at how serene and quiet it was. The field was like the town a tornado just ripped through; completely obliterated and eerily quiet, but peaceful, the first bit of quiet I had seen since I arrived. Almost beautiful, if you’re into destruction.

There were only about five Soviets guarding the position, something that made no sense to me.

It was clear that they were completely confused about what to do next. They just kept looking at us, and you could see the gears moving around in their heads: stay here and make sure the green don’t get killed, or just leave them to their own devices.

They left after a few minutes.

The first few hours were the worst. Our entire company was completely new to war; even our lieutenant didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and he was supposed to be the smart one. We pretty much just obeyed our most primal instincts; dig in and find food.

The pass had been taken a few days earlier by some special operations guys. They had done a most rikki-tik job, so there were still pockets of scared Mujahideen in the mountains. If they solidified, they would make a strong force, which could overrun our position again. Then we would be right back to square one.

The lieutenant, having nothing better to do, led a patrol into the mountains. They were hoping to deflate any of the Afghani cavities still hidden in caves. We prayed they didn’t stir up any hornet nests.

Turns out the lieutenant managed to tread lightly. He came back completely unscathed, reporting that they saw nothing. We all were absolved of our fear. Not wanting to be bit in the ass, however, we kept watch of the line. The entire day, all we saw was the infinite void of space created by our minds in the hot desert sun. Day one, and no attack. We were off to a good start.

The next day, I was awakened by two things. One was the hot, arid wind that rose from the ground like a phoenix from its ashes. It was something about the desert you could never shake off; the dry breeze that whispered promises of another terrible and burning day. You got used to it, sure, but it stuck with you like a malignant tumor. Once you grew accustomed to it, you weren’t sure if it was your enemy or just another part of life.

The other was the dull exploding sound of artillery hitting Khost. It was coming from over the pass, and we could watch as desert metal hurled through the sky to our reserve line.

The whole thing only lasted about five minutes before the bombs stopped dropping and was replaced with the sound of trucks moving wounded and angry shouts from commanders clearly surprised by the rude awakening.

Breakfast was a new experience. I had expected food on the line to be fairly good, given the chance that we were the ones in danger. Not the case; we got burnt toast and creamed chipped beef. Shit on a shingle.

“How do you eat this?” was the general conversation at the table.

“Maybe you’re supposed to lose your eyes or something,” said a guy as he used his fork to toy with the beef.

“Just gut it down, it’s probably all we’re getting.” He was already done with his share. “If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it. I’m still hungry.”

For the entire breakfast hour, we grumbled and complained about the food. Yet, when we left the table, none of us was hungry, just a little disgusted with ourselves.

We spent the rest of the day watching the line. It had grown hotter than the day before, if that was possible. I kept having to push on my clothing just to get the heat moving through the fabric.

The heat made me tired, too. I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and there was nothing to look at on the line, just the endless desert.

I fell asleep.

When I woke up, I wasn’t sure what time of day it was; it seemed like it was night, but it looked like the relentless sun was rising over the baked desert clay. The only way I could tell that it wasn’t the sun was the fact that the air was colder than a witch’s tit.

It wasn’t the sun. It was flares fired from the Mujahideen, the ones that were supposed to be scattered on the mountains. Of course, they probably weren’t as disbanded now.

Breakfast was shit on a shingle again, but today it was different. Today, I was probably going to die in a totally inglorious way. All the sudden, the burnt toast became delicious, fresh-from-the-bakery bread. The chipped beef became steak. It was easily the best breakfast I had ever eaten.

The rest of the morning was spent watching the line. The Afghanis were going to attack; it was just a question of when.

So, there I was, sitting in a pile of dirt with a complete stranger. And what an absolute stranger he was. He said his job was the company’s “heavy mortar spotter.” He had to be lying, because I was almost certain that Maravar, the actual pass, not anything beyond it, was filled to the brim with soldiers. No artillery, no howitzers, no big guns. Just us against them them.

It made me think that the guy had something to hide. That maybe, he was the “Ricky Boxer spotter” instead. Not that the army needed someone to spy on terrorists spanking it in the desert. No, that probably wasn’t a job. But it would be funny.

So, naturally, while he was off in his own land doing some menial errand that made him feel important, I “scoped the landscape.” It was a tactic veterans used; they would look at and memorize their field of battle before they actually fought, so they would know their salient better than anyone else.

Now, I thought it was a load of crap. There was no way remembering that a small cactus was at 10 o’ clock or a rock was at two would ever save someone’s life. Still, it was fun to do; it certainly beat waiting for something to happen.

There I was, sorting everything out. Foxholes at six, three, and eight. Craters at eleven, one, and two. Mess hall at four. Tiny little black speck slowly traversing across a mountainside? Well, that certainly wasn’t supposed to be there.

I persuaded my cohort to stop working for a moment and check out the fuzzy dot that was on the mountainside. He lazily aimed his binoculars towards the object, thinking that I was full of crap or seeing things. He targeted the figure, then suddenly tensed up. Slowly, he brought the field glasses back down to his chest, then turned to me.

“Go. Go talk to the Lieutenant. Tell him what you saw.”

While I was walking to the officer’s compound, I realized that I didn’t exactly know what I saw. I didn’t see a rebel or a terrorist or anything like that. I saw a small, black dot. It could have been anything: some defect on the mountain, some animal with black fur, shit, it would have even been a civilian.

I had to stop lying to myself.

I got to the lieutenant’s complex, I found our leader huddled over a few maps, talking silently to a few of his subordinates. He barely glanced up when I entered the room. He just ignored me like I was a fly. It wasn’t until I cleared my throat that he finally recognized the fact that I had something to say.

“Spit it out, soldier,” he quietly mumbled.

I coughed again, then started. “Sir, I saw something.”

The buzzing that had been happening while I talked suddenly stopped. The lieutenant took a deep breath, then signaled me over to the maps. He pointed out the general positions of the foxholes.

“Where did you see it?”

I thought it was interesting that he asked me “where” as opposed to “what”.

To be honest, the map was so confusing that I didn’t know where I spotted the thing. All I was able to decipher from the map were a few hills and the trenches. I bit my lip and pointed out the tallest bluff.

The lieutenant grabbed the map and walked over to his radio. He lifted the earphone to his head, dismissed his sergeants, then started jabbering over his line, leaving me standing out of place in his tent.

“Fire mission TRP. Coordinates 02-046-38. Fire for effect, over.”

He looked back at while someone on the other end of the phone called back. “Private, when shit starts going down, just remember F.E.A.R. It might save your life.”

He sent me away, leaving me worried and confused.

I walked back to the dugouts, simultaneously enjoying and hating the hot but light wind that mingled with my hair. I realized how much of a curse this world is, despite all of it’s beauty. I started to understand what all those pro-peace hippies were singing about in their ditties.

When I got back to my pit, I was greeted by a new occupant; another grunt, just like me. I loved these guys; it was sometimes like looking into a mirror.

We had nothing to do for the rest of the day. An hour after I left to my trench, the fire mission the lieutenant called in started to wreck the mountains in the distance, causing the barren dirt to fly into the air, covering up the sun and blocking out our view of where the enemy would be.

“Hey, what does F.E.A.R. mean?” I asked my partner as we both watched the ridiculous display of firepower ripping craters in the earth.

“Fear or F-E-A-R?” he mumbled back.

“The second one.”

“Why, who said that?” he questioned, now a bit more interested.

“The lieutenant. He said if I remembered it, it could save my life.”

“Well that’s distressing. He really said that?” he asked, now fully interested in the conversation.

“Yeah, he said F.E.A.R. What’s it mean?”

“First tell me the context in which he said it.”

“Christ, I dunno. When the shit hit’s the fan, F.E.A.R.”

“Hmm,” he verbalized. “It’s an acronym. It means fuck everything and run.”

I was taken aback for a moment. “That is disconcerting.”


Sweat and dirt. Dirt and blood. Blood and bullets. Bullets and heat. Heat and skin. Skin and sweat. It’s amazing what doesn’t mix.

I was regretting the cigarette. Sure, it definitely relieved some stress, but just the fact that I was out restored it all. And being stressed was the last thing I needed.

To say the least, it’s an experience, getting shot at the first time. I felt like vomiting after the first bullet. All of it: the metallic clicks, the brass hitting rocks, the thuds and clunks, steel barely skipping past your eye. It makes your heart jump into your throat, your eyes water, your ears bleed. The ballet of death, being played out where?

In a lot of ways, this is where war should be held. Deserts are geographically logical, easy to clean up, not to mention there’s not much to lose in the desert. Only human life, and, well, let’s be honest. None of that seemed to matter much to us anyways. Volunteering for this?

Mass confusion. Maravar pass suddenly became a blender filled with mud, blood, and bullets. In the battle, we were swept up into the killing like a tornado. Something about people screaming and firing weapons makes the fiery machine inside of you start to burn deep inside your stomach, its wheels and levers opening the cage that held the most deadly arsenal in the military - yourself.

You close your eyes between shots, and you open them as different person. A person who has to be shot at to wake up. A person whose sweat burns holes in concrete, and who spits up steel. War makes men of metal.

The bullets can’t hurt me anymore. I’m Superman.

[Zoidberg]

Once again, an exceptionally brilliant war story. Yours are the only ones I like to read. I did notice an error or two.

“Don’t worry, I here the Arabs kill the callow guys the quickest.”

I think here is supposed to be hear.

Also,

There were only about five Soviets guarding the position, something that made no sense to me.

Soviets? In afghanistan? I am not sure if that's correct or not. Maybe I'm just stupid.

Overall, the story was excellent.

P.S. Yay! I got first post!

[Mr Morbid]

really good story, I enjoyed it, however i do have a 'thing' to point out.

Originally Posted by Timmay

Synopsis: Maravar Pass
Sixteen plus dead. Fifty plus fatally injured.

fatally injured means killed, so you might wanna change it, but it's up to you

...was colder than a witch’s tit.

Just out of curiosity, is this a reference to BioShock?

[Timmay]

Originally Posted by Marksman

really good story, I enjoyed it, however i do have a 'thing' to point out.



fatally injured means killed, so you might wanna change it, but it's up to you



Just out of curiosity, is this a reference to BioShock?

k, so...

DnDD, you did catch a mistake. ill fix that.

just for reference, this story was placed in the soviet intervention (not technically the invasion) of afghanistan. just a quick history lesson, it was consitered "the soviet vietnam". after 10 years of fighting in afghanistan, the soviets, not gaining any ground against the many citizen and rebel armies of afghanistan, retreated. they declaired it "a tactical stalemate."

I used maravar pass as the setting. presumable, this story takes place a little after the first battle. maravar pass was particularly brutal, so it seemed like a good setting.


and now to you, nate.

i used fatally injured just to advance the story. it seemed like a minor detail, and i probably misinterpeted it's meaning; (not trying to sound like a prick or anything) i assumed that fatally injured meant injured beyond the point of help. however, i didn't take it to mean "dead".

no offence, but it seems so minor that i probably wont change it.

and for part two, no, i didn't take that from bioshock; the day my computer could run bioshock would be an amazing day. no, that was an expression my mom had used earlier in the day to describe our house. i though it was clever, so it got a spot in my story.

[Nupur]

This is brilliant. You've captured all events exceptionally well. The language has a lot of slang, and that kind of adds to the story and develops the narrator's character. The writing was weak in a couple of places and I stumbled through those parts, but I saw that as a way of developing your character. He speaks like that. That's the way he behaves, and it all adds to his personality. Very well developed story.

Just a few little things:

I think only Gregor Samsa had a worse day then I did.

THAN

I was told it was something you got used to, and in all honestly, I adapted.

I was told it was something you got used to, and in all honestly, I HAD adapted.

This sounds better.

Like I said, people lying dead in the road. Troops running through the streets.

Combine the two sentences; maybe add a comma instead of a period.

The deathly chatter of machine guns, calling to one another like lovers who couldn’t stand being apart.

This is brilliant! The contradiction you've potrayed is amazing. Machine guns, i.e., violence on one hand and lovers on the other. It fits brilliantly.

A few of the guys sat on their helmets looking but not reading at their paper.

This seems a little oddly phrased. Just a suggestion:

A few of the guys sat on their helmets, looking at the paper but not reading it.

Some frowned of furrowed their brow as they went over their death documents.

Some frowned AND furrowed…?

The feeling that tomorrow, you might be like ___ of the countless morose shells that were left of past people.

Did you miss a word here?

“Don’t worry, I here the Arabs kill the callow guys the quickest.”

HEAR?

Something about people screaming and firing weapons makes the fiery machine inside of you start to burn deep inside your stomach, its wheels and levers opening the cage that held the most deadly arsenal in the military - yourself.

Terrific line!

You close your eyes between shots, and you open them a different person. The person who has to be shot at to wake up.

Odd phrasing again. A suggestion:

You close your eyes between shots, and you open them as a different person, the person who has to be shot in order to be woken up.

----

Apart from all that, I truly loved it. The voice of narration is outstanding. And you have a really strong ending in here. The entire concluding part was truly the highlight.

Brilliant work!

[Wesley]

Just the very first couple of sentences is what I had trouble with and I'm not sure why.. I think it was the cigarette description.

Nice. Niccee.

[Mr Morbid]

i used fatally injured just to advance the story. it seemed like a minor detail, and i probably misinterpeted it's meaning; (not trying to sound like a prick or anything) i assumed that fatally injured meant injured beyond the point of help. however, i didn't take it to mean "dead".
no offence, but it seems so minor that i probably wont change it.

nah, that's cool, you didnt cause any offence and you didnt come across as being a prick. it's your story, its your descision.

[Vorcla]

"Fatally injured" is fine; sounds like "militaryspeak" to me. "Witch's tit" is an old, old expression. My mom and dad used it too.

This is damned good, Timbo. Very gritty, very realistic. I feel like I want to pour sand out of my shoes! Your front line descriptions are awesome. I noticed your age on your profile; your style is mature way beyond that. You must really be into this and study it backwards and forwards. Your stories read like a war weary veteran who's been out there too long.

Great job.

[Timmay]

i'm actually happy it's being recepted this way. i struggled to the finish line just to actually have a final draft.

and i WILL make those edits soon. i'm just incredibly lazy/busy. still, ill squeeze them in

[Razor]

Good story. What I like most about you stories is the strong voice you use to narrate them with. It really draws the reader in and makes for a good read.

The strength of your writing is another asset. I like the amount of description you put in. It's enough to let the reader know what is going on without drowning him/her with excessiveness.

A couple of minor things (nitpicks really):

We had dinner later, which turned out to be a sad state of affairs. As it turns out, cheap vodka and mashed potatoes can’t fill all the emptiness in your stomach. The feeling that tomorrow, you might be like of the countless morose shells that were left of past people.

Used "turned" then "turns" in back to back sentences. Maybe change one of them?

"you might be like of the countless" I'm guessing your missing "one" in there.

My major criticism is..

What happened in the end? Did he die, did he live, what the hell was the 'speck,' did the rebels take the front lines, WHAT THE CRAP HAPPENED?!

Maybe you wanted the reader to ask those questions, but I feel like I've been left hanging.

Regardless, great writing and a good story.

[BruceOne]

Good story, but I think they eat a little better now a days. They're right --- it needs an ending.

[xtremelady]

Plot – excellent you have done your home work and the authentic feel of where they are is well defined and interwoven nicely. As a piece of writing on what life would have been like for those sent – I can’t fault. In terms of story I feel needs a conclusion, and this aspect is the only thing missing. The battle at end seems weak – more detail maybe would help.

Character – awesome and love the irony injected.

Style – again awesome, great piece of writing which really draws you in.

[Timmay]

this is some... i dunno, exposition, to why i wrote my ending like i did. this isn't directed to anyone so i can say "haha, im right your wrong." it just explanes what i had i mind while i wrote my ending.

Originally, i was going to have one big climactic battle. So, i wrote that, and immediatly knew i would never ever fit. It just wasn't right. So, i though of anything to make it better. Then, out of the blue, i remembered what playing defence in lacrosse was like; I think i had played my first game the day before i wrote the ending (i had to take time off because i was "injured"). I though about what it was like to play againt the attackman who was charging right at you, looking to the goal.

In this instance, your brain clicks off. something else controls your movements. it's like being a puppet; brain doesn't tell my legs to move forward, they do it automatically. my brain doesn't tell my arms to lift up my stick and hit the guy, i just do it naturally. The whole time, it's like i'm watching the game 3rd person.

then, win or lose, your a superman in your own mind

[Merrywinds]

A rugged, rough story, quite the way I like them. The main character was a bit flat(meaning the way he sees all things in the same light) until the very end where he kinda showed his grain. There's something familiar in the ending, the feeling of being outside yourself (enough full contact ccq practice and you will feel it) and I think that's what really sold this story for me. Nothing more needed, to me it's beautiful the way it is.

As mentioned the voice and description really makes for a deep, strong and enrapturing read. Keep it up.