[ea_blue]

Synopsis: A humorous tale of war, clever computers, and a guy who really misses drinking a good beer.

Smeery raised his pint to Jenson. He did it unsteadily and sloshed some of the dark ale. "You're a honorable man, buddy! Dueling those Feds...uh...Reds all by your lonesome!"

"Just doing my job," replied Jenson. "Such as it is," he murmured to himself. He winced as he took another sip of his ale. It wasn't bad if you liked goat piss mixed with road pavement. His sensitive taste buds had gone on strike and refused to taste it any longer. He sucked the awful stuff down anyway. Apparently, it was the best stuff the government could procure during wartime.

"Tha's why I love you, man! Yer so brr...rrr...ave. I'd fry your wing anytime!"

"Well, just make sure you use a quality frying oil. It makes all the difference."

"Eh? Wha?" Smeery's lined, middle-aged face scrunched up into a grimace.

"I just mean...I appreciate that, Smeery. But frankly I'd rather be back home working in the family brewery. That's really what I am. A Brewer."

Smeery waved dismissively. "Lemme sell you tomethin'. You're a frippin' HERO aroun' here. We need you an'..." Smeery's head drooped closer to the bar as he spoke. His pint wobbled in his hand. "An' I jush wanna shay..." His head finally drooped until it collided with the bar. His pint wobbled over and dumped its remaining ale on his head.

That beer is better for external use anyway, thought Jenson. He ordered another pint. His tastebuds collectively fainted.

"I know how you feel," said Timmons, another pilot sitting a couple stools away. He winced as he sipped tentatively at his own beer. "My family grows hops. I miss the smell of the fields at harvest time."

"It sucks doesn't it? The whole war started off so quickly. The first volleys wiped out sixteen squadrons in...what was it?"

"Ten minutes."

"Right, ten minutes. But it was only four minutes to wipe out the squadrons! The latest smart missiles all wiped each other out in the remaining six. Weapons systems in general have gotten too good. It was all going to be over in day! We could've all gone home to do what we were meant to do."

"And then came the dueling zones," replied Timmons with a burp. "Hey, you know this crappy beer tastes better the second time around."

"That's because it's been mixed with stomach bile."

"Yeah, that would do it. But you know, I kinda like the dueling zone idea. Just you and a guy from the Eastern European Union. No chance of being overwhelmed by superior numbers. And you have to find each other by eyeball. So no missiles come streaking in from outa' nowhere. The guy has to find you to shoot, and then he only gets to use guns. The computer doesn't do it all for him. He's actually got to be a good pilot. Seems more survivable to me."

Jenson took another swig of beer. He didn't taste anything at all. He figured his tastebuds had fallen into a coma. "They didn't do that to make it more survivable. It's economics. The cost of making weapons so deadly is killing the economies of both the Western European Union and the Eastern EU. Nobody can afford all out war anymore. As it stands, both economies can barely afford basic consumer goods. For instance, did you know we're out of TP again?"

"Yeah, it's back to using leaves again. I use Oak. What about you?"

"I'm a Maple man, myself. Ever use grass?"

Timmons choked on his beer. "Don't ever do that! I tried it once and itched like hell for three days. I learned some cool dance moves while I was scratching, though."

Jenson forced down the rest of his beer. "Well, it's time for me to fly. I just hope my computer isn't acting weird again."

"Yours too?"

"Yeah. It's been asking me what dying is like and what I think about it."

"A lot of guys been getting the same from their computers too. Asking all these weird religious questions and all. I mean they're computers. What do they care? None of them is rated as Artificial Intelligence yet. But they're acting like they're afraid to die or something. You think they're planning to do something?"

"I hope not," sighed Jenson. "I have to go into combat with mine right now. Cheers, Timmons."

"Good hunting."

Jenson walked carefully across the peanut shells strewn across the floor. Several other bar-goers raised their pints to him as he crossed to the doorway. He saluted the moose-head above the door, as was custom, before walking out into the gray light of dawn.

The early morning fog drifted lazily across the grass, giving the turf a fresh plant smell. He pushed aside a trio of goats. One chewed on a pamphlet with a red cover. It was just getting to the juicy part that read "Top Secret". The other goats danced around it, trying to get in a nibble. So that's what it's come to, thought Jenson. Can't even afford a proper shredder anymore. He looked ahead to the hypersonic, Shrike Mk VII fighter waiting for him on the tarmac. The smart-skin of the grayish, boomerang-shaped fighter caused it to fade in and out of visibility. He wondered if any of its other systems would work that day.

The highly advanced machine's many systems frequently stopped working, unlike the goats who never failed to eat. The contrast between goats and machine represented a metaphor for the whole war to Jenson; ridiculously expensive weapons and crippled economies that used farm animals as office machines.

Jenson climbed into his Shrike's cockpit and strapped himself in. He pressed an indiscriminate-looking button on the console. The computer's communications screen, located just above the manual switches for weapons on the left side of the cockpit, lit up. The computer's avatar, Bob, filled the 4 inch by 4 inch screen. Dark-haired with an anachronistic handle-bar moustach, the swarthy skinned avatar smiled companionably. "Good morning Captain! Ready to venture forth into victory?"

Jenson scowled slightly at the Avatar. The machines were programmed to be positive and encouraging. Jenson wasn't feeling especially positive. During the past month, no victories were even possible. On three flights, a minor system failure required scrubbing the mission. During the other four, he never sighted an enemy. During the early days, sighting the enemy had been so much easier. "Yeah, I suppose so," he replied.

"All systems are 'go', sir," announced Bob's alto voice. "Starting engines now."

"Very well."

"Engines at full power, operating at 98.5837% efficiency."

"Fine."

"Standing by to launch."

"Okaaayy!" Jenson rolled his blue eyes and scrubbed impatiently at his blond goatee. "You know the drill, Bob. Just do it."

Bob released the breaks suddenly and entirely. Gee forces slammed Jenson hard into the seat. The six gees of the exceptionally powerful takeoff, effectively making Jenson weigh over 1800 pounds, ground his flesh painfully into the seat. The Shrike hurtled down the runway at a speed far in excess of the norm. A moment after its wheels left the ground and retracted into their bays, Bob took the Shrike into a vertical climb and accelerated. It thundered into 30,000 feet with Jenson's face contorting under the crush of 7.3 gees.

Bob brought the craft level again at a steady one gee and a speed of mach 3.4. Jenson recovered from the shock of the strenuous takeoff, he howled at Bob's avatar. "What the Hell was that, Bob?!"

"Just having a bit of sport with you, sir. You should have seen your face, haha!"

"That's not funny," grated Jenson.

"Oh yes it is. I calculate an 83% probability that a fully fit, emotionally stable pilot would find the experience amusing if not thrilling."

Jenson grimaced at the avatar. Bob sometimes played games like this. Usually, the machine had a point in mind. Jenson didn't care what the point was. He was sick of the whole routine. He wanted to go back home to his family. Maybe work with his father in the family brewery. He looked out the canopy at the clouds whipping by and sighed. That wasn't going to happen soon at the rate things were going. He decided to buck up and go along with whatever Bob wanted. "What are you trying to say, Bob?"

"Well, my sensors indicate a certain tension. A lack of enthusiasm for our inevitable victory."

"Yeah, right. I'm just waiting for the system failure that means we go back to base, which means we'll be up again soon, waiting for the next failure, and the next." Jenson knew he shouldn't be saying all this. But he'd already started and getting it out made him feel better. "I just thought this whole thing would be over now. The war's gone on for a year. This rash of no combats is prolonging the whole thing. It's irritating."

"Perfectly understandable, sir. Perhaps you haven't been relaxing enough. I remind you that regulations state..."

"I know the regulations, Bob! The base's 'entertainment' hardly qualifies."

"Your personnel file suggests that enjoying a pint of ale at the local pub is entirely sufficient entertainment for you. This is available at the base. Why not try that?"

"Their beers are all shite!" spat Jenson. "Those amateurs couldn't boil water properly with a recipe!"

"Indeed. Perhaps if they had one of those automatic stills designed by Wallsley they could do better."

"Wallsley? I've worked with their equipment before." Happy memories flooded Jenson's mind. "Nicely made, those. Even those ham-handed buffoons at the base might squeeze out a drinkable product." He smacked his lips, imagining some of the works of art he could create with the proper equipment.

"I understand they even produce a micro-still. Although I wonder how good the results could be."

"Even that would be far superior to the rotting swamp mud I've tried lately. But that's only a fantasy, Bob. The base can't even afford a proper shredder. A Wallsley micro-still isn't going to show up at the base during 'this' war!"

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really!"

Bob's avatar rolled its eyes significantly. "Then I wonder what this strange device might be under the console?"

*** To Be Continued in Pt. 2 ***

[CofeeBeanAddict]

I love it. The dialog is done very well. The descriptions are also well placed and the plot is set up expertly. I really wish i new how to write that well. How you set up the whole thing was just outstanding. maybe you might consider writing a novel. i am sure you could.

[ea_blue]

Wow, thanks coffebeanaddict. I appreciate the encouragement and also for taking the time to read it. I realize it's a bit long (4,008 words). So I appreciate anyone who sticks with it. I'm working on another story that's significantly longer and may even grow to novella length. I doubt that it would be appropriate here.

Thanks for reading!

[Vorcla]

Hey, Blue --

This is a hoot. Smeery's drunken dialog is priceless. This is really clever without becoming slapstick, and it's tightly written. Hopefully there IS more to come? I need a good laugh every now and then.

Sad thing is, I can actually see nations fighting a war like this.

[ea_blue]

Hey Vorcla

Thanks for the feedback. The drunken dialog was fun to write and reasonably easy to imagine because I was drinking at the time, hehehe.

It does seem to me that the machines of war are getting too expensive to fight a war right now. So I simply extrapolated that trend into the near future.

Did you get to check out part 2? The story continues on there.

Cheers!

ea_blue

[Bluejay]

This is off to a good start. The narrative voice is good, and the character dialogue is fairly realistic.

My only beef: it seemed to drag a bit telling the back story. The back story itself is highly interesting, but the treatment just feels like something you have to get through. If possible, it might be better to evolve the telling of it by perhaps having it be part of the action taking place. Or intersperse it as thoughts with the action (e.g. when he's flying the plane).

Also, I also wasn't sure if what you were describing was coming from Jenson's thoughts or from an omniscient narrator. The last line of the first section in particular ("Individual machines began to formulate ideas...") sounded like sinister foreshadowing. Is that knowledge Jenson has? It sounded more like something he was about to discover.

Only technical nit picks: using "it's" for possessive of "it" (it's "its" unless you mean "it is") and some "you're"s where "your" was meant.

The fishing boat bit reminded me of Douglas Adams just a little. Nice touches of humor and good story line.

Overall, an excellent start and looking forward to what happens in part 2!

[ea_blue]

Hey Bluejay,

Thanks for the comments. I wondered if the if the long background of the war would be too tedious. The last line is provided by a narrator. I guess I didn't make that clear enough.

I'll see what I can do to rework it.

Thanks much!

ea_blue

[ea_blue]

This part of the story just got a major facelift on 01/06/08. It's a bit shorter and uses more dialog to describe the background.

And feedback on the changes is appreciated.

Cheers!

ea_blue

[Achele]

ea,

Just finished reading this, didn't drag a bit. I didn't read it before the rewrite--so can't do a comparison.

His sensitive taste buds had gone on strike and refused to taste it any longer

Loved that, good visual.

[ea_blue]

Thanks Achelle. I think it reads a lot better with the re-write. The taste buds going on strike was also in the previous version. I liked it too so I carried it over into the new version.

Thanks for reading!